Wicked Games by Maddie Taylor Read Online Free

Chapter 1

Unable to ignore the relentless ticking from the kitchen, Emily shoved the week’s neglected mail aside and headed in. Her gaze went straight to the culprit. Not the broken built-in timer on the stove, frozen at 3:59 for decades, but the five-dollar wind-up model with crooked dots that never lined up and left her guessing how much time was actually left.

She bent to peer through the oven window. The cloudy, brownish glass—fogged since grade school—revealed nothing, and she felt foolish for trying. Against all the rules, she cracked the door open for a peek.

“Not again!” she groaned, yanking the door wide—hopeful anticipation collapsing into disappointment.

Despite tiptoeing around the house for the last twenty-eight minutes, and being careful to limit vibrations and loud noises, her efforts were in vain. Instead of the two tall, golden layers she needed to pass next week’s exam, twin cratered flops stared back at her.

Emily twisted her hair into a rope and slung it over one shoulder before pulling on the oven mitts. With the practiced motion of someone who had failed this more than once, she hauled the pans out, dropped them on the cooktop with a clatter, then kicked the door shut with her foot.

For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out where she’d gone wrong. In six tries, she’d had six disasters, and the final exam was only a few days away. If she couldn’t bake a simple layer cake, how was she supposed to graduate, let alone land a job?

“Maybe I’ll just wash dishes,” she grumbled, stripping off the mitts. “What five-star restaurant is going to hire a chef who can’t bake a cake?”

Her phone lay open on the counter, the article she’d been consulting still glowing, “The Most Common Mistakes in Sunken Cakes.” She skimmed the bulleted points for the hundredth time.

Use fresh ingredients, especially baking powder.

“I did that.”

Measure carefully.

“What was I going to do, guess?” she muttered with dripping sarcasm.

She rolled her eyes at the next bullet.

Mix the ingredients in the specified order. Remember, baking is essentially a chemistry experiment.

“Really? Tell me something I don’t know!”

She slammed her phone onto the countertop then dropped forward onto her elbows with her head in her hands. “I did everything the freaking article said to do, and it still caved in.”

The only item on the list she had no control over was the oven itself.

Lifting her head, she glared at the thirty-year-old oven. It had baked its share of cakes for her mother, all of them works of art. Her dad had replaced the element at least twice. Ages ago, she recalled him saying the thing was on its last legs and her mother deserved to have a new one, but he never got around to it.

Now, with both her parents gone and bills piled high, replacing it wasn’t an option. On a student budget, a new oven was impossible, and she wouldn’t ask Ethan to help. He’d just made detective; for the first time in years, he could save a few bucks from his paycheck. He didn’t need to spend them on a new oven when the old one still served its purpose—though not well.

She stood, eyes closed, breath trembling. “Oh, Mama,” she whispered. “I wish I had just a hint of your magic.”

Although she had no formal training, her mother had a knack for baking. Once Emily, her youngest of two, started school, she’d gone to work part time at The Sweet Spot, the bakery on the corner. A few years after that, when the owner retired, she’d bought him out. Her father teasingly rued the day and blamed his twenty-pound weight gain on it. That, and the triple-chocolate layer cake she’d perfected.

Emily had inherited her mama’s hair, eyes, and youthful appearance, often mistaken for being a decade younger than she was. They were good things, but not what she needed now—her golden baking touch.

As she was reaching for the oven mitts once again, intending to dump the double disasters in the trash, the doorbell rang.

Em leaned forward and looked right. From this angle, she could see her front door. Through the diamond-shaped window, she could make out two heads, but the plexiglass had yellowed almost as much as the oven window, and, with the porch light off, she couldn’t tell anything more than one of her visitors was wearing a hat.

She glanced at the clock—the one on the wall that actually worked. Ten thirty. Who came calling at this hour?

Curiosity and a prickle of dread propelled her forward. She slid the chain into place and cracked the door. Instantly, a knot formed in the pit of her stomach seeing two uniformed policemen standing on the small porch.

“Emily Peterson?” the taller man asked.

“Yes,” she croaked, her mouth and throat gone dry.

“I’m sorry to disturb you this late, Miss Peterson, but might we have a word?”

She nodded, closed the door to release the chain, then opened it again. “What’s this about?” she asked, but deep down, she knew. She’d grown up with cops. Her father had been a detective, and her brother had followed in his footsteps. Even without introductions, she recognized the captain’s insignia and the chaplain’s collar. There was only one thing that would bring them to a family member’s door this late.

“This isn’t a good time.” She waved toward the kitchen. “I’ve got something in the oven.”

It was a lie, but she’d say anything to make them go away.

“We’ll only be a few minutes,” the captain assured her. “May we come in?”

Short of refusing and slamming the door in their faces, she opened it wider and waved them inside.

“I’m Chaplain Roberts,” the older of the two said. “You may not remember me. It’s been a while, and the circumstances weren’t good. It is with sincere regret that circumstances have me knocking on your door once again.”

Memory slammed into her. Twenty-two months earlier, the same man, with the same chaplain’s patch on his sleeve, had delivered the news of her parents’ deaths. She swayed, bracing against the door.

“It’s Ethan,” she stated, wasting no time with a question his grim-faced expression and all the other clues had already answered.

The captain nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Her world tilted. “What happened?” she whispered.

“We’re still investigating,” he explained, clearly hedging. “He stumbled upon a drug cache. His actions prevented millions’ worth from reaching the streets—”

“Specifically,” Emily cut in. “What happened to him?”

The chaplain’s mouth tightened. “I don’t think it’s necessary—”

“It is,” she insisted. “I need to know.”

He hesitated, eyes flicking to the captain. When the man gave a slight nod, he relented. “Your brother was shot in the chest. By the time help arrived… I’m sorry.”

That Ethan died bravely while protecting his community wasn’t surprising but brought her little consolation. She couldn’t pick up the phone and call a dead hero or turn to him for support on the upcoming anniversary of their parents’ death. No more holidays, none of the cream-filled puffed pastries he loved on his birthday, no brother in the crowd on her graduation day, and her future children would never know their amazing uncle.

His selfless sacrifice didn’t bring her any comfort. If anything, it pissed her the hell off because it robbed her of her only remaining family.

The crushing weight of sorrow caused her knees to wobble. Over the pounding of her heart, she heard a car door slam. Heavy footsteps thudded on the sidewalk. She didn’t bother looking up; they didn’t belong to Ethan. He was gone.

“What the hell, Cap? I left you a message asking you to wait until I got here.”

“Sorry, Yarborough. I got nothing.”

Strong arms swept her up and carried her to the couch. Instead of setting her down, Alec sank with her in his lap, holding her close. He pressed his lips to her hair, his voice raw as he whispered, “I wanted to be here when you found out.”

Through her tears, Emily met his troubled blue eyes. Alec. Ethan’s best friend since childhood.

“First Mama and Daddy, now… I can’t do this,” she whispered brokenly. “Not again. Not alone.”

His embrace tightened. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. You’ve got me—whenever and however you need me. I promise.”

Gratitude surged with anguish. She clung to him, fingers fisting his coat as if it could hold her together. He’d been protective of her since she was a girl. The white knight of her dreams—steadfast and sure—but even he couldn’t shield her from the agony of loss.

His breath warmed her neck, his body solid and real, a fragile comfort amid the devastation. But she couldn’t ignore the hard press of his service weapon digging into her breast—a stark reminder of the badge he carried. Identical to Ethan’s. If it could steal her brother and father away from her, it could steal him too.

He rocked her, whispering words she couldn’t hear over her grief. Not only for Ethan’s loss but for the fear that someday men in uniform would come to her door again—this time for Alec, the boy she’d loved since pigtails and scraped knees.

When that day came, she’d truly be alone. How would she survive?

What control she had left gave way. With a wrenching sob, Emily buried her face in his neck as the floodgates opened.

Chapter 2

The scorching South Florida sun beating down on the gathering only added to the misery of the moment. Despite the oppressive humidity and not a whisper of a breeze to alleviate it, birds chirped merrily in the trees as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Their cheeriness grated.

On the worst day of her life, why wasn’t the weather gray and rainy, matching her dark mood? It wasn’t comparable, but at least when she’d lost her parents, Ethan had stood beside her, holding her hand, sharing her pain, still breathing. Not today, though. Never again.

“It’s time, Em.”

She nodded at Alec’s gentle prompt. Thank God for him. If he hadn’t been with her these past awful days, she wouldn’t have made it through.

He released her hand so she could pick up a fistful of loose earth and toss it into the yawning hole. The first clump spattered on top of her brother’s casket. Alec’s handful joined hers a moment later.

A grim tradition meant to offer closure. As if it was possible to bury grief.

Quiet weeping rose from around them.

Not family: she was the last Peterson. Ethan was only twenty-seven. Never married. He thought he had plenty of time to find a wife and have kids. But bullets from the gun of a twice-convicted felon had stolen his future.

Heads bowed as the police chaplain offered a last prayer for their fallen brother in blue. Emily bowed her head, too, but his words didn’t reach her. She’d stopped believing in prayers long ago.

Her gaze fell upon the sprays of yellow roses wilting in the heat. They’d been on her parents’ caskets, too. Once her favorite flowers, they were now tainted by heart-wrenching loss.

“Can we go now, Alec?” she asked as the collective amen faded.

“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s over.”

The ceremony might be, but not her grief. She knew from bitter experience that bleak days would come when the visits from well-meaning friends and coworkers stopped, and the noise died away.

Alec shepherded her toward his car. Mourners stepped forward with condolences; he deflected them with a polite word or a clipped thank you. He had to know from the stranglehold she had on his hand how close she was to falling apart.

When she slid into the passenger seat and he shut the door, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe. But the memory of the private viewing—Ethan in his dress uniform, his body cold and so still, he might as well have been a stranger—kept surfacing. He looked nothing like her always-smiling big brother. She’d half expected him to sit up, pull off a mask, and call it a cruel joke. But the silence and truth of the moment were absolute.

When Alec opened the door and slid behind the wheel, she turned her gaze to the window, batting away tears. They were pointless, and she didn’t want him to see her cry. What she had to do would be impossible if he thought she was falling apart.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded, staring at her pale reflection in the glass. “I’ve seen my fill of cemeteries.”

The ten-minute drive home passed in tense silence.

When they climbed the stone steps to the front porch, she froze, staring at the door.

“Let me,” Alec said, reaching into his pocket for his key.

A jingle and snick later, he pushed the door inward. When Emily stepped inside, the silence hit her—thick, suffocating, absolute. Ethan’s boots still sat by the door, laces tangled as though he’d kicked them off in a rush. His favorite ball cap, tattered and faded, lay on the entry table, beside it a wilting yellow rose someone had left after the wake. She hadn’t touched a thing. She couldn’t.

Alec had followed her in and stood beside her, his gaze sweeping the room. She saw the flicker of pain in his eyes when they landed on Ethan’s things. He didn’t speak, just stood there, hands clenched at his sides.

He was handsome in a way that made her ache. Wavy blond hair ruffled from his fingers, light-blue eyes that could read her too well, sun-kissed skin stretched over a powerful 6’3” frame built to protect and to anchor. His image blurred through her unshed tears. Not for Ethan but for what she was about to do to his best friend.

It wasn’t fair. He’d been watching over her since she was a child—the boy she’d chased around the neighborhood, the teenager she’d crushed on, the man she loved in secret. But her heart was broken. Once she picked up the pieces again, it would be for the last time.

“Are you sure you’re okay to stay here by yourself?” he asked.

“Where else would I go?” she whispered.

“You could stay with me as long as you need to,” he suggested.

And get used to it. Become dependent on him. Then when the blow came, she’d be even more devastated.

“I’m okay,” she said, breath hitching as she tried to contain her tears. “But I keep expecting him to walk in. To tell me I’ve overbaked the muffins again.”

Alec’s throat worked as he swallowed. “He’d say you were too tough on yourself. That you were better than you thought.”

She nodded, blinking fast. “He trusted you, you know. I can’t tell you how many times he said he loved you like a brother.”

Alec’s jaw tightened, and, for a moment, her stalwart knight looked as if he might break. He didn’t, but his voice came low, rough. “He was my brother. Not by blood but by every damn thing that mattered.”

He opened his arms, and she fell into them, holding tight while breathing him in. “I couldn’t have gotten through this without you. You’ll never know how much that means to me.”

“You can call me anytime for anything, Em.”

She savored the feel of his lips against the top of her head and the sweep of his hands up and down her back—big, strong, and steadfast.

“You always give the best hugs,” she whispered.

He tried to ease away, but she held on, knowing this would be the last one.

“I’ll miss them.”

“You don’t have to. I’m here whenever you need one.”

“No,” she said with a shuddering breath, putting distance between them, “because I have to let you go.”

Alec jerked. Frowning, he shook his head. “This is exhaustion talking. You couldn’t have slept much these past few days.”

“I haven’t slept at all, but it’s not tiredness.” She swallowed, lips parched, throat dry. This was the most agonizing choice she’d ever had to make. It was also completely selfish, but the only way she knew to protect herself. “I love you. I have since before I could walk. But every time I look at you, I’m reminded of Ethan. Every time I see your badge, I remember what this life takes. I’m terrified of the next knock on my door. Of being asked to go to the morgue and see you lying pale and lifeless on a cold slab beneath a sheet.”

Her voice broke, as did the dam of tears that poured down her face.

“Emily—”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “I can’t lose you, too. It would break me.”

“So, you’d rather cut me out of your life altogether?” he asked, voice breaking. “Baby, that doesn’t make sense.”

“What I’d rather do is live with you on a mountaintop where the world can’t touch us. But like Ethan, you’re committed to your badge and to justice, so that can’t happen.” Emily moved her hand from his chest to his cheek. “You’ve always been my white knight, my shield, and I love you for that, but you can’t fight every battle. I have to protect myself, especially my heart. What’s left of it. Even if it means saying goodbye.”

He framed her face with both hands. “You’re not thinking straight. “You think walking away will protect you? It won’t. It’ll just leave you alone with the ghosts.”

“I already am,” she said. “This house is full of them.”

“With time—”

She let out a short, hollow, humorless laugh. “People say that to give hope when there isn’t any. Time doesn’t heal; it just teaches you how to carry the weight. It’s been two years since Mom and Dad were killed, and the wound is still as raw as ever. I’m sorry. This is how it has to be.”

“I don’t accept that. I’m not giving up on you,” he declared fiercely. “And I won’t let you give up on me. We’re all we have left.”

A painful sob bubbled up from her chest. This was torturous, and his refusal to accept her decision was making it worse.

With a watery smile she didn’t feel, she conceded. “You’re right. I’m tired. I need to lie down.”

She could see the tension leave his body. With a hint of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he stated, “Sleep is the best thing for you right now. I can’t promise it will be better in the morning—that’s going to take a lot of mornings—but I’ll be here for them as long as you need me. Tomorrow, that includes breakfast.”

“Okay,” she agreed, too tired and heartsick to fight him anymore.

“I’ll stay, sleep on the couch—”

“No, you’re exhausted too.”

“Em—”

“I’m going to bed to pass out. I’ll be okay until morning,” she assured him.

He frowned, still not convinced, but he relented. “If you need me tonight, no matter the time, call and I’ll be here.”

She wanted him to stay as much as she needed him to go. The latter won out, and she nodded, sniffling. “You’re my knight. Of course you will.”

He kissed her forehead, lingering just a second too long. “Lock the door behind me.”

She watched him through the window; as usual he paused, listening for the click of the dead bolt before turning toward the stairs. Usually, he jogged down them. Tonight, he trudged as if drained of energy.

Emily drank in the last few glimpses of him until his SUV turned the corner. With tears streaming down her face and a crushing emptiness in her chest, she climbed the stairs to pack. In the morning, when he arrived with breakfast—mammoth blueberry muffins from The Sweet Spot on the corner and a chai latte, her usual—she’d be gone. Because if she stayed another minute, she’d never be strong enough to go.

***

Alec arrived before nine the next morning. Coffee tray in one hand, pastry bag in the other, he let himself in with the key the Petersons had given him years ago—when his mother’s overdose left him with an absentee father and a life that was falling apart. They’d also given him a home, tough love that helped him turn things around at school, and a future. Mostly, they were the family he so desperately needed: kind yet firm surrogate parents, Ethan, the friend who’d become a brother, and Emily, a kid sister he’d loved like his own, who had grown into a beautiful young woman. Now, she had no family left—except him.

“Em?” he called. “You up?”

Silence answered. He told himself she was still asleep, but, after yesterday, a cold ripple of fear ran up his spine. He took the stairs two at a time.

“Emily!” he thundered as he pushed into her bedroom. It was tiny, not much larger than a walk-in closet, but she had refused to take the master after her parents died, as had Ethan.

One glance told him everything. The bed made, the dresser stripped of photos, the still life her mother had painted gone from the wall, and her music box, the cardboard kind with the revolving ballerina, missing from its usual place dead-center on her vanity.

The little brat had lied to his face and planned her escape while he held her, comforted her, believed her.

Rage flared, and he turned and punched the wall. Plaster dust rained down. Physical pain didn’t register. He sank onto the bed and buried his face in his hands.

While she’d gone through her ordeal, leaning on him, what she didn’t seem to realize was he needed her too. Maybe running was how she coped. He didn’t operate that way. Regardless of his feelings, she’d left.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed. The recorded message—subscriber not taking calls right now—punched the air from his lungs. He stared at the screen, stunned. She was blocking him.

In an explosion of frustrated energy, he hurled the city-issued iPhone. It hit the wall with a deafening crack and shattered, fragments skittering across the floor.

He didn’t give a fuck.

“If that’s how she wants it,” he snarled. “So be it.”

But as he picked up the pieces of his decimated phone, his brain switched back on. He had resources—contacts, databases, a detective’s instincts—and he’d use them. No way in hell would he allow her to erase him from her life.

He loved her, not with the simple, brotherly affection he used to. Somewhere along the way it had deepened, and it was past time to stop pretending otherwise.

She’d loved him for years. Anyone who wasn’t blind could see it. Her eyes, warm brown and unguarded, always told on her. But when she was ten, and he was a senior in high school, he considered it puppy love and figured she’d grow out of it. At fifteen, the light in her eyes when she looked at him hadn’t faded. When she came of age, he knew he had to admit his true feelings. But it wasn’t the right time after the tragedy of losing her parents.

He’d waited—for grief, for space, for the right moment to tell Ethan he had a thing for his little sister. What he wouldn’t give to have him here and be facing that problem today.

He scanned the room once more—hangers in a bare closet, the dresser cleared of makeup and perfume, her bookshelves once stuffed with cookbooks and food magazines now empty.

“She won’t give up on culinary school,” he told the empty air.

As he returned downstairs, he devised a plan. He’d have to wait until Monday, two long maddening days, to track her down on campus and confront her. What happened after that hinged on her answers.

One thing bothered him about waiting. Ethan’s loss had overwhelmed her, her emotions were raw, her behavior erratic. She wasn’t thinking straight. With little money, she could easily end up somewhere dangerous. Staying with a friend would be the best choice, but after working and living in the city for years, he was out of touch with who she hung out with these days. She would likely have made new friends at school, leaving him with no idea who she would turn to after shutting him out.

He scanned the spotless first floor and silently cursed her neat-freak quirk. He had better odds of winning the lottery than finding a clue to her whereabouts on the neat-as-a-pin desk or the wiped-clean whiteboard on the side of the refrigerator.

In Emily’s mind, order equaled control and therefore security, which, for a young woman who had so little of both, he completely understood.

When his gaze landed on the kitchen trash can, he strode across the room and stepped on the foot lever. That it was empty didn’t surprise him in the least.

At work, when they wanted to find someone who didn’t want to be found, they followed the money—ATM withdrawals, money transfers, debit and credit card charges. As a college student living off financial aid and work-study programs, Emily used her campus account rather than plastic, and Ethan had taken care of the rest.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered.

Before leaving, one last sweep caught a framed photo on the ladder bookcase in the living room. He crouched to retrieve it from the bottom shelf. In the picture, he and Ethan, with Emily wedged in between them, grinned at their graduation from “the U.”

“Dammit, Ethan,” he told his friend’s smiling face.

That smile hadn’t come as easily in the past two years. When his parents’ deaths had been ruled accidental due to “faulty brakes past due for maintenance,” Ethan hadn’t bought it. Eric Peterson wasn’t a man to be lax with the vehicles his wife and daughter drove. But there was no evidence of tampering or other clues to indicate otherwise, and the case had been closed no matter how hard his friend had pushed the powers that be to keep digging.

Determined to uncover the truth, Ethan continued to investigate on his own and took the heat when the higher-ups found out he was nosing around where he shouldn’t be. It wasn’t until he was threatened with a suspension that he stood down, or so they thought.

If he’d known Ethan was still digging, he would’ve been there. Then, maybe, the outcome would have been different. But Ethan hadn’t been forthcoming with his thoughts or his plans, just like his sister.

He stared at Emily in the photo. Head thrown back, beaming, her beautiful brown eyes fixed on him. So young, so trusting. The promise Ethan had asked of him a few months ago, to be there for her if he couldn’t, should have been a clue that his brother in all except blood was in over his head. He’d given his word, of course. With her taking off for parts unknown, after making it clear she didn’t want to be found, the promise he’d made to Ethan sat heavy on his shoulders. He didn’t know yet how to reconcile the two—but he would.

When he left the house, he still thought of as home, he tucked the photo into his pocket—not for nostalgia but as proof. Proof that she’d once looked at him like he was her whole world. That she’d left it behind stung. It was as though she’d slammed the door not only on him but on their past. Except she was fooling herself if she thought she’d run out on him so easily.

Losing another close family member, especially in a brutal, violent way, would make anyone irrational. But he needed to make two things clear to her. First, even if the others were gone, they were still bound—by blood spilled, by promises made. And second, she needed to understand he wasn’t her big brother anymore.

They belonged together. In his mind, she already was his—and when he found her, after holding her tight and shaking some sense into her, he intended to claim her properly.

Chapter 3

Eight years later…

Emily wove between crowded banquet tables, collecting dessert plates, offering coffee refills, and topping off champagne flutes before guests even realized they were dipping low. The ballroom was packed to the rafters, the air thick with perfume, cologne, and the lingering scent of catered seafood.

Tonight’s awards banquet was already shaping up to be a marathon—endless introductions, donor acknowledgments, and heartfelt speeches from people who loved the sound of their own voices. And they still hadn’t reached the man of the hour. Rather, the Humanitarian of the Year. Soon he’d take the stage, accept his oversized crystal plaque, and deliver the predictable “giving back to the community” speech she’d heard at least a hundred times.

She could practically recite it from memory.

When the lights dimmed and the giant screens flickered with the opening frames of the honoree’s video montage, every head in the ballroom turned toward the stage. Perfect cue.

Emily caught her serving partner’s eye across table nine, tapped her wrist in the universal signal for taking five, and waited for the answering nod before slipping into the service hallway.

The shift to the back-of-house—chaos vanishing into sudden quiet—was almost dizzying but welcome.

She pushed through the metal door and stepped onto the loading dock. It was a lousy place for a break. The only seating was an upside-down milk crate against an unyielding brick wall, and the dumpster reeked of rotting food. But after hours on her feet, any chance to sit, no matter how grim the surroundings, was a blessing.

Miami still steamed long after dark and thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance—threatening rain, though whether it came down or not hardly mattered. Her sweat-dampened shirt already clung like a second skin; a downpour might actually be refreshing.

She closed her eyes and tried to block out the city noise—the distant wail of a car alarm, a plane roaring overhead, honking that never quite became white noise. Her day had started at four a.m. at her first job—the breakfast shift at the Waffle House. Two midday classes had consumed the afternoon, followed by a frantic dash across town to set up the banquet. Exhaustion wasn’t just in her bones; it was a living, breathing thing inside her.

She couldn’t keep up this pace forever. Even with the increase in tipped wages, it did not equal a future. She only hung on to her morning job for the benefits—health, dental, paid sick time—because she was one root canal or appendectomy away from losing her parents’ house and whatever else was left.

If she hadn’t walked away from everything eight years ago—home, school, and especially Alec—maybe things would be different. Maybe she wouldn’t be sitting on a milk crate behind a fancy ballroom, too tired to remember the last time life hadn’t been survival.

“Peterson!”

Her boss’s voice sliced through the heavy air. Emily straightened and forced a polite smile as the catering owner filled the service door: sculpted hair, precise makeup, oozing with stern authority. Regina Richmond ruled her kitchen and staff the way a general ruled a battlefield—constantly strategizing, eyes trained for trouble, a sharp order on the tip of her tongue.

What a crappy turn Emily’s life had taken. At twenty-seven, she should have been an experienced chef calling the shots in her own kitchen by now, not at someone else’s beck and call.

“Have you quit?” Regina snapped.

“I’m on break with two minutes to go,” she dared to respond.

Smarting off to the two-star Michelin chef who had graced the cover of every culinary publication in print over the past two decades and made Gordon Ramsey seem like a choirboy, was risky. She gobbled up sous chefs and spat them out for insolence and was far less forgiving of her wait staff. But she knew the labor laws; they’d covered them in class. If an employee worked six hours, they earned a meal break. All she’d wanted was a few minutes of peace and to pee.

“Breaks are honored when we’re fully staffed,” Regina hissed. “When we’re not, I pay you to work through them. Get your ass in there and push the champagne. The markup on it is 200 percent, and I won’t be happy if we have to drag any of it back up I-95 at the end of the night.”

Since arguing was pointless, and no doubt her two minutes were up, she got to her feet. When she faced the fifty-year-old gourmet chef turned caterer, Emily met her gaze eye to eye, which wasn’t saying much at only a few inches over five feet herself. Funny how her daunting presence made her seem six feet tall instead.

“You’re not usually a problem, Peterson. What’s going on with you—boyfriend trouble?”

“No, ma’am. I’m single.”

The older woman’s mouth twisted. “We can’t have attitude. Nip whatever it is in the bud.”

“I’m on my fourth double shift in a row, but that’s my problem, ma’am. I’ll work on the attitude.”

“I don’t like my staff spreading themselves so thin. I need you sharp and attentive to my clients.”

Regina’s rate was above industry standard. Special functions sometimes came with a bonus; tonight was one of them. Beyond that, a paycheck was all she got. And her hours weren’t consistent. Whether she worked was up to the whims of the Miami social calendar. The weeks between New Year’s and Valentine’s Day were dead. Spring and summer were ridiculously busy, with weddings and graduations coming out of their ears. In fact, she had something scheduled every night for the next three weeks straight.

Because she needed this job, she plastered on her best fake customer service smile. “I’m sharp, ma’am. I promise.”

When she tried to move past her, Regina put out an arm and stopped her.

“Are you a prude, Peterson?”

Shocked by the question, she thought perhaps she’d heard her wrong. “Excuse me?”

“Do you have a stick up your ass about sex?”

“I, um…” This was another violation; she was sure of it, just not one they’d ever covered in class. “Is there a reason you’re asking?”

“I have an exclusive event next Saturday. There will be things going on you won’t see at Sunday school, but the pay is excellent. I have an open spot for a server, but not if your virginal sensibilities are going to be offended if you see a naked breast or a man’s bare ass. If so, I’ll find someone else.”

What on earth kind of function was she talking about?

Without giving it another thought, because she really needed the money, she blurted out, “I’m neither a virgin nor a prude. I’ll do it.”

Regina studied her a beat then surprised Emily with the barest lift at one corner of her mouth. In the entire time she’d been working for her, she couldn’t remember her smiling, let alone laughing even once.

“Be at the kitchen to load at two on Saturday. Do a good job, and it could become a regular thing.” All hints of a smile vanished. “You’ll have to keep your mouth shut about what you see. The attendees are all sticklers about their privacy. One slip and you’re blacklisted.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“Hm,” she grunted and then turned to go inside.

Emily saw her chance slipping away, and blurted out, “There is one other thing.”

Regina stopped and glanced over her shoulder, one black brow arched.

That subtle action was completely intimidating, and Emily almost lost her nerve.

“Spit it out, Peterson. We both need to get back.”

“If you ever need a sous or prep chef in your kitchen, could you consider me?”

“You’re trained?” she asked, now with both brows arched. “Why didn’t you say so before now?”

“Actually, after a hiatus of several years, I just returned to culinary school. I have another semester, but I’d be honored to learn from a Michelin chef.”

Regina grunted, her lips curving downward. “Why the hiatus?”

“There was a tragedy in my family. I lost everyone within two years.” She shrugged rather than cry. “At nineteen, it messed with my head.”

“So you’re juggling two jobs and school. No wonder you look like a strong breeze would knock you over.” Regina studied her a moment. “I admire your tenacity, Peterson. I’ve been where you are, and it’s not easy. But I kept my nose to the grindstone with one goal in mind, and it eventually paid off.”

Words of wisdom and admiration from Regina? Had she fallen asleep during her break and dreamt it?

“I don’t hire just anyone to work in my kitchen,” she warned. “You’d have to start out as a prep cook, meet my stringent standards then, maybe.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

“This is June, our busiest month. Perhaps when the wedding season is over, I can find the time.”

“Thank you, ma’am. You won’t be disappointed. And thank you for trusting me with your event Saturday night. I promise I won’t let you down.”

“How about doing what I’m paying you for tonight before making more promises?” She aimed her thumb over her shoulder. “The champagne won’t serve itself.”

“No, ma’am.” Emily rushed past her, uttering, “I’ll get on that right now.”

Emily wouldn’t call a bonus shift and an indefinite chance in Regina’s kitchen a light at the end of the tunnel, more like a glimmer of hope. But her feet didn’t ache so much when she hustled into the ballroom with a tray of flutes.

The lights were up, the montage over, and the string of speakers singing the honoree’s praises was underway. She suppressed a sigh because the night wasn’t nearly over. Amid forced laughter at corny jokes and intermittent applause as one speaker ended and another was announced, crystal clinked as she and her fellow servers kept the bubbly flowing. Emily was heading to the kitchen for another tray when hushed voices and rustling from a shadowed alcove snagged her attention.

Curiosity pulled her toward the arched niche. A couple was entangled. Despite the dimness, she saw red nails, broad masculine shoulders, and a stockinged leg wrapped around a hip. The man’s hand up her dress revealed garters attached to stockings the same shade as her nail polish. While he wasn’t detached from the scene, from the way she was grinding against him, she was by far the aggressor.

The sight, private and hot, ignited something inside her. Surprised, flushed, and embarrassed—despite insisting only minutes before that she wasn’t a virgin—Emily turned to go.

“Oh, Gunnar.”

Startled by the unusual name, she nearly giggled. She smothered it and was slinking away when—bang! She walked into the wall and dropped her tray.

She turned just as the man straightened. Her breath caught. Her knees wobbled. Alec. He looked older, his features sharper, faint creases at the corners of his eyes—but that jaw, that mouth, hadn’t changed at all.

Their eyes met, just for a second. She registered his surprise and something else her tired mind couldn’t process. That she’d caught him in an intimate moment made it more awkward. Before the woman noticed her, she scooped up her tray and quickly escaped, melting into the crowd.

In the kitchen, she slumped against the wall and let the tray slide from her fingers onto the service pass with a soft clink. Her pulse thrummed—not from exertion but from recognition, regret, and eight years of longing.

Not a day passed without missing him, wondering, and aching for the life she’d left behind. Shame at the promise left unkept and the years of silence that followed. Anger, not so much over the beautiful woman in his arms, although that stung, but that he wasn’t languishing alone without her, like she was without him.

The redhead seemed familiar, so there was a touch of curiosity thrown into the mix. More than anything, there was envy. She wanted to trade places with her—after clawing the bitch’s eyes out for grinding against him and kicking Alec for letting her.

“Stop,” she whispered. “You were an idiot for letting him go. You don’t get to want him back.”

But the harsh truth didn’t ease the ache. She’d made her bed. Now she had to lie in it—alone.

After a deep breath, she smoothed her hair. Her hands trembled as she adjusted her apron. With a forced smile she wore as routinely as rolling silverware, she returned to work because she had no other choice.

***

The clatter of metal on wood yanked Alec’s attention to the doorway. Surprise, the sudden acceleration of his heart—shock and long-simmering anger—had Alec rooted to the floor. For a beat, as their eyes met, everything around him faded except for Emily. A woman now, she was more beautiful than in his memories.

Her eyes still broadcast every emotion she felt. They flared, her lips parted, and she looked as stunned as he felt. Then, she spun, her ponytail flaring out around her, and faded into the crowd. She was gone before he could breathe her name or react in any rational way. And just like that, the ache he’d buried for eight years cracked wide open.

Indecision consumed him in a single, brutal instant. Stay or go? Let the girl who’d been haunting his dreams slip through his grasp, or chase after her and blow the case he and Dev’s team had been working on for months?

“You seem distracted, amore mio.” Isabella Benedetti’s voice cut into his thoughts, syrup-sweet and sharp as a blade. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, a physical reminder of the role he played.

“Are you listening, Gunnar? Or am I boring you?”

Annoyance flared—hot and immediate—but he shoved it down. Duty snapped into place: keep the cover, earn the access, don’t give her the opening to see the man under the mask. He flattened his tone and let the smooth lie seep out of him.

“Of course not, darling. A server startled me, dropping a tray.”

Pacified by his excuse, Isabella pressed closer, while he tucked the image of Emily into the compartment of things he couldn’t afford to think about until the job was done.

Twelve weeks of playing art dealer Gunnar Lange had worn on him. Isabella trailed kisses along his jaw, her crimson nails digging into his skin as she practically dry-humped him while the party for her husband carried on a few yards away. She was pretty enough, but it was an illusion—permanent liner, fillers, a forehead that never moved. To him, she was his mark: useful, possibly involved, and hopelessly shallow.

His prick didn’t so much as twitch as she rubbed against him. It took the sheer force of his will not to shove her hands aside. He could have had her a dozen times over during this investigation, but he preferred being in charge, and Isabella didn’t have a submissive bone in her body. She got off on taking risks and the excitement of fucking around on her neglectful, cheating husband. He could tell by the filthy things she whispered in his ear that she liked it rough, but she had no regard for the man she was with, or his pleasure. It was me, me, me—the only sound he heard when she spoke.

Alec refused to take what she offered. His license and professionalism restrained him foremost. His resentment and disgust of the self-absorbed rich bitch had only grown as the investigation dragged on. It wasn’t only her. For a long time, the women in his life hadn’t been what he wanted. They weren’t who he dreamed about. None had long glossy dark hair or soulful brown eyes. None tilted their head and flashed that tiny dimple that made his chest tight.

All women paled next to Emily. A few times, he thought he’d found someone who might erase her from his head, but something small—a laugh, a way of holding a glass, a hair flip—would start the comparisons all over. He’d learned the hard way that he sabotaged promising relationships by measuring them against a ghost from his past.

He’d set rules: one-night limits, clear lines. It made him a selfish prick to some, but no one could say they didn’t know what they were getting with him. The club suited him: negotiate a scene, close the door, move on.

With Isabella, things were different. He had to get close and earn her trust to do his job. She never meant to leave her filthy-rich husband, using Gunnar as much as he was using her. That reciprocity mitigated whatever guilt he allowed himself.

Putting her off was getting more difficult, though. He needed to wrap this up tonight. Many were counting on a break in the case—innocent young women who disappeared without a trace and loved ones frantic for answers.

Alec took Isabella by the arms and eased her away, kissing her to soften the separation. “While the speeches drone on, it’s the perfect time for us to slip away and go where we won’t be disturbed.”

“Si, uomo sexy. Let’s,” she breathed, a seductive smile curving her lips. “My self-centered husband will greedily lap up the praise for hours. We’ll have the house to ourselves.”

Then he forced himself to do the unthinkable; he walked away with the wife of a suspected human trafficker—her involvement still unclear—leaving behind the only woman who’d ever mattered.

They moved through the corridors of the banquet hall. His long stride made her hurry to keep pace, slightly winded from the effort. It kept her from talking, and that suited him fine. He needed one thing from her tonight: access to Benedetti’s study. Tonight’s event was his only clear chance in months. It would have been simpler to break into the house and the safe. Also, unfortunately, illegal.

“Wait,” she said when reaching the rear door. “I need to talk to Marco and give him an excuse for leaving. There will be people watching. We’ll have to go separately.” The ease of it as she said it—too familiar—told him she’d done this before.

He nodded and then glanced around. With the hallway empty, he continued the ruse and pressed his mouth to hers—swift, hungry, gone in a heartbeat.

“I had to have another taste of you. Hurry, Bella,” he breathed as if waiting bordered on torture. “I’ll be at the gate counting the minutes until we’re together.”

“No. I have nosy neighbors. Let yourself in.” She leaned in, breath warm at his ear, and spoke the code so softly he almost missed it. “One-nine-nine-three then the twelve—” she murmured, adding the last digit as an afterthought.

It slid into his mind with the precision of a key turning in a lock.

She gave him one last sultry-eyed look—hungry, possessive, appraising him as though he were a prime cut of grade A beef—before hurrying off with a click of her heels and an exaggerated sway of her hips.

He waited until she disappeared around a corner then strode down the service hall to the rear exit. Once outside, he tapped his earpiece, switching on the mic. “I’m heading out, Leland,” he murmured on his way to the disgustingly expensive sports car that was part of his cover.

“We’re ready,” Leland answered, low. “We’ll loop the feeds for a narrow window and keep eyes where you need them.”

“What about a timestamp for the keypad on the gate?”

“Callan has that covered. You won’t be exposed.”

“ETA ten minutes,” he said as he slid behind the wheel of Gunnar the art dealer’s Maserati—actually on loan from Rhys Langston, one of his fellow PIs—and in seconds steered the rental out of the parking lot.

A light rain had started to fall when he arrived at the main gate—on foot. If all went as planned, he’d get the evidence he was after and exit through the rear gate where he’d parked his car before Isabella got home.

Alec stopped long enough to pull thin gloves from his jacket and slide them on. Clean hands, clean work. The code worked on the first try, and the gate opened with a whisper.

He slipped through the yard, feeling the pressure of time ticking by. The service door opened with the same code—predictable, lazy security—and he entered the silent house, Isabella having assured him the staff was off for the night with the family away.

He moved quickly through corridors he’d memorized from a floor plan. The study door stood open. He closed it behind him and got to work. Rifling through the obvious first—desk drawers, trays, ledger stacks—and found the folder Dev had flagged. Shell-company invoices, art purchases routed through accounts they’d traced. He used his phone to snap photos and moved on.

“Motion on the east drive,” Leland warned in his ear. “Mrs. Benedetti’s car is coming up the lane.”

Time narrowed. He crouched and lifted the false flooring shielding the bank-style safe recessed into the floor. Benedetti was loaded, and he’d invested a good chunk of change into his home safes. Despite the electronic lock, pry-resistant hinges, and the manufacturer’s claims it was impenetrable, old Marco didn’t know that a rare-earth magnet, ordered from Amazon for sixty bucks, could crack it in a matter of seconds.

“I’m in,” he uttered as the lock disengaged.

A quick search of the contents revealed stacks of cash, securities, and jewelry. If he was a thief, he’d hit the jackpot, but none of that was what he’d been after. At the bottom, he found a manilla envelope. Inside was a stack of photoprints showing crates stamped with serial numbers and a courier address; someone had been fencing goods, not running people.

“Damn waste of time,” he muttered in frustration.

“Problems?” Leland asked.

“Yes. Another dead end.”

“You’re sure? We were so sure it was Marco.”

“I’m sure we’re no closer than we were three fucking months ago,” Alec said, barely containing his rage. For this, he’d walked away from Emily tonight. He could combust later; right now, he needed to move. Carefully, he replaced everything in the same order, closing the safe and replacing the false floor.

“Get out of there. She’s at the gate,” Leland advised.

Alec was already on the move, erasing any sign he’d been in the study and leaving the door exactly as he’d found it.

His phone buzzed in his hand—Isabella’s name lit the screen. Where are you?

He typed without slowing. Emergency. Rain check?

Isabella: It’s ten o’clock! What kind of an emergency does an art dealer have at this time of night?

He could hear the shrillness of her tone through the text. Something it did whenever she didn’t get what she wanted.

Gunnar: My gallery is on fire.

Clearly not expecting that, she gave a genuinely shocked surprise.

Isabella: Dios mio!

Gunnar: This comes as no surprise. I have the devil’s own luck. I’ll call when I have things settled.

Evasive, not promising anything.

Not waiting for her response, he slipped through the conservatory exit Leland had marked and ran in a crouch, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the floodlights. Gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he exited the narrow service gate. It clicked shut a heartbeat before headlights swept across the drive. He didn’t look back.

He drove away, only then allowing the ache of seeing Emily to resurface. He wasn’t heading to the office anymore. He needed to see her—needed to know if she’d vanished again, or if, this time, she’d let him catch up.

Alec steered toward the Miami Convention Center. The parking lot was nearly empty when he arrived, the catering vans long gone. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

“Fucking hell!”

Even his favorite curse didn’t vent the frustration coiling inside him. He’d promised Ethan he’d keep her safe. Eight years later, she was still out there, on her own, and the weight of that promise pressed hard against his ribs.

Alec pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as a migraine built behind them. They’d plagued him for months, ever since he got pistol whipped and lost his protectee.

That it was Cari, Dev’s fiancée, made it worse

The Denali crime boss had sent his best after her. Her own uncle had ordered her tied to a chair and tased repeatedly by an interrogation specialist to make her talk. She’d hadn’t broken. If she had, and the mob brutes got the information they were seeking, she’d have been dead.

The warehouse they pulled her from was a horror show—cages, blood, DNA traces from at least a dozen missing college girls. They’d stumbled onto a trafficking ring. For Dev, it was personal. For Alec, it was guilt. Cari had been his responsibility.

He woke up at County Hospital with a splitting headache and twelve stitches. But nothing hurt more than knowing she’d suffered on his watch.

In his career, ten years with the Miami PD and three as a PI with Denali & Associates, he’d handled dozens of protection cases without incident. But that week, he’d been chasing a new lead on Emily. She’d cut him out of her life. He told himself it was none of his business, but sometimes, a memory or a familiar name was enough to drag the questions back to the surface. Where she was. How she was getting by. And the haunting promise he’d made to Ethan.

He’d expected Dev to fire him. Instead, Dev gave him a second chance—with a warning: screw up again, and he was out. Clients paid for protection, not incompetence.

The dashboard clock read after midnight. Dev would be waiting. Alec pulled onto I-95N and hit the hands-free button.

“Call Devil.”

He picked up on the second ring. “What did you find?”

Dev never wasted time with chitchat, a trait among many he admired in the man.

“Nothing. The house was clean.”

“You found the safe?”

“Yeah, with nothing to link Marco to the missing girls,” he replied. “He’s dirty, but not in the way we thought.”

“Shit.” Dev’s tersely uttered expletive mirrored his own frustration. “I thought for sure…”

“So did I.”

“And the wife?”

“A vacuous narcissist who couldn’t mastermind a bake sale, let alone a trafficking ring.”

There was a beat of silence before Dev replied, “It sounds as though you’ve had enough of her.”

“Twelve weeks of her yammering about fake nails and whether she should get the Moroccan Mauve or Paris Lights. As if I give a fuck. I’m also done mooning over her Botoxed face and pretending to drool over her surgically augmented tits. This is a dead end, Dev. I say we move on.”

Another pause. “If you’re sure it’s not just frustration talking.”

“It’s not. No evidence. No gut twinge. Marco Benedetti isn’t our guy.”

“You know how much stock I put in gut instinct,” Dev replied, this time without hesitancy. “Call it. Then go home and get some sleep.”

“I’ll try, but I hear her nasally twang when I close my eyes.” Alec couldn’t help but gripe. “First thing in the morning, I’m calling my doctor. I swear my ears are bleeding. I’ve never heard anyone talk so much without breathing.”

Dev’s low chuckle rumbled through the phone. “After your appointment, swing by the office. Ten a.m. We need to take a look at what we have—or rather, what we don’t—and regroup.”

“I’ll be there.”

Dev hesitated. Then, quieter: “You didn’t go straight home. Want to tell me why you looped back to the convention center?”

Alec’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Emily was there.”

“That explains it. You’re as fixated on that girl as I was on Cari.”

“I didn’t screw up. I got what I needed and got out clean.”

“I know. But I also know what it is to let the one slip through your fingers. It messes with your head. You need to get resolution. How can I help?”

Alec exhaled. “She was working one of the events. There were a dozen caterers there tonight. I don’t even know where to start.”

“I’ll put Greta on it first thing tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Alec said, the tension in his chest easing just a little. “I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me a thing except a debriefing at 10 a.m. Get some rest.”

