“What the hell. Daphne?” Blake called through the open office door. And then a split second later, repeated more loudly, “Daphne!”

Daphne stuck her head in his door and regarded him with wide eyes. “Y-yes, Boss?”

“What the fuck is this shit?” he demanded, brandishing a paper at her, before turning his attention to the stack of checks on his desk awaiting signatures and scratching out his name.

Daphne took a cautious shuffle-step forward and leaned over to glance at the paper, while one slim finger grabbed a lock of her long, red-gold hair and began to twist it. “I-it’s an invoice?” she suggested.

Blake threw the pen in his hand down on the desk and huffed out a breath, feeling a flare of annoyance in his gut that he knew was completely out of proportion to the situation.

“Already fucking know it’s an invoice, Daff. My first clue was the word INVOICE in huge block letters at the top of the page. My second clue was that you placed it in the folder on my desk labeled Invoices. My question is, what’s the invoice for? It’s from some landscaping company. In case you haven’t noticed,” he said acidly, waving a hand in the air to illustrate the building, the street, the neighborhood, the city around them. “We don’t have land to landscape.”

Daphne took the paper and quickly scanned the rest of the sheet, while her pale forehead creased in concentration.

“Honest to God,” Blake grumbled. “I leave you guys in charge for a few months, I think things are fine, and I come back to find bullshit invoices I know nothing about, a fucking church that wants to shut us down that I still don’t know jack about, and God only knows what…”

“It’s from January,” Daphne interrupted, her voice low and toneless. “This is the company that came to plow the parking lots and shovel the sidewalks. You authorized it.”

Blake closed his eyes. Oh. Fuck. Yes, he had.

“And I was about to buzz you to say that Matt and Slay are on their way in. They’ve got some information on the Church of the Highest Prophet to share with you,” Daphne continued in the same flat voice that barely masked her hurt.

Blake sighed. His annoyance evaporated and something colder settled in his gut instead. Remorse. He knew exactly what had wound him up today, and it definitely hadn’t been Daphne or this random invoice. No, it had been the woman who, with one blistering look, had burned all his doubts about his age, his friendship with Slay, and his own readiness for a committed relationship, into nothing but ash.

The same woman who had flown out of his office two nights ago, and hadn’t returned a single fucking one of his phone calls or texts since then.

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, Daff,” he told her, meeting her gray eyes squarely. “I’m having a bad day.”

“You were having a bad day yesterday, too,” Daphne reminded him. “You yelled at the bouncers about keeping the loading area clear and scared the shit out of Donnie.”

Blake stifled a snort. Donnie, all six feet and however many inches of muscled bulk of him, had grown up on the rough streets of South Boston, and had cut his teeth working for his older brother, a bookie who used to work out of a bar down on L Street back in the day. Blake was pretty sure he’d have to do more than yell to scare the shit out of Donnie, but he didn’t argue.

“It’s been a shitty week, then,” he told her instead. “I let myself get distracted.”

By a tiny scrap of a woman with eyes like coffee and skin like smooth, creamy silk.

Daphne’s stormy, gray eyes immediately softened and her mouth twisted into a sympathetic grimace as she stepped closer and set the invoice on his desk. “Ah, geez, of course. God. I forget sometimes, you know? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Blake stared at her in confusion for several seconds before light dawned. Jesus. She thought he was upset because he was grieving. Upset about Josie.

And now a new kind of guilt came over him. His evening went from bad to worse.

“Nah, it’s not… it’s not that kind of bad day,” honesty compelled Blake to admit. “It was hard losing Josie, and I’m sure I’ll continue to have tough days every now and then, but that’s not what’s bothering me.”

“Oh. Well, what is it then?” Her eyes were calm and soothing, her tone so full of friendly sympathy that he didn’t have the heart to tell her to back off. “I’m kind of the unofficial therapist in my family, you know? Side benefit to being the youngest. Both of my sisters vent to me all the time about their asshole men and their crazy kids. My mom does it too.”

Daphne, den mother to the world. Blake could see that.

“And, what? You tell them what to do?” Blake asked, leaning back in his chair while one side of his mouth quirked up in a smile he couldn’t suppress.

“Not quite.” Daphne snickered. “Giving orders is more your M.O. than mine, as you know.”

Blake laughed and conceded this point. Daphne was one of the strongest women he knew—she’d endured much in her life, and she didn’t take shit from Blake or anyone else, but she was by nature a submissive.

“So, what’s up?” Daff prompted, when Blake remained silent, lost in his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Do you want to talk?” she clarified. “About anything? I just listen. And I don’t judge.”

“Thank you, honey,” he told her gently. “But I’m good for now.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Just remember that I’m here if you need me.” She stood up to leave. “I’ll let you know when Slay and Matt get here.”

Blake nodded despite the fact that he had a security feed on his computer, and would likely know they were here before Daphne did. He was touched by her offer of friendship. “Thanks again.”

Daphne nodded and turned for the door, her red-blonde hair swinging like a sleek curtain down to her hips as she walked, though Blake hardly noticed. His attention had turned, as it always fucking did, back to Elena.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket. Ten messages, he’d sent. Ten messages in two days, and she hadn’t replied once. He’d called her twice, but she hadn’t answered. He’d even logged on and messaged her as MisterHaven, wondering if she’d be more likely to talk online, but she hadn’t. Things couldn’t go on like this. His patience, never his finest quality to begin with, was wearing fucking thin.

