Free The Deeper He Hurts by Lynda Aicher Page A

question only a true pain slut would ask, and one Ash wanted to analyze and pick apart until he discovered why Sawyer wanted to live in the pain.

Chapter 8
    Sawyer shifted his SUV into Park and stared at the warehouse-style building that housed the Kick headquarters, not quite certain why he was here. No, that was bullshit. He knew why he was here. What he wasn’t sure about was if he
should
be here.
    The weekend following his encounter with Ash had been three long days of adrenaline rush followed by nights savoring the mellow drop and ache in his leg. The rub on his ass and the constant pressure on the bottom of his foot from bracing himself in the raft all day allowed the pain to linger longer than normal.
    Or maybe he’d simply willed it to.
    The pain had been exactly what he’d needed to get away from the past and remind him of where he was. Where he needed to stay. The smoke had shifted north by the next morning and stayed that way. He’d still driven out first chance he’d had to the highest point he could find, just to reassure himself that the fire wasn’t close.
    He’d been fine the entire next week too. He’d immersed himself in the job and was finding his place within the White Salmon crew. It was a good group, not that different from the ones he’d worked with for years. The job basics were the same, the river dynamics similar, and the whitewater a consistent companion.
    He rubbed his thigh, little sparks flashing when he found a few remaining sensitive spots. They barely registered, but he greedily relished each little bite.
    Why had Asher followed him? Helped him?
    His phone rested in the cup holder, a list of area BDSM clubs pulled up and ready. He could investigate one of them, find another sadist who didn’t get under his skin so deeply.
    Or all over it, either.
    The closeness had thrown him off. Asher had been all around him, touching, stroking, biting, until he’d wanted to roar with the violation. But not physical. He’d had more guys fuck him with less care than Asher had stroked him off.
    He’d absorbed it instead. Soaked in every touch and relished the intimacy he’d deprived himself of for so long. It’d been torturous in its briefness, and a sharp reminder of how lonely his existence was.
    His leg bounced, knee hitting the keys in a jingling announcement of his indecision.
Fuck this.
    He turned off the ignition and got out before he played another round of rehash and dissect the unchangeable. He grabbed the stack of PFDs out of the back and strode toward the garage entrance.
    His new employee keycard worked on the first swipe, the green light flashing with the click of the lock releasing. The welcoming call of a loud beep greeted him as he stepped inside. He jerked back to glare at the buzzer over the doorway before glancing around. Sneaking in definitely wasn’t an option here.
    “Hey,” a voice called from the back of the garage. “I’m counting paddles. Who’s out there?”
    “Sawyer,” he yelled back, not recognizing the voice.
    “Sawyer?” A head popped around the corner of an aisle, brows drawn in a scowl. “Oh, hey.” The guy came down the row, a smile transforming his features from fierce to welcoming. “Nice to meet you.” He off-loaded half the PFDs from Sawyer’s arms and tossed them in a large bin along the wall. “Cort Thompson. Welcome to Kick.”
    Sawyer dumped the rest of the life vests in the bin and rubbed the lingering dampness off his arm. “War said these needed to be repaired.” He pointed to the bin. “Some straps were wearing. A few buckles are broken.”
    “Got it.” Cort scrubbed a beefy paw through his rust-colored hair. The short curls sprung from his head in a disheveled array that indicated the action was probably an unconscious habit. “I’ll get to them in a bit.”
    “I can do it,” Sawyer offered.
    “Nah.” Cort shook his head. “It’s your day off, right?” He waited for Sawyer to nod. “Thought so. Don’t worry about