Chapter 4

At the tail end of a Saturday-night wedding reception—one week later—Emily moved through another ballroom. They all ran together: same soft lighting, same wilting centerpieces, same aching feet, and a budding headache pulsing at the base of her skull. With the five-tiered cake cut and served, only punch refills and cleanup remained.

Her gaze swept the gathering, confirming everything was under control, then she slipped into the service hallway. Not to the loading dock for a break—she’d learned that lesson—but necessity was called that for a reason, and she’d been putting it off for the last hour.

The staff restroom was blissfully empty.

After taking care of business, she crossed to the sink and froze at her reflection. For someone who lived in the Sunshine State, she looked ghostly—washed out, nearly translucent. The dark shadows beneath her eyes had become more pronounced over the past week, smudging her face like bruises.

Lack of sleep was the obvious culprit. And she blamed Alec.

Seeing him again had dragged that old nightmare into the regular rotation. The one that haunted her for years. The one she thought she’d outrun.

It always began the same way…

A police captain escorted her into a cold, windowless room. The air reeked of antiseptic and something else, something worse. A man in white scrubs and a surgical mask approached a wall of small stainless-steel doors. He opened one and slid out a tray, the unmistakable shape of a body beneath a sheet.

Emily shrank against the captain’s arm. “No. Please. Don’t make me look.”

“You must,” he insisted, nodding to the other man.

Her pulse pounded, her stomach twisting into knots as gloved hands peeled back the sheet.

Sometimes, it was her father lying there, young and vibrant, as she remembered him from her childhood. Other times, it was her mother, peaches-and-cream complexion and perfect as if she were merely napping. Lately, Ethan had joined the mix, familiar dark stubble and the same half smile he’d worn the last time she saw him. Seeing them whole, as they had been in life, offered a strange, ugly comfort then the dream turned darker.

Low, velvety laughter drifted through the room—Alec’s, impossible to mistake. She searched the shadows.

“Where is he?” she demanded, but the captain didn’t answer. The tray disappeared. The man in scrubs stood alone. Above his mask were black, soulless eyes. He ripped the mask off. The face behind it twisted, the laugh now chilling—nothing like Alec’s.

She lunged for the door, but it was locked.

“Who are you?” she cried.

“I think you know,” the voice replied, impossibly close. “I’ve come for my next victim.”

She turned to face him, but the man in white was gone. A figure in a voluminous black robe stood where he’d been, a gnarled hand clutching a sickle. “You’ve taken everything I cherish. I’m not afraid of you!” she shouted.

The sharp reply cut like a blade. “Foolish girl. You aren’t who I want.” The tray reappeared. The sheet dissolved, revealing Alec’s still face. “Your beloved knight is next on my list.”

“No!” Emily screamed, but nothing could drown out the deathly image or his horrific laughter.

She always woke with a jolt—sheets damp, throat raw, heart racing.

Even now, the memory of the nightmare felt physical.

She gripped the porcelain edge of the sink, forcing herself to breathe. The harsh buzz of the fluorescent light and the faint hum of water through the plumbing dampened the echo of that laughter.

“It’s just a bad dream,” she told her reflection.

Would anything, even repeated affirmations, ever dispel the haunting images?

She splashed cold water on her face and pinched her cheeks until a hint of color returned. The best concealer wouldn’t erase the shadows of exhaustion—today, she hadn’t even bothered.

“You really need to see someone,” she whispered.

She’d tried it once, years ago, but therapy took time and money she didn’t have.

Returning to the service hall, she slumped against the cool wall and closed her eyes, savoring a moment of silence. Maybe stopping by the house earlier in the week—chasing a late rent check—had dredged up the nightmare. Would she ever be able to enter the house she grew up in without being emotionally assaulted?

She should let it go. The rent barely covered the mortgage, the tax bill loomed, tuition was due, but she couldn’t bring herself to walk away. She didn’t have the heart to. Which was why she’d agreed to work her one night off for the week.

With a weary sigh, she straightened. Regina would fire her for slacking, and she couldn’t afford to lose this side work. She drew her practiced smile into place and returned to the grind.

The room smelled of citrus punch and the faint brine of shrimp cocktail. Champagne glasses chimed, laughter rose in waves, and the band, a pop trio, blared through the patio doors. The bass thudded in her chest, but it was the lyrics with sweet, saccharine promises that scraped her raw.

Weddings paid the bills, but tonight, the spectacle of marital bliss grated. Everything—from syrupy vows to the bouquet toss—felt staged.

But she wasn’t fooling herself. The real reason she disliked weddings was harder to face. She knew, with cold certainty, this milestone would never be hers. No father walking her down the aisle. No mother fussing over her dress and hair. No Ethan at her side. And no Alec, the man she’d always envisioned as her groom.

Her smile thinned. She’d chosen safety over connection, and now the cost was plain. Psychologists had a term for it—avoidance. No attachments meant no pain.

Emily called it survival.

While clearing the dessert plates, she ignored the twinge in her lower back from lifting yet another heavy tray full of dirty dishes and made her way to the kitchen. It took her only moments to unload before returning to the ballroom for more.

“What’s keeping the happy couple? My dogs are barking!” Julia Dykstra leaned against a pillar, breathless and frizzed by the humidity—every inch a poodle caught in a thunderstorm. She was a warm, willowy blonde with a wry sense of humor, and the closest thing Emily had to a friend.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“Regina put me on ice sculpture duty for being late today. A fitting punishment since humidity and my hair do not mix.” Julia pulled the hair tie from her ponytail, finger combed it, then tried to wrangle her mass of hair into a bun but failed.

“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but knowing that, why move to Florida of all places?”

“If you’d ever lived through a Minnesota winter, you wouldn’t question my motives,” she said, snagging and tucking in a stray curl.

“How did you lift it? Doesn’t it weigh a ton?”

“I didn’t have to unload it, but everything else, from unwrapping, draining, and unclogging hoses, was all on me. Who spends money on ice sculptures in the subtropics?” she scoffed. “They turn to slush in this heat. Which happened by eight. Regina moved me to trash detail then—another cruel and inhuman punishment. It’s still ninety freaking degrees outside, and the sun went down hours ago.”

“I was wondering about the aroma,” Emily said, waving a hand in front of her nose. “Stand downwind at least, will you?”

Julia made a face. “I’m going to sleep standing up. Wake me when it’s time to go.”

When she stilled and her breathing deepened, Emily couldn’t believe she was actually asleep on her feet. She glanced around for their grumpy boss. She wasn’t anywhere in sight, but Regina had a knack for appearing out of nowhere when least expected.

“You’re already in trouble, Jules. Don’t make it worse. She’s fired people for a lot less.”

Her friend groaned. “Just five more minutes, Mom?”

Emily laughed, the sound soft but genuine. Julia’s humor loosened something tight in her chest. For a breath, she felt almost normal. “You’ve got to stay awake,” she insisted. “If for no other reason than you’re my ride home.”

It took them two months of working together to realize they lived in the same building—Julia on four, Emily on three.

She grunted, pushing to her feet. “You’re probably right. With my rent, car insurance, and car loan all coming due next week, I can’t afford to screw this up and miss out on Saturday night.”

“Regina mentioned a special function. It’s all very hush-hush. Are you working too?”

Suddenly alert, Julia’s eyes widened with surprise. “She told you about that?”

“Yah. Why are you so shocked? I’ve been working for her without a major screwup for over a year. From the way she talks, that’s gotta be a record.”

“It’s a really exclusive gig. We have to sign nondisclosures. But it pays a whack.”

“How much of a whack?” Emily asked. Regina never said.

“Five hundred bucks.”

“For one night!” Emily exclaimed, drawing a few glances.

“Yeah,” Julia replied as she pulled her behind the pillar, shielding them from curious eyes. “It’s a regular thing. Regina caters it once or twice a week.”

A regular thing? NDAs? Five hundred bucks? Her instincts prickled. Something about it felt off—but she needed the money too badly to care.

“Why wasn’t I asked before now?” Emily’s voice sharpened. “I’ve been with Regina longer than you.”

Her friend shrugged in answer.

“Do you know how long it takes me to earn a grand, serving waffles?” She looked around. “Where’s Regina? I’m going to ask her about it.”

“You can’t. She’ll know I blabbed.”

“I won’t say who told me.”

“You won’t have to,” Julia insisted.

Seeing the alarm on her face, Emily relented. “Oh, all right. But I could have used the extra money. I’m still a few hundred short on my tuition, which is due in a few days. And it would be a shame to see my family home taken by the city for taxes.”

“It’s that bad?”

“When your renters don’t pay rent, yes.”

“Now, I’m pissed.” Julia straightened, her flagging energy sparking to life. “You should evict them.”

“I thought of that, but lawyers cost money I don’t have.”

Julia stared at her, concern and uncertainty warring in her eyes. “If you’re going to do this, stick close to me on Saturday. I’ll make sure you don’t screw up so you’ll get asked back.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me—or Regina—until you see the place. It’s no country club.”

Still in the dark, Emily asked, “What is it, exactly?”

“Didn’t she tell you?”

“She asked if boobs and butts offended me. That’s about it.”

“Better hang on to your britches, sister. What you’ll see will curl your hair.”

That would be a feat. Her straight-as-a-pin hair hadn’t held a curl in her life, no matter what she tried.

As Emily pieced together what both Regina and Julia had told her, she frowned. “You’re scaring me. What exactly did I sign up for?”

“Just a server gig—at the most exclusive BDSM club in Florida. Maybe the whole Southeast.”

“BDSM? You mean whips and chains and leather?”

“That was the seventies version. Kink has evolved. Think suspensions, cupping, and rides you’ve never imagined.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I do have one crucial question. Do I have to be naked?”

Julia hooted with laughter. “Nope. Just naked-adjacent.”

Emily smiled. A little awkwardness was worth five hundred bucks, potentially a grand per week, and bills paid. “As long as my bare ass isn’t flapping in the breeze, count me in.”

Chapter 5

The staff stood single file in the prep hall, troops awaiting inspection, collars buttoned, aprons crisp, shoes polished to a mirror shine. Regina paced in front with a general’s scrutiny, eyes scanning for the tiniest sin—an untucked cuff, a crooked knot, a slouch.

She took a stack of papers from her clipboard and handed it to the server on the end closest to her. “Take one and pass them down,” she said then waited as the stack moved down the line.

“This is your NDA. Read it. Sign it. Don’t ask questions.”

Her dark eyes swept the room, promising retribution to anyone who dared. Regina didn’t tolerate mistakes. Compared to her, Attila the Hun was a cuddly teddy bear. Emily fished a pen out of her waiter’s apron, ready to sign as soon as the stack reached her. She’d already said yes—she wouldn’t lose this shift, or the desperately needed payday, on principle. One wrong word in front of a person with power—she’d learned—could cost you everything.

Emily jumped when the door banged open. Beth Ann barreled in, breathless and ten minutes late. Tension rippled down the row—some faces tightened with annoyance; others softened with sympathy. Regina’s jaw clenched. She hated tardiness. Slackers didn’t last long in her employ.

Surprisingly, she continued with her pre-event lecture rather than calling Beth Ann out in front of everyone, which was what Emily expected. “If you plan to work for me again, keep your mouths shut about what you see and hear. After your shift is over and you’ve collected your more-than-generous compensation for six hours of work, you’ll forget you were ever there.”

“Ever where?” Beth Ann asked from the end of the line, in her typical airhead style.

Emily nearly groaned. At twenty, Beth Ann sometimes acted half her age. How she’d made it through two years of college when she never listened or followed directions was beyond her. The girl never stopped talking. If silence ever became a survival skill, she was doomed.

Beside her, Julia mouthed a silent countdown from three. Before she reached one, the sound of papers ripping echoed sharply as Regina snatched the packet from Beth Ann’s hands.

“Get out,” she snapped.

“What?” the girl asked, dumbfounded.

“You heard me. You’re fired.”

“But… I need this job,” Beth Ann said, tears brimming.

“What you need is to learn to shut your mouth,” Regina shot back. “My clients don’t want a Chatty Cathy serving them dinner. Waitstaff must be invisible—until they’re needed.”

“I’ll do better,” Beth Ann begged.

“Not here, you won’t.” Regina’s heels clicked on the tile floor as she strode across the room, yanked the door open, and held it wide.

“Please…”

“Out!” she barked again.

Once the sobbing girl fled, the door slammed behind her. The lock clicked—final and unforgiving.

Emily stared at the door, heart thudding as silence fell over the room. She should say something. Stand up to Regina the Bully, but she needed this job too. A bad decision had upended her life once—she wasn’t in the position to do that again.

Everyone held their breath. Even the air felt afraid to move as Regina scanned them with narrowed, unyielding eyes. “Anyone else incapable of keeping their mouth shut?” When no one so much as breathed, she stated, “I didn’t think so.”

Regina hadn’t gotten where she was—with four restaurants and a custom catering service lauded for exceptional food and impeccable service—by being a pushover. She demanded perfection from her staff, not attitude and definitely not lip. Still, did she have to be a bitch and humiliate poor Beth Ann?

Emily often thought her boss would look right at home in a black leather catsuit, cracking a whip—fitting, given tonight’s venue.

Regina’s phone buzzed. “What now?” she snapped, stepping aside to take the call.

Barely moving her lips, Emily whispered to Julia. “Should we go after her? Make sure she gets home?”

“Are you serious?” Julia hissed.

“She was upset and probably shouldn’t be driving,” Emily pressed.

“Beth Ann will be fine. She’ll text Daddy for a ride. If you want to stay employed, don’t so much as twitch. Regina’s in rare form tonight.”

“Something you want to share, Miss Dykstra?” Having ended her call, the owner faced them again, arms crossed, one designer pump tapping impatiently.

“No, ma’am,” Julia choked out in a fine impression of a frog. “Just asking for a pen to sign on the dotted line.”

“Mm-hmm,” Regina grunted, suspicious but not pressing further. “Leave your signed NDAs on the counter and help finish loading the vans. If you’re too delicate for heavy lifting or scared of breaking a nail, don’t bother.” Her gaze landed on Emily—who hadn’t had a manicure since high school—before she added, “And remember to check your prudish sensibilities at the door.”

Emily followed Julia’s advice and didn’t blink or inhale.

“Make it quick,” Regina barked. “The vans leave in five minutes. Anyone whose ass isn’t in a seat gets left behind. Test me and see how serious I am.”

With only a cursory glance at the contract, Emily scribbled her name at the bottom. Missing the van meant her tuition and rent went unpaid. She’d seen the harsh reality of furniture dumped on the curb and locks changed. She wasn’t about to let that happen.

The others must be in similar straits because she wasn’t the first marching outside with a crate of supplies. As she hefted hers into the rear of the van, she pictured the pile of bills and past due notices waiting at home.

No matter what kind of crazy shit went on at this ultra-exclusive event, she planned to be there, sporting a smile with her lips sealed as tight as Fort Knox. She could stomach the awkwardness for the right price.

She’d sunk low, all the way to rock bottom. But tonight would help her rise.

***

Upon arrival, Regina led them through the caterer’s kitchen—sleek appliances, gleaming cookware, and patio access so seamless, it made Emily’s inner chef ache with envy. It was a setup she’d only seen in glossy magazines, not in real life. Even the air here felt polished and expensive, a world she didn’t belong to but desperately wanted a piece of.

Regina rattled off expectations, pointed out the service zones, and made one thing crystal clear: everything else was strictly off-limits. Then, stopping short of saying, “chop-chop,” she released everyone to work.

Near the end of her shift, Emily went in search of a bathroom—strange that it hadn’t been on the tour. But the sounds drifting from the back hall—moans, sharp rhythmic thwaps, and music pulsing like a heartbeat—pulled her in more than any plumbing. Heat, leather, and a thin thread of sweetness seeped through the corridor, inviting her closer.

She intended only a quick peek through the first door but slipped inside, curiosity overwhelming restraint.

The space unfolded before her, lit by only a handful of spotlights. Behind velvet ropes, carnal, shocking, wildly explicit acts played out. Emily stood rooted to the spot, unable to blink—let alone move.

Her lips formed a soundless oh as her attention locked onto a woman splayed on a tall wooden cross along the back wall. Her flushed skin glistened, thick leather cuffs secured her wrists and ankles, and she wore nothing else. A tall, impossibly fit man in a molded-on black T-shirt and matching trousers teased her with the business end of a riding crop, each flick and slap echoing through the sprawling room as fifty onlookers watched in rapt silence. The contrast between her vulnerability on display and the absolute control in his movements made something coil low in Emily’s belly.

She’d never witnessed anything so raw, exposed, and unapologetically erotic. Her pulse fluttered, cheeks warmed, and she became aware of how tightly she gripped the edge of her tray. But it wasn’t embarrassment that rooted her to the spot.

Shock, yes. Curiosity, absolutely. But more than anything, her body hummed with arousal when the leather square connected with the underside of the woman’s breasts and flicked lightly across her taut nipples.

Her first thought was ouch. But she focused on the man. He moved with the precision of someone who understood his power and knew how to wield it without crossing the line. He didn’t raise and drop his arm; he snapped his wrist, each stroke controlled and deliberate. The woman’s answering moans held no pain, only pleasure. Imagining the soft kiss of leather on her own skin, Emily felt certain of it.

When he paused and leaned in, his lips traced from her shoulder up to her ear. Whatever he whispered made her smile and nod. His laughter—low, sexy, intimate—drifted to the crowd forming a half-circle around the large wooden X.

He stepped back, letting the crop trail down her body. Every so often, the leather would land with a thwap, drawing a collective breath from her and the audience.

Slender but shapely, and beautiful even with a blindfold obscuring half her face, the woman arched against the cross. Each soft cry and evocative moan ended with the slow sweep of her tongue along her scarlet lips.

When the crop traced her inner thighs, her body bowed away from the wood. The man in black released a low satisfied hum and adjusted his stance. His wrist angled before he delivered a series of short, crisp strokes directly to her pussy—precise, teasing, achingly deliberate. The woman didn’t shy away from the contact; she leaned into it, as much as her bound limbs would allow.

Emily didn’t flinch. A hurricane could have made landfall, and she wouldn’t have moved while the couple under the lights carried on. His control, the intimacy threaded through every touch, the way his rumbling approval met her breathless sighs, felt more like a language only the two of them spoke.

He resumed his tracing of her thighs. “You’re glistening, all the way down here. Does my princess want more?”

The submissive answered without a tremor. “No, dammit. You’ve got me so worked up with your teasing, you diabolical dom—what I want is your giant cock inside me.”

Her words cracked through the room, bold and brazen.

Emily jerked in surprise. The woman’s audacity—especially bound, exposed, and vulnerable—hit harder than the crop.

The audience erupted in delighted laughter, unsurprised by the outburst. The dom, equally entertained, flashed a slow, devastating smile—an expression his blindfolded submissive couldn’t see, though she’d deserved to.

“Careful, my love. Your Brooklyn is showing,” he warned, stroking the supple square over her glistening nether lips before smacking them firmly.

“You’re a devil to torment me so,” she gasped.

“Yes, but you knew that when you agreed to be mine.” He leaned in again, lips nearly touching hers. “Is any of this up to you to decide, little one?”

“No, sir. But after the warm-up blow job I gave you, I hoped you’d be open to suggestion.”

He smiled as laughter rippled through the crowd.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he asked, rhetorical, then covered her mouth in a kiss so searing, Emily half expected smoke to rise around them.

After several rapid thwacks, the last few delivered directly to her clit as he spread her open, he dropped the crop. Kneeling, he pressed his mouth to her splayed pussy, soothing with his lips and tongue any sting he’d wrought. It was deliberate worship, and that realization punched something loose inside Emily.

She drew in a shuddering breath. She’d never considered herself a voyeur—until now, witnessing intimacy that was raw, trusting, and impossible to fake.

“Hot, aren’t they?”

Startled, she turned to find a petite blonde with a short bob and side-swept bangs beside her.

“Oh, yeah,” she replied, too thick tongued with arousal to say more.

“It’s always like that with Master Dev and Cari. I’m Deanna, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Emily.”

Her gaze returned to the cross. The dom’s face was buried between his sub’s thighs. He’d released her ankle cuffs, and her legs were wound around his broad shoulders. From the sounds and her writhing, he was delivering a skilled and very thorough tongue-lashing.

“So that’s the Devil of Devil’s Pointe?”

“Yep. She’s his fiancée,” Deanna informed her. “The wedding is next month.”

No wonder they obliterated the hotness charts. They were in love. Their affection and passion woven so tightly, it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Her chest tightened. She’d never had anything close to that.

“I’ve watched the other couples. They don’t…” Emily paused, searching for the right word.

“Smolder?” Deanna offered.

“That’s it.”

“Sometimes there’s chemistry, and sometimes there isn’t,” she sighed. “Same as in the vanilla world.”

At the unmistakable sound of a woman nearing climax, Emily’s gaze snapped to the cross. Devil had risen to his feet.

“Please, sir, don’t leave me this way,” Cari pleaded.

“I’d never be so cruel,” he replied. “Unless you’re being punished. Other than that saucy tongue, you haven’t been naughty, have you, princess?”

“No, sir, I swear I haven’t. Ask the guys—check the daily reports. If I’m not with you, I’m never out of their sight.”

Judging by his movements, and the sudden laxness of his painted-on jeans, he unzipped his fly.

“Lately, the reports have praised what a good girl you’ve been. Which means you’ve earned a giant reward,” he told her suggestively.

“Yes, please,” she replied, as he moved between her thighs.

Despite the music and the crowd noise, Emily swore she heard him sink into her. Their shared moan—part sigh, part surrender—was unmistakable as his hips thrust forward.

“Your mouth is hanging open.”

Emily snapped it shut and looked to her left. Julia had come up on her other side, unnoticed.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked in a whisper.

“Fetching you.”

“For Regina?” Emily squeaked, searching the crowd for her boss.

“No. She was chewing ass in the kitchen, but she won’t stay there long, and you’re in a restricted area.” Julia turned, caught sight of the scene, and sucked in a breath. “I get the draw—holy smokes—but if the boss lady finds you here…”

“No one minds if she watches,” Deanna said. “In fact, for a lot of the club members, that’s half the fun.”

“One person minds,” Julia countered. “Mistress Regina. And sadly, we work for her.”

“She scares the crap out of me,” Deanna admitted with a shiver. “By all means, don’t get caught.”

“Mistress?” Emily echoed.

“Yes, and a very strict one,” the little blonde explained. “She’s one of thirty charter members.”

Her catsuit-and-whip impression made much more sense now.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Julia whispered. “Haven’t you ever pictured her with a slicked-back bun, glasses, and a paddle in hand—like a headmistress?”

Emily grimaced. “No, but thanks. Now I can’t unsee it.”

Deanna laughed, soft and lyrical, turning heads. She leaned closer. “Smart submissives steer clear of her—unless you’re into that.”

“I don’t know what I’m into,” Emily admitted. “But thanks for the warning.”

She glanced at the cross, licking her lips, watching the play of muscles in Devil’s broad back and the unmistakable fucking motion of his hips, a hint of taut ass visible where his waistband sagged. All she could see of his fiancée was her face over his shoulder, revealing pure, unadulterated pleasure. The intensity of it—of them—stirred an ache she hadn’t expected and didn’t understand.

“Didn’t I say it would curl your hair?” Julia asked.

“Yeah, but you left out a few important details. You failed to mention that every man here would be drop-dead gorgeous and ooze masculinity. And that there was a torture chamber. Or that it was straight out of the Spanish Inquisition, packed with kinky gear I couldn’t dream up if I lived to be one hundred.”

“I figured Mistress Regina would have told you what to expect,” Deanna commented.

Julia snorted. “She told her to check her prudish sensibilities at the door.”

“It’s not that at all,” Emily protested, just as Devil’s shout of pleasure rolled through the room. “I mean, seriously.” She gestured toward the smoldering scene. “A heads-up would’ve been nice.”

Deanna deadpanned, “This is one of those things you’ve got to see to believe.”

With the big finish over, the crowd moved on. When Dev released Cari’s wrists, her arms wound around him and she buried her face in his neck. The tenderness stirred Emily as much as the steamy scene.

But Devil wasn’t quite done. He gripped her hair, held her head still, and kissed her—slow, voracious, and nearly as hot as the scene itself. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her away from the brightly lit cross.

A wistful sigh escaped Emily. It wasn’t just the sex. It was the devotion—the way they seemed built for each other. God, she wanted that. Needed it. So why couldn’t she have it with someone who saw all of her?

Julia leaned forward and gave Deanna a look. They giggled, hands over their mouths, until a few frowning onlookers, mostly men, shushed them.

“What’s funny?” Emily asked, having missed the joke.

“Your reaction,” Deanna said. “Newbies usually go one of two ways. They freak out, realizing this isn’t for them, then run for the door, or they’re into it because they see it’s about more than whips and chains.”

“You’re obviously in the into-it group,” Julia observed. “Because your jaw hit the floor—again.”

Emily knew she looked as stunned as she felt—wide-eyed, naïve, completely out of her depth. She’d imagined kink as glossy and scripted, something reserved for fiction or whispered rumors. But this? This was raw, intimate, unfiltered, and far more intense than anything she’d ever dared imagine.

“We better go before we get caught gawking,” Julia urged, tugging her hand.

Emily glanced back to thank the sub who’d befriended her, but she was gone.

“It’s past midnight,” Julia said as they wove through the crowd. “Nothing is going to top what we just saw. The lounge outside is about to fill up.”

Emily cast one last look at the cross. The owner and his bride-to-be had blazing chemistry. She’d never come close to having what they shared. Her few experiences were dull as dust. No one had ever made her shout to the rafters. Feeling oddly hollow, she followed Julia through the throng. She stepped into the humid night air, Devil’s gentle laugh still in her ears and a yearning in her chest, one that money couldn’t fix. A yearning she’d felt once before—when she’d walked away from something she wanted too much.

Chapter 6

Alec eased through Devil’s Pointe’s security gates just past midnight. The jam of vehicles in the lot told him most of the membership was in attendance—or close to it. If not for the reserved spots in front of the guesthouse, his company-issued Durango would’ve been parked on the street. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Saturday was the club’s busiest night, and things rarely wound down before two.

When he opened his door, a strong whiff of asphalt hit him. A closer look revealed no lines painted on the new blacktop, which explained the parking chaos—cars and SUVs angled every which way. Getting everyone out at the end of the night without a scratch or a ding would take a miracle.

Before heading to the main house, he took the stairs to the security office above the garage. Russell Elander, one of the new guys—quiet, around forty, ex-military like a lot of the others—sat at the desk, his eyes shifting between ten live feeds covering the property.

“Anything happening tonight?” Alec asked, letting out a long, tired breath as he dropped into the second chair.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Russ replied, still scanning the monitors.

Alec grunted. “It’ll liven up when everyone tries to leave. Have you seen the parking lot? It’s a nightmare.”

“Dev isn’t happy,” Russ said, tapping the main gate feed, the lot visible beyond it. “The paving contractor was supposed to finish the striping before tonight.”

“Someone’s going to have to direct traffic, or nobody moves.”

“Lucky for me, I’m on duty in here until the last member’s out.”

Alec’s stomach rumbled loudly. “Have the vultures picked the buffet clean? I’m starved.”

“You took a long side trip for grub. Didn’t you sign off the McKenzie case an hour ago?”

“Yeah, but I was told there was shrimp, meatballs, and those spicy Southwest egg rolls. I couldn’t face a protein shake at home after that.”

“You might snag a crumb or two, but you’d better hurry.” Russ nodded at the monitor on the far end. “The caterers are packing up as we speak. Before you go, can you spare thirty seconds for me to take a leak?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before he was out of his chair and striding down the short hall to the facilities.

“Sure,” Alec drawled. “After eight hours of surveillance where the highlight was the subject letting his dog out to piss, I’m fresh as a daisy.”

Tailing cheating spouses ranked as Alec’s second-least favorite part of the job. His mandatory biweekly control-room shift at headquarters downtown was worse. Between around-the-clock surveillance cases—sometimes two and three at a time—and running security at Devil’s Pointe two nights a week, everyone had to do their time at the monitors. Some didn’t mind—Alec did. Staring at video feeds for hours was duller than watching paint dry. When he returned to work after his head injury, he’d gotten his fill of it for four weeks straight.

“Yet here I am—again,” he grumbled. Sliding his chair over, he began scanning. Boring or not, it was the job, and what the clients paid for.

At least at the club, a few feeds offered some action. Couples soaked in the hot tub and pool. Jesse had a sub strung up by her wrists from a tree out on the playground. The other play areas were mostly quiet. He quickly scanned the perimeter cameras and saw the two guards making rounds. Next, he homed in on the patio, where he’d much rather be, and the parking lot where the catering crew was loading their vans.

Amid the black-and-white uniformed staff, a slender figure with waist-length dark hair caught his eye. He sat forward, zooming in. With no moon and minimal lighting in the parking area—this was Dev’s private home, not a Publix, after all—he couldn’t make out her face.

His pulse kicked up. What were the odds Emily would show up at Devil’s Pointe, of all places? Eight years living with a promise to Ethan had trained him not to let hope get ahead of the evidence. Still, the possibility tightened his chest. If the universe was throwing him a bone, he wasn’t about to look the other way.

Russ took a helluva lot longer than thirty seconds. By the time the bathroom door reopened, Alec was already headed for the exit.

“You need to get that low flow checked, old man,” he called over his shoulder.

“Kiss my ass, Yarborough. I’ve got a few years on you, not a century,” Russ grumbled. “Nothing wrong with my plumbing that less coffee and fewer of these surveillance shifts won’t cure.”

Ah yes. Another less-than-enthusiastic fan of the command center in their ranks.

Alec was down the stairs and out into the lot in seconds—just in time to watch the last van clear the gate.

“Dammit,” he bit out as the taillights disappeared and the metal gates clanged shut. He lingered in the dark, telling himself it couldn’t be her. Finally, he headed toward the rear of the house.

On the sidewalk between the house and the maze, he ran into Lorenzo “Ren” Clement, their newest hire, recruited from the FBI out of Boston.

“Leaving so soon?” Alec asked. “The night is still young.”

“That may be, but the skip I just got a lead on doesn’t seem to care.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Tallahassee.”

Alec clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s better than the Everglades or Tim-buk-fucking-tu.”

“Truer words…”

Ren moved past him then stopped and turned back. “You should know. A sub named Ashlynn has been asking about you tonight. Seemed pretty intent on tracking you down.”

“Fucking hell,” Alec groaned, shoulders slumping with fatigue that had nothing to do with the long day of work.

He’d scened with her twice, weeks ago, promising nothing more than the flogging they’d negotiated. The first time had been satisfying, but the second was a mistake. Ever since, she’d expected more.

Ren gave him a quick chin lift. “Figured as much. Which is why I mentioned it.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Let me guess—she won’t take no for an answer?”

“She wants a dom of her own. That isn’t me. I made that clear on the front end.”

“Talk to Dev. I’m sure he can come up with someone. Maybe Rayland.”

“The attorney? He’s got a long-term sub.”

Ren shook his head and chuckled. “You need to get here more, my friend. I’m new but know the roster. Rayland’s sub moved out west months ago to be close to family. He wasn’t inclined to go with her, what with a law practice here.”

“Tough break.”

“Maybe Ashlynn would be better with an older dominant. From what I saw, she plays the brat when it suits her. If that fails, there are others.”

“Excellent suggestion. I’ll mention it to Dev.”

“Anytime. I’m just sorry I won’t be around for the taming. Good night.”

Alec watched until Ren disappeared into the darkness. Like Russ, he was a good hire. Dev had a good eye for people who fit at work and at the club.

He debated grabbing something from a drive-through on his way home or staying and possibly having to deal with the aforementioned brat. He chose the latter. If he couldn’t handle Ashlynn on his worst day, he didn’t deserve to call himself a dom.

Although, when he reached the patio and Ashlynn was nowhere in sight, he couldn’t deny being relieved.

The vultures had done a good job picking over the buffet, and the hot apps left with the caterers, but they’d put the leftovers on ice—sliced meats and cheeses, the requisite chicken salad croissants, and a few seafood roll-ups. He filled a plate and grabbed a beer from the bar then collapsed onto a patio couch to commune with his kinky comrades.

Members often lingered after the play areas closed, especially on Saturday nights. Most were friends who enjoyed each other’s company in and out of the club.

As he wolfed down his food and sucked down his beer, not realizing how thirsty he was until the first swig, he listened to the surrounding chatter. None of it was club-related, as one might expect. He learned the Marlins had lost in twelve innings, heard about a member’s successful deep-sea fishing expedition, and tuned out two men locked in a political debate. None of it interested him after a long-ass day—until the mention of mermaids caught his attention.

“I suggested dolphins, but they wanted half-naked mermaids, of all things.”

“Naked ice sculptures at a public event? You’re kidding, right?”

“No joke. The organizer asked for a nautical theme, which isn’t uncommon. The guest of honor fancied himself the second coming of Jacques Cousteau—or some such nonsense—just because he owns a yacht. Anyway, I made a perfectly lovely plan with anchors and navy stripes. Cliché, sure, but tasteful. Then came the last-minute request for a champagne-spewing fish fountain and ice mermaids cavorting with sailors.”

“What did you do?” one of her rapt listeners asked.

“I said no, of course. I have a reputation to maintain and draw the line at ice porn. He had to settle for frozen dolphins, a regular champagne fountain, blue-and-white striped cocktail napkins, and a mermaid cake with strategically placed clam shells.” She paused, and Alec imagined her rolling her eyes. “I’ve done similar for a six-year-old girl’s birthday party. You would’ve had to see it to believe it.”

Alec had recently sampled mermaid cake and watched a frozen dolphin melt. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“The things I do for rich eccentrics, but it pays the bills,” the speaker concluded, as he twisted in his seat to scan the couches behind him.

Regina Richmond—fifty-something, petite, silvery blonde in head-to-toe red leather—sat with two other mistresses, half-naked subs at their feet.

Ten years in the lifestyle had taught Alec not to judge: hetero, same-sex, poly—attraction and kink were personal. Still, certain kinks—even after ten years—pushed at his comfort zone. Take Mistress Betty, who was using her sub as a footrest. Leaning forward, she set her glass between the man’s shoulder blades with a warning.

“If you spill so much as a drop, I’ll switch your disobedient ass, adding to the stripes you begged me for earlier.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the sub squeaked, as she slapped the seat of his skimpy midnight-blue shorts with the flat end of her crop.

Condensation beaded on the glass. Alec watched a droplet roll down and drip onto the man’s back then over his ribs and onto the floor. Impressed by the sub’s control, he saw a second and third bead follow but knew he didn’t have a prayer of enduring much longer.

Betty—also in her fifties, who at close to six feet tall towered over many of the men—claimed she wasn’t a sadist. Alec didn’t buy it for a minute.

Despite the spectacle of waiting for the sub to break, Alec had a pressing question for Regina and moved toward the group.

“Ladies,” he said in greeting. “May I join you?”

Regina waved him to the empty seat beside her, eyes rapt on the scene playing out before her.

“Think he can hold out?” Alec asked quietly.

She grinned and shook her head. “Roman never makes it past four icy drops, which is why Betty does it to the poor boy.”

When the fourth droplet splashed onto his skin, trickled down his spine, and into the gap at his waistband, Roman arched and let out a squeal.

“Tsk, tsk,” Betty scolded, picking up the empty glass now lying on its side at her feet. After she set it on the side table, she yanked his shorts to his knees. “Naughty boy. A dozen strokes for disobeying and another twelve for my ruined shoes. Then you’ll bring me a refill, and we’ll try this again.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied, a distinct quiver in his voice. The size of the hard-on he sported said it wasn’t from fear or humiliation, but eagerness for more of his mistress’s attention.

And man, did he get it.

After twelve solid, welting whacks to his bare ass, Betty made him spread his legs, baring his vulnerable dangling bits, which she targeted with the remaining dozen.

Alec winced in sympathy when Roman cried out with the last six. They were obviously painful, though he rocked into them as if hungry for more.

Time for another beer, Alec decided. “Let me buy you a drink at the bar, Regina.”

“You’re sweating, Master Alec,” the domme observed with a laugh. “You men dish it out, but only a rare few, like Roman here, can actually take it.”

“Which is why I choose to wield the whip. I’m betting it’s why you do, too.”

After watching the male sub gingerly rise and hobble off to do his domme’s bidding—bowlegged in consideration of his tender man parts—she shrugged. “Point taken.”

Regina stood when he did. “One piece of business before we adjourn.” She extended her open hand to Betty. “He only lasted to four drops,” she announced. “He’s getting worse, not better. Pay up.”

“We’ll keep working on it,” Betty promised, dropping a twenty into Regina’s palm.

“And I’ll keep collecting,” she crowed, tucking the bill into the front of her corset.

Although convinced between the two of them, the pint-sized mistress had the bigger set of balls, Alec stepped aside, as a gentleman would, and let her lead the way to the bar.

She ordered a tequila shooter then asked, “What’s this about?”

“I couldn’t avoid hearing about your recent nautical event. Was it at the convention center by any chance?”

“Why yes, it was.”

“In honor of Marco Benedetti?”

“I don’t divulge my client’s names, but you seem to know it already. Why do you ask?”

“I was there that night. One of your staff looked familiar. She’s in her mid-twenties with long, dark brown hair.” He held his hand flat at chest height. “She comes up to about here on me.”

“That could be Emily.”

Alec’s jaw tightened a fraction. It was the only reaction he allowed himself as the name hit him square in the chest.

“What has she done?” Regina asked.

“Nothing,” he replied, keeping his tone even. “We’re old friends. I just want to talk to her. I’ll call tomorrow to get her address.”

“No outstanding warrants?” she pressed.

“No, she’s clean,” he reassured.

“In that case, I can’t help you.”

The rush of triumph after eight years of searching evaporated in a snap. “Why not?” he ground out.

“Because if you’re old friends and don’t know where she lives, she obviously doesn’t want to be found. Emily isn’t perfect, but she’s one of my best servers. I won’t risk losing her.” She reached up and patted his cheek. “Fellow dominant or not.”

Alec admired her for shielding her staff, even if part of it was protecting her bottom line. It seemed that Emily may have found herself another guard dog. It should’ve eased his mind. Instead, it only sharpened the reminder that he hadn’t been her shield when it mattered most.

Regina tossed back her tequila, sucked her lime, and then hopped off her stool.

“My advice. Get here earlier next Wednesday. I have a feeling she’ll be around.”

Alec grappled with a swirl of emotions as she walked away, triumph that he’d finally found Emily’s elusive trail, and frustration gnawing at him. Four days was too damn long to wait.

A stool scraped against the patio tiles beside him. He glanced over to see a massive figure in black lowering himself onto it. The string of lights over the bar glinted off Leland’s shaved head.

“What’s your interest in Regina’s staff?” he asked.

“It’s personal.”

The big man nodded thoughtfully. “See that subbie clearing the table near the door?”

Alec’s gaze shifted to the pretty brunette with a mass of springy curls. “She’s one of the newer members,” he replied. “Julia, I think.”

“Mm-hmm. Notice the uniform. She works for Regina and might have the information you’re after.”

He hadn’t noticed her until Leland pointed her out. He was really off his game.

“Why would she tell me when Regina won’t?”

“She’s been angling for a scene with me.” From the rise of color in her cheeks and the way she bobbled the tray, empty beer bottles clinking, she’d noticed their attention—or at least Leland’s.

“What’s stopped you?” Alec asked.

“When we’re here on the same night, one of us has always been working. Give me thirty and I’ll have your answer.”

“Regina won’t be pleased if you steal her staff to play.”

“They’re officially done for the night. The curly haired subbie volunteered to help her friends on bar duty with cleanup. Besides, Mistress Richmond owes me a favor. I’ll collect if she gives the girl any grief.” He thumped Alec between the shoulder blades. “You’ll owe me when I return.”

“I’ve got no problem with that.”

Alec signaled the dom tending bar for another beer then watched Leland work his magic. A few words from him and the wide-eyed sub nodded, eagerly agreeing to whatever he suggested. She didn’t hesitate in putting down her tray of empties and hurried after him to the opposite side of the yard, where a swing, suspended from a live oak, swayed in the breeze.

Rather than thirty minutes, it took over an hour. Passionate cries echoed in the night signaling the conclusion of their session. Not long after, Leland returned carrying a blanket-wrapped bundle—a voluminous cloud of springy curls peeking out of one end, pink-tipped toes from the other. He found a vacant couch in an out-of-the-way corner and sat with her cuddled in his lap, encouraging her to take both water and chocolate until she could stand and walk under her own power into the house.

Alec didn’t quibble over the delay. Not when the first words out of his friend’s mouth were, “The Beach Bungalows, North Miami Beach. Apt 318. Same apartment complex as Julia.”

Alec exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders for the first time all night. City. Street. Apartment Number. After years of chasing shadows and finding only dead ends, at long last he had something solid to punch into a GPS.

“What did you do?” he asked. “Coerce it from her while she was flying?”

“As if,” he replied, looking heartily offended. “I told her you were an old friend trying to reconnect. If she got chatty after a swing, that can’t be helped.”

“I owe you.”

“It was no hardship, believe me. She’s a sweet sub—I’ve been wanting a taste for some time. Besides, if finding this woman removes the perpetual scowl from your face, it’s worth it. We’re an easygoing, fun crowd, and you’re bringing down the mood.”

Several minutes later, Julia reemerged from the house looking more composed. Leland rose.

“If you’ll excuse me. I’m in the mood for seconds.” Before he crossed to the door, Alec heard him repeat, “No hardship at all.”

As long as he’d known him, Leland was a loner. But maybe there was a spark of something special happening with Julia.

Emily’s silhouette under the parking-lot lights replayed in his head until it settled as an ache in his chest. They needed to talk—really talk—when the dust settled. And there was still a promise to honor.

Now that he finally had a clear direction, he couldn’t afford to misstep.

Chapter 8

As the convertible ate up the miles on A1A, late-spring air whipped through Emily’s hair. Salt, sunscreen, and something distinctly Alec—cedar with a whisper of citrus—wrapped around her. She tipped her face to the wind and let the knotted coil of tension loosen inside her. She’d never ridden in a convertible before and didn’t care how wild she looked when they got to wherever they were going. Taking Alec’s advice to live fully, she decided to let herself enjoy it.

“Newbie,” he teased, amusement warming his voice.

She glanced his way and grinned. “Does it show?”

“Maybe a little.” His eyes skimmed over her—warm, familiar affection catching fire for the briefest second, sending a slow curl of heat through her belly. Then it was gone, tucked neatly behind the easy smile she’d known half her life.

Not wanting to get ahead of herself—even if her body already had, Emily let her gaze drift around the interior of the Lexus. “Business must be good,” she said lightly.

“I bought it used,” he said with a shrug. “But it’s good enough for now. When I can trade up to a Bentley for two hundred grand—you’ll know I’ve made it.”

She blinked, unsure whether he was serious—until his grin flashed as he slowed to turn off Ocean Boulevard.

Emily laughed, though she couldn’t imagine spending that much on a house, let alone a car. Her rust-bucket Corolla had cost under ten thousand. A steak dinner meant a week’s worth of waffle-shift tips. He’d sprung for double that easily without batting an eye. They came from the same middle-class world, but their lives had split in opposite directions.

As they drove farther inland, the tourist traps and neon faded behind them, replaced by quiet streets and palms bending lazily in the evening breeze.

“Where to now?” she asked.

“My house,” he said simply.

They pulled into an upper-middle-class subdivision and stopped at a two-story Spanish-style house with neat hedges and warm stucco glowing in the last of the light.

“This is beautiful!” Emily breathed.

“I appreciate the quiet,” he said. “And there’s a great view with seventy-five feet of lake frontage.” His pride was subtle but unmistakable.

He shut off the engine and was out of the car while she was still absorbing the fact that Alec owned a house in a neighborhood she’d bet money was governed by a homeowner’s association. When he opened the door and helped her out, his fingers curled around hers with certainty. He kept it as he led her not to the front entrance but down a brick walkway skirting the house.

“If we hurry, we can catch the last of the sunset over the water.” The glint of excitement from earlier threaded into his voice. It was infectious, and she hurried to keep up with his longer strides.

Beyond the sloping yard, the lake lay still as glass. The sun had sunk below the horizon, but streaks of orange and pink clung to the sky. Alec’s arms slid around her from behind. She leaned into him, fitting beneath his chin.

For a long moment, they didn’t speak. The sky did all the talking.

“I’d do everything possible to be here in time for this every night,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure if she meant the sunset or being held by him.

He took it as the former, and said, “I don’t make it every night. When I do, I grab a beer and watch from the second-floor balcony.”

Drawn by the sound of gentle splashing, she turned. “There’s a fountain in the middle of the lake,” she said, delighted.

“It’s not oceanfront, but it’s on the water—”

“Which was always your dream,” she finished softly

He turned her gently by the hips to face him. “You remembered.” Something warmer than surprise flickered in his eyes.

