Troy
An entire week went by with Blyss being kept in the coma. The news was all over the club. I had moved out of it and into a hotel room. The media was eating us all alive. Our faces were plastered everywhere, as s****l deviants. Even the b**m community at large was against us. Every time I turned on the television, there was some man or woman dressed in shiny black leather, telling how nothing like that had ever happened in their clubs or in their little circles. Everyone pointed fingers at the owners.
Grant was trying hard to hold on, as were the other owners. Things looked bad for them—much worse than the Doms and Subs had it. I was next in line after the owners to be getting the most flack about being in the club and not protecting the woman who was mine to care for. No one had the