“How could I forget the vision boards you and Ethan made freshman year? He thought it was stupid, slapped something together, and got a D. But yours…” She looked past him at the house. “It’s the same. You got the exact dream you mapped out.”

“When I saw it, I knew I had to have it.”

“I’m so proud of you, Alec.” Emotion tightened her throat. “I know a lot of hard work made this possible.”

“My dream’s missing one thing.”

“A chocolate lab!” she guessed. “That’s doable. All you need is a fence.”

“It’d have to be invisible. HOA rules.”

She couldn’t keep from grinning; she’d pegged it right. “Ethan would tease you mercilessly if he knew you lived somewhere with rules about fences and fountains.”

“I don’t mind.” He tugged her hand. “Come on. Let me show you the house.”

He was already moving, towing her behind him. “It was a rental. The previous tenant had four boys. It needed work—mostly cosmetic. Paint, new floors, patching a bunch of holes. The owner was underwater on the mortgage and desperate to sell, so I got him to come down on the price. Shitty luck for him turned into a sweet deal for me.”

He led her through a spacious kitchen, into the adjacent dining room then the front rooms. Dove-gray walls, crisp white trim, crown molding—all clean with simple lines. She liked it instantly, but the place was practically empty. A lone recliner angled toward a wall-mounted TV. Two stools at the kitchen island. Nothing else. The emptiness felt intentional—as if waiting for something to fill it.

“I did most of the work myself,” he said. “Finished the last room a few weeks ago.”

“It’s amazing,” she said as he led her upstairs. “Some furniture and pictures on the wall might be nice.”

“I’m good with a hammer and nails. A color palette and texture, not so much. Maybe if I had help picking it out.” He glanced at her, unmistakably hopeful when he asked, “You game?”

Helping him meant they’d do it together. A flutter of excitement ran through her. “That sounds like fun.”

He bypassed the other rooms, heading straight for the open door at the end of the hall. The master suite opened around them, dominated by a massive king-size bed with a matching chest along the wall.

She wasn’t surprised that the bed was made and the room neat as a pin, consistent with the rest of the house. Alec had always been careful with the things he valued—disciplined even as a kid.

He pulled her flush against him, and his voice dropped—smoldering heat in it he didn’t quite let loose. “I’ve been picturing you here since I left you this morning.”

“In your house or in your bed?”

“Both. Though you featured more in one than the other.” His head dipped, lips close to hers.

For a heartbeat, she felt the same spark he’d lit when he’d spanked her—the one that stole her breath without warning. Then it cooled, as did he.

“I didn’t bring you up here for that.” He stroked his thumb across her lower lip, gentle and restrained. “I wanted you to see my after-work relaxation view.”

“Seen one sunset, seen ’em all,” she whispered, rising on her toes, drawn up by an uncommon boldness inside her.

His mouth claimed hers with a heat that stole her breath. When her knees wobbled, he pulled back, steadying her. The retreat left her confused and did nothing to ease the slow burn smoldering inside her.

“I don’t want to go too fast for you, sweetheart.”

She looked up at him, heart thudding. “You’re not,” she said quietly. “I’ve been thinking about this too.”

“You’re certain? This will change who we are, irrevocably.”

“I’m sure,” she breathed.

His expression shifted, the heat reignited. He reached for her, fingers brushing her cheek before trailing down to the edge of her blouse. He undressed her, piece by piece. His hands skimmed her waist and the curve of her hips—confident, unhurried. More intentional than any man had ever touched her.

Emily reached for him, tugging off his shirt, tracing the lines of muscle she remembered—and the new ones he’d earned since. She caught the slight hitch in his breathing, a tiny crack in his restraint she felt everywhere.

When he lifted her into his arms and laid her gently across the bed, she didn’t resist. She wanted this—wanted him. The intense passion from downstairs hadn’t faded. It coiled beneath her ribs, hot and insistent.

After quickly seeing to protection, he joined her, bracing on his elbows, covering her without smothering. For a heartbeat, his gaze darkened, revealing his hunger, before it softened again. His fingers threaded through her hair, holding her still as he kissed her—tasting of longing, and something new budding between them.

She arched beneath him, her body responding to the press of his chest, the slide of his thigh between hers, and the rhythm of his mouth. Fire swept through her, burning hotter when his fingers flexed on her hip and he deepened the kiss. Then he was inside her, filling completely. A moan escaped—part alarm, part awe. Alec was a big guy everywhere.

“Are you good, baby?” he asked.

“Perfect,” she whispered.

He chuckled low. “I believe that’s my line.”

Then he moved, slowly, with the utmost patience. It built to quiet urgency for both of them, the kind born of years apart and the ache of reunion.

His gentleness soothed her. At the same time, she yearned more, the flashes of intensity he’d given her glimpses of. More often than not, his touch remained careful, his pace unhurried, as if he were holding something back. Still, she soared to climax, clinging to him, letting the moment unfold in waves. He followed right after, whispering her name like a promise.

In the afterglow, he gathered her close, their hearts racing in sync. He brushed her hair from her face, kissed her temple, and whispered something too soft to make out—something she felt more than heard. A tiny part of her sensed the tension he kept buried under it.

Emily lay curled against him, warm and safe. But beneath the pleasant afterglow and the comfort of being next to him, uncertainty stirred, prompted by that single moment when his fingers tightened on her hip, when her breath caught. It tugged at her, subtle and confusing, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

***

Her bedside clock read 3:59 a.m.

Lying in the dark, trying to shake off sleep, Emily fumbled for what day it was. When she realized she didn’t have to get up before daylight and go to work, a tiny thrill rushed through her. It quickly fizzled because she’d woken anyway, out of habit.

She flipped her pillow to the cool side and shut her eyes, willing herself to sleep. But it wouldn’t come.

By 4:30 she gave up. Fuzzy slippers on, she shuffled to the kitchen and watched her one-cup Keurig hiss and sputter to life. At the table, sipping her off-brand dulce-de-leche medium roast, she replayed the night before in her head.

Sex with Alec had been pleasant—sweet, even. The kiss he’d given her at the door when he dropped her off was nice, too. Last night’s tenderness stood in stark contrast to the wild, breathless urgency of the kiss after he’d spanked her.

She’d come—miracle of miracles—so the sex hadn’t been bad. It simply lacked the rip-each-other’s-clothes-off fire she’d expected. It was more warm bath than wildfire. And it didn’t come close to the nonstop sizzle she’d witnessed at Devil’s Pointe, where Devil and Cari seemed to combust just by looking at each other.

Deanna’s line—sometimes there’s chemistry, sometimes there isn’t—kept ringing in her head.

“Good grief!” She buried her face in her hands. “Maybe that’s why it never worked out with the others.”

All two of them.

She hadn’t lost her virginity until twenty-four. Grief had consumed her for a long time. When the loneliness finally pushed her into making a human connection, it was forgettable. The only other guy since? Equally underwhelming.

Alec was the first man she’d ever wanted. Last night had been the first time it truly mattered. Why wasn’t nice and safe and an orgasm enough?

A worse thought crept in. “What if, subconsciously, I think of Alec not as a lover—but as a brother?” she whispered, horrified.

It would make sense. With Alec, like with Ethan, she felt comfort, trust, protection. Maybe, considering her past, those essential needs had blurred into something other than the hot, jump-his-bones hunger she’d imagined. Feelings she never, ever, associated with her brother.

A little nauseated, she dumped her coffee. On her way to her favorite chair, she glanced at the scene of the crime—the couch.

For a second, she didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or set it on fire.

Emily flopped into her chair and stared at the overstuffed, bargain-basement, all-sales-final sofa that she adored. Every time she looked at it, she’d remember the embarrassment, but also the breathlessness, the tingling fire of intense desire, the wanting.

“I’m going to have to burn it,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands.

She’d get over a couch—eventually. But how did she get over Alec, the man she loved since she was five? She didn’t want to hurt him. Again.

It wasn’t fair.

“Why now?” she asked the empty room. They were finally talking, both available, not too young, not too old, and far removed from family grief.

Maybe it was just the unfamiliarity. First times were often awkward, weren’t they? Maybe heat needed time to build.

She wanted to be with him again and test her theory, but the calendar wasn’t good. He had a case for the next three nights. She had morning shifts, classes, and Regina’s events in the evenings. Friday was their earliest option.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she breathed. “I need to think.”

With gray morning light seeping through her blinds, she rose and headed for the shower—leaving the couch unburned. For now.

Chapter 9

Running on two hours of sleep and one lonely coffee pod—she’d been too busy lately to restock—Emily finger combed her hair into a messy bun and trudged downstairs for her mail. She felt the beginnings of a headache behind her eyes, the kind that made even breathing effortful.

She took the back stairs to avoid human interaction. She’d almost succeeded, but, as usual, the universe liked to mess with her. She had just pushed open the stairwell door to return upstairs, when Julia rounded the corner.

“Hey, Em!” she called.

Short of ignoring her, Emily was stuck. She turned with a half smile—all she could muster.

“Rough night?” Julia asked, giving her a quick once-over that landed somewhere between sympathy and alarm.

“Rough is an understatement, and I’m out of caffeine,” Emily muttered wearily. “If you’re a true friend, you’ll lend me a coffee pod.”

“Sure. Let me grab my mail first.” When Julia returned, she tossed a pile of glossy ads straight into the trash. “Nothing but junk.”

“It beats a bunch of past-due notices,” Emily replied, holding up the depressing stack as if they were evidence in a trial.

“Hello… what’s this?” Julia plucked a black envelope trimmed in gold from amid Emily’s pile. It was thick, expensive paper—velvety to the touch—and looked wildly out of place between her overdue bills and coupon mailers.

“There’s no stamp,” her friend noted, flipping it over. “And no return address. It must’ve been hand-delivered. That’s either mysterious or serial-killer creepy.” She held it out, eyes gleaming. “I’m dying of curiosity. Open it.”

Emily hesitated. A prickle crept up her spine. “You do it.”

Julia didn’t need convincing. She slit the envelope with the enthusiasm of someone unwrapping forbidden chocolate. When she pulled out the embossed card, she gasped. “Emily! This is an invitation to Devil’s Pointe.”

“There’s no way that’s for me,” Emily said, her stomach dropping. “The mailman must’ve put it in the wrong box.”

Julia shook her head, her springy curls bouncing. “Nope. It has your full name, printed in gold. Someone wanted you.”

Emily snatched the envelope from her. “Why would they invite me? Except for please and thank you, I didn’t talk to any members except Deanna.”

“It could be from her,” Julia mused then smiled, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “You have to go.”

“By myself? Are you insane? That’s how horror movies start.”

Still, her fingers lingered on the card, tracing the raised lettering before she could stop herself.

Julia pointed to the RSVP. “It says you can bring a plus one. What about—”

“No. No, no, no!” Emily cut in, her pitch rising. “I can’t ask him!”

The panic was instant and visceral. Inviting Alec into that world felt like stepping off a cliff—not because she didn’t want him there, but because she didn’t yet know what she’d be asking of him.

“Him?” Julia’s brows shot up. “Wait. Him him? Why not?”

“I just… I’m not… He’s working.” She stammered the lame excuse knowing full well that wasn’t the reason.

“That was the worst dodge I’ve heard all week. Spill. What happened?”

Emily shifted, tongue darting out to lick her lips. “Nothing happened.” Her hesitation an entirely different story.

“Was he boring? A bad kisser?” Julia leaned in. “Or—God forbid—lousy in bed. Please tell me it’s not that tragic.”

“Can I ask you something, without you laughing?” Emily cut in, her nerves close to unraveling.

“Of course. My lips are zipped.” She mimed zipping them—badly.

“I’ve known him all my life. Loved him for most of it. The first time we got close, it was off-the-charts—like I couldn’t breathe. He got called into work, so nothing actually happened. But last night, when it did…”

“Disappointment central?” Julia offered.

“Yeah.” Emily let out a long breath. “Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t bad. We both… you know. But it lacked the intensity of the first time. It felt—nice, and safe. Not consuming.”

Julia tilted her head. “Okay, scientist mode. What else was different? I’m talking where, what, and how?”

“Last night was at his place—huge, beautiful house, perfect mood lighting, big bed. The first time was on my crappy couch in my dinky apartment.”

“Doing what exactly?” she asked.

Emily locked her jaw. No way was she admitting what Alec had done to her. Worse, that she liked it and the memory had been haunting her ever since. Or that afterward, she’d spent considerable time with the battery-powered stand-in tucked in her underwear drawer.

“Forget I asked,” she uttered, turning toward the stairwell.

Julia raised a brow so high, it practically reached her hairline. “Whatever you did that’s too scandalous to say out loud—that’s your missing ingredient.”

Emily groaned, burying her face in her hands and mail. “What if that’s all we have?” she whispered. “What if it’s the kink that does it for me—not him?”

The question unsettled her—not because she wanted the answer, but because she needed it.

“There’s one way to find out.” Julia waved the invitation. “This is the perfect opportunity.”

“Except for what I stumbled upon the other night, I don’t know anything about this,” Emily protested. “I’d be in so far over my head, I’d drown.”

“Novices are welcome,” she said breezily. “This is prime real estate for kink-curious newbies like you.”

Emily looked at her through narrowed eyes. “How do you know so much? Surely not from slinging drinks two nights a week.”

Julia ignored her question and went right on talking. “Plus-ones can’t be just anyone. They have to be vetted.”

“I imagine so. The contracts and NDAs make sense. But what does that have to do with—”

“When I suggested bringing someone, I didn’t mean boring guy. I meant me.”

Emily shifted in shock, and the door slammed shut behind her. “You’re into this stuff?”

“Oh, honey. I’m more than into it,” Julia said, smirking. “I’m a Devil’s Pointe member.”

Emily’s jaw dropped. “I thought you knew your way around because you were a regular with Regina. You never said a word!”

“I don’t exactly broadcast my lifestyle choices,” Julia said. “The offer stands. Girls’ night out tomorrow? You can do your ‘research,’ but you’ll have to participate in something.” She pointed at the fine print on the invitation. “Club rules—no gawkers allowed.”

“It says that?” Emily squinted at the text.

“Not in so many words, but that’s the gist. I’m still curious who sent it. You wouldn’t have gotten an invite unless someone knew you were interested.”

“Was it you?” Em asked, not putting anything past her ballsy friend.

“Please. I would’ve wrapped it in glitter and shoved it under your door.”

“Then I can’t figure out who.”

“If you go, the mystery will probably be revealed.”

Temptation stirred. There were too many questions, too many sparks she didn’t yet understand. But unease tightened in her chest—quiet, insistent. “It feels as though I’d be cheating on Alec.”

Julia’s voice softened. “Hey. It doesn’t have to be about sex. For some people, sure. But for a lot of others, it’s about letting off steam, surrendering control, or the release they get through pain.”

Emily’s heart kicked up as she replayed Devil wielding his crop. The trust, the intensity, and the playfulness.

“I know the members. I can steer you toward a patient dom who enjoys helping newbies find their footing,” Julia added.

Emily bit her lip, still unsure. If this was what she wanted, did she dare suggest it to Alec?

“You negotiate everything,” Julia explained. “It’s up to you, including keeping every stitch of your clothes on.”

“Really?” That was a big fat check in the pros column.

“Yes, everything is consensual,” Julia said, her tone completely serious. “Even if you give consent, if at any point you can change your mind; one word stops it. It’s always your choice.”

That was the part that hooked Emily—the idea that she maintained control.

Julia nudged her hip. “C’mon, Em. I was going anyway—to see if the dom I played with last week wants a round two. If he doesn’t, I’ll be devastated and will need your shoulder to cry on. Please. We’ll go to support each other.”

“I don’t have anything to wear,” Emily argued weakly.

A grin spread across Julia’s face. “Girlfriend, my closet is 70 percent lace and leather. Your excuse just died a swift death.”

“I choose lace, which stays on,” Emily declared firmly. “If I get up the nerve for ‘research,’ it’s with a patience-over-pain dom. Selected by you. Prescreened for niceness.”

“No sadists. Got it,” Julia said, nodding.

“If you can make that happen, I’m in.”

More than that, she prayed the man in her heart never found out. Not until she understood what she really wanted and whether it had ever been separate from him at all.

Chapter 10

“And this,” Julia announced with a Vanna White flourish, “is Devil’s Labyrinth—or the entrance to it, at least.”

“Isn’t there a horror movie by that name? The one with David Bowie?” Emily asked, eyeing the vine-draped arbor. Moonlight painted eerie shadows across the path that led to a dark, yawning archway. If they’d been going for creepy, they’d nailed it.

“I think you mean, Pan’s Labyrinth,” Julia confirmed. “Everyone kept calling it the maze, which, given the tropical-garden vibes, felt tragically uninspired. A few subs decided it needed a proper, mysterious name. This is what stuck.”

“And the doms were fine with that?”

“We didn’t ask,” she said breezily. “We’ve found if we use a name long enough, the doms eventually come around. Some start to believe it was their idea.”

“It’s been a while, but isn’t the movie about a girl escaping a sadistic stepfather through an imaginary world?”

“Ours is the grown-up version—minus the gore, trauma, and child-endangering stepdad.”

“Is it minus the sadism?” Emily quipped, only half joking.

“There’s some,” Julia admitted. “It’s a BDSM club, after all. You’ll hear screams, but only the good kind.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “If you ever hear someone yell, ‘red,’ get out of the way. Dungeon monitors descend like firefighters.” She raised a hand as if taking an oath. “No exaggeration. Using the club safeword is the same as pulling an alarm.”

The idea that anyone might need rescuing—good screams or not—had Emily retreating several steps. “Nope. Not going in there.”

“It’s just a name.”

Emily peered into the shadows and shivered. They could call it Cinderella’s Sparkling Grotto for all she cared. This was a hard no for her. It reminded her too much of a haunted corn maze she’d stumbled through at fifteen, complete with chainsaws and masked idiots jumping out of the dark. It had freaked her out then, and she wasn’t about to relive it at twenty-six.

“Is there a reason you two are lurking where you shouldn’t be?”

They whirled toward the rumbling voice. A massive silhouette stepped into a shaft of moonlight. Emily had to crane her neck to see his face and instantly wished she hadn’t. Everything about him was imposing—the scowl, the shaved head, tattooed biceps, and the carved-from-stone forearms under a sleeveless black muscle shirt.

“Master Leland!” her tour guide breathed, the excitement in her voice unmistakable.

“Julia.” His tone dipped becoming stern. “You know the rules. No subs wandering the maze without an escort.” Even in the dim moonlight, Emily saw his eyes glide slowly over her friend—from corkscrew curls to bubblegum-pink toes, lingering in between. His dark gaze shifted to Emily. “Unless this is your mistress…”

“What? No,” Julia replied, just short of giggling. “She’s a sub, and my guest. I was giving her a tour, but I wouldn’t dare take her into the labyrinth. I know better.”

Emily caught the tremor in her voice, definitely not from fear. The dreamy-eyed, flushed look on her face said it all. This was the dom she’d hoped to run into.

“Is it just the two of you? No tops tonight?”

“No, sir,” Julia answered, softening even more.

“Two beautiful submissives with no one to play with?” He clucked his tongue. “Unacceptable.” Leland held out his hand, which Julia took instantly. “You enjoyed our time on the swings, didn’t you, little subbie?”

“Very much, sir.”

“Then you’re with me for the rest of the night.” He slapped a mosquito on his neck. “Inside, though. I’ve had enough bugs and humidity for one shift.”

As he drew her against his side, Julia looked at her, torn. “I shouldn’t leave you alone.”

“Go,” Emily urged. “I’ll be fine.” Dom-blocking her when she’d been so eager for a sequel seemed like a crime against friendship.

Master Leland smiled, and it transformed him. The harsh lines softened, revealing an unexpectedly handsome face and sensual lips.

“That’s easily fixed,” he said, tucking Julia under his brawny arm. “Wait here,” he told Emily. An order if she’d ever heard one. “I’ll send someone to finish showing you around.”

Subject closed to his satisfaction, they disappeared into the shadows.

Alone now, the night noises closed in—frogs croaked, crickets chirped, birds squawked. A rustle in the bushes had her spinning. Nothing there, but the dark mouth of the labyrinth loomed behind her as though it might consume her whole.

She had an abrupt change of heart. She didn’t want to wait in the dark by herself or be paired with a dom she didn’t know—though that was kind of the point of the evening. Going home and letting Julia enjoy her evening seemed the best option.

Except her friend was her ride.

“Darn it,” she uttered. A cab or an Uber from Deerfield Beach to North Miami wasn’t in her budget. So she’d wait, not that she had much choice.

The last time she was here, the patio pulsed with music, laughter, and the hum of conversation. Tonight, it had a jungle vibe, a shout or a wail echoing through the night air every so often.

Emily glimpsed a shadow of movement. Then a bird exploded out of the tunnel—squawking, wings flailing wildly. Shrieking, she ducked as she bolted toward the patio lights, “wait here” orders be damned.

What could he do to her? She was a guest. And she had the lung capacity to scream red loud enough to reach Key Largo if he tried anything.

Suddenly, a shadow crossed her path. She screamed, arms, elbows, even a fist flying as

strong hands clamped around her upper arms.

“Emily? What the hell?”

She froze. That honey-smooth voice could only belong to one man. She gulped in a breath, trying to calm her runaway heart. “Alec?”

“Yes, it’s Alec. What’s come over you?” he asked, bewildered, still holding her steady against him.

She sagged against him, but just as quickly pulled away, mortification crashing over her as she remembered where they stood. “What are you doing here?”

The instant the question left her mouth, heat flamed across her cheeks. It was a private event at an exclusive BDSM club. Obviously, he was here for the same thing she was.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he countered, voice tight. “You told me you had plans with a friend tonight.”

“I do. I mean I did. My friend is a member.”

“Who is he?” he bit out.

“It’s a she, actually. What about you?” She gazed up at him, barely able to make out the downturned curve of his lips. “You said you had to work.”

“Devlin and Associates runs security here. I just got off perimeter patrol.”

“Good. Then you can drive me home. Julia is… uh… occupied.”

“I will. But first, I was heading to the patio to decompress. Like your friend, I’m also a member.”

“Here?” she asked, squeaking. “Wait—you’re a dominant?”

That would certainly explain the spanking.

“For the past ten years.”

“Did Ethan know?” she blurted—then immediately winced. Images she never wanted in her brain surfaced, and she shoved them away. “Actually, don’t answer that? You two were always two peas in a pod.”

She needed space to wrap her head around him “decompressing” at a sex club less than twenty-four hours after making love to her. The betrayal stung as much as it pissed her off.

There was no help for it. She’d just have to fork out the money for an Uber. No way was she sticking around waiting for Julia while Alec two-timed her in leather and moonlight. She just needed her phone, which was in her purse, stored in one of the guest rooms in the sprawling ten-thousand-square-foot house. If she could only remember which one.

“Don’t even think about doing what you’re planning.”

She glanced up sharply. “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“I know when you’re hatching something—you have a tell.”

“A what?”

“A tell,” he repeated. “It’s a little quirk that gives you away. Yours is adorable, by the way.”

Emily rolled her eyes. Adorable was a compliment at seven—not at four years from thirty. Being pocket-sized didn’t help. If she had a dollar for every time someone called her adorable like she needed a chaperone, she’d have enough saved for bail after punching the next person who did.

“Tell me what it is, and I’ll make sure not to do it again.”

“And lose my advantage?” He shook his head, grinning broadly. “Not a chance.”

She didn’t have the energy to figure out why he needed one. “I’m going home.”

“Not until we’ve talked about why you’re here.”

“Let’s just say I had a lapse in judgment and leave it at that. I shouldn’t have come.”

“With Julia as an escort, I’d have to agree.”

“And yesterday was clearly another mistake. It seems I’m on a roll.”

His smile vanished, and his brows slammed together. “Why the hell would you say that?”

“Why?” she shot back. “I would think it was obvious. You’re here playing your wicked games with your sub du jour when only yesterday you were with me.”

“I don’t have a sub du jour, whatever the fuck that even means. I’ve been working until five minutes ago.”

“And now you want to go play,” she accused.

“Yeah, with you,” he bit out, voice rough with meaning.

“When Master Leland sent you over here, you didn’t know it was me.”

“What does Leland have to do with this? You’re not making sense. I wasn’t sent. I was going to grab a beer. The heat and humidity are murder out here.”

Emily crossed her arms, not sure if she believed him.

His hands curled around her shoulders, and he brought her closer. “I wasn’t playing you yesterday, sweetheart. I want you in my life. The club and the lifestyle are part of who I am. But I planned to introduce you to it slowly. Carefully. At your pace.”

“We hadn’t spoken in eight years, Alec. Eight. And the first thing you do is throw me over your knee! What part of that was ‘slow’?”

“That couldn’t wait,” he said simply. “And I’m glad I didn’t—because whether you realize it or not, you gave me the green light to move forward.”

Her mouth fell open, and she sputtered, “I did no such thing.”

“You agreed to start over,” he reminded her quietly. “You were also the one dripping wet and squirming all over my lap.”

She couldn’t deny it. Thank God the darkness hid her mortification and the blush flaring across her face.

He cupped her cheek, gentling the moment. “After yesterday, the last thing on my mind was another submissive. Now, let’s talk about why you’re here.”

She clamped her mouth shut, gaze averted as she tried to come up with a plausible explanation. There wasn’t one other than the truth.

“The chef I work for caters here twice a week. I worked Saturday night. What I saw…” Heat shot up her neck, and she was afraid she would spontaneously combust from embarrassment. “What I saw made me curious. Especially after you… after we… on my couch.” She cleared her throat and somehow was able to continue. “Then the invitation showed up—”

All softness vanished as he barked, “You got an invitation? From who?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t signed. Julia said it was probably someone who noticed me the other night.”

“Who did you talk to?”

“Everyone. It’s kind of necessary when you’re serving food and drinks. But no one stands out in my head.”

“With some of these horny bastards, a glance is all it takes.” His hand closed around hers, possessive and firm. “We’ll shut that down right now.”

“Wait, Alec. I was serious about wanting to go home.”

He turned so unexpectedly, she collided with his chest. She rebounded, nearly losing her footing, but his arm banded her waist, catching her before she fell.

“Not yet. You came here for answers. I can give them to you. And make it clear to whoever sent that invitation that you’re with me.”

“Am I?” she whispered, unsure, hope and fear warring in her chest.

“Baby. Didn’t we just clear that up?”

She bit her lip, uncertain.

“We’ve always been honest with one another. Haven’t we?”

Emily nodded. She’d never outright lied to him—except after Ethan’s funeral, which was a biggie, but there were extenuating circumstances.

“Yesterday only made everything more confusing,” she confessed.

“How?” he asked quietly, but pressed against him, she could feel tension gathering.

“I’m messed up,” she whispered. “I think I might need this in order to—” She couldn’t make herself say the word.

“You didn’t have any trouble last night.”

How did she reply? About that, Alec. It was nice, but there weren’t exactly fireworks.

As the seconds ticked by, and she didn’t answer, tension mounted between them.

He huffed in disbelief. “I know when a woman gets off, Em, and you definitely did.”

“I’m not denying that I… um… It just wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t what, Emily?” He was calm, but she could tell his patience was waning.

“It wasn’t as intense as on my couch,” she blurted out then buried her face in his shirt. “God, this is humiliating. Can I please go home?”

“No,” he stated flatly. “Although it’s a blow to my ego that the earth didn’t move for you—”

“I didn’t say that!” she protested.

“No, but you should have. I’m a man, not a mind reader. We have members who drive from all over the state to play here. Why? Because it’s exciting. It fulfills something inside them. No one apologizes for that. Why should you?”

“I thought maybe something was wrong with me. Before you, I’d never been able to…”

Thankfully, his understanding was immediate. “Never?”

She shook her head. “You are the exception.”

He grunted. “That’s something, at least.”

“That’s why I accepted that invitation. To see if it was all of this.”

“Moving forward, if you have questions, come to me. Honesty and communication matter more than anything in this world.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

“That’s because you’re still in a snit thinking I was playing you.”

“It’s not just tonight. There was Isabella Benedetti—a married woman.”

“She was a job. That’s over. And before you ask, I didn’t sleep with her. What you saw behind the stage was as far as it went.”

“Do you get that close to all your clients?”

“She wasn’t a client. I was undercover, investigating her and her husband. All of that was before we reconnected. I’m single and have never claimed to be a monk, but I have always been up front with play partners and women I see outside the club. But if you’re with me, Em, you can trust I’ll only be with you.”

She wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust him. Wanted to say yes.

“I say we start again, with no secrets. Finding out that you’re open to my world moves things along but doesn’t alter my plan to introduce you slowly. We can start now.”

“Oh, but—”

“Did you read the small print on your invitation?”

“About no gawkers?”

“That’s the one. Have you done anything with anyone tonight?”

“No, I… well, just… gawked.”

He eyes flashed. “That saves me from kicking someone’s ass.” He pulled her against his chest. Cupping her cheek, he raised her face to his. “Let me give you a taste of my world.”

Her gaze shifted behind him, to where the torches glowed brightly around the patio and the playground beyond.

“I’ll take care of you, Em,” he promised, with his face so close to hers, she felt the warmth of his breath on her lips.

“I trust you to, Alec,” she whispered, meaning it. “That has never been in doubt.”

“Sorry, Coulter. It appears our friend here beat you to the punch.”

Master Leland stood nearby with another man. Rugged-looking, wearing only a sleeveless leather vest, and inked—tattoos snaking up the side of his neck and a half sleeve adorning one arm. Exactly the kind of dangerous dom Emily thought would fit in here. Nothing like Alec’s clean-cut, controlled confidence.

“Let’s not be too hasty,” the newcomer drawled. “She hasn’t had a good look at me. Some subs prefer rugged over pretty-boy charm.”

“She’s not a masochist,” Alec cut in, sharp as a blade. “And she’s with me.”

Julia peeked between the men, eyes wide. “You know Master Alec?”

Emily hoped she’d forgotten their mailbox conversation. No such luck.

“He’s not— He couldn’t possibly be—” Julia’s gaze ping-ponged between them before she doubled over laughing. “You thought he was—”

“Julia, don’t,” Emily groaned, but her soon-to-be ex friend was chortling too loudly to hear.

“Care to share the joke,” Alec drawled, “since I appear to be the butt of it?”

Another peal of laughter broke free.

“I think we all want to know what’s so funny.” Master Leland’s no-nonsense tone broke through where others didn’t.

Julia straightened and tried to compose herself. “It’s just a joke between friends.”

“I’ve had a trying day and could use a good laugh. I’m sure Master Alec would appreciate a little levity too.”

Emily shook her head. “That’s not really necessary, is it?”

“The ones not in the loop think it is,” Alec insisted.

Obviously torn between obedience and loyalty to a friend, Julia squeaked, “I’d really rather not.”

“And I’d rather you did. We can discuss your reluctance to obey a dominant’s order, later.” The big bald intimidating master tapped his ear. “Why don’t you whisper it to me?”

She cast Em an apologetic look before moving closer.

Well over six feet tall, Master Leland had to bend low to hear her confession.

“Boring Vanilla Dude! Yarborough?” he bellowed without warning. “I’d believe he was secretly in love with me before I’d believe that.”

The laughter that followed was big and booming like his voice. After slapping Alec on the back, he slung a heavy arm around Julia’s shoulders and started toward the gathering.

Emily didn’t dare glance at Alec when Master Leland said amid his continued chuckles, “I can’t wait see the others’ reactions when they hear this.”

She wanted to vanish in a puff of smoke. Or swim home. Emily looked down the sloping yard to the trees lining the water.

“I wouldn’t,” Alec advised. “This is Florida; there are gators in every body of water.”

“He isn’t wrong,” a soft voice said out of the darkness. The other dom, all but forgotten.

“Are you sure he’s your choice?” he asked her. “Vanilla can be so very dull.”

“Fuck off, Coulter,” Alec snapped.

The other dom’s laughter, although nowhere near the earth-shaking quality of Leland’s, drifted to them as he walked away and disappeared into the shadows.

“So now I’m boring and vanilla, am I?” Alec asked quietly, a razor-thin smile curving his lips.

“Julia said that—not me.”

“What were your words?” he pressed.

“I said you were sweet. Among other things.”

“Referring to the couch or the bedroom?”

“It was just girl talk,” Emily hedged.

“In that case, you should have no problem telling me.”

Emily pressed her lips together, carefully considering what to say. She didn’t want to hurt him. She just wanted to be truthful—without ruining everything.

“At this rate,” Alec said dryly, “we’ll be here all night.”

Emily’s throat tightened. She stared at the grass instead of his eyes. “I didn’t give her specifics. I just asked her why what happened on the couch was… off-the-charts, and the other… wasn’t.”

His silence settled heavy between them.

“Last night was nice, Alec. Really.”

“Sweet and nice,” he remarked, tonelessly. “What every dominant wants to hear.”

He moved closer, and she instinctively retreated a step.

“Remember, I don’t have a lot of experience to draw from.”

“Disclosure’s a good place to start. Fill me in—what experience do you have?”

She paced him step for step as he advanced, her retreat taking her off the sidewalk and onto the manicured lawn. She didn’t stop until she came up against the cool chain-link fence wreathed in fragrant vines. His hand flattened beside her head, caging her gently.

“Aside from yesterday with you, and what I witnessed here Saturday night… nothing. I’ve read a few books,” she admitted.

“If you tell me one of them was Fifty Shades, I might have to hurl myself off the dock. Gators be damned.”

She bit her lip, unwilling for him to become alligator bait.

He closed his eyes and exhaled. “So, I’m competing with fictional billionaires and their private helicopters,” he said dryly.

It didn’t seem fair, but she couldn’t deny it.

When Alec opened his eyes, they were steady and serious. “This isn’t fiction, Em. It’s real. Are you willing to explore it with me?”

Julia’s words echoed in her head: What better way to put it to the test?

Still, she wavered, the choice a crossroads. Loneliness if she didn’t try, awkwardness and potential failure if she did. And the risk of ruining their friendship just when they’d found their way back to each other.

A voice inside chided her negativity, but her past had taught her too well to expect the worst. Fear had kept her safe, yes—but also small, trapped, and alone. Where had it ever actually gotten her?

If she threw caution to the wind and jumped in with both feet, wasn’t it possible they might get what they’d both wanted all along? Something real. Something bright. Love. Happiness. A future.

It sounded too good to be true. But for once in her life, Emily chose courage. She met his gaze, steadying her breath, and nodded.

“We’re all about consent here, baby,” he murmured. “Say it for me. That you trust me and will submit to me—tonight.”

“I do,” she breathed. “I will. It’s all I’ve thought about since yesterday.”

His grin returned, crooked and self-aware. “I’ll do my best to match what you’ve built up in your head. Since I’m flesh and blood, not the CEO of a multinational conglomerate and a self-made billionaire, I’m sure I’ll fall short in some way.” He leaned in, voice low and teasing. “But I’ll rise to the occasion. Count on it.”

No promises were necessary. She felt him ready, and very real against her belly.

Alec dipped his head, his lips grazing a teasing path from her cheek to her jaw.

“Is this really happening?” she breathed.

“Yes, now that you’ve consented.”

“To what exactly?”

“No spoilers. Anticipation is half the fun.” His mouth covered hers, and his tongue swept hungrily inside. It was hot but abbreviated because he paused for a last piece of business. “One thing first—your safeword.”

“Julia told me. And the books,” she admitted.

He groaned. “New rule,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “No more fictional doms. Unless you’re angling for another spanking.”

“Um… yes?” she replied with an uncommon surge of confidence. “It’s the reason I’m here, after all.”

“That,” he said, grinning, “I will certainly make happen.”

His mouth descended, but just before reaching hers, he paused. “Red,” he murmured. “That’s your safeword. Say it, and everything stops. No hesitation.”

His breath ghosted across her lips—then he kissed her. Not sweet. Not tentative. But consuming—like a starving man allowed his first taste in years.

Chapter 11

He could take her right there—against the fence under the moonlight. Need clawed up his spine, raw and insistent. But he risked becoming inconsiderate vanilla dude. She’d come here searching for more. Not just heat but depth. Not just sensation but surrender. It was up to him to introduce her to his world with care.

With effort, Alec created space where his body wanted none. Her kiss-swollen lips, the passion in her gaze, and the disappointed whimper she let slip nearly broke his resolve. He almost leaned in for another taste, but dominance wasn’t only about taking; sometimes it was exerting self-control and holding steady for her sake.

“It’s close to midnight,” he murmured, steadying himself. “If we linger in the shadows, you’ll miss all the good stuff. And trust me, there’s plenty worth seeing.”

She rose onto her toes, chasing another kiss. “This seems good to me, Alec. Really good.”

Brushing a thumb over her cheek, he smiled at how easily she reached for him.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Around here, submissives rarely call their doms by name.”

“Right. You, uh, probably prefer sir,” she stammered, as if she’d forgotten where they were. It was an excellent sign he could do that to her with a few kisses.

“That works most of the time, but from you, I’ve missed hearing Alec,” he confessed. His name in her soft little sigh did things to him he couldn’t put into words. “How about you do what feels natural tonight?”

“I can do that, sir.”

His cock hardened instantly. Easing her in wasn’t doing him any favors.

He cleared his throat and drew her away from the hedge, plucking leaves from her hair while she leaned into him, flushed and weak-kneed. It was all he could do not to drag her right back in.

“Have you had a chance to look around?” he asked, reining himself in inch by slow inch.

“I saw some of the house while working an event last week, and earlier Julia showed me the playground.”

“What about the playroom and the theme rooms inside? They’re Dev’s latest additions. So new, the second coat of paint has barely had time to dry.”

“No, we were, um, interrupted.”

“Servers usually stick to the kitchen and patio,” he said with a low chuckle. “I think you mean discovered.” He nodded toward the house. “Since you’ve seen the playground, we’ll skip it. The side door’s this way.”

It was nearly invisible behind the thick palms and tropical plants. Alec held it open and let her step in ahead of him. Music hit first—a dark, pulsing bass—followed by the sharp crack of leather on skin, and the unmistakable sounds of pleasure drifting from within the house.

His hand, both supportive and possessive, guided her forward. They didn’t make it two steps down the hall. Members were packed three and four deep in front of the theme room windows.

Alec let out a low whistle. “Good thing Dev widened this hallway. Until the novelty wears off, it will stay jammed with everyone wanting to see the shows.”

“What shows?” she asked, curiosity and nerves making her voice tight.

“Role-play mostly,” Alec said, steering her through the crush. “Headmaster and naughty student. Boss and secretary. Dungeon master and captive. Whatever the players dream up.”

He saw the glimmer of interest in her eyes and smiled. “Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s give you a peek.”

The crowd parted for him—the orange DM band on his arm doing some of the work. Within moments, she stood front and center at the first window.

The short table, stirrups, stool on casters, and gooseneck lamp—straight out of a GYN exam room—made Emily gasp.

“Dev took a poll,” he said. “Medical play ranked second. The clinical setup, an intimate inspection, the power dynamic—it pushes a lot of people’s buttons.”

“I’m afraid to ask what came in first.”

He angled his head toward the wide, glassless window. “You’re not even a little curious?”

“I’d rather get a root canal,” she whispered, shuddering.

He chuckled. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, little newbie. But there’s more to see.”

He guided her to the next window. When the couple ahead of them moved on, Alec slid smoothly into place, bracketing her with one arm to keep the crowd from pressing in.

Inside were gray walls, stone-patterned tile, flickering sconces, and a bound submissive suspended from the ceiling, rope wound intricately around her body. Her dom, bare-chested and glistening, wielded a red-and-black braided whip. As she slowly revolved, he applied measured strokes to her back and ass, alternating with rapid flicks across her breasts and pussy from the extension on the end.

Emily stared, barely breathing. “This was number one?” she asked. “It’s a torture chamber straight from the Inquisition.”

“It placed third, and it isn’t quite that extreme,” Alec murmured. “See the hardware overhead? Its rigging for suspensions. The open space makes it ideal for flogging or short-tail impact play.”

They watched in silence for a moment as the woman writhed in her bonds, thrusting her breasts and hips forward for more of the whip.

“I expected it to hurt more,” she whispered.

“Don’t underestimate the flicker whip,” he warned her. “In the wrong hands, it can do damage. But Jacob has years of experience. Notice he switches to the tassel for delicate areas and keeps the full whip to a minimum. He’s all about sensation. Sometimes he brings out a fluffinator at the end.”

“What’s that?”

“Fur,” he breathed, running his hands up her arms and feeling the shiver that ran through her.

She glanced up at him, lips parted, then she snapped them shut and looked back at the scene.

“You have a question. Ask it,” he gently insisted.

“Are you the right hands?”

He fingers tightened on shoulders. “The whip has never been my taste.”

She exhaled, relief written all over her face. “I’ve seen second and third. What came in first?”

“The schoolroom, which explains all the pigtails and pleated skirts tonight.”

Emily stood motionless, eyes fixed on the hypnotic rise and fall of the lash. Alec watched her absorbing every detail. So was he, filing it away for later, when he could use what stirred her most.

He tugged her hand and attempted to move to the next window, but the crush of bodies all jockeying for a better view made it impossible to get closer.

“Dev’s going to need a damn reservation system,” he grumbled. “Every room and station has a line out the door.”

“That’s okay,” Emily quickly assured him. “Even if I don’t try anything tonight, this has been… educational.”

He dipped his head close, lips grazing her ear. “Nope. This will be a hands-on lesson. BDSM is a contact sport—minus a few niche kinks. And doms,” he added low, “can be very creative.”

She didn’t respond, but he felt the shift in her body—the subtle lean toward him, the breath she held. She wanted this. She just didn’t know how to admit it yet.

When he steered her clear of the packed hallway, the blast of A/C hit them—cool relief after the heat of so many bodies. Emily shivered, instinctively edging closer, and he guided her toward the quieter lounge.

What was actually Dev and Cari’s den was used for overflow and when pop-up showers, common on humid evenings, drove the patio dwellers inside. It had a wet bar, scattered couches, and a massive wall-mounted screen, but Alec led her past all of it toward the far end, up two narrow steps to the small stage.

“We use this for demonstrations sometimes,” he explained.

He reached for the dimmer switch, lowering the recessed lights until only moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind them. Soft. Private. Enough light for him to see her, and enough shadow that she wouldn’t feel on display. It was too early for that.

Alec moved a leather wing chair onto the stage, angling it away from the ceiling vent so she wouldn’t get chilled. Then he sat—legs spread, posture relaxed but commanding—and patted his thighs.

When she only stared at him, he leaned forward, clasped her wrist, and tugged her gently onto his lap—exactly where he wanted her.

“You couldn’t see much in that crowd,” he said, voice low. “But something turned you on. Something in those rooms.” His hand slid up her throat to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair to tilt her face up to his.

“Playing doctor wasn’t your thing,” he murmured, lips brushing her throat where her pulse fluttered. “But something made your heart race and those cheeks pink, Tell me one of your darkest fantasies.”

“I couldn’t,” she whispered.

“Of course, you can. It’s me. You’ve known me forever.”

“That makes it even more embarrassing.”

His thumb stroked her jaw. “Shyness fades with experience. And I’ll go slow.”

She shifted on his lap, tension rippling through her. He parted his thighs, and her legs opened with them. His hand slipped beneath her skirt and up her inner thigh until it met the damp silk covering her.

“You’re drenched,” Alec murmured, his fingers gliding over the fabric. “Something made you this way.”

She still said nothing.

He clucked his tongue, hooked the fabric aside, and slid his fingers through her heat. “If you won’t tell me, stubborn girl. I’ll have to find out for myself by process of elimination.”

A squeak escaped her throat, sharp and telling. Words were irrelevant; her body was speaking fluently. The molten wetness against his fingers was all the confession he needed.

“We’re doing this here?” she gasped.

“Dev’s new rooms are a circus. No one’s near this lounge,” he assured her. “It’s just us, Em.” With his free hand, he brushed her cheek with his knuckles, light but commanding. “If visibility bothers you, close your eyes.”

She hesitated—but only for a heartbeat. Then she obeyed, lashes lowering, her world narrowing to his voice and touch.

“Keep them shut,” he murmured. “Until I say otherwise.”

She nodded, her breathing shallow.

He held her, fingers lightly stroking and watched the change come over her—the parting of her lips, the loosening of her shoulders. Already, she was melting from self-consciousness into surrender.

“This will help you focus on what you’re feeling, not who might be watching,” he said, pitching his tone low and reassuring. “No distractions. No room for anything but sensation.”

He lifted her easily, setting her astride his thighs. His lips brushed hers, a tease followed by the deliberate sweep of his tongue. When his fingers slipped under her chemise straps, her eyes flew open, and her fingers caught his wrists.

“You said you trusted me, Emily. Was that the truth?”

“Yes, always,” she replied without hesitation.

“Then, show me you do.”

Excitement and trepidation shimmered in her eyes. Trust wasn’t the issue. It was fear. Of letting someone in, of risking her heart again after everything she’d lost. He waited, giving her time to work through it in her head. After eight years, what was a few minutes more?

She eventually released him, and her hands fell to her sides.

“Now, shut your eyes.”

Her lids lowered. The lashes a silky black fan on her cheeks.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, offering praise in the same reassuring tone. He moved her arms behind her, crossing her wrists. “Keep them there. I want full access to your beautiful body.”

He brushed her hair back and skimmed his hands over her shoulders, fingertips tracing her collarbones. Her skin was satiny smooth everywhere. When he reached the thin straps barring his view of her breasts, desire punched through him, but he forced himself to go slow—careful and controlled.

She trembled, sighing in a way that made his own pulse race. He cleared his throat and continued his lesson. “Taking away sight can heighten your other senses. Let’s test that theory.”

He leaned in, kissing her deliberately—lips nibbling, tongue foraying inside, exploring thoroughly. His voice was rough with desire when he asked, “Tell me what you sensed.”

She inhaled unevenly. “Warmth. Cool mint. The rasp of the beginnings of a beard on your jaw. Spice, outdoors, and clean—like soap.”

“You’re very perceptive. Expecting only to work, I showered but didn’t shave before I came to the club tonight.” He kissed her again—down her throat, along her jaw, to her ear—and nipped lightly. “What do you hear?”

Her head tilted slightly, as she focused. “My heartbeat,” she whispered. “It’s running away from all the kisses and touching.”

Alec smiled against her skin.

“I also hear the rush of your breath in my ear and… Disturbed.”

His head came up. Then he heard the music and understood.

“Cari picked the playlist tonight. That version of Sound of Silence is her favorite, along with a lot of alternative rock and metal.”

“I like it too,” Emily said, lips dewy from his kisses.

“We take turns selecting the music. Most just ask for Cari’s playlist; she’s got a knack for it.”

He slipped the straps off her shoulders and peeled the chemise down to her waist. She didn’t move this time, other than to tremble. His gaze followed the descent of black lace sliding down creamy skin inch by inch.

Her soft “ah” became a startled squeak when he rose with her in his arms and set her down on the chair. Then he knelt between her thighs, spreading them wide.

“If I’d known I’d find you here, I’d have brought cuffs. Some find the control required for self-restraint hotter than leather and rope. Can you hold still for me?”

She nodded. “I’ll be good.”

A low hum of approval vibrated in his chest. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He traced a fingertip around her nipple, watching it tighten. Her breasts rose and fell in small, tremulous breaths. The straps at her elbows pinned her arms to her sides—not true restraint, she could slip free at any moment. But it was a reminder of who guided the scene.

She was a vision—laid open for him, a single whisper of silk keeping him from everything he wanted. Desire slammed through him, urging him to tear the barrier away and take her in one claiming stroke.

But he wouldn’t.

Not yet.

Tonight wasn’t about him—it was about showing her exactly what it meant to choose him, what it meant to submit to someone who knew how to handle her body and her trust. It was a slow, purposeful, sensual education she’d never mistake for vanilla again.

He pressed two fingers lightly to her lips. “Open.”

She obeyed, her mouth wrapping around his finger.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice going rough. “Now suck.”

She did—eager, unhesitating—and the sight nearly undid him. He was used to savoring the tease, to taking his time, but with Emily spread and trembling, patience became punishment.

His cock throbbed against his zipper, demanding he quit playing and claim what was his.

He didn’t move, didn’t take, didn’t let go.

Instead, he dragged the wetness she’d given him across her nipples, circling each rosy point until they glistened. Then he rolled them gently between his fingers.

“You said the spanking made you hot,” he murmured. “It stands to reason other erotic pain might have the same effect.”

He increased the pressure, tugging ever so slightly. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips. He gave her more pulling, rolling, pinching firmly. She didn’t protest. Instead, she arched toward him, offering herself.

Damn. She was perfect.

His hands moved lower, pulled aside the crotch of her panties, revealing glistening pink folds. His fingers stroked, and, unable to wait another moment, he bent and licked into her, savoring the slick, salty-sweet taste of her.

“Alec,” she cried.

He didn’t answer—just kept going, tongue working her, savoring the sounds she tried but couldn’t hold back.

She writhed, hips arching toward him. “Please…”

“Please what, baby?”

Her head rolled helplessly, struggling to find the words. That was fine for her first time. In the future, he’d have her articulate every need.

He slid a finger into her—tight, hot, clenching around him.

When he added a second, she cried out. “Yes. Oh god. Just like that.”

Her cry fractured as her orgasm hit—sharp, sudden, pulsing against his tongue. He held her steady, his mouth soothing her through every tremor.

She sighed, and he pulled his fingers free. When she opened her eyes and looked down at him, he brought them to his mouth. She gasped softly as he licked them, slow and deliberate, eyes locked with hers.

Then he offered them to her.

Her eyes flared wide, shocked, but she opened, taking them in, sucking, swirling her tongue, and lapping up her own juices.

She was being so good—open and trusting. But it was all he could stand.

Alec surged to his feet and yanked open his fly. He freed himself, paused the excruciating seconds it took for protection, then stroked once before he brushed the head across her lips.

She opened for him without reservation, and it was nearly his undoing.

He groaned as her mouth closed around him—hot, slick, eager. While she attended to him, he didn’t leave her out. His fingers sank into her again as his other hand threaded into her hair, guiding her rhythm, matching the thrust of his cock with the glide of his fingers.

Release built fast—too fast—but he wasn’t about to finish without her. He added his thumb, circling her clit lightly then firmer, syncing his thrusting hips with her rising moans.

Her entire body tightened—thighs trembling, throat working around him as a broken cry spilled past her lips. Another orgasm hit her in a shuddering wave, clenching around his fingers.

His control was down to a tiny thread. Thank fuck—it was his turn now. The question was—did he come down her throat or inside her?

The latter almost always won out. It did now.

He withdrew with a ragged exhale.

“The panties have to go,” he said, voice thick with need. “Stand up.”

She rose on shaky legs, flushed and glistening with sweat and arousal.

He held up a finger—still wet from her—and twirled it.

Understanding his silent command, she turned to face the chair.

Alec slid the panties down her legs, steadying her as she stepped out of them.

“Kneel on the seat and lean over the back,” he ordered next.

While she settled into place, he shoved down his pants.

Her ass was round and firm. Perfect for his palm or a flogger, but there would be time for that later. He stroked his cock, just enough to ease the ache then squatted behind her and buried his face between her thighs.

Alec licked from her clit to entrance, dipping inside before moving higher and swirling his tongue over the smaller opening. But that initiation was for another scene, another night.

He grabbed a condom from his jeans pocket, rolled it on, and sank into her in one claiming thrust.

Her heat enveloped him—tight, yielding, almost too good to bear. He adjusted her position, leaning her forward until her head hung over the chair back. Then he gathered her hair in one hand, anchoring her.

He eased out then surged in again with one hard, disciplined stroke—holding onto his control by sheer force of will.

One hand reached behind her, fingers curling around his thigh as she rocked to meet him, instinct overriding direction. He could have let it slide but didn’t. He was a dominant, after all.

His hand came down on a rounded cheek. Not a punishment, just a reminder. Enough to pierce the haze of pleasure.

Startled, she yelped. She tried to turn and look at him, but his hand in the thick skein of her hair prevented it.

“Where are your hands supposed to be, Emily?”

She immediately put them behind her.

“That’s it,” he murmured, wrapping his hand around both wrists, helping her hold the position.

He slid out and then glided home again, finding a driving rhythm that made her cry out every time he filled her.

Her cries rose, high and breathless, feeding the fire ripping through him. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, until everything disappeared in a rough, guttural roar as he came, pulsing deep inside her.

Chapter 12

When awareness seeped back in, Emily found herself cradled in Alec’s lap, strong thighs beneath her, his arm steady behind her. His fingers stroked gently through her hair—tender, grounding. But the murmurs around them weren’t his voice. They were other people’s—low, amused, curious. Too close. Too many.

“We’re not alone anymore, are we?”

“No,” he replied quietly. “They heard us and came to see.”

She groaned and buried her face in his neck. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

His lips brushed her forehead, softly reassuring. “There was only a handful watching,” he soothed. “If you stay at Devil’s Pointe long enough, you get used to being watched. Half the magic here is exhibition or voyeurism.”

She stiffened. A cold thread of worry curled through her. Was that it? Was it the thrill of being seen—not Alec—that made her come undone tonight?

Why else had his tender kisses at his house felt nice but not earth-shattering? What if she only burned for the kink, not for him?

His arms tightened, protective. “Talk to me. Something shifted. I felt it.”

“It’s nothing,” she whispered—but her voice wavered.

He helped her sit up but kept her caged against him, gentle but unyielding, and eliminating any hope she had of escaping.

“Em. I’m not new to this game,” he warned her, voice edged with tension. “When a woman goes from relaxed and sated to stiff as a board, something’s wrong. Don’t shut me out.” He caught her chin and tipped her face up to his. “Let’s try again. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She gestured to the room, and the torchlit patio beyond. “What if it’s the club and the kink I crave? What if that’s what pushed me over the edge?”

“Then you’re in the right place.”

“You didn’t let me finish. What if it’s not…”

All at once, he stiffened. “Not what? Me? Are we circling back to ‘boring vanilla dude’?”

“I never called you that!”

“Do you really think what and where rather than who, made you scream as your body convulsed in orgasm?”

“Please don’t be offended. You insisted—”

“I did, didn’t I?” He lifted her off his lap, set her on her feet, then rose to tower over her.

“You’re angry,” she whispered, looking down at her hands rather than seeing the hurt on his face. “We should have left it at nothing. I knew this was a bad idea. Friends to lovers never works. No matter how fiercely both parties swear not to let it ruin things, it always does.”

“Is that why you’re here tonight? To test your theory?”

“Yes… No…” She shook her head, and whispered, “I don’t know.”

“Which one is it?”

“Julia said maybe I needed a comparison. Without sex!” she added when his eyes flashed with indignation. “I wasn’t planning to sleep with anyone. I just needed clarity.”

“And your plan was to get it with someone else?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut. “How disappointed you must be that I interfered.”

“Alec, don’t be like this. I’m sorry. It’s possible I’m incapable of normal intimacy. Which is concerning.”

He pulled her up on her toes and kissed her—possessive, masterful. She was gasping for air when he released her minutes later. “I don’t think intimacy is the problem.”

“That proves nothing. We’re here. Everything feels different.”

“Different how?” he pressed. “Not boring, you mean?”

She closed her eyes, teeth catching her lip. Julia’s label had really landed, and he’d latched onto it with maddening tenacity.

“Sorry,” he grunted. “I said I’d drop it, but you’re murder on a man’s ego.”

He looked away for one long, controlled breath before meeting her gaze again, something raw flickering in his eyes. “You want clarity? Fine. Let’s go get some.”

He dropped her chemise over her head and caught her hand, towing her toward the patio. She was still shimmying into the garment while hurrying to keep up.

“Where are we going?”

“You came here chasing comparisons.”

“And that means…”

His jaw flexed. “You’ll see in a minute.”

She had to jog to keep up with his long strides as he crossed the patio. He stopped abruptly in front of a group of doms relaxing in the outdoor lounge, and she nearly collided with him.

Alec pulled her in front of him, hands curled around her shoulders. “This is Rhys,” he said, voice clipped. “He’s British. His accent alone drives the subs crazy.”

Rhys came slowly to his feet with a hint of smile that said Alec wasn’t exaggerating. He was tall, lean muscle beneath his fitted shirt and trousers, silvered blond hair catching the patio lights. His steel-blue eyes swept over her—not leering but assessing—as if he could peel back all her layers in a single glance.

“An introduction?” he drawled, voice smooth as dark liquor. “Regrettably, my lovely, I’m past my two-drink limit for the night. I’ll be sure to abstain on Wednesday night, however.”

“She’s not looking for a dom,” Alec ground out, tension radiating off him in waves.

Rhys blinked once, brow creasing. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” Emily muttered.

Alec ignored her except for his fingers flexing, a clear command to stay silent. “I need you to settle a disagreement,” he told Rhys. “Kiss her.”

Rhys’s brows rose. The reaction wasn’t shock—just mild, pointed disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”

Emily’s protest overlapped his. “This isn’t necessary—”

“To put your doubts to rest once and for all, I think it is,” Alec insisted.

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets, the picture of patient skepticism. “You’re going to have to translate, Yarborough. I’m in the dark here, old man.”

“She thinks it’s the kink,” Alec snapped. “That any dom will get the same reaction.”

Rhys’s gaze sharpened, flicking between them. “And you want me to play the role? Interesting.”

Emily’s stomach knotted. Rhys was certainly attractive, but also a complete stranger. The knot tightened from humiliation, and the cold realization Alec had brought her here not only to be tested but to prove a point.

“Kiss her,” he pressed, “and let’s see if any dom will do.”

Rhys looked at her. Sympathy softening his eyes. “I’m happy to assist in the name of research, love. If, and only if, that’s what you want.”

He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t move closer. Didn’t assume.

And that made everything worse.

She didn’t want another dom. And it stung that Alec would offer her to another man. Even for a test. Even for just a kiss.

Anger came next—hot and scorching.

“Red,” she said clearly, loud enough to carry. “I’m not playing this game.”

Rhys stepped back at once, expression cooling into professional neutrality. A dom honoring a stop without question.

Behind her, Alec went absolutely still.

She pushed by him and stomped toward the house.

After two steps, he caught her arm—not to control but to stop the damage from spreading. “Wait, Em.” His voice shook with regret. “Where are you going?”

“To get my things and call an Uber. I’m going home.”

“That will cost a fortune from here,” Alec ground out. “I’ll drive you.”

Emily shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, considering.”

“Considering what?”

She rose on her toes, face inches from his. “Considering I’d like to punch you—sir.”

“Tensions are high,” Rhys interjected. “Maybe I should take her home.”

Alec shot him a glare that could cut steel. “Don’t. Even. Think about it.”

He read the line and didn’t cross it. Smart move. It was almost comical. But she was in no mood to laugh.

To keep the peace, however, she relented. “Alec can take me home.”

“Alec?” someone asked.

“We’ve known each other forever,” she explained.

There were nods of understanding. This wasn’t a hookup gone wrong—it was history unraveling.

Alec had calmed but remained tense when he led her toward the sidewalk that wrapped around the house, past the maze, and eventually to the front parking lot. Naturally hands-on, he usually guided her with a touch. Not this time. Smart man.

“Dammit,” he uttered, stopping short. “I need to get my keys. Wait here while I get them.”

When she nodded, he frowned, something he was doing a lot of around her.

“I need your verbal agreement.”

“I won’t go anywhere without you.”

He turned then swung back, something raw in his expression. “Emily, I owe you an apology. A real one.”

Startled, she asked, “What did you just say?”

“It’s not as if I’ve never apologized,” he grumbled then took a breath. “I didn’t handle tonight well. I got jealous and reacted and did something unforgivable.” His hand slid behind her neck, not with dominance but tenderness. “I shouldn’t have dragged Rhys into it. I shouldn’t have treated you as some test to run. It was wrong. You said ‘red.’ I heard it loud and clear. And I’m listening now.”

“You hurt me,” she whispered. “Not the kiss. Not Rhys. You. You made me feel… interchangeable.”

Alec flinched as if struck.

“This is all new to me, and very confusing. And yes, I still want to punch you, sir.”

He pulled her close. “If that clears the air between us, go for it.”

A little laugh slipped out, and she drawled, “Sorry, but that’s not my kink.” Then, more serious, “I’m not sure what is.”

“This was your first night. No one has it all figured out on day one. But that’s why you have me.” His hand cupped her cheek, and his pitch dropped to a stirring baritone. “I know—without a doubt—you’re wrong. Any dom won’t do for you. Only I will.” He pulled her into a kiss that was dark, possessive, and hungry.

Her knees went weak, and she not only believed him—she forgave him.

Long moments later, when he let her up for air, he rested his forehead against hers. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll figure this out.”

When he left to retrieve his keys, Emily was grateful for the moment alone to collect herself.

The cutting words coming out of the shadows robbed her of that.

“He’ll dominate and fuck you, but he’ll never be yours.”

She whirled to find a tall blonde leaning against the labyrinth fence, arms crossed, bitterness sharp in her eyes.

“Were you talking to me?”

“I’m warning you. Master Alec always returns to me.”

“And you are?” Emily asked evenly.

“Ashlynn. His submissive.”

Not a submissive. His.

Emily didn’t believe her and opened her mouth to say something catty.

“Spinning your fairy tales again?” Another woman stepped out of the shadows—dark springy curls, high cheekbones, a no-nonsense stare aimed at Ashlynn. “For God’s sake. He’s told you no more times than you’ve had hot dinners.” She moved closer, putting herself between Emily and the blonde. “Take your delusions elsewhere before someone reports you. Me, for instance.”

“Alec is mine,” she spat. “No matter what you haters say.”

“It’s not what we say. It’s what Master Alec does. Everyone here knows he’s not interested. You just refuse to listen.”

“This isn’t any of your business, Gabriella.”

“It is when you’re lying through your teeth!”

“Is there a problem here, ladies?” Devil seemed to appear out of nowhere. His laser-sharp gaze locked on Ashlynn, the instigator, which said a lot.

“No problem, Master D,” she gushed. “I was just heading out for the night.”

She bowed her head respectfully then fled up the sidewalk.

“Em, thank god,” Julia said, rushing up—eyes red, lashes spiky with tears. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. We need to go. Now.”

Emily saw the strain in her face, the trembling of her lips. And she wasn’t the only one.

“Has something happened to upset you, Julia?” Devil asked.

She jumped, startled—clearly hadn’t seen him standing nearby. Dressed in all black, it wasn’t surprising.

“I… uh…” she stammered. “I’m not feeling well, sir.”

“Are you sure that’s it?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, nodding, but her quivering bottom lip didn’t convince anyone.

“What’s going on?” Alec asked as he returned.

“Julia needs to go, but we came with friends of hers by boat,” Emily explained. “I can’t run off and leave her. Can she ride with us? We live in the same building.”

“Certainly,” he replied, no hesitation. No annoyance. It saved her from an uncomfortable discussion on the way home. If he was disappointed with the missed opportunity, he did a good job disguising it.

Master Dev nodded his thanks and pretty much vanished as unexpectedly as he’d appeared.

Emily turned to Gabriella. “Thank you for rescuing me from her.”

“No worries. You handled Ashlynn like a pro. Good instincts. I’ve seen her reduce other subs to tears.”

“What’s this?” Alec asked, bristling with annoyance. “Did she say something to you?”

“Just the same old song and dance,” Gabriella answered for her. “She still thinks you’re her dom—even though no one else does. I saw her arrive tonight. When she saw you with someone else, I swear smoke came out of her ears. She stalked Emily all evening, waiting to pounce.”

“So, she lied?”

“Totally!” This came from Julia. “With Ashlynn, as the saying goes—if her lips are moving…”

“She’s jealous,” Gabriella concluded. “And angry because no matter how fast she chases after Master Alec, he’s always three steps ahead—and having none of it.”

Emily glanced up and found him watching her. “I can’t imagine Alec running from anyone—man or woman.”

“You’ve had a taste of her tonight. Would you blame him?” her rescuer asked. “My friends call me Gaby, by the way. Clearly, Ashlynn isn’t one of them.”

“Thanks for having Emily’s back in my absence,” Alec told her.

“Us subs have to stick together when there is a bad one in the mix.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Alec replied. “Dev will want to know.”

Emily moved closer to him. “From the look on his face while speaking with her, I think he already does.”

“I’ll follow up with him in the morning, just to be sure.”

“She’s the worst of the lot,” Gaby said, her gaze tracking toward the sidewalk where Ashlynn had disappeared. “I can fill you in on others to watch out for, including some of the dominants you might want to steer clear of. Mistress Regina, for example.”

“I’ve already had the pleasure. Julia and I work for her catering company.”

Gaby’s smile didn’t slip, but she went very still—too still—for half a heartbeat. Then her head tilted—subtle, assessing—as if she was filing the information away before the easy grin returned. “You’re a braver woman than me. That mistress scares the ever-loving stuffing out of me. It’s late. I should head out myself. Master Alec,” she said with a little bob, before nodding to Emily. “I’ll look forward to seeing you the next time.”

Emily was about to offer her thanks again, but she was already gone. “Is stealth required for membership? People appear and disappear like smoke around here.”

“She’s right about one thing. Things are never dull,” Alec deadpanned, steering his two charges toward the front. “Would be nice if the excitement stuck to the scenes instead of detonating all over the damn patio.”

***

Julia didn’t say a word the entire way home. She sat staring out the window, silent and unmoving, every time Emily checked on her in the back seat. With Alec in the car, she couldn’t ask, but she was dying to know what happened.

They both walked her to her door. Emily gave her a tight hug, whispering, “I’ll call you in the morning.”

The drama with Ashlynn and Julia’s quiet unraveling left Emily more unsettled than she wanted to admit. The only small silver lining? Her anger at Alec—her outrage that he’d actually thought another dom’s kiss could solve things—had cooled.

At her own apartment door, he took her key, unlocked it, flipped on the light, then stepped aside. When he didn’t follow her in, she turned, confused. “You’re not coming?”

Despite everything, she wasn’t ready for him to leave.

“It’s late,” he said softly. “And you look exhausted.”

Her hands flew to her face. She hadn’t looked in a mirror since they had sex. She probably looked wild.

“Still beautiful,” he said, reading her thoughts as they formed. “Just tired.”

Some of the tension bled out of her. He wasn’t wrong. It had been a long twenty-four hours.

“You need rest,” he continued. “And I think we both need to process tonight. Do you have class tomorrow?”

“Skills lab, which is optional. But I’m working the breakfast shift—four to nine.”

He pulled out his phone, frowning at the screen. “It’s after one. How do you function on less than three hours of sleep?”

“I’m used to it.”

“I don’t like it. You can’t keep up that pace.”

“It’s not as though I have another choice.”

“Yes, you do.” He stepped forward. His thumb brushed her cheek. “You could trust me to take care of you.”

“And do what—move in with you?” she joked, keeping it light, but it was awkward. “That’s a little fast, don’t you think?”

“You obviously do.” He didn’t push. “Let’s not make any decisions while emotions are high.” He kissed her—smoldering, but gentler than before. A promise, not a demand. “Tomorrow, we’ll grab some lunch after your shift and talk more.”

He wasn’t asking. He was in dom mode again.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, with a mock salute.

“‘Sir’ sounds almost as good as Alec,” he murmured, hauling her close with a hand wound in her hair. He gave it a little tug—a light reprimand as he warned, “I can do without the sarcasm, though.”

He lips claimed hers once more—slow, hot, dizzying—and a spark raced through her.

Tenderness was only nice, but pulling her hair made her tingle? She was seriously messed up.

“Stop thinking so much,” he whispered against her lips. “Just go with it.”

It was unsettling that he’d read her mind again, then it dawned on her. “The tell?”

“Yeah.” His chuckle rumbled through her, sending delicious shivers down her spine. His thumb stroked her cheek, fingers still warm at the nape of her neck. “Rest well, sweetheart.”

After a final kiss and a look that sent her heart tripping, he left. Emily locked the door, leaned her forehead against the cool wood, and exhaled a long breath. The night had been intense—emotionally, physically, unexpectedly. The scene with Alec still pulsed under her skin.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was thinking too much. What was wrong with letting her baser instincts—and Alec—take the lead?

After all, living in her head all these years hadn’t gotten her anywhere.

Chapter 13

Six hours later, running on fumes, Alec dragged into headquarters, clutching a jumbo Americano with an extra shot. The text about the 8 a.m. meeting had come while driving home from Emily’s. He should’ve just crashed in the downtime room. Instead, he’d grumbled every colorful expletive he knew, already calculating it would be after two before his head hit the pillow. He needed a solid seven hours, or he turned into a bear. The fact that someone Emily’s size could grind out this pace—and had for years—made him feel like a whiny putz.

In the conference room, he flopped into the first empty chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. So far, the espresso hadn’t done jack.

He couldn’t stop replaying last night—the good, the bad, and the really ugly. He hadn’t expected to find Emily at the club, let alone scene with her. Then, he’d gone full dumbass and asked Rhys to kiss her. What the hell had he been thinking?

Maybe it was the fatigue. Or maybe his brain was still scrambled from that pistol grip to the head a few months back. Either way, he’d crossed a line—with her, and with his own rules.

Rafe Maddox and Boone Keller, two of Dev’s newer hires, slogged in behind him, both looking as bleary-eyed as he felt. Rafe was quiet as ever, the pale scar along his cheekbone catching the light as he lifted his chin in greeting. Boone, muttering about needing a vat of black coffee, sank heavily into a chair, his battered leather jacket creaking as he sat.

Dev entered last and shut the door behind him.

Leland stretched and grumbled, “What’s with the ungodly hour? My sheets didn’t have time to get warm before my alarm went off.”

“I had a late night too,” Dev replied. “Quit griping.”

“Easy for you to say. You only had to walk upstairs to bed.”

“We’ve got guest rooms,” the boss said dryly. “You can always stay the night.”

“Then you’d have someone to tuck you in, old man,” Boone said in his Southern drawl, prompting a ripple of chuckles around the table. Except for Leland, who shot him a scowl that would’ve intimidated lesser men. Nick Devlin didn’t hire lesser men. Boone just grinned wider.

“Let’s get to it. We’ve got another missing girl,” Dev said, turning the room somber. “She’s high profile. Queue it up, Callan.”

At the other end of the long table sat Callan Ritchie, their resident IT savant. Lean and broad-shouldered, with tousled dark hair and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. His hoodie hung half zipped over a rumpled tee; shadows under his eyes told the story of several sleepless nights. But his fingers still flew across the keyboard as if he was born to it.

The image of a pretty, college-age blonde appeared on screen a moment later.

“Beth Ann Pierce,” Callan began. “Age twenty. Sophomore at the U. Only daughter of Senator Warren Pierce. Last seen on Saturday leaving work. She hasn’t shown up for classes all week. Her roommate hasn’t heard from her. No social media posts in four days, which is highly unusual.”

“Boyfriend?” Leland asked.

“No one serious in the last six months.”

“Kidnapping?” Mateo Reyes suggested. Former FBI out of Boston, he’d been with them about as long as Alec. He was a few years younger, but well trained, and sharp. “She’s got a wealthy father—”

“No ransom demand so far,” Callan said.

“What makes you think this ties to the trafficking ring?” Rhys asked.

“She fits the profile,” Dev said. “Petite, pretty, barely legal. Could pass for under eighteen.”

“Sick fucks,” Boone uttered fiercely.

“She also worked at Gold Coast Catering,” Callan added. “Same place one of the other missing girls did.”

“Worked?” Rhys echoed.

“She was fired on Saturday,” Callan clarified. “The same day she vanished.”

The conversation buzzed around Alec’s head, but he’d lost focus at the mention of Beth Ann’s employer. A cold knot of dread formed in his gut.

“Wait,” Mateo said. “Isn’t that Mistress Regina’s catering company?”

“One and the same,” Dev confirmed. “Hits close to home, doesn’t it?”

“Too close,” Alec said quietly, alarm mounting. “Emily works for Regina.”

“Who?” someone asked.

“His sub from last night,” Rhys supplied. “But there’s more to the story.”

“She wasn’t a play partner,” Alec shared. “I’ve known her since we were kids. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s special.”

“She needs to quit,” Rhys advised.

“Agreed,” Alec said, though he didn’t relish that conversation.

“These motherfuckers are serious bad news, Yarborough,” Leland said. “Lay down the law. Like you do at the club.”

“That’s the thing,” Alec admitted. “Except for last night, she’s not my submissive.”

“She might already be a target,” Leland warned.

“She needs a man on her,” Mateo said.

“I’ll do it,” Alec offered immediately.

“No,” Dev said quietly. “Jesse, you’re up.”

Alec’s jealousy flared. Not just because Dev chose Jesse Coulter over him—but because the man seemed mighty interested in Emily last night.

“I’m heading out on a skip trace once we’re done here.” Jesse shot Alec a knowing look. “You can relax, bud.”

“I’m available,” Rhys offered, flashing Alec a grin that said he hadn’t forgotten last night’s almost-kiss either.

His friend was giving him shit this morning—further proof of the dumbass move he’d pulled last night.

“I’ve got her covered,” Alec said, his jaw tight.

“No, you don’t.”

He looked at the boss who called the shots but always accepted input from his team. Guilt curled in his gut. Although he had a suspicion, he asked anyway, “Why not?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dev replied.

“I fucked up with Cari and let my guard down. I own that. It doesn’t happen twice,” he said into the silence that had settled over the room.

“I wasn’t referring to that,” he said. “That’s been settled. I meant your relationship to Emily. You’re too close, which makes her a distraction. Why do you think I never did body duty for Cari?”

He stared at Nick Devlin—former FBI and a damn fine investigator, a man he respected. He’d forgiven him for letting the mob take his fiancée on his watch. Dev’s gaze held no doubt. No mistrust. Just quiet certainty.

Alec hated being benched. Hated that Dev was right. Last night, when it wasn’t life or death, he’d let emotion cloud his judgment. Emily deserved better than that.

With gritted teeth, he nodded. “I’ll need to explain why a dom she met at the club is following her around.”

“See to it,” Dev said.

“Hate to put a damper on planning, but we’re stretched thin,” Mateo said. “This makes five active protection cases. We’re bleeding manpower.”

“That’s been my reality for three years,” Dev muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Referral bonus for licensed PIs. Training’s a luxury when we’re in crisis. I need seasoned men, not hopefuls. Meeting adjourned.”

As the others filed out, Alec glanced at the clock then at Rhys—still seated, calm as ever.

With a PhD in forensic psychology, Rhys had a knack for getting inside a criminal’s mind. He’d seen him in action and knew he was a crack shot, too. There wasn’t a man more qualified to protect Emily. Himself included.

“She gets off work in thirty minutes,” Alec said. “If we hurry, we can catch her before she leaves.”

Rhys’s brows lifted. “What kind of job ends at nine in the morning?”

“She’s a waitress. Breakfast shift.”

“Right,” he said, rising. “I could use a proper cup of tea. And if they’ve got anything resembling bangers and mash, I might just die happy.”

Alec snorted. “I don’t know about that. But they make great waffles.”

“How’s that?”

“You’ll see.”

***

Fifteen minutes later, they pushed through the double doors of the Waffle House in Miami Gardens. Rhys looked around, his expression caught somewhere between fascination and alarm.

“Isn’t this what you Americans call a greasy spoon?”

Alec arched a brow. “I thought you were born in the states.”

“Yes, but try not to hold that against me.”

“Seat yourselves,” the man at the registers hollered over the breakfast chaos.

“We’re friends of Emily’s. Which section is hers?”

The man sized them up—two solidly built men who clearly weren’t regulars—then jerked his chin to the right. “Last booth. All she’s got open.”

They wove through sticky tables, clattering plates, and the scent of sizzling bacon. Alec slid into the booth first. Rhys hesitated, visibly pained, then took the opposite seat and immediately began scrubbing the table with a fistful of napkins like a germophobic surgeon prepping for heart surgery. He even wiped down the laminated menu. Twice.

Alec looked on with a grin. “Your elitism is showing. Don’t they have diners in London?”

“I’ve heard rumors,” Rhys replied. “But you wouldn’t catch me dead in one.”

“Yet, here you are.”

“Dev pays extremely well for these… cultural sacrifices.”

Emily appeared beside the table, notepad in hand, still scribbling from her last order. “What can I get you this morning?”

“Whatever won’t land us in the emergency department,” Rhys said, still scrubbing.

That got her attention. Her head lifted sharply, and when her eyes met his her pretty pink lips curved into a smile. “I thought we were doing lunch?” Her gaze shifted to Rhys, and her expression dimmed. “You’re the do— um… the guy from last night.”

“Indeed,” he said, flashing a brilliant white smile that had charmed half the subs at Devil’s Pointe. “Your attention was diverted by Yarborough’s antics. Understandably so. But we weren’t formally introduced. Dr. Rhys Langston.”

“Doctor?”

“Psychologist,” he clarified. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “You may call me Rhys away from the club.”

You can call him a hearse because he’ll need one if he doesn’t stop flirting,” Alec cut in, only half kidding.

He chuckled, releasing her with exaggerated reluctance.

“What’s happening?” Emily asked, brow furrowing.

“It’s complicated,” he said simply. “We’ll explain once you’re off and have time to sit.”

She glanced at the wall clock above the counter. “I’ve got fifteen minutes left, maybe twenty with cash-out.”

“No problem. Coffee in the meantime?”

“I’ll get it now,” she said, nodding.

Rhys propped the laminated menu upright behind the condiments. “Since I’ve no hope for a decent cup of tea, and I detest the dishwater you Yanks swill, fresh orange will suffice, luv. I’ll also take bangers and drop scones with clotted cream. I’m suddenly famished.”

Emily gazed blankly at him then looked to Alec for a translation.

“He’ll take pancakes topped with whipped cream and a side of sausage links.”

“Ah,” she sighed, enlightenment dawning.

“Isn’t that what I said?” Rhys asked, looking mildly offended.

***

Emily went through the motions of winding down her shift, though her gaze kept sliding toward booth 12A and the two unfairly handsome men waiting for her. Judging by the whispering behind the counter, she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Even sixty-three-year-old Margaret had perked up.

“I heard him order,” Nicole gushed. “That accent? I felt it in my ovaries. If you tell me he’s single, I’ll melt right into this sticky floor.”

“As if any of us has a shot,” Ellen scoffed. “Look at her”—she pointed a spatula at Emily—“then look at them.” They didn’t need to turn toward the last booth on the right—they were already staring. “Gorgeous attracts gorgeous. Not frumpy, forty-something waitresses in support hose with bad knees.”

Some days, Ellen was a walking morale hazard worse than any Debby Downer.

Nicole ignored her. “He’s a special friend of yours, isn’t he?” she stage-whispered to Emily, brows waggling. “Please say yes. I need to live vicariously through someone.”

“The gorgeous, blue-eyed, All-American boy-next-door is Alec, a childhood friend,” Emily said, trying not to smile and failing. “The one giving off James Bond energy is Rhys.”

Nicole and Margaret sighed, instantly reverting to giddy adolescents. Ellen snorted again, the human equivalent of a cranky goose.

“Emily, order up,” the cook called.

“I’m off to have breakfast with the hotties,” she said, heading to the pickup window. “It’s a dirty job but someone’s gotta do it.”

“I volunteer,” Nicole called, raising her hand.

“Lucky duck!” Emily heard Margaret mutter as she loaded the hot plates onto a tray and carried it over before anyone could grill her further.

Alec waited until she set everything down then stood and motioned her into the booth. When he settled—so close his thigh pressed against hers—she arched a brow. “Are you afraid that what you have to say will send me bolting for the door?”

Rhys answered smoothly. “It’s courtesy where I come from, luv. The gentleman guards the aisle.”

“Says the man who learned to drive on the wrong side of the road,” Alec muttered, adding a splash of cream to his coffee.

“We’ve been doing it properly for nearly two millennia,” Rhys countered. “Since knights jousted, thank you very much.”

Emily laughed at their banter, but her appetite had evaporated. She salted her omelet out of habit and nudged it around the plate.

“Can we talk and eat?” she asked. “Because I’m about to spontaneously combust if someone doesn’t start explaining.”

“You need protection,” Rhys announced—delicate as a sledgehammer.

Alec exhaled. “Ever heard of easing someone in?”

“Certainly.”

“Then, let me,” he ground out.

“Fine.” Rhys shrugged and speared a bite of pancake. “Do carry on.”

“What kind of protection?” Emily asked. “Better locks and a tracker?”

“Think up several notches.”

“I can’t afford even one notch.”

“Cost isn’t your concern,” he replied.

“Why? What’s this about?”

Alec turned toward her, his food forgotten. “You remember the mob boss who was shot in Miami earlier this year?”

“Yes. What does he have to do with me?”

“He was part of an international drug and human-trafficking ring.”

“Young girls. Barely eighteen. It’s sick and twisted,” Rhys added around a mouthful of pancakes.

“Do you mind?” Alec snapped.

“Sorry,” Rhys said, shooting Emily an apologetic look. “These scones, though? Brilliant.”

She managed a smile. “I didn’t make them, but thanks.”

“Em, focus.”

“Isn’t the bad guy getting shot a good thing?” she asked. “I still don’t see how this relates to me.”

“It didn’t end when he went down, which suggests he was only a minor player. More girls have gone missing recently, including two who worked for Gold Coast Catering.”

Her fork slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the plate. Heads turned.

Alec covered her trembling hand with his. “Did you know Beth Ann Pierce?”

She nodded slowly. “She didn’t work there long. Is she one of the missing girls?”

“Can you tell us anything about her?”

“Beth Ann was scatterbrained. Always late, never listened, terrible following directions, that kind of thing. It drove Regina crazy. She showed up late for the pre-event briefing last Saturday. It was the last straw. None of us were surprised when she fired her on the spot. It was just a matter of time.”

“Do you know where she went afterward?”

“No. Beth Ann and I weren’t close.”

“What about the others?” Rhys asked. “Did she have friends at work she might’ve turned to?”

“I’m not being unkind when I say she annoyed everyone. Most of us just tolerated her. But I still don’t understand why I’d be in danger. I’m not a blonde, and I’m a long way from eighteen.”

“No, but hair can be dyed,” Rhys suggested. “And you could easily pass for a teenager.”

Emily scowled. She’d heard that for years.

“You’re no longer working for Regina,” Alec stated firmly.

“I can’t just quit. I have bills, tuition, rent.”

“You have to work two jobs to do it?” Rhys asked, sounding appalled.

“I’m a waitress and a banquet worker. On a good week, I bring home a little over five hundred dollars”—she gestured toward the table—“I’d need to serve waffles by the truckload to make ends meet.”

“The hours are awful. If the pay is bad too, why stay?” he asked, forking up more whipped-cream-laden bites.

“I get benefits here. I cracked a tooth last year. Do you know how much a crown costs? Regina pays better, but that’s all I get, and it’s on an as-needed basis. She usually stays busy, but I can’t bank on ‘usually.’ Here, the hours are dependable. So I need both.”

“You’re getting a man on you,” Alec informed her, his tone allowing no room for debate.

She needed clarification, however. “A man? As in a tail? Is that one of the several notches?”

“As in a bodyguard.”

“How does that work exactly? There’s a wedding this weekend. I’m pretty sure the father of the bride won’t want a big, burly guy with an earpiece and a Glock shadowing the help after dropping ten grand on shrimp and canapes.”

“We’re professionals. He won’t be quite so in-your-face,” Rhys explained. “Besides, we don’t want to tip Regina off if she’s involved.”

“I don’t like this,” she uttered to her plate of cold egg whites.

“Neither do I,” Alec said, gripping her hand tight, “but this is about your safety. Your choice is to accept a bodyguard or give notice effective immediately.”

She’d hit the ATM that morning. Her bank balance was dismal. Quitting wasn’t an option. Reluctantly, she accepted the alternative. “When do I meet my professional shadow?”

Rhys wiped his mouth and replied, “You’re having breakfast with him.”

When she looked at Alec hopefully, he shook his head. Her gaze tracked to the man across the table. He saluted her with two fingers and a dazzling grin.

“There’ll be several of us,” he said. “But you’ve got me first.”

Emily sighed. “Oh, goodie.”

Chapter 14

Breakfast had gone long—longer than she’d expected, longer than Alec had time for. Between Rhys being officially assigned as her bodyguard and the team laying out protection protocols, there hadn’t been space for anything personal. Not for the conversation she and Alec needed to have. Not for the questions she still didn’t know how to ask.

Lunch never happened. Alec had to shift things around, and she had class anyway. Then came the evening shift with Regina—another banquet, another round of forced smiles and aching feet. Rhys had been watching, though she never saw him. She felt only the weight of his gaze, and, later, the sweep of headlights slipping in behind her as she pulled out of the event center and following her home.

Being shadowed could have been creepy. Instead, she felt less exposed—and relatively safe. Was anyone ever fully so? Her dad, Ethan, and Alec—cops who had seen more ugliness than she could fathom—would say no.

She had showered and was climbing into bed when Alec called to check in and say good night. His voice was tired, his words brief. She didn’t blame him. He was working. But the rather stilted conversation felt more awkward than it should have.

The next morning, she stepped out of her bedroom dressed and ready, tugging her hair into a low ponytail as she padded barefoot into the living room—expecting to find Rhys with a cup of tea and some sort of dry commentary.

Instead, a stranger stood in her living room.

He glanced up from his phone and smiled, easy and unbothered.

“Morning.”

Dark hair and eyes. Absurdly good-looking. He wore camo pants, a fitted black tee, and the relaxed bearing of a man who wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of a tactical gear catalog. She didn’t return his smile, asking stiffly, “Who are you?”

“Mateo. I’m your shadow for the day.” He unclipped an ID badge from his belt and flashed it her way.

“Where’s Rhys?”

“His shift ended at seven. He said he heard you moving around late and figured you could use the sleep, so he skipped the intro with the handoff.”

“He just left you here?” she said, her voice rising.

“Rhys let me in. I didn’t pick the lock, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His grin broadened. “Though I could, if I had to.”

She crossed her arms. “How many PIs does Devlin have?”

“Last count? Twenty-three. And that’s still not enough.”

She snorted despite herself. “You’re cocky.”

“I’m competent. It gets mistaken for cocky a lot.”

He handed her a travel mug. “Coffee. Black, two sugars. Rhys said you’d need it.”

She took it, eyeing him over the rim. “You’re also disturbingly well-briefed.”

“I had time to read your file while waiting for you to get up.” He gave her a once-over—not in a leering way, more professional, checking for signs of stress, fatigue, threat level. “What’s your schedule today?”

“I have a class at one. Before that, I was thinking about going by my storage unit.”

“Got it,” he said, like it was a routine client request. Then his tone softened, and he gave her a look that said he knew exactly what she was facing. “Storage units and emotional landmines—my specialty.”

She didn’t smile or react, but inwardly, she thought, another perceptive hottie with an investigator’s license. Lucky me.

He nodded toward her feet. “Get your shoes, and we’ll head out.”

They drove in silence, not awkward or uncomfortable but for her, necessary. She stared out the window, watching the city blur past, her thoughts tangled in the past.

After Ethan died, and she left home—and Alec—she’d had to do something with the house. She couldn’t bring herself to sell it, but she couldn’t live in it either. The memories were too overwhelming, the empty silence too loud. But she couldn’t afford the taxes and upkeep if it just sat empty, so she rented it out.

That meant cleaning it out and deciding what to trash, sell, and keep.

She wasn’t ready for that, so she hired movers. They packed up everything she couldn’t face—her parents’ furniture, her mother’s art, Ethan’s books, the family photos, the heirlooms. All of it had gone into storage. Out of sight. Out of mind.

But now, with bills piling up and danger circling closer, she couldn’t ignore it anymore. The things she’d clung to for comfort were just collecting dust in a cube she hadn’t visited in years.

Dad would say, “Be practical, Emily.” Mom and Ethan would agree—and be furious she was doing without when any of it could help her.

Now, as the metal door screeched upward and banged into place, the sound echoing off the concrete walls, she wondered if eight years’ distance was enough. Dust motes danced in the shaft of morning light cutting through the hallway of the storage facility. Emily stood frozen on the threshold as the scent of stale air, cardboard, and the faintest hint of cigar smoke hit her, along with a wave of memories. She had to be imagining it. Still, the scent clung like a ghost—faint, familiar, and impossible to forget.

Mateo whistled low behind her. “You weren’t kidding. This place is packed.”

“I couldn’t deal with grief and bubble wrap at nineteen and had the movers pack it all,” she explained as she stepped inside.

He followed her in, turning sideways to squeeze between two towers of boxes. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Anything I can sell that won’t make me feel as if I’m pawning off my soul.”

“So, nothing sentimental, nothing practical, and nothing that might make you cry. Got it.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “You’re here for heavy lifting, not commentary.”

“Actually, I’m here to keep you safe. But I’m young, strong, and multitalented.”

Emily turned, hiding a small smile. He was also arrogant, but likeable.

She looked around, scanning the labels. The moving company had done most of them, neatly written on white stickers. But a few were scribbled in black Sharpie in her own handwriting: Dad’s Office, Ethan’s Stuff, Kitchen Crap I Might Regret Tossing. Her fingers hovered over the flaps then settled on a small box tucked between the others. The cardboard was soft at the corners, the tape yellowed and curling.

She peeled it open and froze.

Inside, cushioned in a faded dish towel, was her grandfather’s gold watch. He’d given it to Ethan the day he’d graduated from the police academy. The one she’d rarely seen him without, until…

“Nope,” she said, replacing the lid. “Not this.”

Mateo glanced over. “What’d you find?”

“A blast from the past,” she said, voice thick. “And a reminder I’m not ready to sell my history.”

She dug into another box. A photo surfaced—sun-bleached and curling at the edges. Alec, Ethan, and her fifteen-year-old self, in oversized sunglasses and a crooked grin, at the beach. Alec had his arm slung around her shoulders, his chin resting lightly on her head. She remembered the moment—Ethan had just dared her to jump off the pier, and she’d chickened out.

Alec had whispered, “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Em. Least of all him.”

Her smile faded into a frown. As long as she could remember, he’d always been that way. Her knight. Protective. Steady. More so than Ethan, even.

She found a book next. Wuthering Heights, its spine cracked with age and use, the pages yellowed. Like her mother before her, it had always been her favorite classic.

Inside the limited first edition, she found a pressed violet—brittle but intact. But it was the slip of paper tucked behind the front cover that stole her breath.

Happy Sweet 16, Em!
You’re stronger than you know.
But if you ever need a little extra muscle, I’m here for you.
~A

The words blurred as time folded in on itself. She sank onto the cold concrete before her knees could give way. The book lay open in her lap, the note trembling in her fingers.

He’d pulled her aside at a family celebration to give it to her privately. She hadn’t known what to make of it then, only that she’d fallen even more hopelessly in love with him.

Her knight. Her anchor. Her safe place.

He’d been that all along, before she’d truly understood what it meant.

She’d always sensed the steel beneath his sweetness—instinctively, without knowing why it made her breath catch or her pulse skip. Only now, after the spanking, the way his voice could coil through her, did she recognize what that edge truly was.

And why it had always been him.

Mateo’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Hey, Em. You might want to see this.”

She looked up. He was holding a battered banker’s box, the lid askew. Even before he tilted it toward her, recognition hit. Spiral notebooks, manila folders, loose papers, all marked with his tight, slanted handwriting.

“Case notes,” Mateo confirmed, flipping through one. “There’s enough in here to pitch an entire season of CSI: Miami.”

Emily stood, feeling the grit of dust against her palms as she brushed off the seat of her shorts. Ethan had become fixated on her dad’s notes after the accident. She’d kept them, hoping to look through them one day and perhaps understand his obsession. Was it their shared interest in police work, or something more? With distance, perhaps she could now.

“Could you put them in the car?” she asked, heading toward him with the watch, one of the photo albums from before her world had turned upside down, and the book that had once made her heart ache for something she hadn’t dared name. “I’m ready to go.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

She glanced around the unit at the boxes piled high, years of her life she still didn’t know how to unpack. “I’m not sure I ever will.”

Following him out, she pushed the button and watched as the metal door slammed down with a clang.

***

The apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional rustle of Mateo shifting on the couch. After checking every door and window—then peering outside for the hundredth time—he’d made himself a cup of coffee and settled in for the long overnight shift. She’d offered him a pillow and blanket, but he’d waved her off. “I’m here to protect you, babe, not nap.”

The scent of garlic and rosemary lingered in the air. Facing a rare evening off, after class, she’d had him swing by the grocery store. Her signature chicken caprese had been a hit—judging by the empty pan soaking in the sink and the fact that Mateo had three helpings.

She should be asleep. It was nearly midnight, and she didn’t have to be up at dawn to sling hash and refill coffee cups. But instead of catching up on rest, she sat cross-legged in bed, her father’s journals fanned out in front of her. Some sketches were graphic and made her stomach twist. Her laptop cast a bluish glow across the rumpled sheets, tabs open, search results half read. Her eyes burned from too much screen time and not enough blinking.

The journals were a jumble of dates, names, and shorthand she didn’t fully understand. But Ethan’s notes jotted in the margins kept her anchored. He’d been chasing something. So had their dad. And now she was chasing ghosts.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She hesitated, seeing Alec’s name. Then answered, “Hey.”

“Hope it’s not too late,” he said, voice rough with fatigue. “I just finished up for the night.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” she said, lying back and pulling up the covers. She didn’t mention the rabbit hole of search results or the fact she’d been playing junior detective for the past few hours.

“How’d it go with Mateo?”

“He hasn’t broken anything, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s currently stalking my windows, even though I’m on the fourth floor, and swilling my coffee.”

Alec grunted. “Sounds about right.”

“He’s actually kind of sweet.”

Laughter burst from him. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Why? What am I missing?”

“He’s a club member, sweetheart. Also, one of the few true sadists in our membership.”

“No way!”

“Yeah. Don’t test him. If you think I spank hard—”

“He wouldn’t!”

“I was teasing, Em. He wouldn’t. If he did, I’d knock his teeth down his throat.”

There was a pause. Silence stretched—not awkward but charged. Full of everything they hadn’t said last night.

“I’ve been thinking about us,” he said at length.

Her treacherous heart did a flip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ve got unfinished business.”

“I know.” Too soft.

She winced. Of course he’d heard it—the pause, the weight behind her words.

“I want to see where this goes,” he said. “But we’ve got to be in the same room to do that. Alone.”

She smiled faintly. “What about breakfast? For once, I’m not serving it. Just no waffles, please.”

“Sorry, baby. I’ve got a nine o’clock meeting. Dev’s been on a tear with them lately.”

“What about Thursday for lunch? I don’t have class until two, but I’ve got an event with Regina after that.”

“That doesn’t work for me.”

She sighed, rolling onto her side. “Is fate or the calendar trying to tell us something?”

“It’s saying we’re both spread too thin and need to make some adjustments.”

“Adjustments don’t pay my rent,” she said quietly.

There was a beat then his voice dropped. “You’re juggling too much. You should let me take care of you, Em.”

His words sat between them, heavy and complicated. When she didn’t respond, he growled softly. “Have you always been this stubborn?”

She smiled, despite everything. “You’ve known me for how long?”

His frustrated sigh filled her ears before he said, “Long enough to know you’re worth the fight.”

Her breath caught. It was the sweetest thing ever—and he’d said a lot. She didn’t know how to answer.

Luckily, he wasn’t expecting her to.

“Get some sleep. We’ll figure it out.”

She hoped so. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she whispered, “Good night, Alec.”

“Night, baby.”

When the call ended, she stared at the ceiling. Her chest ached—not with fear but with something far more dangerous.

Hope.

She should do what he suggested—turn off the light and go to sleep—but the journals called to her.

Three things kept surfacing: Denali. Gold Coast. Shipment codes.

She typed “Denali” into the search bar. The results loaded slowly, as if the internet itself hesitated.

Then it returned a flood of hits. Number one: Denali crime family. She clicked on the easiest—Wikipedia—and scanned the long line of bosses over the past century. Vittorio Denali, the patriarch, long deceased. His son, Benito, followed, also deceased. Most recently, another son, Vincenzo—convicted of conspiracy to commit murder and racketeering, with drug and sex trafficking charges pending.

He was the one shot in Miami that Alec had mentioned.

Emily stared at the screen, her pulse thudding in her ears.

Her father had been closing in. Ethan had picked up the trail. And now, they were both gone.

She slumped in the chair, the weight of what she’d learned a cinder block pressing down on her chest. When she could breathe again, she rose, slipped into her robe, and, with the most incriminating journal in hand, went to have a chat—and a cup of coffee—with Mateo.

***

Alec was halfway through his second espresso when the door opened, and Emily walked in. She had her hair in a ponytail, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion, but her posture was straight, almost defiant. Mateo followed behind her, carrying a banker’s box. He set it on the conference table with a thud that made his gut clench.

“What’s this?” Alec asked, him, his eyes locked on Emily.

“Her dad’s case notes,” Mateo supplied. “Ethan added his own before they took him out.”

“They?” Dev asked sharply.

Emily answered, her voice steady even though her hands trembled. She curled them into fists to make them stop. “My dad and Ethan were both chasing the traffickers. There are shipment codes in here, names and dates. Gold Coast Catering shows up more than once.”

Leland was already flipping through a notebook. Dev leaned in beside him, scanning quickly. Alec stayed seated, watching her. She hadn’t slept. He could see it in the tightness around her mouth, the way she refused to let her shoulders sag. She was holding herself together with nothing but coffee and determination, and it showed.

“This is the first real break we’ve had,” Dev said, pacing the length of the room. “The trail is years old, except for Gold Coast. We need to get someone inside—”

“I’m already inside,” Emily said. “Use me.”

Alec shot out of his chair so fast, it rolled and slammed into the wall. “Absolutely not.”

Emily rose too. “I’m the obvious choice. I know the staff, the routine, the layout.”

“You’re not trained,” he snapped. “This isn’t keeping a soufflé from falling, it’s a trafficking ring. And you’re not doing this.”

Dev held up a hand. “Alec—”

“No.” Alec’s voice cracked like a whip. “You barely got Cari out of there and brought her home bloody and traumatized. You’ve told me yourself she still wakes screaming some nights. And you want Emily walking into the same shit?”

She flinched, stunned by this revelation. Dev went still, his words hitting deep.

“That’s exactly why we need to shut this down,” he said tightly. “They’ve taken scores of other women. They took Emily’s parents and brother. A brother to you too. How many others are we going to allow be sacrificed to these fuckers?”

“No more,” Emily said, coming up behind him. “They took everything from me.”

Alec spun to face her. “Not everything. I’m still here.”

That was a low blow, but he’d do what he must to talk her out of this insanity.

“I need answers.”

“Someone else will get your answers. A cop or a trained investigator, not a culinary student.”

“Regina is selective,” Emily insisted. “She expects references. Face-to-face interviews. One wrong word or a funny look, and you’re out.”

Rhys stepped in then, voice calm but hard. “He’s not wrong about the danger. But she’s right about access.”

Mateo added, “To get someone new hired and trusted could take weeks or longer. Time the girls taken don’t have.”

Alec rounded on them. “Stop talking about her like she’s an asset on a clipboard.”

“She is an asset,” Dev said quietly. “And she’s also the only thing we’ve got.”

“Then your system’s broken.” He was around the table in two strides, nose to nose with his boss, and friend. “If you think I’m letting her walk in with a wire and a smile, you’re out of your mind.”

“You think I want to send her?” Dev exploded, shocking everyone. The man never raised his voice. “After what they did to Cari? After seeing those bloody cages? Don’t you dare act like I’m casual about this. But we can’t lose this chance. And Emily has something none of us do—she isn’t on their radar.”

He felt Emily behind him, her hand on his back. “I need to do this, Alec.”

He turned and looked down at her and saw it.

She was scared, but completely determined, and already moving ahead in her mind.

“You made up your mind before you walked in,” he said quietly.

She nodded once. Then she reached into the box and pulled out a worn notebook. She opened it to a random page and held it out to him. Notes covered the margins. They were Ethan’s—sharp, frantic, familiar.

“You haven’t moved on either, Knight,” she murmured. “But if we stop this and uncover all the answers, maybe we’ll both get to breathe again.”

Dev cleared his throat, in control when he stated, “Rhys and Mateo will work logistics. Leland and Callan will oversee tech. She’ll never be alone. Not for a second.”

Leland nodded. “We’ll have eyes on her the whole time. Audio, visual, GPS. If she sneezes, we’ll know.”

Alec’s hands curled into fists. “I don’t want you doing this.”

Emily touched him, her hand flat on his chest this time. “I know. But I need to.”

He heard Rhys’s voice in his head. When he sought him out after the almost-kiss gone wrong, when he’d acted like a complete asshole. You don’t get to choose how she heals.

Alec closed his eyes.

Dammit! He wanted her whole, but not like this.

But how did he stop her? He could only stand between her and the danger.

When he opened them, his voice was raw. “Fine. But if she’s going in, everything goes by me. The second anything looks wrong, I pull her.”

Dev considered—long, tense—then nodded. “Done.”

Emily inhaled, shaky but resolved. “I have an event with Regina tonight. Wire me up, and I’ll start right away.”

“Callan will—” Dev began.

“No,” Alec cut in. “I’ve got her.”

Despite the unease knotting his gut, he took her hand and led her out of the conference room, down the hall, to the equipment room. It smelled of gun oil and adrenaline as he laid out the gear she’d need: wire mic, GPS tracker, panic button. Each piece felt like surrendering her to danger.

Emily perched on the edge of the table, looking around the room, eyes wide as she took in the tools of his trade. Weapons, ammo, and nonlethal things—pepper spray, transmitters, and tactical gear.

She had said little since the meeting. He knew her well, though. Her silence wasn’t retreat—it was resolve.

“I think I’ve seen this in a spy movie,” she murmured.

“It’s not Hollywood, Em. It’s very real. We do domestic cases, but Dev also contracts with local, state, and federal agencies, including the FBI’s trafficking division.”

Her eyes flicked up. “Somehow I thought this job was less dangerous than being a cop.”

“Most cases are, but when dealing with criminals, even white collar, there is always risk. Which is why I don’t want you involved.”

“I don’t want to be involved either. I need to be,” she repeated. “Can you understand that?”

“I do,” he said with a sigh. He clipped a micro-transmitter to her bra strap, fingers steady despite the panic clawing at his chest. “This is only one way. We can’t risk your cover with white noise or artifact. We’ll be able to hear everything. It’s sensitive, so you can whisper if needed.”

“Who’s on the other end? The command center?”

“We’re sticking close. Someone will be monitoring from the van outside. The range is solid, but stay within the venue perimeter,” he stated.

She nodded.

He knelt, slipped off her shoe, and pressed a tracker no bigger than a nickel inside. “This tracker pings every thirty seconds. If it stops, we move in.”

He stood and held out his hand, palm up. “Clip this inside the waistband of your uniform. If anything feels wrong—anything at all—you press it. Even if you’re yelling for help, hit it too. No hesitation.”

She took the dime-sized panic button, fingers brushing his skin. “I won’t hesitate.”

He studied her. Tired eyes. Steady jaw. Quiet fear but unshakeable resolve. His girl had brass balls, and no matter how insane he found this, he was damn proud of her.

“Do you know how much I hate this?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

He stepped closer, the rasp of his voice betraying his apprehension. “You should be in class right now, mastering that pastry-wrapped beef thing with the nasty capers.”

“Beef Wellington,” she said, a shaky laugh escaping. “That was almost ten years ago. You remembered.”

“How could I forget? You made me taste it and traumatized me.”

Her smile faded, but her eyes stayed warm. “I wish things were different.”

“So do I.”

Her hands came up, framing his face, her thumbs brushing the stubble along his jaw. “Please understand that I need to do this. For us. For the girls still out there. For Dad and Ethan—so their sacrifice isn’t for nothing.”

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.

“Be smart. Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“I won’t.”

“You’re our eyes and ears inside, nothing more.”

“I know.”

“If you get hurt, I’ll never forgive Dev and Leland.”

She licked her lips, hope audible when she asked, “Does that mean you’ll forgive me?”

“Only if you come back to me.” He kissed her—soft, slow, aching. A promise and a plea.

The door creaked open.

A throat cleared. “Pardon the interruption,” Rhys said. “Emily needs to go now, or she’ll be late.”

Emily pulled away, breath shaky but her eyes steady. She hopped down from the table. Her arms surrounded him and squeezed tight before slipping past him and heading for the door.

Alec watched her go, every instinct screaming for him to stop her.

But he didn’t.

Not this time.

Chapter 15

The retirement banquet was textbook—white linens, shrimp skewers, a jazz trio playing just loud enough to be annoying. Emily moved through it all, drawing from her years of experience to stay composed, but her nerves were frayed. Every brush of a shoulder made her flinch. Every dropped tray or clatter of plates sent her heart racing.

Regina caught her near the dessert station, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “You’re jumpy, Peterson. Did someone swap your decaf with a triple espresso?”

Emily forced a smile. “It’s been a long day.”

Regina didn’t want to hear excuses. One brow arched and her lips pursed, as she studied her as if she were a puzzle with a missing piece. Then someone signaled to her from across the room, and she pivoted away, heels clicking.

Relief washed over her, and she let out a long, shaky breath.

But then, Regina paused. “I nearly forgot. One of my prep chefs quit. I need you to fill in on Saturday. Be there at 8 a.m. sharp. You’ll be working with Benny under strict supervision. Don’t screw it up.”

Had she heard that right? After years of grinding, of being overlooked, of watching others get their shot while she poured coffee and cleared plates—Regina had just casually handed her one.

She forced herself to reply. “I won’t, ma’am. Thank you.”

Regina barely paused. “Talk to Benny. He’ll get you my book.” Then she hurried away, already absorbed in something else.

Emily stood frozen, the words, “my book,” repeating in her head. She’d worked at Gold Coast for over a year and had never laid eyes on the infamous menu binder. It was rumored to detail every dish—scaled quantities, prep instructions, plating diagrams, even cost breakdowns. It was the holy grail of Regina’s kitchen. And now she was being trusted with it.

Her feet finally moved, carrying her toward the kitchen as if she were walking through a dream. Benny was there, sleeves rolled up, apron dusted with flour, plating mini quiches.

Emily cleared her throat, trying to sound normal. “Regina said I’m filling in on Saturday. She said you’d give me her book.”

Benny glanced up and stopped when he saw her. “She mentioned a fill-in but didn’t give me a name. You’re a chef?”

“In-training,” she clarified. “I graduate from the Institute in December.”

He snorted. “Didn’t peg you for one. You’re too quiet.”

“I’m efficient.”

He wiped his hands on a towel tucked into his apron then dug a thick binder out of a plastic milk crate. “Regina’s bible,” he said, handing it over. “Don’t mark it, don’t breathe too hard on it, and for fuck’s sake, don’t lose it.”

Emily took it carefully, like it might combust in her hands. “Got it.”

Benny leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You know how to break down a whole fish?”

“Yes.”

“Make a beurre blanc without curdling it?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” she quipped boldly.

“Truss a roast in under ninety seconds?”

“I’ve done it in eighty-five.”

He raised a brow, grudgingly impressed. “See you Saturday.”

Emily walked away, clutching the binder to her chest. She was beside herself with excitement. But it was one more thing to juggle, and she already had several flaming, spinning, tipping plates in the air.

***

When she stepped out of the service entrance, the parking lot was nearly empty, shadows stretching long across the pavement. Every sound seemed amplified—the overhead lights buzzing, the distant hum of traffic, the sharp crunch of gravel kicking up beneath her feet.

Emily hurried toward her car, Regina’s bible under one arm, her other hand fumbling for her keys.

Footsteps thudded quietly behind her.

Her heart leapt to her throat, hand flying to the panic button tucked into her waistband. Hoping for Rhys, she braced for the worst as she turned.

A figure stepped out of the darkness—tall, broad shouldered, familiar.

Relief slammed into her so fast, her knees nearly buckled.

“Alec,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You scared me half to death.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he murmured. “One-way communication makes certain things difficult.”

He crossed the distance in two strides, catching her before she could fall apart. One arm wrapped around her—tight, reassuring—as he took the keys from her shaking hand.

“What happened to Rhys?”

“He’s relieved. You’ve got me the rest of the night.”

She glanced up at him. They usually changed shift first thing in the morning. Did that mean—

“You’re trembling. Did something happen?”

“No. It was business as usual, actually I’m just on edge.”

“You don’t have to be. I’m here, baby.”

Then he kissed her. Claiming her panic, her breath, her night. She kissed him back, fingers curled into his jacket. Her body pressed against his, heat rising fast and sharp. His hand slid to her waist then lower, pulling her flush against him.

She moaned softly into his mouth.

He broke the kiss with a groan. “We can’t do this here. Someone might see us.”

“Right,” she murmured shakily, so caught up in his kiss she’d forgotten the role she played, had volunteered for.

Emily scrambled into the car on the driver’s side, too shaken to circle around. Her pant leg snagged on the emergency brake, nearly sending her sprawling across the console. She caught herself with one hand on the dash, breath hitching, adrenaline still humming through her veins.

Alec slid into the driver’s seat. Or tried to. At six-foot-three, his knees jammed against the steering wheel and his broad shoulders were an impossible fit.

He reached under the seat, fumbling for the manual adjustment. “Jesus, Em. This car’s a torture device. I think I just dislocated a hip.”

Any other time, Emily would have laughed, but her hands were shaking as she fumbled with her seat belt.

He reached over and clicked the buckle into place. His hand lingered, squeezing her fingers, until she finally exhaled.

Alec started the engine.

“Tell me that noise isn’t normal,” he said while it coughed and sputtered.

“It’s normal-ish for a fifteen-year-old hunk of junk.”

He shook his head but said nothing as he put it into gear and turned left out of the lot.

She frowned. “Shouldn’t we have turned right?”

“We’re not going to your place.”

“Where are we going, then?” she asked, pulse kicking up again.

“To mine,” he said. His tone left no room for debate.

And for once, the idea of arguing never even crossed her mind.

***

He didn’t remember the drive. Just the way she’d looked at him in the parking lot—shaken and still wired. He’d kissed her to ground her. Now, he was the one unraveling.

The door slammed behind them. She turned to speak, but he was already on her—mouth covering hers, hands in her hair, backing her into the wall. Her blouse was still buttoned, but not for long. He popped the first one open with his thumb and the next, until white lace and the rise and fall of her chest were exposed.

She gasped as he tugged it off her shoulders. “Alec—”

“Upstairs,” he growled.

She nodded, breathless. Before she could move, he hurried them along by scooping her into his arms. She didn’t protest—just wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers sinking into his hair again. Her pants were still on, but he could feel the heat of her through them. Halfway up the stairs, he stopped—pressed her against the wall, lips finding hers again as he ground the rigid length of him into her. Her front-hook bra came off next and landed at the bottom of the stairs. He cupped a breast and bent to it, licking and sucking the taut tip until she whimpered.

“You’ve been driving me insane.” He kissed a fiery path from her breast up her neck and found her lips again. “All night. All week,” he breathed into her mouth.

She arched into him. “Maybe we should do something about it.”

“There’s no maybe.” His hands gripped her ass, supporting her as he carried her the rest of the way up and down the hall, kicking the bedroom door closed behind them.

When he laid her on the bed in a shaft of moonlight, her skin shimmered silvery and flawless. He had to slow down. If she touched him, what he wanted to last for a long, long while would be over in seconds.

“Hands above your head,” he said, voice rough with need. “Grip the headboard. Keep them there.”

She obeyed, eyes locked with his.

He stripped while she watched, her gaze devouring every inch of him. Then he removed what remained of her clothes. Shoes thudded to the floor. Socks followed. He removed the panic button still clipped to her waistband and set it on the nightstand. “Don’t want to set this off.”

“The Devlin cavalry charging in might be awkward,” she said breathlessly.

Any other time, he would have laughed, but he was in the mood for only one thing. He unzipped her pants and peeled them down, revealing more white lace. He kissed his way up her thighs, across her stomach and the soft hollow of her hip. When he pushed her legs apart and licked through her sweetness, she trembled, her grip on the headboard went white-knuckled, but she didn’t move.

He needed to be inside her. The condom was a necessary interruption, handled quickly. Then he moved above her, positioned himself, and sank in. Heat, tightness, and her glorious wetness surrounded him. Somehow, he managed to pause to savor it.

“Now, you’re driving me insane,” she whispered.

“Yes, but we’ve arrived together,” he said, withdrawing then filling her again. “And now we get to have our reward.”

“If I don’t die first. Can you speed up this slow torture just a bit?”

“Sorry, baby. I’m the dom. I decide the pace—among so many other things. You get to follow where I lead, but I promise you’ll enjoy the journey.”

He pulled almost all the way out, listening to her cry of frustration then the catch in her breath and the groan when he surged back in.

With her still gripping the headboard, he raised her legs, knees to her chest, then rocked into her—powerful and possessive—again and again. She cried out, hips lifting to meet every stroke.

Emily was close. He could feel it. But he wasn’t ready for it to end.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “Wait until I say.”

“You’re asking for the impossible.”

“I have faith in you, baby,” he said, easing out.

“No, don’t leave me,” she moaned, frustration thick in her voice.

“I’m not going anywhere. Just mixing it up.” He kissed her thigh. “Release your grasp.”

When her fingers relaxed, he flipped her—chest and cheek to the bed, ass in the air. His hands ran over the curves of her hips and thighs, molding to her backside as he glided in from behind, each stroke a promise, each pause a new torment.

He rolled them next and had her ride him.

“Lock your hands behind your neck, Em. I want to play with your beautiful body.”

A moan was her only protest, even as she obeyed. He teased, coaxed, commanded—cupping her breasts, rolling and tweaking her nipples, thumb circling and flicking her clit. He was unhurried, deliberate, driving her to the brink and holding her there.

She’d done well. Held off longer than he expected. But she didn’t have his control.

“Please, Alec,” she begged, a shudder racing through her, voice cracking. “I can’t wait.”

He knew because he was right there with her.

He flipped her, pinned her beneath him, and drove into her with powerful, relentless strokes until she shattered—crying out, clutching him—while he shouted and poured himself into her, completely undone.

***

She lay pressed against his side, their legs tangled in the sheets, her skin damp, her breath shallow, still trembling. Alec’s arms wrapped around her—a solid, steady presence.

The room smelled of cedar, sex, and something darker. Something like surrender.

Hers.

She couldn’t think. Her body still echoed with the force of him—his confidence, the way he’d commanded her so easily and made her come apart. Let her actually. But only when he was ready.

It was amazing. Nowhere near to boring. But the doubts crept in, quiet and persistent. He made her disappear into sensation, into obedience, into something that wasn’t grief or fear or guilt. It felt wrong, but also so right.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she whispered. “I feel broken.”

He brushed her hair back and kissed her temple. “You’re not broken,” he said. “You’ve been carrying too much alone. You’re surviving.”

She swallowed around the lump in her throat, admitting, “I want this. The way you take control. The way I can forget everything.”

“Good,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her jaw. “Let me be that for you.”

“But how is that fair? I feel like I’m using you. And what happens when the heat and intensity fade?”

“Who says they have to?” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. “You’re trying to separate what you need from who you are. That’s common for people new to the lifestyle. I went through the same struggle myself. But Alec the dom and Alec the man—they’re the same. I learned a long time ago that denying one meant losing both.”

“How did you come to accept it?”

“By finding others who’d lived through it too. People with the same doubts, the same shame, the same fear. Those feelings faded when I realized I wasn’t alone.” He traced a slow line along her jaw. “You’re thinking about us as a straight line. But we’re not. We’ve grown through every stage together—family, friends, lovers. Who says we can’t be all of those at the same time?”

She didn’t answer. Her heart pounded again, but not from sex.

“There are no rulebooks for this, Emily,” he said. “It’s up to us to decide how we move forward.”

She lay still, absorbing his words. His warmth. The possibility. She was beginning to understand what she needed. It was and always had been him.

Alec brushed his fingers down her arm, slow and deliberate. “When’s your next shift with Regina?”

Emily jolted upright, twisting toward him, paying no heed to the sheet slipping down her back. “With everything going on, I forgot to tell you—she’s letting me cook on Saturday.”

He smiled. “That’s huge, baby.”

“Yeah. She scares the crap out of me,” Emily admitted. “But I’ve been waiting forever for this chance. I really hope she’s not involved in all of this.”

“My gut says she’s not. She’s smarter than to use her own business for recruiting.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said, snuggling up to him again.

“I wrapped up all my cases,” Alec added. “I’m focused on you now. Which means I’m off tomorrow night, too.”

She tipped her head, meeting his gaze.

“I want you at the club,” he said. “We can relax. With D&A running security, you’re safe there.”

For a second, she forgot to breathe. “Are we going to play?”

“I want to show you more, but the choice, as always, is yours.”

She stared at him as more unfurled in her mind—hundreds of eyes on her, the sting of erotic pain, the rush of soaring pleasure, and Alec, utterly in command. Dread fluttered through her, but excitement rose fast and eclipsed it. This was another chance to step further into his world, and she wasn’t going to let it pass her by.

“I choose yes,” she whispered.

Chapter 16

Emily no longer felt like an intruder at Devil’s Pointe. The once-intimidating house—deceptively elegant on the outside, wicked at its core—had become strangely familiar. She knew the soft glow of the entryway lights, the faint trace of jasmine drifting in from the courtyard, the hum of anticipation that seemed to breathe through its walls. But tonight, she wasn’t here as an observer. Tonight, she was Alec’s.

Inside, they moved through the main hall toward the back of the house, Alec’s presence steady at her side. When they passed the corridor leading to the playroom and theme rooms, Emily couldn’t help glancing down it—curiosity stirring, pulse ticking up despite herself.

He must have sensed her nervousness because his voice dropped into the velvet murmur she loved. “No rush. Let’s relax on the patio for a bit.”

She nodded, grateful. He guided her through the crowd with a hand resting lightly at her waist—lightly anchoring. They stepped out onto the patio, where the heavy night air scented of the rain forecasted and a hint of chlorine.

At the bar, he ordered her a Diet Coke and grabbed water for himself. The patio couches were full, so he steered her to one near the pool, where the waterfall’s soft roar muffled the music—which was all right by her. She had her drink halfway to her lips then jerked in surprise, splashing a ribbon of soda onto the ground.

Before she could spill the rest, Alec caught the glass and slid it neatly from her fingers.

“Easy, baby.”

Emily barely registered his words. Her attention locked onto the scene across the pool.

Rhys stood shirtless near the cascading waterfall, moonlight glinting off the water beading on his chest. Beside him, mist clung to Gaby’s skin, her clingy black dress already damp.

He lifted the hem drawing it over her head. Her springy curls tumbled around her shoulders as he tossed it aside. Even from across the yard, Emily saw the way he looked at her—focused, hungry, unmistakably possessive. Then came the skirt. With a flick of his fingers, Gaby stepped free, bare in the moonlight. She stood proud, radiant, unashamed.

“This feels wrong,” she whispered, unable to look away. “I know them, Alec. I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t stop.”

He leaned closer, murmuring, “There’s a voyeur in all of us, sweetheart. Only some of us admit it.”

Not her. Not yet.

She knew she ought to look away, but the chemistry between Rhys and Gaby was magnetic, intimate in a way that pulled the breath right out of her.

He circled her slowly, fingertips gliding over her skin, his gaze focused solely on her. Rhys reached for a rope swing suspended beneath the falls and lifted her onto it. Emily heard her gasp of surprise over the splashing water.

She’d caught only a glimpse of the wooden seat but was immediately suspicious. “That’s no ordinary swing, is it?” she asked, mesmerized by the scene.

“At the Pointe, even the ordinary comes with… Shall we say, modifications.”

She didn’t ask him to elaborate, unsure if she wanted all the intimate details.

Rhys secured Gaby’s wrists above her head with practiced ease. She let him, trusting him.

Her body swayed, water cascading behind her in a shimmering curtain. He pushed her gently under the spray, her lips parted, eyes fluttering shut. When she swung toward him, he pushed her again, following this time, letting the water drench him too.

He caught her, stepping close—one hand on her hip, the other sliding beneath her wet curls—and kissed her. Open mouths, angled heads, Gaby arching into him as if she couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t just erotic. It was electric, so charged she expected to see sparks crackle in the mist.

“Wow,” Emily breathed, spellbound. “They’re amazing together. Have they been a couple long?”

Alec, equally captivated, shook his head. “They’re not.”

Emily tore her gaze away just long enough to gape at him. “Seriously?”

“Not that I know of. But their chemistry is undeniable. He’s been searching for something since he moved to Florida. Maybe he’s finally found it.”

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the pool in stark white before it plunged into shadow. The flash broke the spell.

Alec’s hand tightened on her thigh. “Storm’s coming,” he murmured. “Let’s get inside before everyone else crowds in.”

She nodded, grateful for the excuse to move, to shift the pent-up energy.

They reentered the house just as the first raindrops fell and the patio crowd began to stir. Alec guided her down the hall she’d eyed earlier and paused at the threshold to the playroom.

As usual, it was crowded and humming with energy. Lit by amber sconces and spotlights from above, there were no shadows to hide in. Velvet drapes muffled the storm outside, letting the sounds of pleasure and erotic pain rise above the earthy, rhythmic music. Scantily clad and naked bodies were everywhere—tied, bent, lifted, claimed. Only a single bench in the center remained open, red leather thickly padded right out of her fantasies, almost as if it were waiting for her.

Alec turned to her, calm and unhurried, his eyes searching hers. “Still no rush,” he reminded her. “But if you’re ready, we should claim that last station.”

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting—ropes, commands, or something quieter, more intimate, like last time. But that wasn’t possible in the crowded playroom.

She licked her lips. “I’m ready,” she declared, but her hand trembled in his.

Smiling gently, he brought her fingers to his lips. “I promise this will be far more pleasant than a root canal.”

As he led her to the station, the storm outside faded, so did the music, moans, and crack of leather, all whisper-quiet compared to the pulse pounding in her ears.

Standing under the bright light, her breath faltered. She tried to see beyond the ring into the shadows but couldn’t.

Alec’s hands slid up her arms and he said with quiet authority, “The dress needs to go.”

She tensed. The last time she’d ended that way—bare, breathless, lost in their passion—it had felt inevitable. Starting that way was different. Exposed. Intimidating.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. She felt eyes, imagined or real, and vulnerability crept up her spine. Alec read her hesitancy for what it was—building panic.

“Every part of you is gorgeous, baby,” Alec murmured, his hands still stroking and soothing. “It pleases me to show off your beautiful body and flawless skin.”

Her instinct was to resist, to retreat into herself, or to run and hide. But the way he steadied her, how he saw her, how he made her feel safe even in a room full of strangers, cut through the nerves. Wanting to give him as much pleasure as he gave her, she nodded once.

“That’s my brave girl,” he murmured against her lips.

In one smooth motion, he whisked the sheath dress over her head, leaving her in nothing but a skimpy lace thong. Cool air kissed her skin, and her nipples peaked instantly.

She tried to focus on him, but her gaze kept drifting—to the crowd, the watchers, the ones who might be judging.

He noticed.

She felt the shift before he spoke, the subtle tightening of his grip, the way he angled his body between her and the room.

“Eyes on me,” he directed, firmly.

She responded to his command and saw him pull a length of black silk from his pocket. It was a blindfold—real this time. He stepped behind her, and she felt the brush of fabric against her cheek.

“Your focus should be on me,” he murmured. “My voice. My touch. My control. Since you’re distracted, the blindfold will help you do that.”

As he tied it securely—no gaps or light getting in—the world narrowed. The crowd faded. No more eyes or judgments. Just Alec.

She moved forward, trusting the pressure of his palm, the cadence of his murmured instructions. Her knees met the padded leather first, then he eased her down until her bare breasts, belly, and her cheek rested against the cool surface.

The blindfold heightened everything—the texture of the bench, the hum of the room, the combination of scents around her, from leather to an array of perfumes, even a faint trace of disinfectant.

Alec fastened cuffs one by one—wrists first then her ankles. Each buckle clicking in place, sounding both ominous and thrilling. His fingers brushed her inner thighs as he secured them with wide straps. Then his hands ran over her bottom, up her spine, and down again, giving her time to settle.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to her shoulder. “And you’re mine.”

When he moved away, she shivered, not from cold or fear but from anticipation.

He didn’t make her wait long. Fingers of leather glided from her shoulders to the base of her spine—slowly petting.

“This is a suede flogger,” he said, as the strands trailed over her again, fanning out over her skin. “Soft, supple, perfect for easing you in. I think you’ll like it.”

She heard the smile in his voice. Felt the promise in his patient initiation.

The strands left her back, and she braced. He gave her a moment. Another. Letting the suspense build.

Then thwap, the tails connected across her bottom, warm and deliberate.

She sucked in a gulp of air. Not in pain, from shock and need.

“Breathe for me, Emily,” he murmured.

She exhaled, not realizing she hadn’t.

“Good girl,” he praised.

He drew the flogger across her again, caressing from hip to hip. She relaxed into it then thwap. It came down again, still measured but slightly harder.

His boots scuffed on the floor as he moved to her side. “Now, you’ll feel the rhythm.”

And she did. Thwap, thwap, pause, and repeating. Each sequence built upon the last, warmth blooming across her skin. The suede kissed the curve of her ass and moved lower, across her thighs. Never rushed, never careless. He coaxed her deeper into sensation, until her muscles loosened and her mind quieted, and all she could hear was the steady rise and fall of the flogger, and Alec’s breath syncing with hers.

Thwap, thwap, pause.

A little firmer.

Thwap, thwap, pause.

As much as the restraints allowed, her body arched into it, seeking more.

A low moan escaped her throat.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, softly. “Surrender to me.”

The flogger moved like an extension of his hand—brushing, striking, sometimes drumming light in patterns that made her grip the bench. Desire pooled, her skin warm and alive. She no longer knew which strike would land next or where, only that he guided her and owned every inch of the moment.

“Alec… sir,” she breathed, the blindfold making everything sharper.

“Almost there. Hang on for me.”

Another kiss of suede. And another.

Shaking as she struggled to contain the passion soaring and threatening to break free.

The next pause was longer. She heard something clatter on the floor. Her skin tingled; she waited hot and wanting.

His hands smoothed over her tender cheeks as he stepped up behind her.

“You’re perfect,” he said quietly. “Open, trusting, trembling.”

He entered her from behind in one long thrust. She cried out, nearly shattering. He glided in again, and again, until she couldn’t hold off any longer. Release broke over her. It wasn’t just physical—everything melted away in his hands until it was only them. Only now.

She floated, seeming weightless as her senses reawakened—the sounds, the cool air on her damp skin, the restraints keeping her in place, and Alec still inside her. His hands gripped her hips as he thrust, his control evaporating by rapid degrees.

He groaned—a low, rough sound pulled from deep in his chest. “You feel incredible,” he rasped. “So tight around me. Jesus, baby.”

His hips snapped forward again. She felt the tension coil in him, the way his breathing sharpened against her shoulder.

“Come for me again,” he murmured, as his arm slid around her and his fingers found her clit, moving in circles that made her gasp.

Her body reacted before her mind caught up, a shiver racing through her spine.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Give it to me.”

She clenched around him, and the sound he made—ragged and broken—told her he was gone.

His pace faltered, each thrust more demanding, the slap of skin on skin drowned out by the hum of the room and her own soft cries. His hand slid up her back, fisting in her hair.

“My sweet, Em,” he growled, burying himself, hips locked to hers. His release tore through him, his body shuddering against her as he let go.

He stilled, breath rough and uneven, his forehead resting between her shoulder blades.

When he eased out, it was with a long, satisfied sigh. He kissed her shoulder, whispering, “You undo me every damn time,” before pushing to his feet.

Moving around the bench, he released the cuffs, massaging her wrists, shoulders, hips then rubbed her where the straps had circled her thighs.

“You did so well,” he murmured. “I’m proud of you.”

She couldn’t speak. Her throat was tight, her body loose, her heart full.

He wrapped her in a soft blanket then lifted her and carried her from the room. Still drifting in the glow of release, she melted against him, head on his shoulder, uncaring where he took her so long as he didn’t let her go.

“Still with me, baby?”

She lifted her head and looked around. “Did I fall asleep?”

“You were floating.” He pressed a bottle of water into her hand. “Drink,” he ordered. “All of it.”

She sipped, curled in his lap. The lounge was quiet now, the crowd mostly gone. The world returned in slow pieces. She heard hushed conversation. Devil and Cari sat across from them, huddled close.

Leland and Mateo approached next. They’d been monitoring the play tonight. Each man collapsed into a chair, a bottle of beer in hand, crossing their feet on the table in front of them with a sigh.

Alec nudged the bottle of water to her lips. “Finish it, Em. Hydration is important after a scene.”

She obeyed, the plastic crinkling when she drained the last of it.

Rhys arrived last, no sign of Gaby, and headed straight for the bar.

“I’m gonna grab a beer,” Alec told her. “Do you want anything? Pretzels? Chocolate? You haven’t eaten in a while.”

“We keep a stash of chocolate ice cream behind the bar. It helps me even out after a scene,” Cari said from across the way.

“Is that a hint, sprite?” Devil asked.

“Do you mind?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“Of course not,” he said, shifting her from his lap then rose. “I’ll go with you,” he said to Alec.

She watched the two handsome doms—both tall and muscular, one light, one dark—walk away.

“Are you doing okay, Emily?” Cari asked, leaning forward.

The question caught her off guard. Had she seen her and Alec together? “I… uh…”

“I know what you’re going through,” she said, concern and empathy in her eyes. “I ran from them for three years.”

Emily frowned, not sure who “them” was. “I don’t understand.”

“I guess you haven’t heard. I thought everyone knew.” As if unmoored, she glanced toward the bar, for Dev—her anchor. “My last name… it’s Denali. Vincenzo Denali is my uncle.”

Emily’s lips parted in shock.

“My father was the old boss,” Cari continued. “I don’t know how much he was involved—I pray that he wasn’t—it’s unthinkable. Vinny definitely was. He held me prisoner at one of the warehouses.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “They had frightened young women in cages. If Dev and his men hadn’t gotten there in time—”

“I didn’t know about the family connection.”

She nodded. “It’s deeply personal for us. I want nothing more than to see it shut down.” Cari’s gaze met hers. “But I’m worried for you. I’d like to help—”

“You’re not getting involved in this,” Devil’s voice cut in, low and firm. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Standing beside him, Alec shot him a look. “It’s not a good feeling, is it?” he asked, his gaze steady. “Watching someone you care about walk into danger.”

Devil’s jaw tightened, a flush climbing into his cheeks. “I wouldn’t allow it if I didn’t think it was necessary—and if I didn’t believe we could keep her safe.” He looked at Cari, his expression unflinching. “And one civilian undercover is more than enough on any mission.”

“I wasn’t volunteering,” Cari said lightly. “Just lending an ear.”

Dev grunted, set his beer and her bowl of ice cream on the table, then drew his bride-to-be into his side.

Alec matched his movement, pulling Emily into his lap again.

From his couch, Leland asked, “You ready for tomorrow, Em?”

She nodded. “It’s a posh affair at a private residence, according to Regina’s sous chef. I don’t get the address ahead of time. I have to ride in the catering van.”

Alec tensed behind her—subtle but unmistakable.

“Making it the perfect opportunity for buyers to look at the merchandise,” Mateo pointed out.

“Please don’t call them that,” Cari said, burrowing closer to Dev. “I’ll never forget those dog cages. Some of them had bloody blankets.”

Emily didn’t speak. She just leaned into Alec’s warmth, clinging to the hope that Nick Devlin and his team of badasses were as good as they believed themselves to be.

Chapter 17

Emily thought she’d seen mansions before—Devil’s place definitely counted—but this was another level. And tonight, she was working in the billionaire’s kitchen. She’d been on her feet for twelve hours—chopping piles of herbs and vegetables, prepping the homemade pasta, boiling, sauteing, searing, and plating in the sweltering kitchen while Benny barked orders. The dessert course was going out now, which meant her really long day was finally winding down.

“You did good today, kid.”

She turned to find Benny watching her. Ordinarily, she would have corrected him about the kid comment, but his tone was almost kind. And, more importantly, she was supposed to be passing for a college girl—or younger.

“Thanks,” she said, smoothing the hair that had escaped her ponytail and brushing at her powdered-sugar-covered apron. “Hopefully, Regina will ask me to do it again soon.”

“I’ll put in a good word with her,” he said, “but you’re probably more valuable out on the floor where you can be seen.”

He walked out without saying more, leaving her wondering if he meant as an experienced server, or as something to be sold to some sick buyer.

Regina swept in through the swinging door, heels clicking, perfume trailing behind her.

“Emily,” she said, smiling too brightly. “I need help with champagne and dessert. It’s an upscale crowd tonight.” Regina’s expression dimmed as her gaze moved from her disheveled hair down her sugar-dusted body. “You’ll need to change. The servers elevate their attire for this kind of event.”

For a second, she thought she’d misheard. She was exhausted and had already done her part, but this was exactly what the investigation needed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring a change of clothes. I was only expecting to be in the kitchen.”

“No worries.” Regina crossed to a supply cart they’d rolled in when they’d arrived. She produced a hanger draped in dry-cleaning plastic. When she ripped it away, she revealed a short skirt and a scoop-neck top in a slinky material that would cling to what curves she had. “There are heels, too. You’re a seven, right?”

Emily’s stomach twisted. That she had her size was too convenient, and the uniform was skimpy bordering on slutty.

“Put it on quickly. Dinner is almost over, and we need to push the champagne.”

Great. Just what she needed—drunk sex slavers sizing her up like prime meat.

In the staff bathroom, she transferred the panic button and transmitter from her chef’s uniform to the waistband of the miniskirt. “I hope you guys heard all of that,” she whispered. “I’m getting major red flags from Regina, and Benny is starting to weird me out.”

No earpiece meant no response. She could only hope—and pray—they were on top of this.

She changed quickly, tugging the skirt lower, the neckline higher, and slipping on the heels, muttering, “Where, outside of a strip club, does any waitress wear four-inch ankle breakers?”

Because she had a role to play, she ran a brush through her hair, gathered it into a high ponytail at her crown, then slicked on a coat of pink lip gloss. She’d never felt more exposed. And she’d done scenes at a sex club. Twice.

After a steadying breath, she grabbed a tray and joined the party.

Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, casting golden light across the polished travertine floors. Towering floral arrangements burst with gardenias and orange blossoms. The air was thick with citrus and salt from the ocean breeze drifting in through the open French doors.

Servers dressed just like her—all leg, tight tops, high ponytails—glided past with trays of bubbling champagne in gently clinking crystal. The guests weren’t to be out done. Breasts swelled over low-cut designer gowns, diamonds dripped from ears and wrists, watches gleamed with gold and platinum amid a sea of black tuxedos. Laughter rang out, the kind that came from people who’d never worried about rent, putting gas in their car, or survival.

As she circulated with her tray for the next two hours, Emily watched a pattern emerge. The hostess pulled aside the young, fresh-faced, nervous girls who disappeared for a while. They returned with dimmer smiles and confusion clouding their eyes.

Seeking answers, Emily sidled up to one of Regina’s new hires, a blue-eyed blonde, nineteen at most, named Mia.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You disappeared, and I thought you might be sick.”

“I wasn’t when I went in,” Mia said, her voice shaking. “But I am now.”

“In where?”

She glanced over her shoulder at a side door marked PRIVATE. “They asked me to deliver champagne to a group of VIPs. It was weird.”

“How so?” she asked, keeping a casual air.

“Other than the hostess, it was a roomful of men,” Mia said, not looking at her but off, as if in a daze. “Most were old. A few were foreigners. All filthy rich from the ginormous diamonds in their rings and the gold watches they flashed.”

“Why did serving champagne take so long?”

“They all wanted to talk to me. Asked a million and one questions. They were polite enough, I guess. But the way they looked at me…”

“What, Mia?” Emily pressed.

“It made my skin crawl,” she whispered with a delicate shudder. “I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

“If you’re uncomfortable, say no if they ask you again.”

“I don’t think I can afford to.” She dipped her fingers inside her neckline and withdrew a wad of bills. “They tipped me $500 for a half hour of pouring champagne and chitchat. That’s pocket change for a millionaire, but it’s weird, don’t you think?” She tucked the money between her breasts again. “Excuse me. I think I need a minute.”

Mia walked away, weaving a little, as if she didn’t know what had hit her.

“Someone needs to watch the guys in the private room to the left of the ballroom,” Emily murmured under her breath, pretending to focus on gathering empty glasses. “I haven’t seen Regina go in or out. She’s out there mingling, smiling, and chatting, like it’s just another night at work.”

Emily moved through the crowd with her tray of empty flutes, eyes and ears open. In the back hallway, she paused to adjust her grip—dropping twenty crystal glasses would get her the attention she didn’t want. That’s when a man’s low growl sliced through the air.

“This isn’t happening fast enough.” His thick New York accent wasn’t out of place in South Florida, but his pronounced lisp made it memorable.

Another man responded, “The clients are enjoying themselves. What’s the rush?”

“They’re guzzling my expensive champagne and stuffing caviar I paid for into their faces. I’m cash-poor. I need deals made now.”

“I’ll try to move things along, boss. I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“Benny’s rat daughter cost us a fortune. If I ever find her, she’ll wish she had died in the limo along with her daddy.”

Emily’s blood turned to ice. Though her knees nearly buckled, she forced herself to keep walking—slow, steady, invisible.

He sounded straight out of a mob movie. And he had to be talking about Cari.

She slipped outside, heart pounding, and headed toward the catering van.

“I don’t know how much you heard of that conversation,” she told the team, short of breath as she fast-walked, just short of running. “I was several feet away, but I think I just overheard the trafficking boss. Boss being the pivotal word.”

Not getting a roger, a 10-4, or something that told her Devil’s team had caught the exchange was maddening. She also wanted to put distance between herself and these scumbags—pimps to the ultra-wealthy—men with no qualms about selling young women into sexual slavery.

But she couldn’t just run and hide. Bringing these bastards down was what her dad and Ethan had given their lives for, and why she was here tonight. Beth Ann, and the other girls, were counting on someone to save them.

Just like Mia, she needed a minute. She climbed into the front seat of the van, enclosing herself in silence. Then she closed her eyes, trying to collect herself, her hands clenched in tight fists to still their shaking.

In the quiet, a buzzing sounded, and something lit up at her feet. She looked down. A phone was sticking out from under the seat.

She picked it up. The screen was still lit. Texts scrolled in quick succession:

Inventory confirmed. Fresh batch ready.

Her stomach dropped.

Footsteps crunched outside. She shoved the phone under the seat and scrambled to the rear, grabbing a stack of trays just as the door yanked open.

She jumped. “Benny. You scared the life out of me.”

He frowned, eyes scanning the van. “What are you doing? I thought you were serving in the ballroom?”

“I was, but the crowd has thinned. People are heading out. I thought I’d get started packing up. I’m beat.”

He hesitated. “The others will be heading out soon.” But he didn’t move. Just kept looking around.

As a distraction, she stated the obvious. “You seem tense. Is something wrong?”

He went quiet—jittery. Then crouched, checking under the seats. She heard a faint scraping sound.

He stood, his hand slipping from his pocket. “Nope. I’m good.”

The side door slid open. Two crew members started loading up, joking and laughing. Emily forced a smile and helped as slowly more and more of the staff trickled out.

Thirty minutes later, near midnight, they were on their way back to Gold Coast, Benny, the human trafficker in the passenger seat. It was all she could do not to throw up.

***

In the surveillance van, Alec and Leland sat with their eyes locked on the monitors. The feed from Gold Coast showed Emily’s car pulling out of the lot, headlights cutting through the dark.

“She’s clear,” Leland said, voice tight.

Alec didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, fingers twitching on his thigh. He felt wired, raw, barely holding it together.

Callan had tapped into the estate’s security feeds, giving them eyes on Emily all night. Dev, Rhys, and Mateo had been outside, watching the perimeter. They had it contained. No one was coming or going without them knowing.

Still, Leland had to call Alec down more than once.

First, when Regina handed Emily the skimpy outfit. Then, after she got rattled over a conversation their equipment hadn’t picked up. And again, when Benny approached the van.

They’d had her covered and she’d made it out without a hitch. But Alec hadn’t felt it. Not really.

He watched the GPS dot blink closer. Emily was on her way.

Then his phone rang.

“You’ve got Alec.”

Her voice was high, breathless. “It’s Benny, Regina’s sous chef. He’s their inside guy. He left his phone in the van and almost caught me with it. I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Hold it together, baby. Come to me,” he urged, striving for calm when he felt anything but. “Pull into the 7-Eleven parking lot on Calusa Drive.” He rattled off the directions. “We’ll meet you there.”

“Okay,” she breathed. “Drive fast.”

Leland pulled into the parking lot behind Dev’s SUV. They arrived ahead of her. Alec paced the pavement, scanning every car that passed.

“She should’ve been here by now,” he called through the open van door. “Check her location.”

“She took a wrong turn,” Leland answered. “She’ll be here in about thirty seconds.”

Alec’s chest felt tight. His skin too hot. He needed to see her. Needed to touch her. The thought of her in danger—alone, afraid—was eating him alive.

Rhys leaned against the van, watching him. “You’re gonna have to settle, bud. She’ll need you calm.”

Alec didn’t look at him. “This is killing me. I need to keep her safe—and I hate I can’t do it the way I want.”

Dev exhaled. “She didn’t go in blind. We had her covered. Rhys is right—she’ll need you together when she gets here. That’s what matters to her right now.”

Alec nodded, but guilt was already climbing up his spine. Ethan’s face flashed through his mind—his best friend, his brother-in-arms. The day Ethan died, Alec had been too far away. Too late.

Now, Emily was in the crosshairs. The timing felt cruelly familiar.

Her car whipped into the lot, tires screeching. She threw the door open and ran.

Alec was already moving. She collided with him, arms locking around his neck.

“I’m okay,” she gasped. “I’m okay.”

He held her tighter, one hand cradling her head, the other splayed across her back. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

They all climbed into the van. With Leland, Devil, Rhys, and Mateo crowding in, the space felt claustrophobic—too many bodies, too much tension. Emily sat curled beside Alec, his arm around her shoulders, trembling in the aftermath.

She debriefed quickly, voice shaky but clear. When she described the man with the New York accent, Dev sat forward.

“Did you catch a name?”

“No, but he had a lisp. It was very distinctive,” she said, shuddering as she leaned into Alec’s side. “I’ll never forget how he hissed—pure rattlesnake.”

Dev cursed under his breath. “Carrying on the family business.”

“Explain,” Leland barked.

“I know who it is.” His gaze snapped up, lethal sharp. “Enzo. Fucking. Denali.”

The name hung in the air like a threat, and every man in the van went still.

Chapter 18

A slash of sunlight pierced a gap in the blackout shades and fell across the bed. Emily stirred, groaning as her muscles protested too many hours on her feet. Stretching to relieve the stiffness, her fingers brushed the space beside her and met only cold, rumpled sheets where a warm, powerful body should have been.

She sat up and listened. The house was still. No footsteps. Not even the hum of the AC. And no coffee aroma.

She slipped out of bed and tugged on Alec’s discarded T-shirt from the night before. After a quick morning pit stop, she went in search of him, padding barefoot across the hardwood.

She found him in the living room, standing at the window in jeans and bare feet, staring out at the water.

“You didn’t sleep,” she said softly.

He didn’t turn. “I couldn’t.”

She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. “You’re mad at me.”

“I am,” he agreed. “I’m also terrified for you.” He turned, his hand curling around her jaw. “You’re in deeper than I expected.”

“You knew this was a risk—”

“I was in denial. That party last night—foreign buyers, the New York Mafia involved—this is bigger than any of us thought. That guy with the lisp wasn’t just a lieutenant. He’s the boss’s son. The de facto new boss while the old man serves a life sentence. They hunted Cari for three years, and probably still are. That’s why Dev keeps her under such heavy watch.”

“Cari mentioned she was a Denali,” Emily breathed. “But I didn’t know all the details.”

“These are bad guys, Em. They shouldn’t know you exist. I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t think you’d fit into my skirt.”

She meant it as a joke, but his silence made her wish she’d stayed serious.

His fingers flexed on her jaw. “I couldn’t bear to see you hurt. Or worse.”

Her hands slid up his chest. “I’ve been hurting for eight years, Knight. Since my parents died. Since Ethan. Since I pushed you away. And since I realized girls like Beth Ann were disappearing because of the same evil.” Her voice cracked, and his arms tightened around her. “This is the only way I know to stop the pain. The nightmares. The questions,” she whispered. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I need to make their sacrifice—and yours and mine—mean something.”

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, his voice rough, cracking. “You mean more than something. You mean everything.” He exhaled hard enough to part her hair. “I get why you need this to move on. I feel the guilt, the rage, the frustration of not knowing why, and the need for vengeance. That’s part of the reason I haven’t shut this down.”

“But it’s my choice.”

“Dev would pull you if I insisted. But I don’t want you looking at me and always thinking what-if. And I want you to sleep easy, to live in peace—with me. Which is why you have to come back in one piece.”

She looked up at him through a mist of tears, wishing it could be different. It was in her power to make it so, to walk away from this. But he was right. She would still be stuck in this awful limbo of frustration, rage, and the overpowering need for someone to pay for the lives they’d destroyed.

Her family’s. Hers. And Alec’s.

“You should shower and dress. We’ve got a meeting in an hour.”

She was about to invite him to join her—wanting that closeness—when he stepped back, disengaging. “I’ll make coffee.”

Feeling double the guilt. Emily turned and walked upstairs alone.

***

The conference room at Devlin HQ smelled of caffeine and tension. Emily’s first time here, after what she’d found in her father’s journals, the décor had been the last thing on her mind. Today, her gaze snagged on the huge hardwood table and the high-backed leather chairs that should have looked imposing. Instead, they seemed almost undersized for the men who occupied them—all broad shoulders and long limbs, built like Alec and cut from the same intimidating cloth.

Devil sat at the head of the table, arms folded, eyes sharp. Rhys, Mateo, Leland, Jace, and four other men Emily hadn’t met filled the remaining seats. Callan was there too, hunched over his laptop. On the wall behind him, a monitor glowed with the image of a sprawling estate.

“Coral Gables,” Callan said, tapping the keys. “One of our guys monitoring in the command center caught a conversation between Regina and Benny. He mentioned a private estate—called it ‘the next big one.’”

“The owner is Richard Benson,” Devil added. “Inherited his millions from daddy. Your typical entitled rich asshole.”

Callan brought up Benson’s photo.

Emily studied him—mid-forties, beady eyes, a smarmy grin that made her skin crawl, and a diamond stud glinting in one ear. Her stomach turned. She’d seen that grin before, in nightmares.

“He looks slimy,” she said with a shiver.

“He is,” Dev said. “And so are his associates—Marco Benedetti, and formerly, Vincenzo Denali of Brooklyn.”

“Fuck me,” Alec muttered. “We were so close.”

“But no cigar,” Dev replied without so much as a lip twitch.

Callan clicked to the next slide. “The estate’s locked down. Guards, motion lights, alarms. Emily, we’ll need your help to access the mansion.”

“What do I do?”

“The alarm on the service door by the kitchen can be paused for deliveries,” Callan explained. “I’ll show you how. The guys will handle the rest.”

She nodded, absorbing every word.

“For all his top-dollar security,” Callan continued, “Benson’s weak in one area.”

“Let me guess,” Leland drawled. “His system’s unsecured.”

Callan smirked. “It took me five minutes to hack in. A fifth grader could’ve done it.” He flipped to the next slide. “Here’s the guest list for Friday night.”

Emily didn’t recognize the names, but the whistles around the table told her the men did.

“Jesus,” Rhys breathed, clearly unsettled. “That’s an extensive list.”

“Mighty big wallets in that crowd,” one of the unfamiliar men noted. “What’s going on? An auction?”

His last word stayed suspended in the silence that followed. Even the hum of Callan’s computer seemed to quiet. Emily’s stomach roiled at images of naked, cowering young women paraded in front of leering men, numbers whispered, hands raised, lives reduced to inventory.

Beside her, tension rolled off Alec in palpable waves. “She’s out,” he said tightly, already done with the discussion.

Emily didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. Not now. Not when it mattered.

She laid her hand on his forearm, steady and deliberate. “I’m already in,” she said.

“You’re in as fucking bait,” Alec snapped back.

“Yes,” she said evenly. “But they think I’m a twenty-year-old waitress-slash-wannabe chef. They don’t know I’ve got a team of badass PIs covering my six.”

Her attempt at military jargon, something she thought the badasses would appreciate, went over like a lead balloon until Mateo drawled, “She’s got a point. We live and die by the element of surprise,” which made things worse.

A muscle jumped in Alec’s jaw. Rhys coughed into his fist. Leland leveled a sharp look his way. And Mateo grunted, shifting when someone kicked him under the table.

“Sorry.” He glanced between her and Alec. “Bad analogy.”

“She goes in, but not alone.” Dev didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “Jace will pose as a buyer.”

“Jace?” she asked.

One of the new guys lifted his hand—dark hair, quiet presence, calm eyes. He hadn’t spoken once.

“He’s not a club member. Regina won’t recognize him.” Dev’s gaze shifted to the man at her side vibrating with tension. “He’ll show interest, keep eyes on her—close enough to intervene if needed, far enough not to tip them off.”

“And if something goes wrong?” Alec asked.

His answer was as scary as it was lethal. “We burn the fucking place down to get to her.”

Callan advanced through the next few slides—floor plans, escape routes, surveillance angles. “We’ll have eyes in every room. Audio, thermal, motion. If she moves, we track it.”

“What about buyer security?” Mateo asked.

“They’ll all have at least one,” Leland said. “We’ll need to evacuate the girls and neutralize resistance fast.”

Emily’s voice was quiet but steady. “What happens if I’m taken?”

Alec turned to her, eyes blazing. “You won’t be.”

Dev provided a more practical answer. “We follow your signal and extract you.”

He made it sound simple. “What if they take my clothes with the panic button. My shoes with the tracker?”

“We thought of that,” Callan said, producing a small box. Inside, a pair of earrings gleamed. “There’s a transmitter embedded in one of the stones.”

It seemed surreal, something out of James Bond. “You’ve got contingencies covered, it seems.”

“We can’t predict everything,” Alec said, voice low and dangerous. “I’m counting on you to keep her safe,” he added, locking eyes with Jace. “Are you up to this?”

Jace nodded, quiet but steady. “I’ll protect her with my life.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Emily squeezed Alec’s arm, feeling the iron tension in his muscles. Her gaze swept the room, eyes meeting every man’s one at a time. “If you’re ready to end this, I am too.”

Chapter 19

The week crawled by. Emily worked her morning shifts as usual and—keeping up appearances—served at Devil’s Pointe for Regina on Wednesday. She gave Benny an extremely wide berth.

She went to class and somehow aced all her skills tests, probably because her mind was on Friday night instead of whether her soufflé would crater or if her mushroom risotto needed another minute to cook.

In between her normal routine, she attended briefings at Devlin HQ. Callan funneled the team a steady flow of information from inside Coral Gables. Emily wasn’t sure how much of it he obtained legally, but she left that for Dev and his licensed investigators to decide. If they shut the traffickers down, she didn’t care about his sources.

In preparation for her role, she studied faces, memorized names, learned which guards smoked, and which ones lingered too long near the girls.

To feel normal, she cooked for the team twice. Alec stayed close, not crowding or interfering, but near enough to know he was there. Every night, she went home with him, and he held her as if she might vanish. Guilt gnawed at her, but it didn’t lessen her determination.

Rhys taught her how to spot hidden cameras. Mateo walked her through panic protocols. Callan adjusted the earrings twice, tweaking the signal range and battery life. He also had her practice disabling an alarm panel identical to the one in Coral Gables tucked behind a prep shelf, easy to miss unless you knew where to look.

“Three taps then hold,” he said, guiding her fingers. “Don’t rush it. If you panic, you’ll trigger the failsafe.”

“I won’t panic,” she assured him with more confidence than she felt.

He gave her a look that said he saw right through her. “Just remember the sequence.”

She did. She remembered everything.

Midweek—after another update full of important but mind-numbing minutiae—Alec caught her hand.

“Come with me,” he said quietly.

She followed him through the network of corridors that made up Devlin headquarters, past the break area with its deep leather couches, massive wall-mounted TV, and no-nonsense commercial coffee station. They moved on past the humming control center, where banks of monitors glowed with heat maps and silent camera feeds, until the hallway narrowed and quieted.

He pushed open a door, revealing a gym with padded floors, punching bags, and racks of free weights. Mirrors lined the walls, and the faint scent of rubber and sweat hung in the air.

Emily raised a brow. “Planning to work off some stress?”

“Definitely,” he said. “I want you to know a few moves. Just in case.”

“You think I’ll need them?”

“I hope you won’t. But if you do, I want you to have a fighting chance.” He faced her, crouching a little. “Come at me.”

“What? No gloves?” she teased.

“This isn’t sparring, Em. This is survival training.”

He showed her how to break a wrist hold, how to drive her thumbs into soft targets—eyes and carotids—how to rake nails across skin, and pivot out of a choke hold. There was a lot of physical contact. His hands guiding her, their bodies brushing, heat sparking wherever they touched. More than once, the solid proof of how much it was affecting him pressed up against her. She was officially one more bear-hug-from-behind escape drill away from combusting.

The last move he showed her was how to disarm a man with a gun.

“I really hope I won’t need this one.”

Alec’s jaw flexed. “Not more so than me. Let’s go.”

She lunged, trying to surprise him. He caught her wrist easily and had her arm bent behind her before she could react.

“You’re distracted,” he chided. “Focus.”

When he released her, her gaze dropped to the erection straining the front of his pants.

“Easier said than done with your weapon constantly nudging me,” she joked, pulse jumping.

He didn’t deny it. “Try.” He raised his hand as if aiming point-blank. “Let’s run it again.”

She ducked under his arm and pressed close, grinding her hips against him. “Need me to get serious?”

His eyes darkened. “Need me to turn you over my knee?”

She gazed up at him, lips parted, considering that option a little too long.

“Emily,” he warned. “I need you to concentrate.”

“Sorry, but we’ve been at this for over an hour.”

Wanting to end this, she dropped low, swept his leg, and took him down. He hit the mat with a thud, eyes widening for just a second before she straddled his chest and pinned his hands above his head.

Panting, flushed, and feeling mighty proud of herself, she grinned down at him.

“Where did you learn that?”

“Did you forget who my brother was?” Her gaze dropped to his mouth as his tongue swept across his lower lip. She cleared her throat. “Still think I need a lesson?”

“Fuck yeah,” he rasped. “But not the kind you have in mind.”

Alec rolled them, reversing their positions. His mouth found hers, and the kiss—hungry, urgent, perfect—melted away a week’s worth of coiled tension.

The door banged open.

They both jumped as Leland and Mateo stepped in, gym bags slung over their shoulders.

“Are we doing this in here now?” the younger man asked.

“Gives me ideas for a new theme room at the club.” Leland snorted, tugging on gloves and tossing a pair to Mateo. “Subbies have to be naked, though.”

“If you score a knockdown, just remember where we are,” Mateo grumbled. “I’m not kissing you, old man.”

Emily laughed, mostly at his horrified grimace.

“We’re done here,” Alec announced, hopping to his feet and helping her up.

“You can regroup and try again next time,” Emily teased.

Mateo glanced at Alec—six-foot-three, 230 pounds, and all muscle. “You let a five-foot-nothing, 110-pound girl beat you?”

Alec didn’t answer, but Emily did.

“I’m 118 and 5’3”,” she corrected, giddy in her triumph, “and I dropped his ass. Ethan would have cheered. He always said the bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

Before she could smirk longer, she was upside-down over Alec’s shoulder, ponytail swinging, bottom smarting from a crisp smack.

“No one likes a gloater, baby,” he said pointedly, carrying her toward the door.

She craned her neck to glare at the two snickering men. “You think it’s funny? Who wants next?”

That sent them into peals of laughter.

Alec’s hand curled firmly around her bottom. “Don’t get cocky, Em. They won’t get distracted imagining you naked, feet by your ears, getting fucked into the mat the way I just did.”

“Wanna bet?” Leland called, wheezing.

“Fine,” Alec threw back. “Just remember—either of you only get a shot over my dead body.”

His tone was light, but the warning message underneath wasn’t.

Out in the hall, after the door swung shut on their laughter, her legs trembled from adrenaline or desire. Maybe both.

“Alec…”

“I’m right there with you,” he said, navigating the halls until he reached a vacant office.

A moment later, she was stretched out on the desk, and he was tugging down her shorts and panties. His mouth found her pussy, devouring her until she was panting and begging, “Please…”

He rose, eyes locked on hers as he yanked his pants open. They groaned together as he sank into her. He pushed her legs up, folding her in half, holding her there with his chest as his mouth claimed hers and his cock thrust deep.

It was frantic, and completely wonderful, both reaching a peak within seconds.

They were still joined when a soft knock sounded on the open door that Alec, in his hurry, had forgotten to shut.

Greta, the business manager, leaned against the frame, arms crossed, one brow raised.

“If you two are through,” she said dryly, “may I have my office back? Payroll doesn’t run itself.”

Emily made a mortified sound and covered her face. Her cheeks burned hotter than the Florida sun.

Alec didn’t even flinch. “Greta dear, your timing is abysmal. But at least you waited until we finished.”

“Alec!” Emily gasped, scrambling to cover herself. He was too cool for that. He stretched, unhurried, all the time in the world.

Greta had other ideas. “I’ll give you thirty seconds,” she said then strolled down the hall.

Her soft laughter echoed behind her as they adjusted their clothes. Emily could laugh too—almost. Despite the gym and the stress reliever on Greta’s desk, the tension over what lay ahead descended again.

***

Although the week dragged, Friday came too fast.

Emily stood in front of the mirror and clipped the transmitter to her bra strap. It was flat and small, and barely noticeable. She studied her reflection—petite frame, small breasts, stick-straight hair. All inherited from her mother. All the things that made her look younger than her years, but also harmless, useful, a target.

The perfect bait.

Movement in the doorway shifted her focus. Alec leaned against the frame, arms braced overhead, eyes unreadable. His stance looked casual, but his white-knuckled grip on the wood told the truth.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

Her gaze slid to the mirror, to the girl who looked braver than she felt. “No,” she admitted. “But I’m doing it.”

He crossed the room, stopping behind her. His hands settled on her hips with quiet possession. “I hate this,” he said.

She’d lost count how often he’d told her that. It had dominated every conversation. The fear and fury beneath every argument.

Emily replied like she always did, whispering, “Yeah.”

He turned her to face him and lowered his forehead to hers. “In my head, I understand why you’re doing this. But my heart, my gut.” His voice broke. “They’re shouting in protest, demanding that I cuff you to the bed and post 24/7 guards.”

“My gut doesn’t tell me things like yours does. But today, it’s saying I’m coming back so we can get to that unfinished business you mentioned.”

“You’d better.” The crack in his voice widened.

“You’re still my knight,” she whispered.

This time, he didn’t scoff at the analogy or tease her for it. He kissed her as if memorizing her mouth, her breath, her heartbeat. As if he had to.

When she pulled away, she was weak in the knees for a completely different reason.

She’d trained for this. She could do this. But doubt edged her mind. Alec had been her hero, her white knight, since forever. This time, she was heading into battle alone.

Chapter 20

Coral Gables wasn’t a mansion. It was a palace, the Atlantic shimmering behind it. Emily stared at it through the window, fighting the urge to throw up. The van lurched to a halt, all four doors popping open at once. No turning back now.

Deep breath, Em. You can do this.

Go in, do the job, let Alec’s testosterone militia handle the takedown, and then maybe you can retire from undercover work forever. Or at least sleep again. You’ve got this.

Probably.

She’d heard better pep talks. And her confidence wasn’t bolstered when she slid across the bench seat, stepped down from the van, and immediately stumbled, her sky-high heels catching on the uneven stone. She grabbed onto the doorframe, tugging down the hem of the too-short, too-tight, humiliating skirt of what she’d come to call her bait uniform.

Regina noticed instantly. Her eyes narrowed. “If you spill champagne on a guest, I’ll have your head.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she murmured, straightening and tossing back her hair, left loose around her shoulders to hide her GPS earrings.

Her stickler of a boss zeroed in on that too and pointed at her head. “That’s a health code violation. Put it up. Heaven forbid a stray hair lands in the Beluga blinis or on my lobster medallions.”

Before Emily could respond, Benny moved past with a crate balanced on one shoulder.

“Leave it,” he said, without breaking stride. “They’ll like it that way.”

Regina’s shoulders jerked. Emily could tell she was about to chew him out for daring to countermand one of her orders, but Benny kept walking, disappearing into the house with his usual swagger. When Regina pressed her lips together without saying a word and hurried inside after him, Emily got a better picture of the hierarchy, at least where sales were concerned.

She followed with the other servers, ten young women, dressed identical to her. Inside, the kitchen was quiet. No outside staff. Just Regina’s crew setting up for dinner service.

She looked at their chefs’ whites and aprons—boxy, slightly baggy, covering everything—and wished she were one of them.

After adjusting her uniform once more, tugging the hem southward and the neckline north, Emily got to work plating pre-prepped hors d’oeuvres and arranging champagne flutes on trays. They’d wait to open the expensive sparkling wine until the last possible moment, to preserve the bubbles.

Within the hour, Regina swept in. “Guests are arriving. Let’s get out there,” she ordered, a drill sergeant clapping sharply.

Before she entered the glittering ballroom, Emily’s stomach flip-flopped. Showtime.

With a plastered-on smile, she circulated. The space was opulent—velvet drapes, gold accents, a string quartet playing something slow and expansive. Guests milled about in perfectly tailored suits and exquisite designer gowns—clearly, nothing off-the-rack was allowed—as they sipped the exorbitantly expensive Cristal like water.

She felt their eyes upon her—some assessing, others hungry and leering.

Several of the faces she recognized from the slide show at the briefings. The tech mogul from Dubai. A shipping magnate from Singapore. The disgraced senator’s brother. All here. All real.

A man approached, tall and regal, his accent thick and foreign. “You are exquisite,” he said. “Your hair is the finest silk.” He reached out and stroked it without asking. “You must wear it down always!” he insisted.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, smiling tightly. “Champagne?”

“Only if you join me,” he said smoothly, taking two glasses.

“I couldn’t. I’m sorry. My boss would combust, but I appreciate the invitation.” She stepped away before he could say—or touch—more.

She suppressed a shudder, though just barely. His touch made her skin crawl.

Emily searched the room for Jace and found him near the back, dressed like money, lounging with calculated ease. Only she knew he was alert, watching her and everyone else as he talked to a server. She wore the same skimpy black outfit as her, but Emily didn’t recognize her as part of Regina’s staff. Something about her seemed familiar, though.

“You, girl!” someone nearby barked.

She turned instinctively, knowing he meant her. A man she didn’t know was bearing down on her. He seemed out of place among the guests, who oozed wealth as easily as they breathed. His tux was over the top, his jet-black hair with way too much gel, and an enormous diamond stud in one ear. But he spoke and moved with authority.

“I have VIPs in a private room. They need attention. Follow me.”

Emily hesitated. Then her feet moved before her brain could protest.

The private room was much smaller, intimate. The air was thick with a heavy, cloying cologne and cigar smoke dense enough to choke. Six velvet chairs were arranged in a half circle. The five men seated in them locked eyes on her, expressions calculating. What was the going rate for a sex slave? She didn’t even know.

What she did know was this: she was alone, outnumbered, vulnerable—prey dropped into a den of salivating wolves.

“Circulate,” Slick ordered. “Serve them champagne. Smile, be polite, and answer any questions they may have.” He shoved her forward. “Gentlemen. A preview.”

Laughter erupted aa Emily stumbled, fighting to keep from spilling champagne on their heads—Regina’s threat the last of her worries.

Two of the men stood, circling her with slow, hungry interest.

She looked for an escape, but guards lingered at the doorways, silent, watchful, and from the bulge ruining the line of one’s dark jacket, armed.

“She’s got good bone structure,” one murmured.

“Shapely legs,” said another. “Nice symmetry.”

“A little older than I prefer,” a third said dismissively.

“How old are you, girl?” a big man asked. He was about sixty, his belly protruding over his garish diamond belt buckle, with a pronounced Southern drawl and a wide-brimmed Stetson.

She didn’t want to answer. She wanted to slap his disgusting face. She hated this, how they saw her not as human but as a commodity.

But she stuck with her role. She had to.

“I’m twenty, sir.”

“Perfect. Count me in on the bidding, Mr. Denali.”

Her eyes shot to Slick. Correction—Enzo Denali. How had she missed the lisp?

The word bidding rattled around in Emily’s head; her stomach lurched. Mateo had been right. This was more than a party. But she stuck to her role—a young woman dazzled by wealth and power, here under an NDA to earn a quick $500—and pretend she had no idea what they meant.

One man reached out and tipped her chin up. She jerked it away, instinct overriding her training.

The bolero-tie-sporting cowboy chuckled. “She’s got fire. I do enjoy a filly that needs breaking.”

“What was that, sir?” she asked. Even an airhead would think twice about that.

“Nothing. Just serve the champagne,” Enzo snapped. To the billionaire, he smiled—as greasy as his hair. “You’ll get your chance if the price is right, Tex. The bidding starts soon.”

Emily’s pulse roared in her ears. She scanned the room, searching for exits, for cameras, for Jace. Where was he?

A moment later, the side door opened and Jace sauntered in—thank God. He took the sixth chair.

She moved toward him at once and offered him a glass, the crystal glasses clinking from her trembling. He took one and rose, putting his body between her and the leering men, playing his dual role—interested buyer and human shield.

“I noticed you in the ballroom,” he said smoothly. “You’re even more stunning up close.”

Emily lowered her lashes, if she could have forced a blush, she would have. “Why, thank you, sir,” she said with a hint of a smile.

A tall, thin, squirrelly looking man rose from his seat and rushed over to Enzo. He spoke too softly for her to hear but gestured toward her and Jace, agitated.

“Stay close,” her protector murmured. “Something is about to go down.”

As Enzo crossed the room, his two thugs fell in step behind him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, Mr…”

“Reynolds,” Jace supplied, reaching into his jacket. Enzo tensed, and both thugs pulled their guns.

“Whoa, now! I’m just getting my invitation,” he said, raising his hands.

“The hell you are,” the jumpy man blurted. “He’s no guest—he’s a cop. I recognize him from court.”

Shocked, Emily backed up, hands shaking. The champagne flutes on Emily’s tray clinked louder. Was the squirrelly man a judge? Holy crap.

“What? No,” Jace protested. “You’re mistaken.”

“Search him,” Enzo ordered.

His burly, scary men grabbed Jace and slammed him against the wall, the muzzle of a gun pressed to his temple.

Instinctively, Emily’s hand went to her waistband searching for the panic button. Enzo noticed and turned on her. “You two seem awfully chummy. You a cop too?”

“No,” she said, backing up more. “I work for the caterer.”

He yanked viciously on her arm, tipping her tray and sending the glasses crashing to the floor. She cried out as his fingers dug into her flesh and pain shot through her wrenched shoulder.

“Let’s see what you’re hiding,” he hissed.

“Nothing,” she cried, struggling to get free.

His grip only became more vicious. His other hand slid over her waistband and closed on the small, flat disc clipped inside. He yanked it out and held it up. “What’s this? A wire?”

Enraged, he dropped it and crushed it beneath his heel. The next instant, his knuckles connected with her cheekbone in a stunning backhand. Her head snapped sideways as blood bloomed in her mouth.

“Fucking bitch. Who’s listening on the other end?”

“He’s wired and packing, boss,” one of the thugs called, having searched Jace none too gently. He tucked the gun into his belt and, like Enzo, destroyed the transmitter with a stomp of his heel. It left them with only one device keeping them connected to the team—in her bra.

Enzo reached for her again, but instinct—and Alec’s training—took over. She twisted, driving her elbow into his gut. He folded with a harsh wheeze, and she pivoted, her knee crashing into his face. His head snapped back, and for one fierce, thrilling beat, she savored the shock on his face before he crumpled with a grunt.

One of his goons lunged for her. She ducked, but he caught her hair—always a weapon used against her—and yanked. Her scalp burned, and her eyes watered, but she didn’t let that stop her from raking her nails across his arms and jabbing her thumbs in his eyes.

A crackle sounded. Then pain exploded through her body. She hit the floor, convulsing, her limbs refusing to obey.

The room blurred.

Enzo stood over her, breathing hard. “Little bitch has claws.”

“I’m out of here. This is too hot,” the buyer in the cowboy hat thundered, storming for the door. Someone knocked over a table—glass shattered, champagne dripped onto the floor—as the other buyers scrambled to follow him out.

“Goddammit! Look what you’ve done,” Enzo exploded, driving his pointed shoe into her ribs. “You cost me millions, interfering slut.”

She was still twitching from the shock as fire shot through her chest. Now, every breath was a struggle. Emily saw him bend toward her and knew more pain was coming.

“We don’t have time for this shit,” a new voice exclaimed angrily. “We need to go.”

Despite the fog in her head, she recognized it. Benny.

“If she was wired, the cops are on the way,” he said. “Move her and the rest of the merchandise to the Miramar warehouse. We’ll hold the auction online.”

“Fine,” Enzo snapped, wiping his hand on her blouse. But he leaned down and hissed at her, “This isn’t over between us. You’ll regret you’re still breathing as you beg for my mercy.” To his men, he barked, “Bring the bitch. Whoever sent her in will want her returned alive. She’s leverage now.”

Emily’s heart stuttered. Barely conscious, she clung to one hope—that Alec or someone was listening, hearing every word.

“She’ll need the juice,” someone said. “Same dose we give the rebellious ones.”

“Not too much,” Enzo grunted. “If I cracked her rib, I want her to experience the pain of betraying a Denali.”

“What about the cop?”

“Kill him,” Enzo ordered coldly.

Twin gunshots exploded through the small room. Emily would have screamed, but her body had forgotten how.

Rough hands grabbed her, holding her still. A needle pricked her thigh. It was nothing compared to the white-hot agony that followed when someone hauled her up and slung her over a shoulder.

She clung to one thought—her knight would come—before the world went dark.

***

Alec tracked the guard’s slow circuit along the west wall, counting steps, memorizing the gaps between passes. The estate looked calm from the outside—music drifting across the grounds, lights soft and golden—but he knew better. Every round those men made tightened the knot in his gut.

Dev’s voice cut into his earpiece, sharp and urgent. “The mission is compromised. They’ve made Jace.”

For one brutal heartbeat, Alec couldn’t breathe. It was what he had feared. What haunted his sleep.

When the order came, “All teams. Move in. Now,” he was already running.

He broke from cover at a sprint, weapon up, vaulting the low stone wall as gunfire cracked from the far side of the house. Marble sparked under impact ahead.

He could hear the chatter over his comm as a half dozen Devlin men and a tactical team from the Miami FBI field office swarmed the grounds. Short-staffed as always, they’d contracted with Dev’s crew to assist making their presence official

Alec couldn’t care less about protocol. The party was over. And Emily was still inside.

As he ran the length of the side portico, gunfire erupted from overhead. Alec dove behind a stone column and returned fire. Rhys slid in beside him.

“Snipers on the roof,” he warned, slamming in a fresh magazine.

They rose together and fired. One silhouette tumbled over the side and dropped three floors. Then the second.

Alec didn’t blink. “Let’s move,” he growled.

They advanced in bursts—fire, cover, fire again—picking off guards who seemed to multiply. But Alec pushed forward. Every second they lost was another second Emily was in danger.

“How many men are in there?” Rhys growled. “I’ve seen fewer in a bloody clown car.”

Smoke poured from shattered windows. Alec’s lungs burned, heart pounding like a war drum as they pressed forward. When they reached the side door, Leland shouted directions from behind, “Left then left again—private room at the end.”

They ran double time down the hall, Alec ready to burst through the door to get to Em. His pulse thundered in his ears, echoing her cries and the gunshots in his head.

Dev called out, “Alec, hold up!”

He checked himself long enough to signal to Rhys who went high while he went low as Dev kicked in the door. They jumped back, bracing for return fire, but were met with silence.

“Emily!” Alec shouted, as they swept the room, guns raised.

“We’re clear,” Rhys called.

Dev crouched beside Jace, fingers to his neck. “He’s got a pulse.”

“Thank fuck for body armor,” Leland said, dropping to his knees on the other side as he ripped off his shirt to staunch the shoulder wound seeping blood.

“You’re sure this is where Emily pinged?” Alec asked, vibrating with frustration.

Dev grabbed Leland’s GPS device, checking the locator. “It says she’s here.”

They searched—under tables, behind chairs. Nothing.

Something skittered across the floor when Alec took a step.

Rhys crouched to retrieve it. “No,” he said grimly. “It says her signal’s here.”

He held up a small black disc—Em’s short-range transmitter that only hours before he’d clipped to her bra.

Alec’s rage surged. He kicked a chair into the wall, splintering it.

Then he saw them—her shoes. One overturned. The other spattered with dark spots as was the floor beneath it.

He bent and touched the marble. His fingers came away red.

“She’s injured,” he ground out, the word tasting foul.

He strode quickly toward the door.

Leland called. “I’ll stick with Jace but send a medic.”

When they entered the ballroom, they found organized chaos.

Federal agents everywhere. Buyers cuffed and corralled near the grand staircase. Two of their men, Ren and Mason, flanked the perimeter, weapons holstered but eyes sharp. One man tried to run and was tackled. Another wept openly, his designer suit soaked with sweat.

Taking the lead, Alec pushed through the crowd, barely registering the agents or the shouting. He needed to move. To act. To find her.

She’d said she was coming back. As long as he was breathing, he would make sure she kept that promise.

“Nick Devlin!” a woman called.

The four of them halted. Regina stood off to the side, wrists bound in zip ties, her silver gown stained and rumpled. She surged forward, but an officer caught an arm, his hold locking her in place.

Alec veered her way, demanding, “Where have they taken her?”

“Taken who?”

“You know damn well who,” he barked. “Emily. You’re part of this.”

Dev moved fast, intercepting him before he could reach, and, likely, strangle her. “We don’t have time for your bullshit, Regina,” he said, his rage and panic barely controlled.

“I had nothing to do with this. I swear.” Her voice cracked, her eyes darting from Dev to Mateo to Rhys, in search of an ally. She found none. “It was Benny, one of my chefs. I’ve suspected something was off about him for months. I should’ve let him go or called you in after the first girl disappeared. I regret that I didn’t.”

Dev’s expression was unforgiving. “You procured barely legal girls and brought them here—for purchase.”

“No! I catered a private party. That’s it. I might be guilty of ignorance and an incredible lack of observation skills,” she insisted, “but I’m not a trafficker. I’d never.”

Alec glared at her, not believing a word. He was done and wanted to hear only one thing. “Where would they have taken her. Tell me now, or I swear I’ll—” As he pushed forward, his rage boiling over, Dev held him back.

“I don’t know,” she repeated, eyes wide and wet. “Please. You have to believe me.”

Leland jogged over, breathless. “EMS has Jace. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s conscious. He should be okay.”

“That’s the only good news I’ve had today,” Dev said as he exhaled, talking more to himself than anyone else.

“What about Emily?” Leland asked. “If she’s wearing the earrings, we should have a signal.”

“Fuck me,” Alec cursed. The other two transmitters were lost, but she had a third.

He’d forgotten. Some white knight he was.

She’d called him that—her knight—just hours ago, voice soft, eyes steady.

He hadn’t deserved it then. He sure as hell didn’t now.

But he’d earn it by finding her and bringing her home safe.

He snatched the GPS Mateo was holding and switched the frequency. In just a few seconds, it pinged.

“They’re heading southeast toward the coast,” he said, voice tight. “We need to go. Now.”

He didn’t wait for orders. His long strides carried him out of the smoke-choked mansion. Without looking, he knew the team followed, boots crunching over glass and debris. The air outside was thick with salt and gunpowder. Sirens wailed in the distance.

A prayer formed on his lips—not polished or holy but raw and desperate.

Let me find her before they sell her. Before they ship her off. Before it’s too late.

Chapter 21

Pain exploded behind her eyes before she even opened them. Her limbs felt too heavy to move, her mouth as dry as the Sahara. Worst of all, her neck was on fire.

Then she remembered the jolt. She hadn’t seen what hit her, but it had to be a stun gun of some kind.

With every muscle protesting, Emily pushed herself up and looked around. Bars surrounded her—cold and unforgiving. Getting to her knees, ducking to keep from hitting her head, she gripped the metal, shaking with all her strength. They didn’t budge.

She’d been locked in. Caged like an animal.

Panic slammed into her. Her chest tightened, breath too fast, too shallow. She was going to hyperventilate—unless she stopped it now.

She forced herself to inhale slow and exhale long. In. Out. Again.

Alec had been right. She was in over her head. What had she been thinking?

She was a chef. Not an undercover agent. Not a fighter. Just a woman who’d wanted to help put an end to evil—and failed.

Jace had been shot. She’d been taken. And she hadn’t saved any of the victims—including the one locked in the cage across from her.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

The girl stirred. Familiar dark springy curls bounced as she rolled to face her.

“Gaby?” Emily gasped.

Her eyes opened then widened. “Emily?”

They spoke in whispers, voices hoarse and raw.

“What are you doing here?”

“The same thing you are, I’m guessing. Trying to shut these pigs down.” Her eyes flicked anxiously toward the doorway. “I’m also looking for my sister.”

Emily’s blood ran cold. “No.”

“She worked for Regina for a few weeks then she disappeared. The police barely looked.” Bitterness roughened her tone. “I made finding her my full-time job.”

Gaby’s situation echoed hers in painful ways. “How did you end up at Devil’s Pointe?”

“Everything pointed to Regina as a recruiter. She had the best of both worlds—a continuous supply of college girls needing good-paying work, and a club full of submissive women. I couldn’t get in the door at Gold Coast, so I joined the club to get proof—something concrete that the right people would pay attention to.”

Emily frowned, shaking her head. “I don’t know everyone, Gaby, but I know Alec. He trusts and respects Devil. He’d know if something that serious was happening under his own roof. But you’re on the right track with Regina and Gold Coast. Benny was at the mansion tonight. He’s your recruiter.”

“The sous chef?” Gaby sat back on her heels in surprise.

“Yeah. How he got in with the New York Mafia is anyone’s guess.”

“What?” she exclaimed.

Emily’s eyes shot to the door as she shushed her. When no one appeared, she continued quietly, “Enzo Denali. Italian, diamond stud in his ear, a hissing lisp. He’s the boss.”

“You’ve been here a month and got all that?”

“No. I got that by working with Devil and his team of PIs. I’m telling you straight, Gaby. You can trust them.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she said, still skeptical.

“You don’t have to. Alec and the guys will be here soon, and you can see for yourself.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Emily gathered her hair, revealing her earrings. “Diamonds aren’t a girl’s best friend. GPS cubic zirconia is.”

“Smart,” she breathed, clearly impressed.

As Gaby looked around, Emily did too and didn’t like what she saw. Metal walls. Concrete floors. A few grimy windows near the high ceiling. They’d need a ladder to reach them.

“Where do you think we are?”

“Benny mentioned a warehouse,” Emily said.

Gaby fished around in her curls and withdrew a bobby pin. “While we wait for the cavalry, I’m going to look around.”

In seconds, the lock clicked and the door to her cage swung open.

“Wow. That was impressive,” Emily observed, feeling a glimmer of hope. “Do they teach lock picking at the U?”

“Nope. In my old neighborhood,” she said, crawling out and standing to stretch.

“Don’t even think about leaving me here,” she warned. “I can help you snoop or be a lookout or something.”

The door to her cage popped open just as quickly. Barefoot, bruised, and filled with a surge of adrenaline, they crept toward the door past other groggy, just-awakening girls in other cages—at least a dozen of them.

“Hey! What about us?” one called in desperation.

“We’ll bring help,” Emily said. “Promise.”

The door was unlocked—stupidly. Maybe her luck was turning.

“I guess the rat bastards didn’t plan on escapees from their dog cages,” Gaby stated, as if reading her mind.

They moved down a wide corridor. The air was thick with a sharp, pungent odor—bleach, oil, something metallic. It clung to Emily’s throat. The hum of machinery vibrated through the walls.

They found the control room. A narrow window revealed a lone tech guy inside—laptop open, camera on, monitors showing a makeshift stage being assembled, Enzo supervising.

“What are they doing?” Gaby whispered.

“Getting ready to sell us at auction,” Emily replied.

“Pigs,” she spat. “Before the bidding starts, I need to see what’s on that laptop. There might be something about my sister. We need a diversion to get rid of that guy.”

They needed more than a diversion. They needed to take him out.

Emily scanned the hallway. She considered the wall-mounted fire extinguisher, but it might be too heavy and unwieldy. Farther down the hall was a tarp-covered cart. She hurried to it.

Bingo! There were tools—wrenches and hammers. But did she want to actually kill him? Could she?

She grabbed a long-barreled metal flashlight and weighed it in her hand. She also took a few practice swings.

Perfect.

“Hurry,” Gaby urged.

Emily closed the distance in a heartbeat. “You get him through the door, and I’ll knock him out.”

“We think the same way. I knew I liked you for a reason,” her coconspirator said with a quiet smile. With a hand on the doorknob, she glanced back, mouthing, Ready?

After flattening herself against the wall, weapon raised, heart thudding in her ears, Emily nodded.

The hinges squeaked as Gaby pushed the door open. Her eyes went wide—a pure oh-shit moment. “Uh-oh,” she exclaimed then spun and bolted in the opposite direction.

“Hey!” the guy shouted. “Get back here.”

His footsteps pounded closer. Emily held her breath. The second he cleared the doorway and turned, she struck. The flashlight’s wide metal head connected with a sickening thunk against his skull. He staggered two steps then dropped like a stone.

Gaby skidded to a halt beside her. They both stared down at the man—mid-twenties, glasses askew, limbs splayed, still breathing.

“Damn, girl,” she said in awe. “You’re a legit badass.”

The image of Alec in the gym, telling her to come at him, flashed through Emily’s mind. “No,” she replied. “But I’ve been taking lessons from one.”

“Either way. Remind me to never piss you off.”

Emily slid her hands under his shoulders. “Help me. He’s heavier than he looks.”

Together, they dragged him inside the control room and dumped him in a corner. Gaby got to work, fingers flying over the keys. Emily stood guard, eyes darting between the hallway and the unconscious man. Her body betrayed her—every nerve screaming from pain and the entire situation—but she stayed upright and sharp.

“There’s a bunch of files, but they’re password protected,” she said, clicking rapidly. “I’m emailing them to myself to figure out later.”

Voices echoed in the hall.

Emily’s breath caught. “Hurry. Someone’s coming.”

“Just another minute.”

The tech guy groaned.

Emily spun. “Crap! He’s waking up!”

She searched the floor for the flashlight, dreading having to hit him again. But if it came down to them or him, she’d do it—gladly.

“Well, well. Two naughty birds have escaped their cages.”

Emily yelped and spun as Gaby swiveled.

Enzo stood just inside the door, Benny behind him.

Bolting from the chair, Gaby sprinted for the exit. It wasn’t well-thought-out—the odds of getting by the two of them slim to none. Benny easily caught her mid-step and slammed her against the wall.

Enzo came for Emily, a knife flashing. She couldn’t just stand there and tried the same unsuccessful plan, scrambling for the door. His arm banded around her waist, and he lifted her off the floor.

“You know something, little spy,” he lisped in her ear. “You’ve turned into a real pain in the ass.” She kicked and twisted, clawing at his arm. “Be still,” he barked. “Unless you want me to cut you.”

Emily went rigid, as cold steel kissed her throat. It slid slowly downward, slicing through her top and bra like butter.

“Please, don’t,” she whispered, terrified. Hating that he’d made her beg. Hating him.

He spread the sides with his blade, dragging the flat of it across one nipple. “Auction items don’t wear clothes. Don’t worry, I won’t cut you. Bloody merchandise doesn’t sell well. We’ll leave all that up to your new owner.”

All those drills with Alec. All those hours. Useless now. She was too terrified to move.

Enzo’s lips brushed her cheek. His breath reeked of onions, making her gag. “Didn’t I say you’d regret breathing?”

They didn’t spare the injured guy a glance. Instead, Enzo and Benny dragged them—Emily half naked at knifepoint, Gaby by the hair—through several hallways, around too many turns to count, until they reached the cavernous main warehouse.

Then they shoved them under the lights on the makeshift stage.

The auction was about to begin.

Chapter 22

“Perimeter’s secured,” Mateo’s voice crackled in Alec’s earpiece.

“Ready to move on the south side,” Leland added.

Alec crouched behind a stack of shipping crates, the concrete cold biting into his knee as he too called in his position. “Roof is clear. Good to go on your signal.”

His voice stayed low and controlled. Inside, he was a storm—rage and fear colliding.

Emily was in there. On display. Up for sale.

Six D&A men, each paired with federal agents, surrounded the warehouse. Medical teams waited in the wings for second-wave entry. Everyone was in place—ghost-quiet shadows slipping in from the loading dock, all entrances, and four skylights above.

Through one of them, Alec could see inside. The space was mostly dark, lit only by a blinking green camera light and the harsh white light glaring down on a makeshift stage.

Enzo stood front and center, a depraved auctioneer, calling out obscene figures in his nasal lisp. Armed guards leaned against walls, leering openly at barely clothed girls trembling in terror. Benny hovered near the edge of the platform, a knife glinting, ready to slice away what little fabric the victims had left.

Sick fucking bastards—the lot of them.

Emily was there. Standing in line. Bare from the waist up. Chin high.

He couldn’t see her eyes, but he knew the expression. Defiance. Fury. Fight.

His hands clenched into fists. Proud of her for her daring, but also still pissed that she done this. If they survived tonight, the most dangerous thing in her life going forward would be a paring knife.

He scanned the east corridor—Rhys’s channel had gone quiet. Wherever he was, he trusted him to handle his flank.

Exhaling once, sharply, he forced down his own emotions. Lives depended on his clarity—Emily’s most of all.

He glanced toward the next skylight where Dev crouched, willing him to give the order. A beat later, he met his gaze and nodded before it came through his earpiece: “Move in.”

Alec rappelled through the open window, landing hard behind a stack of crates with his weapon up. More Devlin men and federal agents stormed through the doors in full tactical gear. The traffickers were now badly outnumbered.

“FBI! Don’t move!” an agent shouted.

Two guards fired and were taken out permanently.

Alec surged forward. He slammed a gunman taking aim into a support beam, disarmed him, and kept moving. Another raised his weapon—Dev’s shot dropped him before he could fire.

Benny whirled, knife up. Too slow.

Alec tackled him, driving him into the concrete. The blade skittered away. Benny fought, fists swinging wildly, but Alec had size and, more importantly, rage on his side. He landed one brutal punch to his face, cracking bone. Benny’s head smacked the floor. He lay motionless, not dead. A pity.

***

Rhys moved through the chaos—controlled, lethal. He’d already neutralized two guards. He spotted a woman being dragged behind the stage, short black skirt torn, top stretched and stained. She kicked and clawed, fighting with everything she had. The thug hauling her away was twice her size, but she wasn’t giving up.

He didn’t hesitate. He snatched up a folding chair and swung. Metal slammed against the thug’s head with a brutal crack. The man staggered but didn’t go down, although he did release the girl.

“Bloody hell.” Rhys lunged, tackling him into a stack of crates. Wood splintered. A hook to his jaw, a knee to the ribs, and a vicious elbow drop later, the bastard slumped to the floor, out cold.

“A rescue right out of the WWE,” a shaky voice whispered. “Your timing could have been a little better. Sooner, maybe.”

Rhys turned. “Gaby?”

She stood against the wall, shaking, eyes too bright. “Hi, Rhys,” she said, lifting her hand in a weak wave. Then her face crumpled, and she launched herself at him. He caught her instantly, arms locking around her.

She smelled of fear and a sharp chemical tang as he held her close.

***

“All clear,” Dev called in his ear.

“Shit. That was too easy,” Mateo muttered.

“Denali?” Alec demanded.

“He bolted out the back. I’m in pursuit,” Leland replied, sounding winded. “Don’t worry. His slaver ass is mine.”

“Emily!” Alec shouted, scrambling to his feet.

She broke from a cluster of girls behind the stage and ran straight into him, sobbing. He caught her mid-stride and hauled her against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice raw.

“Enzo escaped,” she choked out.

“Not now. Leland’s on him,” Alec assured her, pressing his face into her hair. Sirens wailed as federal teams swarmed the building. “Everyone else is going away for a long time. You’re safe now, baby.”

***

Rhys heard the all clear. One mission down. Another was beginning, however—because Gaby was shaking against him, and none of this made sense.

He hadn’t a clue where to start, so he asked her. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for someone.”

“Who?”

She didn’t answer. She only pressed tighter against him, fingers curled in his vest. Shaken. Traumatized. But holding secrets.

“Whoever it is must be important to face down the Mafia and a brutal trafficking ring by yourself.”

She glanced up, hazel-brown eyes wary. “I wasn’t sure I could trust anyone.”

“You could have come to me,” he said, softer now. “Or to Devil. To anyone of the security team.”

She hesitated then averted her gaze.

Rhys’s jaw clenched. Clearly, he was among those she didn’t trust.

That stung. For weeks, they’d danced around something real—fire, push-pull, vulnerability she’d shown no one else. He’d thought it mattered. Maybe he’d been wrong.

He’d seen her talking to Emily and Cari at the club and thought little of it. Submissives formed friendships all the time. But now he wondered—was everything at the club a role she’d played as part of this insane mission?

“We’ll talk later,” he said to his own ears sounding terse. “For now, let’s get you out of here.”

He took her hand and started toward the exit.

“Wait,” she said, pulling him to a stop. “What happened to the other girls? There were dozens of them.”

“They’re being treated. We had medical on standby.”

“Can I look? I need to see if she’s with them.”

“Who? You didn’t say,” he asked again.

“Natalie Flores. She’s a nineteen-year-old college student.”

The name meant nothing to him. “I’ll take you to them,” he said.

Outside, EMS had set up a triage line. Across from them, zip-tied traffickers were being loaded into vans. Gaby ignored the criminals entirely—her gaze combed the faces of the rescued girls, tense and desperate.

When they reached the end of the line, and Natalie wasn’t among them, Gaby’s knees buckled. Rhys caught her easily, holding her upright.

“Let’s get you to a medic.”

“I had hoped,” she said, her voice shaking.

“You don’t see her?”

“I didn’t expect a miracle. She’s been missing for months, but I thought—even if she wasn’t here—I’d get a lead.” Her gaze lingered on a girl with bruises and a split lip, blood on her chin and neck. “I thought I could handle it,” she whispered, voice distant. “I thought I was smart enough, strong enough. But I was stupid, and wrong.”

“You’re not stupid, Gaby, nor are you weak. A weak woman doesn’t walk into a den of vipers alone.” He paused. “But you’re not alone anymore.”

Her glassy eyes lifted to his. “I may not be… but my baby sister is.”

Rhys’s arms tightened reflexively.

Bloody hell. No wonder.

He, Devil, and Alec had thought they were done with this shit—that they’d cracked the ring and shut it down. But trafficked girls and their predatory buyers were still out there.

A cold, steady resolve settled in his chest as he took in Gaby’s torn clothes and tear-streaked face. This wasn’t over. Not even close. No matter what they had left after the dust settled, he’d help her finish what she’d started.

***

The tarmac was chaos.

Vehicles screeched in from every direction, headlights slicing through the dark. Sirens wailed. Radios crackled. A helicopter churned the air with violent gusts, the rotors already spinning, the pilot poised for takeoff once his passengers were aboard.

“Not if I can fucking stop it,” Leland growled.

His SUV fishtailed around a barricade and jolted to a stop. He was out the door before the engine stopped humming, boots pounding on asphalt.

Up ahead, Enzo sprinted toward the chopper, flanked by two brutes—thick-necked, armored, moving like linebackers. One carried a rifle. The other acted as a moving, human wall.

Fucking Denali was not worth the sacrifice.

His comm crackled to life.

“Do not let him get away,” ordered Rogers, the FBI Special Agent in Charge. “Lethal force is authorized.”

That was all the permission Leland needed.

He raised his weapon, centered his stance, breath controlled.

Damn. No clean shot.

At the open chopper door, Enzo grabbed the frame, but he didn’t haul himself up and through. The arrogant bastard couldn’t resist gloating. He turned, smirking, chest exposed between his guards.

“You’re too late, boys,” he crowed.

It was the opening Leland was waiting for.

One breath. One squeeze of the trigger.

The bullet sliced between the two huge men and hit Enzo dead center. His body jerked, and he collapsed backward onto the tarmac, blood spreading across his shirt.

The guards froze, shock etched on their faces.

The pilot didn’t wait. The helicopter lifted off without its cargo.

Leland lowered his weapon, calm as though he’d just finished a round at the range.

“Not late, you fucking piece of shit,” he said, coldly. “Just patient.”

Then he turned and strode unfazed to his vehicle.

***

The SUV hummed down the highway. Every seat was filled, yet silence sat heavy from the weight of what they’d just pulled off, and the adrenaline crash.

Devil drove. Emily curled against Alec’s side in the second row, his arm draped around her, protectively. Gaby and Rhys, behind them, sat in much the same way.

Dev’s phone buzzed. He touched his earpiece, listened, then said, “Yeah. We’ll talk more at debrief.” He ended the call and announced, “They got him. Denali is dead.”

Emily let out a breath that broke halfway through, a shudder racking her body. “Thank God.”

Alec pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. “The man who ordered the hits on your father and Ethan finally saw justice,” he murmured. “It’s over, baby.”

Emily shook her head. “My part may be over, but there are other girls. Beth Ann and Gaby’s sister. What happens to them?”

Silence filled the SUV. Into it, Gaby whispered, “God willing, there is useful information in those files.”

After a beat, three male voices, one unmistakably British, said as one, “What files?”

Chapter 23

Emily exhaled shakily. Oversized sweats hung loose on her frame—borrowed clothes someone had pressed into her hands after the rescue—but even wrapped in soft cotton, she felt raw, scraped open. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. No matter how firmly she gripped the water bottle, the faint tremor persisted. She didn’t open it. She couldn’t, not without letting go of Alec. His fingers were laced with hers beneath the table, grounding her like nothing else could.

He noticed immediately and slid his hand free long enough to twist off the cap. “Drink,” he ordered, the same steady command he’d used after their scene at the club. Then he reclaimed her hand, threading their fingers together.

Alec wasn’t wrong. She’d had neither food nor drink while a captive. The cool liquid eased her dry lips and throat.

Across the conference table, the frantic clatter of Gaby’s typing cut through the silence. Keys clicking, the processor humming, hope and dread moving in parallel. No one spoke. Not Alec, though his thumb stroked slow, steady circles on her knuckles. Not Mateo or Leland, still in tactical gear by the door. Not Devil, whose pacing carved a restless path at the head of the table.

Rhys leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, jaw locked. The tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.

Gaby’s laptop chimed, and every head in the room snapped up. It had been excruciatingly slow, but the files—the ones she’d risked her life to steal—had finally downloaded.

“Done,” she announced.

Callan stepped in, already reaching for the computer. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said briskly. “I’ve got decryption programs to run.”

Devil stopped pacing. “I’m not sure where to begin with my questions.”

The door opened.

Two men in suits entered—late, unapologetic. One scanned the room, freezing when his gaze landed on Gaby.

“Officer Flores,” he said. “Are you working for Devlin now?”

Rhys straightened, his voice low and sharp. “Officer? You’re a cop?”

Gaby didn’t even flinch. “Not anymore.”

Devil’s eyes narrowed. “You infiltrated our club undercover? How? Our screenings are extensive.”

She met his gaze, steady as she disclosed, “I used a clean identity—one the department helped me build for another case. No ties to law enforcement, no red flags, nothing to find. Joining during an expansion, with your team already stretched thin, gave me an advantage I can’t take credit for.”

Devil exhaled, slow and deliberate. “Risky, but smart.” He glanced at Leland. “We have gaps in our security to seal.”

“I’m on it first thing,” Leland replied, not looking at all pleased.

Rhys sat motionless, as if carved from stone. His stare stayed fixed on Gaby, unreadable at first, but Emily recognized the undercurrent of anger. They had been intimate, totally into each other. Even Alec, who knew a thing or two, thought so. Emily could imagine the betrayal he felt, like being punched in the gut.

“Did you join before or after handing in your badge?” he asked quietly, with no inflection whatsoever.

“After. I resigned when my superiors ignored my suspicions. When I pushed, they handed everything over to the feds—who spent months accomplishing nothing.”

The taller agent bristled. “We followed protocol.”

“While girls kept disappearing,” Gaby snapped.

Devil’s tone cut through the room. “Let me remind you—this is a debrief, not a pissing match.”

The agents exchanged a glance then fell silent. Gaby nodded once, her posture rigid.

Rhys spoke again, colder now. “So, it was a role you played.”

She didn’t answer, but the flush in her cheeks said enough.

“Are you even a submissive?” he asked.

“No,” she said softly.

Emily remembered their scene—how connected they’d seemed. She doubted her answer, but it convinced Rhys. His expression shuttered completely, and he rose and walked out without another word.

“I never meant to hurt anyone,” Gaby said, voice tight. “Which is why I kept my distance. Except with…” She trailed off took a breath and regrouped. “I’m sorry for stepping on toes. I did what I thought I had to—for Natalie.”

Emily leaned forward. “My brother was a cop. My dad too. They tried to expose the traffickers through official channels. They hit roadblocks at every turn. I suspect the corruption in the Miami PD reaches the highest levels. It cost them their lives.”

Startled, Gaby’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know.”

“She isn’t wrong,” Alec said, voice low. “It’s part of why I left the department. It needs a full purge—from the top down.”

“Agreed,” Devil added, his gaze shifting to the agents.

“We’ll look into it,” one offered.

“As will I,” Devil said, his intensity chilling. A shiver danced down Emily’s spine. The agents seemed to feel it as well, shifting uneasily. The challenge hung in the silence.

“I didn’t expect to find allies here,” Gaby murmured.

Emily offered a soft smile. “You found one, at least.”

“In exchange for an enemy?” Her gaze flicked toward the door Rhys had disappeared through. Pain—barely masked—shadowed her eyes.

Alec’s jaw flexed, and he answered before Emily could. “He’s a good man. I’m certain he’ll come around, but it may take time. Learning you slipped past our defenses—in a place where we thought our privacy was protected—was a shock to all of us.”

Gaby nodded. Her shoulders sagged, tension draining from her posture, but her fingers curled around the table’s edge, knuckles white. “I’ll talk to him and try to help him understand.”

Emily heard the brittleness in her voice and the fragile wish beneath it. She knew how some choices carved wounds that were slow if not impossible to close. Alec was proof of that. Her brother even more so.

She reached for Gaby’s hand—small comfort, but all she had. She seized it instantly, gripping hard enough to pinch. She clung as though drowning, and Emily was the only thing keeping her afloat.

That was fine. Emily wasn’t letting go.

***

Dev sent everyone home, except Callan who wouldn’t rest until he’d accessed the files. If they were lucky, the data contained buyers’ purchase history and locations. It was a long shot, but Enzo was cocky. Alec hoped he’d been careless too.

He took Emily to his place. It was closer, quieter, and the bed was big enough for both of them to collapse without crowding.

She hadn’t questioned it. Just offered exhausted compliance, as he led her out into the daylight that felt too bright, too clean after what they’d just come from.

She dozed on the drive, and he carried her upstairs.

In the bathroom, Alec turned on the tap. He stripped her, removing the borrowed clothes and revealing bruises in the shape of fingerprints rough hands had left and the angry red welt from the electric burn on her neck. He didn’t speak. Just bathed her in silence, the sponge gliding over skin once flawless with the utmost care.

His lips brushed her shoulder once then the curve of her hip—not out of desire but devotion. A silent promise: I’ve got you.

When he finished, she lifted a hand to his cheek in silent gratitude.

He toweled her dry gently and carried her to his bed, tucking her in like she was something precious—which she was, to him. When he climbed in beside her, she blinked up at him.

“It’s the middle of the day. I’m fine,” she insisted. “You don’t need to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She curled into him, her fingers clutching his shirt, defying her own words. She wasn’t fine, but she would be. He’d see to that.

Holding her close, one arm around her waist, the other cradling her head, her breath was warm against his collarbone, when she whispered, barely audible, “My knight. I knew you’d rescue me.”

The words cut deep.

If he were truly her knight, she wouldn’t have been huddled on that stage with the others—terrified, bruised, treated like cattle. If they’d been minutes later, she could’ve vanished like Gaby’s sister—lost to him forever.

The thought carved straight through him.

Alec buried his face in her hair trying to contain his unrelenting rage, and the knowledge that no amount of vigilance could erase what had already been done.

Exhausted and finally safe enough to let go, she was asleep within minutes.

He wasn’t.

He’d been up all night, but he was wired. Every time he closed his eyes, the horror returned—Benny’s knife, Enzo’s taunting lisp, Emily standing in the glare. It was going to take a long time before those images faded.

So he held her.

Not because he couldn’t let go—but because, right now, she needed the anchor.

Chapter 24

Emily didn’t leave the house for a week.

She was stiff and sore the first few days—aftereffects of the stun gun, Alec suspected. Ibuprofen and warm baths helped, but her muscles twitched at odd moments, as though they hadn’t forgotten the jolt. Sometimes her fingers trembled when she reached for a glass. The aftereffects no one ever mentioned on TV crime shows were unnerving.

But the real reason she hid out in Alec’s house were the visible marks on her body impossible to ignore. Long sleeves in the Florida heat were intolerable, but the burn on her neck—red, irritated, twin prong marks that resembled a vampire bite—felt like a brand. She kept it covered and wore hoodies with the AC cranked up so she didn’t have to look at the reminder of her time as a captive. More importantly, so Alec didn’t have to.

When he did, he got quiet.

Even with Enzo dead and Benny facing a lifetime in prison, anger flashed in Alec’s eyes. He contained it, but it was simmering, and unmistakable.

He was careful with her. Twice a day, he tended her burns and bruises with the special ointment Dev’s doctor recommended during his house call. She hadn’t felt it necessary, but Alec and Dev insisted, and the compounded concoction—vitamin E, lanolin, and several other things she’d already forgotten. Alec’s care had something to do with it too. His fingers skimmed her skin—efficient, almost clinical. Then he’d brush a soft kiss to her temple.

She never told him what those seconds under the stun gun felt like. Not just the searing pain but the way her body seized, muscles out of her control. The collapse when her limbs betrayed her, buckling like a puppet with its strings cut. And beneath the ache, something deeper: the terror of being helpless, of having her autonomy ripped away, her ability to fight—even pointlessly—stolen.

He never asked. Never pushed.

And when the nightmares came, he held her.

She’d wake gasping, heart pounding, memories of Enzo’s knife at her throat and slicing through her clothes, being forced onto the stage, and the untold numbers of faceless buyers watching safely behind a computer screen. In her nightmares, Alec didn’t get to her in time. She’d scream, thrash, reach for an escape that wasn’t there—until he’d pull her against him and whisper assurances, until the terror ebbed.

Some nights, she wasn’t sure she believed him when he said she was safe.

During the day, she cooked. Elaborate meals that filled the apartment with warmth and spice. Alec would come home, drop his keys, inhale, then groan in bliss.

“You’re spoiling me. If I eat like this every night, I’ll get fat and have to find a new line of work.”

She stirred the sauce, smiling. “That sounds perfect.”

“The fat part?”

“A new line of work.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Then I wouldn’t have to worry.”

“You don’t. We don’t take chances.”

She set the spoon down and turned. “Storming a warehouse full of armed criminals isn’t taking chances? Not that I’m not grateful.”

He pulled her into his arms. “We outnumbered and outgunned them. Which is why you’re here and they’re either dead or behind bars. Those situations are rare. Don’t worry. Not about that.”

But she would—worry was a habit she could never break. She whispered, “okay,” even though they both knew it wasn’t true.

When his stomach growled, he laughed and released her. “I’m starving. How long until dinner?”

“It’s ready now.”

“I’ll set the table,” he said, already moving.

It was domestic. Simple. And strangely perfect.

***

By the end of the second week, the bruises had faded. The burn on her neck would take longer, but the pain was gone. She resumed her classes. Her body felt like hers again. Her mind—mostly. At least the nightmares had stopped.

Alec was back at work full time. He checked in often—texts, calls, dropping by between tasks—but she was alone for long stretches. He didn’t want her returning to her crack-of-dawn shifts just yet—if ever—and she certainly wasn’t working for Regina again.

She wandered his house, read half a dozen books, sat on his balcony, stared out at the fountain, and had far too much time to think.

He was sweet, tender, kissed her often, held her close every night, but nothing more.

Was he giving her space to heal? Or quietly pulling away?

The confusion lingered—surfacing in the quiet moments, tugging at her until she had to do something about it.

At the start of week three, the doctor dropped by for a follow-up house call and declared her fit—ready to return to her usual activities.

All activities.

She was on Alec’s second-floor balcony, plotting her seduction, when she heard him calling her name. Abandoning her plans for the moment, she slipped into the bedroom just as he walked in from the hall.

He held a garment bag in one hand, a sleek white shoebox in the other. Manolo Blahnik across the lid in elegant script.

Emily’s lips parted. Her idea of “designer” came from the clearance rack at T.J. Maxx.

“What’s this?” she asked, breath catching despite her best effort at casual.

“Dev’s hosting his annual charity night,” he said, smiling at her in a way that made her knees unreliable. “I’m working security for part of it, but I thought you’d like to come.”

He unzipped the garment bag, black silk spilling out.

“Cari is on the board of the Women’s and Children’s Shelter. She runs the fundraiser. Dev

shakes down his friends for money, and everyone gets to dress up. It’s formal.”

“And you knew I’d have nothing to wear,” she whispered as he lifted out a short dress—low-backed, revealing, very Devil’s Pointe, but elegant. Very Alec.

“There are shoes in the box,” he added.

“Manolos,” she whispered, more than a little awestruck. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve never worn shoes that cost more than rent.”

He set the box and garment bag on the bed and pulled her into his arms.
“Don’t say anything except yes.”

Emily looked up at him, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Yes. I’d love to go with you. It’ll be good to get out and actually be human again.”

“There’ll be games to raise money—kinky ones, naturally. You don’t have to participate—” he assured her. “Technically, that’s against policy, but I think Dev would make an exception.”

“I don’t want to be treated with kid gloves.”

He brushed his knuckled along her cheek. “Then we’ll find something that suits you. Can you be ready to leave in an hour?”

“I can be ready in half, but I’ll take the full one.” She laid her hand on his cheek. “Thank you, Knight. As usual, you’ve thought of everything.”

“Not quite.” His eyes warmed with a faint, wicked gleam. “There’s a thong in the garment bag, but given the cut of that dress, you won’t be able to wear a bra. The dom in me couldn’t resist.” He bent and touched his lips lightly to hers—barely a kiss, more of a promise—then turned toward the hallway. “I’ll use the guest room shower. This one’s all yours.”

As he walked out, she could’ve sworn she heard him whistle. It had been a long time since she’d seen him in such a carefree mood.

The weight of her parents’ deaths and Ethan’s had hung over them for nearly a decade. Maybe it was time for both of them to breathe easy again. To look forward.

Maybe tonight was the beginning.

Chapter 25

Emily’s heels clicked softly on the polished flagstones. They were four inches, and she still didn’t come to Alec’s shoulder. The clingy dress he’d chosen dipped so low, it made her second-guess every movement, especially sitting. She hadn’t worn anything this revealing since the rescue. Not even a tank top without a jacket. A dab of makeup concealed the fading bruises. Her hair, worn loose, veiled the lingering burn mark on her neck.

It felt liberating and a little dangerous. As if she’d stepped into someone else’s skin.

Alec walked beside her, strikingly handsome in tailored black, a guiding hand warm on her spine. Skirting the cars parked every which way, she was grateful for his steady presence.

“I’ve never seen it this crowded,” she said, as he steered her around a Lexus partially blocking the walkway.

“The entire membership shows up for Dev’s special events,” he replied. “We were lucky to have found a parking spot.”

Emily gripped Alec’s arm tighter as they climbed the stone steps.

“You’re nervous,” he observed, pausing at the door. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Yes. I want my life to return to normal.”

He squeezed her fingers. “A month ago, you didn’t know this world existed. I’m not sure how normal this is.”

“It feels longer. Some of the people I’ve met here, it’s like I’ve known them forever.”

“That’s good. I want you to feel comfortable here.”

Just inside the front door stood a sleek black sign, etched in silver script:

4th Annual Wicked Games Charity Gala

Consent is sacred. Participation has a price.

Aptly, Chris Isaak’s haunting melody—what a wicked game you play—drifted through the air. Low, aching, and seductive, the lyrics curled around her in a slow, smoky coil.

Cari was in the foyer greeting guests in a crimson gown that brought out the subtle glints of red in her dark hair. Spotting them, she excused herself from the couple she was chatting with and headed their way.

“You two look stunning,” she said, squeezing Alec’s arm then sweeping Emily into a gentle hug. “I’ve wanted to come see you, but Dev said to give it time. Now, you’re here. I’m so glad.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d make it,” Emily admitted, returning the embrace. Cari smelled of vanilla and champagne—familiar and safe.

The door opened behind them, and more members entered.

“We’ll catch up later,” Cari said, sending the new arrivals a little wave. “I have donations to wrangle.” She glanced at her clipboard then angled a smile at Alec. “I see you’ve met the minimum—and then some.”

Emily flushed. “I haven’t given anything. I didn’t know.”

“I covered us both,” he told her quietly.

She nodded, grateful and a little guilty. She hadn’t worked in weeks.

“You’re all set,” Cari said, waving them in. “The labyrinth opens tonight, and there’s a buffet out on the patio. Go enjoy.”

Alec steered her down the hall, his hand never leaving her back. She was glad for his warmth as cool air drifted over her exposed skin, raising goose bumps.

“So, how does this work?” she asked.

“The donation only gets you through the door. To play, you need a ticket. Dev’s aiming to shatter last year’s record.”

“I’m curious about the wicked games,” she admitted.

“There are plenty of them.” His gaze drifted to hers, dark and amused all at once. Then they turned serious. “Remember, nothing says you have to play tonight. You can just watch, or the patio is open. While I’m on shift, you can hang out there and have a drink, chat with friends. I’m sure Julia and Deanna will be around.”

“Are you trying to scare me off?” she teased. “Now, I’m really curious.”

His gaze scanned her face. He must have found what he was searching for, because he nodded, amusement reappearing. “Then let’s see what we can do to appease it.”

The playroom had been transformed. Gone were the dozens of usual stations. In their place stood a handful of larger setups, each cordoned off by velvet ropes.

The sign hanging above the first station read: Bull Riding Challenge.

Hearing a low whirring, Emily rose on tiptoe, straining to see. When someone shifted, the view opened—and she froze, caught between laughing and blushing.

It wasn’t at all what she expected. Three submissives in cowboy hats straddled saddles, heads thrown back, moaning and breathless. Sweat gleamed on one sub’s body. Her thighs trembled, hips grinding against the molded leather.

Alec leaned in. “The Sybians are always a big crowd favorite. Tonight, Dev cranked up the speeds and they have bonus attachments—that’s the buzzing you hear.”

Heat crawled up Emily’s neck—half shock, half fascination.

The pink-cheeked cowgirl called out, “I’m going to come, master.”

“I’d be very disappointed if you did, Andrea,” her dom scolded. “It hasn’t even been three minutes.”

His reprimand only made her louder.

“How do you win?” Emily whispered.

“Best time without coming.”

Andrea’s cries soared, cutting through the music and hum of conversation. “Oh, my god!” she gasped as her body arched. When she convulsed in orgasm, she pitched forward and would have toppled from the saddle if not for her dom’s quick reflexes.

“Wow. Just… wow.” Emily breathed, resisting an urge to fan herself.

“That’s the consensus,” he drawled. “Come on. There’s more to see.”

They moved to the next station where an even larger crowd had gathered. Laughter mixed with male moans and the occasional crude joke from the avid audience.

“In this one, the fastest finisher wins,” Alec said, voice edged with amusement.

She eyed him suspiciously.

“You’ll see.”

On her toes again, Emily caught glimpses of men reclined in chairs, submissives kneeling between their spread legs. A male shout of satisfaction rang out, followed by applause and whistles.

Though she’d already guessed the game, the sign overhead spelled it out: BJ Challenge.

The winner rose, triumphant, grinning as she wiped her mouth. “Four and a half minutes,” she crowed. “No one’s beating my time this year.”

“I hope not,” her dom grumbled, zipping up. “That was fucking humiliating.”

Several of the subs laughed while the men looked on with sympathy.

Emily’s brows lifted. Equal parts titillated and mortified, she drawled, “Moving on…”

Alec smirked but said nothing.

The Sensory Gauntlet was next, the station twice as large as the others.

“That sounds interesting,” Emily murmured, slowing.

Alec guided her to the edge of the crowd, his breath brushing her ear as he explained. “Participants are blindfolded and led through a maze of textures—fur, silk, ice, feathers. Every right guess earns a point.”

A woman in a silk blindfold wearing nothing but panties and nipple jewelry gripped the guide rope and stepped into the gauntlet. Dominants lined either side, implements in hand. The crowd hushed.

The first touch came from behind—a soft, whispering stroke across her shoulders.

“Ooh,” she said, shivering. “Fur?”

“Very good, Lauren,” the domme praised. “It’s rabbit, but I won’t be that much of a stickler. One point.”

She smiled, emboldened, and moved forward.

A moment later, Lauren giggled. “Feathers,” she called, as a boa slid over her breasts.

“Correct.”

Next, a flogger connected crisply with her bottom.

“I’m not sure about that one.” Lauren arched, grinning. “May I have another to be certain?”

“Nice try,” the flogger-wielding dom said, grinning. “Only one to a customer. But you can meet me later in the playroom for a full demonstration, naughty subbie.”

“Yes, sir,” she said brightly. “And that was a leather flogger,” she answered, correct again, before moving on.

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd at her daring. Emily grinned despite herself. Could she ever be that open and uninhibited?

Metal kissed Lauren’s inner thigh. “That’s cool and it tingled a little. Is it… a tuning fork?”

“How did you know that?” the dom asked, suspicious. “Are you peeking?”

“No, sir! I’d never.” Lauren beamed and advanced, clearly enjoying herself.

Droplets hit her shoulders. She hesitated, as the thick substance slid down her chest. “Hmm, it’s sticky. Kind of thick.” She wrinkled her nose. “Maple syrup?”

“So close, but wrong again,” the domme said. “It’s honey.”

Alec leaned in, voice a low rumble. “Mmm. That’s always been my weakness.”

Emily’s breath caught, fingers curling at her sides.

She remembered him at sixteen, sitting at her mother’s kitchen table, devouring buttered biscuits slathered in golden honey and licking his fingers with boyish greed. A far more adult image entered her mind—Alec nibbling and lappy the sticky stuff from her breasts while her hands were bound behind her. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily.

“I remember,” she said, breath hitching.

He glanced down, reading her too easily.

The final implement tapped rhythmically up Lauren’s calves. “Drumsticks?” she guessed.

“Correct,” the dom said, giving her a final tap on the hip.

Lauren raised her arms in mock victory. “That brings my score to five. I’ll take it!”

The crowd applauded as she exited the gauntlet, flushed and grinning.

Emily leaned toward Alec. “What does the winner get?”

“A sash and a scene of their choice. Losers have to run the gauntlet again. No feathers or velvet in round two. It’s dom’s choice which means leather, wood, and sting. Knowing Lauren, if she wins, she’ll ask to run the losers’ gauntlet in her sash—several times.”

“Is she a masochist?” she asked, half joking.

“Yep. If she doesn’t leave at the end of the night with a sore ass, she’s not happy.”

When her mouth fell open, Alec gently nudged her chin closed with his finger. “We’ve got all kinds here, baby. Every kink, every craving. No judgment.” He held out his arm. “Shall we explore more?”

Emily’s pulse quickened as they approached the next velvet rope. Inside the station stood a tall, three-sided mirror. A naked submissive faced her own reflection, spine straight, breath shallow.

A dom approached, selecting a token from a crystal bowl.

“Welcome to Mirror, Mirror,” Alec murmured.

Emily leaned in. “What’s the game?”

“The dominant draws from the bowl—impact, sensation, or toy. The sub doesn’t know what’s coming. But she gets to watch herself unravel. That’s the twist.”

A wand glided up the sub’s belly and over her breasts. “Don’t move,” the dom ordered. “I want you to watch, to feel, to see yourself shatter under my control.”

A loud buzzing filled the air, and he pressed the rounded head to her pussy. She trembled visibly, legs shaking.

“She’ll get a score,” Alec murmured. “He’ll rate everything, breathing, skin flush, nipple hardness… all the way to orgasm.”

“Most responsive wins?” she asked.

“Exactly. Losers can try again—or accept a fitting punishment.”

“What kind of punishment?”

Alec smirked. “Depends on the dominant. Some may send them through the gauntlet. Others could make them wear a ‘Needs Training’ sash. A few might assign a scene with a stricter hand.”

Emily watched as the dom’s fingers sank into the sub’s hair, holding her head still. “Eyes on the mirror, girl,” he ordered, hitting the switch again. The buzzing grew louder.

The sub gasped, body tense, fingers curling into fists.

“She won’t last much longer,” Emily whispered.

“They never do with the wand. She’ll see herself unravel,” Alec said. “That’s the point. It’s not just about sensation—it’s about self-awareness. Vulnerability. Exhibition.”

She couldn’t look away, transfixed by the sub’s surrender, her knees buckling, the dom catching her as her body jerked. Then holding her, stroking her gently and speaking low for the sub’s ears only.

When Emily swayed slightly, Alec’s arm slid around her waist, drawing her against him.

“You’re practically panting, and I can see the pulse in your throat racing,” he murmured. “You’re aroused by this game, little subbie. Should I add our names to the list?”

Emily licked her lips, desire warring with uncertainty. “Can I see it all before I decide?”

“Of course.” He brushed his finger along her jaw, the gesture featherlight. He tipped her face up and brushed his lips over hers. “Ready to continue?”

“Will there be more scenes like this?”

“Probably.”

She inhaled slowly then nodded, though her pulse hadn’t slowed. “I guess I’ll get used to it.”

Alec squeezed her tighter. “I hope not. The thrill’s in the unpredictable.”

They emerged from the hall into Devil and Cari’s den, where club members stood shoulder to shoulder. The stage and spotlight were achingly familiar, but the chair where she’d first surrendered was gone. In its place stood Leland, a mic in hand, his voice booming.

“Our next lovely submissive is Amalie. What are you offering for charity tonight, darlin’?”

Amalie leaned in, voice sultry, lips parted in an audacious smile. “Me, of course.”

The crowd laughed.

“What are your limits?” Leland asked.

She tilted her head and smiled slow. “When have I ever had limits, Master Leland?”

He turned to the crowd. “There you have it, folks. For the right price, Amalie is yours for the evening.”

Emily gasped as realization hit. This was an auction.

“The bidding starts at 9:30,” Leland continued, removing all doubt. “A list of entrants, their prizes, and starting bids is available for preview. Check in with Mistress Betty at the table by the patio door.”

The crowd began to stir, some already drifting toward the preview table. Alec bent near, voice low. “This auction is different, Em. It’s for fun and entirely consensual. You’re safe here.”

“I’m just surprised, is all. But I’m a definite no for this one.”

Alec’s arm tightened around her. “I’d veto it if you tried.”

She leaned into him, her smile automatic. “I’m not breakable.”

“I know you’re not. You’re a helluva lot tougher than you look. Let’s get some air.”

Outside, the breeze cooled her flushed cheeks. They passed the buffet, and Emily’s steps faltered. Regina stood behind the catering table, sleeves rolled, hair pinned back. She looked thinner. Tired. Not the drill sergeant barking orders she remembered.

“Why is Regina here?” Emily whispered.

Alec followed her gaze to where her former boss plated hors d’oeuvres. “I should have warned you she’d be here. The team did a full investigation after the rescue. She cooperated fully, even opened her books. She was cleared but she’s on probation. Devil’s orders.”

Seeing Regina stirred bitterness. She didn’t want to feel anything, but memories surged anyway, unwelcome and sharp. She forced her gaze away. It snagged on another familiar face. In a garnet-red halter dress, Gaby stood alone sipping a sparkling water.

Before she could ask about her, Alec’s phone buzzed.

“Mateo’s going to lose his mind if I don’t relieve him.” He looked at her, the tiny crinkles beside his eyes more pronounced with his frown. “I hate to leave you on your own. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“I’m a big girl, Daddy,” she teased. “I’ll be fine.”

He recoiled a bit. “Your smart ass is showing, Em, but I’ll take it as a good sign you’re back to your old self. Still…” He scanned the crowd. “I’ll find someone to keep you company.”

She laid her hand on his chest. “I’ll be okay for a few hours without you watching over me. Promise.”

“I’ll be in the security office,” he drawled. “Literally watching over you.”

“See!” she said, smiling. “I know a few of the subs. Deanna, Cari, one or two others. I’ll hang with them if I get lonely.”

“You’re sure?”

She pressed her hand to his cheek. “Yeah, Knight. I’m good.”

He hesitated then kissed her, with tongue and heat—nothing knightly about it. Before he left, he pressed something into her hand.

“I’ll come find you at midnight,” he said before disappearing into the crowd.

She watched him go, disappointment curling in her chest despite her reassurances.

“I know that look. You’re smitten with Master Alec,” a voice teased.

Emily turned, coming face-to-face with Gaby.

“You’re here! How is that even possible?” she blurted out. “I thought after your faux application and undercover stint—despite it being for a noble cause—Devil and his doms would give you the boot.”

“They probably would have, but D&A employees get membership. It’s a perk of the job.”

Her jaw dropped. “You went to work for Devil?”

“Yep. When I wouldn’t agree not to continue searching for Natalie alone, he figured hiring me was the best way to keep an eye on me. There’s a ninety-day probation period, and a permanent offer is pending my PI license, but seven years as a cop, three as a detective buys you something.”

Emily hesitated. “What does Rhys think?”

Gaby’s smile dimmed. Her grip tightened around her glass. For a moment, her bravado slipped, and she looked lost. “I don’t know. He left town on assignment. I haven’t heard from him since it all went down.”

“Surely Dev talked to him before hiring you.”

“If he did, he didn’t say.” She drained her glass then said with forced brightness. “Can we talk about something more uplifting? This is a party.”

“Sure,” Emily said, but worry lingered.

“Did you choose yet?” another voice chimed.

Deanna, radiant in silver mesh, grinned at her as if she knew every secret in the room.

“Choose what yet?” Emily asked.

“Which game to play. Word is, you’re still on the fence.”

“Alec sent you, didn’t he?” she guessed.

“He did. He’s so protective. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was a daddy dom.”

“You—wait… What?” she sputtered.

“Same question,” Gaby said, eyes huge.

“I’m mentoring two newbies, go figure,” Deanna laughed softly. “A daddy is nurturing, but dominant. It’s a caretaking style, which is just another power exchange dynamic,” she explained, as if reading straight from a rulebook Emily hadn’t known existed.

She flushed, never having thought of Alec that way—but now she couldn’t unsee it. “No wonder he looked at me funny when I called him that.”

“I’m telling you—he’s got that vibe,” Deanna warned. “But about the games. They end at 9:30 sharp for the auction. Playtime resumes at ten. If you don’t pick soon, your options will narrow.”

“I don’t have a ticket.”

“No?” Deanna pointed at her hand. “What’s that?”

She glanced down, only then remembering Alec had slipped something into her hand. A red paper ticket—the same as from childhood carnivals. As she turned it over, nostalgia hit hard. Nearly every good memory from back then had Alec in it.

This ticket gave her access to something entirely different. And, by giving it to her, he’d stepped back—leaving the choice to explore up to her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Then, the ever-present question whispered through her. Would she enjoy being dominated if it was anyone else?

This might be the way to find out. But was she daring enough to try? And what if she didn’t like the answer? What if it changed everything?

“I haven’t used my ticket yet. The maze race doesn’t sound too bad,” Gaby suggested. “I’ll do it with you.”

Deanna smirked. “You two really don’t know the masters here. But you will.” She hooked an arm through theirs. “Come on. Let’s get you signed up before you’re stuck with the BJ challenge. Neither of you is ready for that.”

Chapter 26

Emily stood at the shadowed entrance to the labyrinth, the night air skimming her bare skin. She, Deanna, and Gaby were among the other submissives joining the game, each wearing only wrist cuffs and shoes. A cluster of dominants lingered nearby. Some she knew from D&A—Rhys, Leland, and Mateo among them—but most were new to her. Unlike the submissives, they seemed at ease—leaning casually against the outer hedge walls, arms crossed, eyes appraising.

Emily shifted her weight nervously. She’d been naked at the club before, but never without Alec’s reassuring presence close by. Gaby bumped her shoulder, flashing a grin that didn’t quite hide her unease.

“Nervous?” she whispered.

“Terrified,” Emily murmured. “I didn’t expect to have to strip bare. You?”

“Naked subs in a maze isn’t a new idea,” Deanna chimed in from her other side. “But turning it into a charity game? That’s all Master Dev’s wicked imagination.”

“Do you understand how this works?” Emily asked. “I read the rules three times, but other than no penetration, the doms don’t seem to have any.”

Deanna huffed a laugh. “Were you expecting subs’ rules? Not in this lifetime—unless your dom’s a switch, and that’s not happening with this crew.” A slow, wicked grin tugged at her mouth. “And you forgot the exceptions. Fingers, tongues, and toys are still on the table.”

Gaby uttered under her breath, “I was trying to forget that part.”

Emily turned to ask why she’d chosen the maze over the tamer games, but her eyes were on Rhys. That was answer enough.

“The maze adds suspense,” Deanna continued. “I’d rather be indoors with all the amenities.”

“What kind of amenities?” she and Gaby asked in unison.

“Battery-operated toys are fine, but hard-wired? That takes the experience to the next level.” She shrugged. “There’s always next weekend. So, newbies, who are you choosing if you win? First, second, and third place get their pick of doms. I’m going for Master Mateo. His accent alone makes me wet.”

“Isn’t Mateo a sadist?” Emily asked, warily.

“Mm-hmm,” Deanna said, eyes gleaming. “I’ve never done a scene with him, but some of the other girls say he can work miracles with a single tail.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’m aiming for a perfect score and a religious experience with that gorgeous sadist as my reward.”

She was another unabashed free spirit. Emily wouldn’t have been surprised if she licked her lips.

Deanna bent forward to peer around her at Gaby. “You’re awfully quiet. Sure you’re up to this?”

“I’m just planning my strategy,” was her reply, but her gaze drifted to the group of dominants.

“I thought Rhys was out of town on a case,” Em asked.

“I did, too. This is a big night for Devil and Cari. Maybe he came back for it.”

A ripple of excitement moved through the crowd.

“Speak of the devil,” Deanna murmured. “There’s Master Dev now.”

Dressed in black from collar to boots, he strode to the front, commanding without effort. Conversation ceased when he raised a hand.

“Welcome to our inaugural running of the maze race,” he began.

“Labyrinth,” several feminine voices corrected.

“Yes, yes. I keep forgetting,” he acknowledged with a smirk. “Quick rules review. At five-minute intervals, each sub will enter the labyrinth”—he paused for the cheers that he’d gotten it right—“and move quickly but carefully until they reach a fork. Choose wisely, subbies. One path leads to a reward from one of our skilled dominants. The other? A dead end or a lovely loop that spits you out where you started.”

A few subs exchanged nervous glances.

“If you don’t find the station before the timer sounds,” Devil continued, “you’ll be assessed a penalty.”

A hand shot up and a tentative voice asked, “What if we get hopelessly lost and never find a station?”

Devil arched a brow. “Are you that bad with directions, Sophia?”

“Horrible, sir. I’d never get home without my GPS.”

“Too bad, dear heart.” Sympathy laced his tone. “You might rack up several penalties. A merciful dom might offer a tip along the way.”

“That would be good, sir. But it would have to be a really big one. I’m hopeless.”

“I’ll give her a big tip—and then some, Dev,” a male voice called suggestively.

Laughter rose though Sophia seemed oblivious. “Thank you, Master Thomas, but is that allowed? It doesn’t seem fair for me to get a big tip if they don’t.”

Master Dev managed to keep a straight face. “In your case, with only ninety minutes allotted to finish the game, it might be necessary.” He cleared his throat, waiting for the snickering to die down. “Now then… There are four entry points and five stations per path. Each sub must find and finish all five stops. Two points for each successfully completed station. One point deducted if you fail.”

Facing an hour and a half of potential penalties, Emily was rethinking her choice of games. But she wasn’t giving a BJ to anyone other than Alec, and she looked silly in a cowboy hat.

“The top three scores win,” Devil said, not done with the rules. “They will get their choice of dom for the evening—”

“Including you, Master Dev?” a sub asked boldly.

“From among the game participants,” he finished, extending his arm to the gathered dominants. “The three lowest scores will take center stage and receive an even—dare I say, stiffer—penalty courtesy of a disciplinarian I select.”

Masters Marcus, Leland, and Mateo were suggested by the boisterous crowd, prompting both eager and wary glances from the submissives.

“Questions?” Master Dev’s gaze swept the submissives.

A soft voice piped up. “Is there a special prize for first place?”

Devil grinned, demonstrating how he came by his name. “Good question, Piper. First place gets to come.”

A collective gasp swept through the subs.

“Did I forget to mention that before?” Devil deadpanned. “How remiss of me.”

Male chuckles rippled as Devil pulled a tri-folded paper from his pocket.

“Ah, yes. Here it is on the entry form.” He held it up. “Any sub who climaxes during the race will be paddled on the spot, lose five points, and must restart the game.”

He waited, as nervous giggles spread through the submissives.

“Does that answer your question, Piper?”

“Yes, sir. Unfortunately. Should I just surrender to last place now?”

“Where’s the challenge in that?” he replied. “Consider this an opportunity to work on your control, sweeting.”

Emily whispered to Deanna. “What are they talking about?”

“Piper has a reputation. The doms nicknamed her Eleanor.”

Not understanding, Emily shook her head.

“You know. Like in Gone in Sixty Seconds,” Deanna explained. “No matter what they do—punishment, edging, wearing her out with repeated orgasms—she still comes in under a minute. Poor girl.”

Emily wasn’t entirely convinced fast was so bad. Not being able to come at all had to be worse.

Once the laughter stopped, Dev wrapped up. “As always, the club safewords apply. And, except for what’s listed in the rules, there will be no penetration, so keep it in your pants, gentlemen. And, Mistress Natalie, I didn’t mean to leave you out. Further intimacy may be negotiated after the game is done.”

He looked out over the gathering. “If there are no other questions.” He paused a beat, and, when no hands went up, announced, “Then let the game begin!”

Applause and a few cheers followed. The dominants moved into the maze to man their stations, or so Emily assumed. Minutes later, the first contestant stepped inside.

She was toward the end of the line. When her turn came, she took a tentative step up to Master Dev. Cari, who was assisting him, smiled as she handed him a scorecard—a simple index card threaded with ribbon, her name printed neatly on one side. Emily dipped her head to accept it, but he hesitated.

His gaze swept her face, lingering on her bottom lip—bitten, as usual—then dropped to her hands, clasped so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

“You’ve never taken part in one of our group games, Emily. Do you understand the rules?”

“I think so. I’m a little nervous, sir. If I’m being honest.”

“You’ve had a rough few weeks,” he said gently. “You could skip the games and still join the after-party. Nervous is fine. Scared isn’t.”

She offered him the same reassurance she’d given Alec. “I don’t want to be singled out. I’ll be all right.”

At least she hoped that was true—but kept her doubts to herself.

Still studying her, he tipped her chin up with two fingers. “You remember our club safewords?”

“Red means stop. Yellow means slow down or I need to talk.”

“Use them if you need to. I won’t be pleased if you don’t.”

Her throat suddenly dry, she all but croaked, “I will, sir. I promise.”

He held her gaze a moment longer then dropped the ribbon over her head. “You’re assigned to path four. Have fun, little subbie.”

Free from his intense scrutiny, she could breathe again. The man had an uncanny ability to see inside others’ heads, which made him an excellent investigator and the perfect dungeon master.

As Emily stepped through the vine-covered arbor, she was grateful she’d been allowed to keep her shoes. No matter how meticulous the landscapers, a twig or stray rock on bare feet would spoil the mood fast.

A small sign identified her route. She followed it, and, twenty feet in, reached her first crossroads. Left or right—under the crescent moon, both paths looked the same.

With no gut instinct to guide her—as spidey senses went, she had zero—Emily fell back on a childhood tactic.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, give me a hint on which way to go. And please don’t let the path lead to a sadist.”

She’d never had luck—in cards, in love, in anything. Biggest win of her life? A free scratch-off ticket. She didn’t expect fortune to favor her now. So she did what any unlucky person would do: she did an about-face and walked in the opposite direction from where the rhyme had ended.

With her heart pounding, she moved deeper into the maze, toward whatever lay ahead in the dark.

After another twenty feet in, a soft light appeared between the branches. She slowed, peeking through an opening in the hedge.

An older dom, late forties by her guess, sat in a leather chair better suited to a library than a garden. Beside him, on a small table, a lantern cast a halo that stopped just short of her.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she took a moment to study him. He wore a dark-blue suit and tie despite the warmth of the evening, laugh lines framed his mouth, and his hair had silvered at his temples. She hadn’t seen him at the club before. She would have remembered.

When she stepped into the clearing, his head lifted. “Good evening, my dear. I was wondering if you’d be brave enough to show yourself.”

She had the oddest urge to curtsy—he seemed almost regal. Instead, she whispered, “Hello, sir,” and glanced around. “May I ask… are you here to give pleasure or pain?”

“That’s up to you.” He patted his lap. “Come here.”

She approached slowly. When she placed her hands on his thighs to lower herself, he stopped her with a quiet cluck of his tongue.

“Never presume. I want you on my lap, not over it.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide.

“Yes, you heard right. Hurry now. Our time together is brief.”

He guided her between his legs and lifted her easily, so her bare bottom perched on one trouser-clad thigh.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered. “And keep them there.”

His hand sank into her hair, tugging until her face tipped up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Relax. It’ll make this more enjoyable for us both.”

His free hand glided over her—thigh to hip, up her side, and inward to cup her breast. When his thumb grazed her nipple, Emily gasped.

His grin broadened, gray eyes flashing before his mouth claimed hers. A jolt of exhilaration surged through her at his effortless command. He was a stranger, which seemed to heighten the thrill. As his mouth moved over hers, devouring her softness, she opened for him without hesitation.

She’d never had a thing for older men. No daddy issues—she’d only been teasing Alec—no secret fantasies. For this man, she could almost be convinced.

His caresses grew bolder. He rolled her nipple firmly then slid his hand down her thigh. She whimpered, knowing what he’d find when he parted her legs and touched her intimately.

Ding.

The sound echoed through the clearing, making her jump.

“We’re out of time. How disappointing,” he murmured against her lips. Then he set her on her feet, steadying her when her legs wobbled.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“Emily, sir.”

“I’m Master Everett,” he said, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “If you win tonight and choose me as your dominant, I would be honored. For now, I must send you on your way.”

“You mean that’s it?” she asked, surprised.

His mouth curved, amusement warming his eyes. “Didn’t you enjoy our interlude, Emily?”

“Yes, Master Everett. Very much.”

He winked. “I was told you would—which means I’ve accomplished my mission.”

A question hovered on the tip of her tongue. Who told him she would? Before she could ask, he nudged her toward the exit with a gentle pat on her rear.

At the door, three paths branched off, which meant two led to trouble. She glanced over her shoulder. “Which would you choose, sir?”

He shook his head. “Since I know what lies down each path, that would be cheating. Don’t fret—no one will give you more than you can take tonight. And, as always, you can call stop at any time.” His hand connected with her bottom again—not a pat this time but a firm swat that ended her procrastination.

She walked into the dark, following the hedge-lined path as it twisted and turned. When she reached the next decision point, she chose left again. It had gone well so far.

Soon, she reached another small clearing. When she stepped in and saw who stood waiting, she came to an abrupt halt.

Mateo towered above her petite frame. His eyes were such a deep brown they appeared black in the shadows. Unlike Master Everett’s formality, Mateo wore a chest-hugging white T-shirt that barely contained his pecs and biceps. Black jeans clung to lean hips and a flat belly. It should’ve been illegal to look that good.

“Beautiful Emily,” he greeted with a slow smile. “I hoped you’d find your way to me. Come here and stand on the stool.”

Rooted to the spot, she looked down at the eight-inch step at his feet.

“Don’t be shy. The timer’s ticking, and we have much to do.”

She darted a look toward the exit, but he caught her hand and tugged her forward. Standing before him, her head barely reached his chest. Unsure whether to avert her gaze or meet his, she tilted her chin up. He was simply too gorgeous not to watch.

He stroked her cheek. “You’re such a tiny thing. Hang on.”

He turned, retrieved another step, and added it to the first. His hands easily spanned her waist, as he lifted her and set her down on the small platform.

Now, she looked down on him.

He looked up at her, satisfaction written across his face. “Dainty but nicely rounded. I shall enjoy my task very much.”

His hands rose to her breasts, caressing lightly, flicking her nipples with the edges of his thumbs. They peaked instantly. From her elevated perch, he didn’t have to bend when he licked one taut peak then the other.

“What a lovely treat,” he hummed, lingering at the second. His tongue, lips, and teeth worked in slow, deliberate rhythm, sending little currents racing through her. Not to be neglected, he rolled and pinched the other nipple.

Too soon, he drew back.

“We can continue if you select me as your master tonight. For now, there is a task to see to.”

“This wasn’t it?”

His laugh vibrated through the quiet. “Dev’s games are never so tame. You can expect them to increase in intensity as you work your way through the maze.”

“I’d expect the sadist to come last.”

“I only enjoy giving pain to those who enjoy receiving it. I’m funny that way.” He held out his hand, revealing a set of rubber-tipped tweezer clamps connected by a chain. “I cannot wait to see how these look on you. But first…”

He took her hands and moved them behind her, hooking her cuffs together without looking. The position lifted her rib cage, presenting her breasts. Her nipples, still glistening from his mouth, seemed to reach for him.

When he traced one with a fingertip, wet heat rushed to the ache between her legs—an ache that had lingered since Master Everett’s lap.

“Now I can enjoy these beauties without interference.”

Mateo sucked a nipple into his mouth, an arm around her waist keeping her upright as her knees threatened to buckle. After several excruciatingly wonderful minutes, he released her with a soft pop and applied the first clamp. It bit down, tight, but not unbearable, until he turned the screw. She hissed in pain.

He eased off, lessening the tension by a fraction.

“Poor tortured nipple,” he cooed, stroking the compressed skin with his thumb. “I have time for just one more taste.”

The slow lick drew a groan from her parched throat. Then he blew on it—warmth of his breath on her wet skin—making her tremble.

He turned to the other peak, sucked firmly to prepare it for the second clamp.

Ding.

The timer echoed through the clearing, signaling the end of their session but not the torment. Mateo quickly applied the second clamp, just as tight as the first, then lifted her from the stool and set her on the ground.

He lifted her chin and kissed her—slow, sure, undeniably talented. But even as warmth curled through her, something was missing. Mateo could stir her body, but that’s as far as it went.

Out of nowhere, he broke away, muttering, “All right, already.”

Mateo brushed her hair behind her shoulders and admired his handiwork briefly. Then he grumbled, “This has been enjoyable, although thoroughly unsatisfying. Choose me later, and I’ll correct that for us both.”

He gave her a swat to get her going—definitely a dom thing. It surprised her it hadn’t stung as much as from the non-sadist dom. She hurried to the exit, though, not pushing her luck.

Thankfully, there was only one path this time.

Before she left, she turned slightly and asked, “What about the cuffs, sir?”

“Those stay as they are. Hurry to your next stop, Emily, but go cautiously. I’d hate for you to fall on those pretty clamped breasts.”

Her either—ouch!

She entered the winding paths again, breath unsteady. As she picked her way along in the shadows, hurrying, but also trying to keep the chain steady and the clamps from bouncing, she tried to wrap her head around what she was feeling. Pleasure hummed under her skin, but it rang hollow—beautiful notes without a melody. Mateo had awakened her body; the older dom had too. But only Alec could strike the chord that resonated deeper, the one that pulled her like a magnet, drawing her toward him no matter where she turned.

Distracted, she was in the next clearing before she knew it. It wasn’t manned by a man at all, but by a stunning blonde in a black bustier and matching latex pants. The only thing not black—from her winged eyeliner to the four-inch heels of her boots—was the coiled red whip clipped to her belt.

Emily knew instinctively this station would challenge her more than the previous two. Not because of the whip but because of the domme herself.

“I want you here, feet apart,” she ordered, pointing at the grass in front of her.

She didn’t dare hesitate.

Mistress Natalie had approached her on her first night working for Regina. Emily had been captivated by the same-sex couples—both male and female—but her interest had stopped at watching. She’d politely declined Natalie’s offer, and she hadn’t looked pleased.

Now, standing before her, clamps still quivering from Mateo’s touch, chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm, damp inner thighs spread, she feared she might regret having said no by the time the timer dinged.

Natalie crouched, had her lift each foot, and slid the straps of a vibrator up her legs, positioning it directly over her clit.

“We call this a butterfly,” she said in her husky tone. “It can be worn for hours, and most models come with a remote control. I enjoy taking a sub out while wearing one and making her sweat as we shop, stroll, dance—for as long as my mood lasts.”

She took her time checking the placement—with her fingers, and then her tongue.

When the vibe buzzed to life and Natalie’s head lifted, Emily couldn’t miss the open admiration and hunger in her eyes.

“The offer still stands,” Natalie murmured. “Who better to know how to make your body come alive—how to find every secret spot that makes you scream—than a domme? If you can put aside your inhibitions, choose me tonight.”

“I’m flattered, Mistress,” Emily said carefully, “but I’m not ready for that.”

Natalie rose slowly, towering and intimidating in her heels. She stepped close, her breath warm against Emily’s cheek. Her fingers sank into her hair, twisting it around her wrist.

Again with the hair!

“I think you are,” she accused, tugging Emily’s head back until their eyes met. “You’re just too afraid to admit it.”

Then, without warning, she opened her mouth and licked slowly up her throat.

“I can smell the desire dripping from your wet cunt, princess.”

Emily’s breath hitched. “The vibe and the clamps and being naked—not to mention this erotic game—are to blame, Mistress. I’m sorry.”

Natalie’s hand came down on her ass, delivering two sharp, stinging swats that made her flinch.

“I have a low tolerance for liars. Bend over, and I’ll show you how much.”

Ding.

Emily nearly sobbed with relief.

“Now, sub,” Natalie ordered.

“Our time is up, ma’am.”

“Not until I say it is. Do as I command, or my whip may have to come out to join the fun.”

“Yellow,” Emily gasped.

Natalie released her so fast, she staggered.

“Please, ma’am. I just want to finish the game.”

“Wrong,” Natalie snapped, green eyes flashing. “You’re playing one with me.”

“I swear I’m not, Mistress.”

“You might think you’re straight, but no woman drips for me the way you do without needing what I can give her. Even if you like cock, you crave my dominance.” She paused, a red-tipped finger tapping her lips. “Maybe that’s it. Next time you play with Alec, have him call me. I’ll top you both. With him there, we’ll open your eyes to what you’re missing.”

Natalie’s head tilted slightly, as if listening to something only she could hear. Then she clicked her tongue. “Impatient tonight, aren’t we?”

Was that directed at her? Or someone else?

“I’m sorry, ma’am?”

The domme flicked her hand toward the exit. “Be on your way, girl. I’ll be around if you change your mind.”

With permission to go, Emily bolted, vibe buzzing on high, ass burning from matching handprints. She didn’t stop until she reached the next fork then stood there gulping air, trembling from the scene’s intensity.

If she hadn’t called yellow, how far would Natalie have gone?

Maybe red would’ve been safer. She’d never come close to needing it. Not with Alec.

Natalie was right about one thing: her pussy was drenched, her thighs slick with arousal. But Master Everett had started it, and Mateo had primed her further. Was she being honest with the domme—or lying to herself?

Maybe it was neither.

Maybe she was just turned on as hell by Devil’s Pointe’s highly skilled dominants. It was what Master Dev had promised, wasn’t it?

Still shaken, clamps tugging with every breath, Emily pressed on, hoping the final two stations would be easier, and less scary, than the last.

At the next fork, she chose the right path this time, more instinct than logic, and followed it to a clearing lit by a single lantern. A padded sawhorse stood in the center.

Master Marcus, the former NFL linebacker Deanna had pointed out, stood beside it.

Younger than Everett, less polished than Mateo, less intimidating than Natalie, his dark curls were tousled, his forearms bare, and his black shirt clung to a bulging, muscular frame. He looked strong enough to lift her above his head with one hand.

“Come here, lovely,” he said, voice low and warm.

She edged forward, uncertain. The sawhorse loomed between them.

“I think you know what to do,” he said, gesturing to the bench.

She climbed into position. Not an easy feat with the cuffs still locked behind her. Her breasts swayed, the chain dragged across the wide, top rail, clamps tugging as she bent forward. And the vibe buzzed mercilessly between her legs.

Master Marcus stepped behind her, kissed the nape of her neck, and ran his hands down her spine. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured. “Open, vulnerable, but not quite ready.”

When he parted her cheeks, she gasped and shot upright.

“Now, now,” he said mildly, urging her down again. “You’ve come to my station, which means you’re getting a plug. Unless you need to tell me something?”

Red hovered on her lips, mainly because she didn’t think she could take much more in addition to the clamps, the butterfly, and her hot tingling bottom, without coming.

“Nothing to say?” he prompted.

“No, sir.”

He chuckled. “I was told you were an adventurous one. Relax, now. This isn’t my first time.”

Cool lubricant touched sensitive skin. The tip of the plug glided over her before pressing carefully inward. She tensed, unable to help it.

“Breathe,” he urged. “Let me in.”

She did, consciously relaxing. Gradually, he eased the plug into place, pausing when she clenched, continuing when her body adjusted. The fullness was startling, but not painful.

He kissed her again, lower this time, just above the curve of her ass. “You take direction well,” he said. “I like that.”

Then he spanked her. Once. Twice. Firm, but not cruel.

Her body responded. But her mind drifted.

She thought of Alec. Of his hands, his voice, the way he looked at her as more than a body to command, and a game to play. Marcus was skilled. Gentle. Even sweet. But he didn’t know her and didn’t see her. Not really.

He kissed her shoulder, murmuring, “If you choose me later, I’ll show you what it means to surrender completely.”

Ding.

“Well, now. That was damn quick.” Marcus helped her up, steadying her as the clamps, vibe, and plug shifted all at once.

He kissed her once more—soft, lingering—and sent her on her way. No more swats, mercifully.

She walked slowly, legs wobbly, body overloaded, her mind spinning. She’d been touched, teased, filled, and praised. But none of it had reached the place Alec did with a single glance. At last, she was starting to understand what she really needed.

Emily staggered more than walked into the fifth clearing. In the center, adjusting a small, padded table, stood someone she hadn’t expected. Leland.

Her stomach flipped.

He wasn’t just a dom. He was Alec’s friend—and hers. She’d shared coffee with him, traded jokes—his mostly dirty—and more than one while he was on duty and she couldn’t sleep, shared late-night talks. Seeing him here, dressed all in black, focused and dominant, was disorienting.

Leland glanced up. “Emily. You made it.”

She croaked a bit like a frog when she said, “Hi.”

“Didn’t expect me, did you?”

“No. I mean, no, sir.”

He lips twitched in a hint of a smile. “I’m not here to freak you out. Just to introduce you to something new.”

She closed the distance between them. He was calm, composed, familiar, but the glowing purple wand in his hand made everything feel foreign.

“Climb up and lie back,” he said gently.

With her cuffs still locked behind her, nipples pinched, the vibe buzzing merrily away, and the plug seated deep, the movement was awkward at best—next to impossible once everything shifted. She was a live wire, and Leland’s crackling wand promised more.

“Will it hurt?” she asked.

“Not unless you want it to.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“We’ll start slow.”

He traced the wand over her thighs, close but not touching. Static danced across her skin, a sharp, tingling buzz that made her muscles jump. He moved to her belly then circled her breasts—carefully avoiding the clamps. The sensation was erotic, but strange—an electric flutter that danced along her nerves and tightened her muscles in places no hands ever had. Her body reacted instantly, even as her heart and mind remained impassive.

“You’re very responsive,” he said, watching her closely. “But you’re somewhere else.”

Her gaze met his—keen, understanding. He’d nailed it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No need to be.” He turned off the wand and set it aside. “This isn’t about performance. It’s about discovery.”

He propped a hip on the edge of the table, resting one hand lightly on her thigh. “You’re trying to figure out if it’s the kink that moves you or the man.”

“It’s all very confusing,” she admitted.

“It can be, starting out,” he replied. “But here’s a hint. If you’re asking the question, it’s probably not the kink.”

She stared at him, stunned by the quiet truth of it.

“Alec’s a good dom, and a better man. You can trust him here.” He tapped her temple. “And here.” He did the same to her chest.

Ding.

“Time’s up.” He bent to kiss her—soft, brief, on the cheek. No dominance. No heat. Just care.

He helped her sit up, picking her up and setting her on the ground when she yelped at the plug and buzzing vibe.

“You’ve only got a short way to go. You did well, Em,” he said. “If you choose me, I’ll show you what the wand can really do.”

“I think you know who I’ll choose. Thank you, Leland.”

“Uh-uh. Remember your manners. Friend or not, I’m still a dom.”

“Sorry, sir.”

He gave her a final swat—gentle, almost symbolic—and propelled her toward the exit.

Emily walked away, mind clear, heart full, both overpowering her overstimulated body. She’d been kissed, touched, filled, spanked, and electrified. But none of it had reached her the way Alec did.

That was the difference.

He was the answer.

Chapter 27

Emily cleared the final arch and emerged into the torchlit yard. She’d made it through without a single penalty and, miracle of miracles, without face-planting and eating dirt. Honestly, she deserved a medal for that alone.

She angled her face to the sky, letting the open air cool her overheated skin. It did nothing for the sharp ache in her clamped nipples and the plug making its presence known with each step. The vibe had shut off, thankfully, but the echo of it pulsed between her thighs, impossible to ignore.

A crowd had gathered near the finish line. A sub volunteer released her cuffs and offered her a bottle of water and a blanket. Her skin was too sensitive for anything more than the breeze, but she wrapped up and found a spot among the submissives who’d finished ahead of her.

She wanted to remove everything, but the others hadn’t yet. So she drank her water, tried not to think about it, and waited.

The crowd buzzed with impatience as the remaining contestants slowly exited the maze. Emily pulled the blanket tighter around her, careful of the clamps which really needed to come off soon.

She felt eyes on her. Dozens of them. Maybe more.

She glanced around, searching for Alec, hoping for the anchor of his presence. But her eyes landed instead on Julia among the crowd of onlookers.

Emily hadn’t seen her in weeks—not since the case exploded and she’d been staying with Alec. Her friend stood near the back, radiant in a sapphire corset, her hair swept up, her expression warm. When she caught Emily’s eye, she offered a thumbs-up and an encouraging smile.

She’d sent her a text message, so she wouldn’t worry. Just that something had come up and she’d be out of touch for a while. Now, she wanted to reconnect with her friend. To ask how things were going with Regina in the aftermath. To say thank you.

“The scores are in,” Devil announced from the edge of the patio. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to; his authoritative tone quickly silenced the crowd. “We’ll start with the bottom three. Lyla, Piper, and Deanna—you climaxed at nearly every station and finished with negative numbers. I should make you run the maze again. Instead, Master Mateo will take charge of the loser’s bracket and deliver a just punishment.”

Piper groaned but fell in line as Mateo led the three of them away.

Devil’s gaze swept the crowd. “Now for our winners. In first place, who clearly isn’t as directionally challenged as she claims, is Sophia.”

Cheers erupted, especially from Sophia who squealed and ran forward. “I choose Master Leland—and his amazing violet wand,” she said, flushed and glowing.

The crowd erupted in laughter and applause as her chosen dom, looking eager for an encore, strode forward and led her into the maze where he was already set up.

Emily’s gaze shifted instinctively to Julia.

Her smile had vanished. Her mask had slipped. In its place: vulnerability, jealousy, and longing. She turned sharply, vanishing into the crowd before Emily could move.

Instinct overrode everything, and she took a step to go after her, but the chain swayed, the clamps bit, and the plug pulsed a stark reminder. She was still part of the game, and quite naked beneath the blanket.

“In second place…” Devil’s voice rang out. “Emily.”

She jerked in surprise, wincing when all of her attachments did too. Had she heard right? She glanced around—maybe there was another Emily.

No one else stepped forward, and Master Dev’s gaze settled on her. She hadn’t expected to place. Had never even considered it.

On legs still shaky, with the clamps tugging with every movement, she moved forward to accept her prize.

“Your choice for the remainder of the evening, Emily?”

Her voice was quiet, but it carried. “Master Alec.”

“There’s a shocker,” someone drawled, dry and amused.

Another voice commented, “The surprise is that he let her play at all.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd as bodies shifted, revealing Alec standing near the patio.

Not caring who laughed or what pinched, she started toward him. He met her halfway and drew her into a hug—firm, enveloping, everything she now knew she needed.

She melted into him, burying her face against his chest. In long, slow, soothing sweeps, his hand stroked her back.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

“I was never far away,” he murmured.

They stood that way for several long heartbeats, the noise of the club fading around them.

“We should get those clamps off you.”

“Yes, please.” She leaned away, just enough to look up at him. “I need to tell you something first. The maze… it helped me realize you’re what I need.”

“I was counting on it,” he said gently.

Confusion flickered. “I don’t understand.”

“My patience was wearing thin, waiting for you to figure it out. The game in the maze tonight was the perfect way to nudge you along.”

Her jaw went slack. “How?”

“I chose every dom. Every station. Every sensation. I was in the security office watching the whole time, and directing.”

“You told Master Marcus to use that monster plug?”

“It was medium, Em. But yes, it was hand selected by me.”

She looked down at the rubber-tipped tweezers pinching her nipples. “Mateo’s nasty clamps, too?”

He touched a pinched tip, whisper soft. “They’re beginners’ clamps, baby.”

“Why?”

His gaze rose to hers. “I wanted you to experience what you thought you were missing and to decide, once and for all, that it was me all along.”

“You were so possessive when you thought Rhys was going to kiss me. Didn’t it bother you seeing me with the others?”

“As your dom, guiding you is part of my job. Even when it’s killing me. Especially with Mateo and Natalie who went off script.” His jaw tightened. “I wanted to strangle them.”

She stared at him, stunned. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

His hands framed her face, tilting it up to his. “Say that you love me and that you want me, not only as your dom but as your husband.”

Her breath caught. Something dangerously close to hope bloomed in her chest. “Are you really proposing?”

“To love and to cherish for the rest of our lives. Isn’t that what you want, sweetheart? Because I have for a very long time.”

Tears gathered, blurring the lights and shadow around them. “I don’t want anyone else. Without you, all of this”—she gestured to the labyrinth, playground, and kinky crowd surrounding them, wincing a bit when the chain pulled—“is just a means to a physical end. Like a sneeze or an itch to scratch. That’s not what I want or need. I know that now, and I’m sorry for being a fool for so long.”

His arms tightened around her. “You’re not a fool. You just needed help finding your way.”

The world narrowed to the rhythm of his breath and the strength of his embrace. Her body still hummed, her mind still spun, but in his arms, she eased into a calm she hadn’t known in years. Alec lifted her chin, and he kissed her—slow and certain—sealing everything they’d finally allowed themselves to feel, everything they were choosing now, and the truth they could no longer deny.

She could have stayed that way forever, his mouth warm on hers, hands threading through her hair, bodies melded together, but Devil’s voice rang out again.

“In third place—Gabriella.”

They broke apart to watch, Emily turning in Alec’s arms as her friend stepped forward.

Devil gestured toward the doms who’d played the game. “Make your choice.”

Gaby’s gaze swept through them and landed on Rhys.

He stood at the edge, slightly apart, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The moment their eyes met, something shifted. Tension arced between them.

Emily felt it—a string pulled taut.

Rhys stared back at Gaby for one long beat, jaw ticking then he turned and strode off. No words. No gestures. Just the sound of his boots on stone and the echo of something unspoken.

She stood frozen, her hands clenched at her sides. Devil cleared his throat but didn’t rush her.

Emily’s heart ached. She knew that look. That moment when hope cracked and something raw slipped through.

Gaby lifted her chin and met Dev’s gaze. “Thank you, but I’ll pass.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Devil nodded solemnly. “That’s certainly your choice.”

She turned, her composure hanging on by a thread, and walked away, disappearing into the shadowed sidewalk along the side of the house.

An awkward silence followed, the membership shocked by the outcome.

“I should go after her,” Emily whispered.

A familiar voice spoke. “I’ll see to her,” Master Everett said quietly. His expression calm but purposeful, he followed Gaby.

Emily watched him go, her chest tight with gratitude.

“I can’t believe Rhys rejected her so publicly,” she said, her heartache for one friend spurring anger toward another. “What was he thinking?”

Alec’s jaw flexed. “He’s a friend, and a good guy, but he can be a stubborn ass. After the sting fades, hopefully she’ll see that and realize she’s better off.”

Emily leaned into him, grateful for the clarity the maze had given her—and the man who’d waited at the end—but her heart hurt for Gaby. “You’re right. She did what she had to for her sister. If Rhys is too blind to see that, he doesn’t deserve her.”

“Everett will make sure she gets the aftercare she needs.” He scooped her into his arms. “Which leaves me to take care of you.”

“Does that mean I can take off these clamps? They’re starting to get uncomfortable.”

“Just starting?” he asked, carrying her swiftly past the arbor.

“They passed ‘starting’ after your friend turned the screw. Did you direct that too?”

“The clamps, yes. The tightness, no. That was all sadist, which we will discuss, believe me.”

He hurried down the shadowed walk beside the house, and up the narrow staircase to one of Devil’s guest rooms above the garage. The door clicked shut behind them. The room was simple—low lighting, soft sheets, a wide bed—but it felt like sanctuary.

“First things first,” he murmured, pressing her against the door. “These clamps are going to hurt coming off.”

“I’ve heard that,” she whispered. “Please, hurry.”

“Some things can’t be rushed,” he said, tracing a finger over one compressed tip. “Or you’ll suffer for it. Try to breathe through the pain. Here goes,” he announced.

The sudden rush of blood into her nipple triggered a sharp hiss, but he took it into his mouth, sucking gently until she softened against him.

“One more to go.”

“I’m ready,” she whispered.

The next one was as bad as the first, but his mouth and soft caresses made the flash of pain worth it.

When she could breathe again, he moved in for a kiss. She opened for him, tongue tangling with his. Her fingers buried in his hair, rubbing her body against his, inner muscles clamping down on the emptiness, yearning desperately to be filled by him.

Alec felt the same urgency.

“We’ll go slow next time,” he growled. “Right now, I have to be inside you.”

He pulled the straps down her legs. The butterfly clattered onto the floor as he tore open his fly. The condom delayed him only slightly. Then he lifted her, and, with her pinned to the door, drove up inside her.

His impressive size combined with the plug made it a snug fit, but the past hour had her primed and ready. After a few controlled glides—deeper each time—he seated himself fully.

His hands supported her bottom, his fingers flexing and squeezing, reigniting the heat of the spanks in the maze. Each upstroke nudged her clit, her tender nipples grazing his chest—pleasure and pain colliding.

He slid one hand between them, long fingers finding the swollen bud.

“I can’t hold off much longer,” she gasped, clinging to his neck.

“I don’t want you to,” he murmured huskily. “Come for me, Emily.”

His fingers worked her clit in rhythm with his driving cock and the shifting plug. Mindless to everything except the pleasure, she let out a keening wail as her body convulsed. After fighting off an impending climax for over an hour, she came.

Alec followed, growling as he thrust home, setting off another shuddering release that rippled through her.

She clung to him as the tremors passed, still hanging on when he gave her his weight, but only briefly. Then he carried her to bed.

“I think you’ve had enough of this,” he said, rolling her onto her side. He eased the plug out slowly, her body letting go with a soft pop.

He kissed the curve of her hip. “Be right back.”

Devoid of clamps, plugs, and tension, and replete with pleasure, she lay limp on the bed, listening to the water run. She was dozing when the mattress shifted. He slid in close, fit himself along her body, and covered them both with a sheet.

“You okay, beautiful?” he asked.

She twisted until her eyes met his. “I’m more than okay. I have my knight back.”

His hand curved around her jaw, guiding her into a kiss that left no questions, no doubts—only the quiet, overwhelming truth of him. Familiar. Certain. The place she’d always belonged.

When they broke for air and settled again, she whispered, “I love you so much, Alec.”

He brushed her hair aside and kissed the bend of her neck. “I love you too, baby. More than I ever thought I could. First thing tomorrow, I’m putting a ring on your finger so the doms around here know you’re mine.”

She smiled, sleepy and soft. “I always was.”

They curled together, her head on his biceps, his other arm around her waist. The night outside was quiet, but inside the room, everything had changed.

She’d taken on the maze, faced tough truths, and found the answer.

And he’d waited—aching, watching, hoping.

Now, they were together. At long last.

Epilogue

Nursing her second cup of coffee after a restless night, Gaby sat in her office at Devlin and Associates. She’d already kicked off her shoes and sat staring at the computer screen in frustration. No messages from Callan meant he was still working on the files. It had been three weeks since he’d gotten Enzo’s files, and they were still locked up behind a firewall. As careless as he was, no one expected it to be so difficult to hack—Callan in particular.

If they didn’t contain what she hoped, she was back to square one. Chasing Natalie with nothing but desperation as fuel.

Her gaze drifted to the window, though her mind went somewhere else—to the night of the maze race. Of Rhys walking away without a word. In front of everyone.

The sting of it lingered. Emily had walked out that night glowing, anchored, certain. As for herself… well. She’d walked out alone.

She’d wanted to disappear. Instead, she’d shown up the next day, ready to get to work and find her sister.

She wasn’t here for romance. Relationships and her wounded pride could wait. Natalie couldn’t.

“Knock, knock.”

Gaby looked up. Emily stood in the doorway. Instead of her usual jeans and a T-shirt, she wore a garnet business suit. More startling, sunlight caught the glitter of a ring so bright, it threw prisms across the carpet. That stone wasn’t small, wasn’t subtle, and wasn’t there the last time she saw her.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said, smiling, “but I saw your door open and thought I’d say hi.”

“Come in,” Gaby said.

“I can’t stay long,” she said, leaning against the doorframe instead. “Alec and I are due upstairs in a minute to meet with the attorney. Today, we finalize the purchase of Gold Coast.”

“I heard Regina was packing up and going back to New York.”

“Yeah,” Emily sighed. “I have mixed feelings about it.”

“Don’t,” Gaby said bluntly. “She’s a grown woman. What was happening under her roof didn’t happen in a vacuum.”

“You’re right, I know. But she was cleared of involvement and is still being ostracized. I’m just—”

“Too nice?”

“Maybe.” Emily’s smile warmed. “Which is why I’m promoting Julia to manager. She’ll be my big stick if I walk too softly and start being… well, too nice.”

“Sounds like a dream team.” She nodded at Emily’s hand. “Now show me that rock.”

Beaming, Emily held out her hand.

“It’s gorgeous,” she said honestly. “Have you set a date?”

“Not yet. But we’re hoping for October.”

Gaby pushed through the twist in her chest. “I’m really happy for you, Em. You deserve it. Both of you do.”

A ping from her laptop cut through the moment—work, the case, reality returning.

Emily nodded toward the screen. “I should let you work. See you at the club this weekend?”

Forcing a shrug, she said noncommittally, “Maybe.”

She didn’t add, if I can bear seeing Rhys with someone else. Not when Emily looked so genuinely happy.

Seeing past her shrugs and forced smiles, her friend met her gaze. “Text me if you need anything. Even if it’s just to talk about hardheaded men.”

“I will, Em. Thanks.”

When she was gone, the room felt dimmer, quieter—as if Emily had taken the warmth with her.

Another ping. Gaby opened her laptop finding a calendar notification.

Meeting: Case Briefing – Rhys & Gabriella – 10:00 AM – Conference Room

Her stomach twisted into a cold knot. She opened her inbox, fingers trembling. Sure enough, there it was—an email from Devlin.

Subject: Assignment Confirmation.

Rhys will be taking lead on Natalie’s case. He’s already been briefed. Callan has made progress decrypting the files and will join you at ten.

—Dev

She stared at the screen, pulse rising, whiplashed between hope that Callan might have a lead, and anger. There had been no discussion. No warning. Just a decision about her case made without her.

She was halfway down the hall before she realized she hadn’t put on shoes.

Gaby didn’t knock. She stormed into Devlin’s office, the door coming close to slamming against the wall.

“Rhys? On my sister’s case?” Her voice cracked.

Dev didn’t look up right away. When he did, his expression was calm authority. “Good morning to you too, Gabriella.”

“You didn’t even ask me!”

“I didn’t need to.”

“I can’t work with him. I won’t.”

Nick Devlin leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “And yet you’re here. Which tells me you still want to find your sister.”

“Of course I do.”

“Then you’ll work with the best. And that’s Rhys.”

Her throat tightened. “You’re asking me to put aside everything.”

“I’m asking you to do your job.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I do,” he said, voice low but firm. “There’s something unsettled between you. I get it. But lock it down. Don’t make me regret hiring you.”

The words hit hard, but she didn’t flinch. Weakness from an investigator, male or female, wouldn’t earn this man’s respect.

“Fine,” she ground out. “But if he undermines me, I walk.”

Dev nodded once. “If you do, I’ll know I made the wrong call.”

On her way back to her office, seething, she veered down the hall to the right.

She shoved the door open, the frame rattling on impact.

“You’re taking lead on my case,” she snapped.

Rhys leaned forward, crossing his arms on his desk. “So I heard.”

“You didn’t think to tell me?”

“I assumed you’d find out eventually.”

Her fists clenched. “I don’t want you on this.”

“Take it up with Dev.”

“I already did.”

He stood and rounded the desk, stopping right in front of her. Too close. “And?”

“He told me if I want my sister found, I’ll work with you.”

“Then,” he said softly, “it seems you’ll be working under me after all.”

A current sizzled between them. Hot, dangerous, and heavy with everything unspoken.

Dev wasn’t a fool. He’d earned his reputation by hiring top-notch people. He wouldn’t have paired them unless he trusted Rhys to close the case and bring her sister home. She had to trust that—even if Rhys clearly wanted nothing to do with her personally.

Her voice trembled despite her best effort. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Maddeningly cool, Rhys propped a hip on his desk, his tone quiet as he returned, “That, my dear, depends entirely on you.”

He didn’t move, didn’t look away, didn’t touch her. The air crackled. Before her mouth could betray her, she turned and walked out.

She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. Not with her pulse echoing his name. Not when she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to follow.

But damn it all, a restless part of her hoped he would.