Blake tossed his phone on the desk and turned to his computer, clicking over to the security feed and forcing himself to focus. Immediately, a dozen boxes flashed on screen, showing the current situation around each of the twelve primary security cameras. At this time of day, The Club was empty but for a few of the wait staff prepping the bar area for tonight’s after-work revelers. Outside, the employee parking lot was practically deserted, and only the occasional pedestrian strolled past the front entrance. All quiet and peaceful, just the way he liked it.

Unlike the chaos of the other night.

He’d been sitting in this very spot two evenings ago, watching the feeds, when he’d seen Elena striding up the walkway, looking like she owned the place. He’d been annoyed at first. He’d warned Slay to keep his sister away from The Club for her own protection, but Elena either hadn’t gotten the message or hadn’t cared.

Annoyance had faded quickly to amusement, though. Amusement heavily tinged with arousal, because Christ, that woman was twenty pounds of outrageous sex appeal in a five-pound package, from her lush curves, to the perfect symmetry of her face, to the purposeful way she moved.

It was fucked up, but one of the first things he’d ever noticed about Elena was the way she walked. Even months and months ago before he’d ever thought of her in a sexual way, he’d found it fascinating, adorable. Right now, it drove him crazy. The woman never walked when she could stride—her petite legs ate up the ground with the graceful economy of a woman twice her height, her body nearly hummed with contained energy, and her black hair bounced behind her like the tail of a comet.

Only when she’d entered the main bar area had he seen the set cast of her small chin, the banked fire in her eyes. She’d torn through the packed bar room with single-minded focus, headed in his direction, and his amusement had faded altogether. What had set the firecracker alight this time? Whatever it was, the sight of her had made his heart beat in double time.

The self-confidence that had radiated from her was both a weapon and a shield, deflecting the interest of every guy in the bar like a bulletproof vest, a veritable neon sign screaming Do Not Approach. She’d reminded him of a kitten who thought she was a tiger, flipping off the biggest, toughest bouncers in Boston like they were pesky flies, slamming her way through his office door as though she hadn’t just entered the inner sanctum of the best-known dominant in Boston.

Christ, what was it about her take-no-prisoners approach to life that made him so insane for her? He was a dominant, for God’s sake. Given his experience, the reputation he’d built, he was fucking king of the dominants. And yet, it was no sweet, meek, natural submissive like his Josie who held him in thrall. It was the woman who challenged him with every breath she took.

Make me pay… Make me fucking pay.

Those were the words she’d yelled at him, screamed at him, before he’d taken off his belt and applied it to her ass. Marked her as his. Even now, her words had him fighting a rush of arousal, spreading his palm on the desk, just where Elena’s cheek had lain that night.

And that’s when realization struck him.

He had been going about this all wrong. He’d been sitting back, waiting for her to reply to his texts like a dumbass teenager. He’d been waiting for her to handle her freak-out, to get a grip on whatever the hell had been riding her since the moment he’d pulled out of her sweet pussy the other night, when he’d told her he’d take care of her and she’d turned to him with hard, distant eyes and whispered, “I can’t do this right now,” before running out the door.

He’d fully expected her to sort her shit and come to him when she was ready.

In other words, he’d allowed himself to be deflected as easily as those guys at the bar.

He slapped his palm on the desk, pissed off at his own stupidity, as the certainty of it settled in his bones. He knew better than this. Instead, he’d allowed his submissive—and there was not a doubt in his mind that Elena would be his submissive—to call the fucking shots.

He’d let himself forget that Elena had said other things two nights ago, also. She’d promised to be honest with him. She’d promised to put her cards on the table. She’d broken those promises.

Wonder if she’s still feeling the sting from my belt, he mused.

He’d have to make sure she did.

But before that, they would fucking talk.

Movement on the security feed caught Blake’s eye as a big-ass truck pulled into the employee lot. Slay had arrived.

Blake blew out a deep breath and turned the monitor off.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that everything would fall into place just because he wanted it to. Slay would clean his clock if he knew what had happened on this desk two nights ago, and Blake wouldn’t entirely blame him. He and Slay were friends, even brothers of a sort, and he owed the man an explanation and some reassurances. But he also wouldn’t allow Slay to dictate how Blake lived his life—or, for that matter, how Elena lived hers.

Life was fucking short. That was the lesson he’d learned through Josie’s illness and through seeing his friends struggle to find love and happiness over the past few years. Finding someone who fired him up the way Elena did was a miracle he hadn’t even known to look for. He wasn’t going to let anything screw that up—not Slay’s objections, not Elena’s fears, not his own stupidity.

He’d spent the past few months in a daze, letting other people call the shots. But Blake had been reminded in a hundred small ways over the past few weeks that things simply ran more smoothly when he took charge.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

* * *

Two seconds after Daphne buzzed to announce his arrival, Slay gave a cursory knock to Blake’s open office door and stepped inside.

“Blake, man, what’s up?” he greeted with a nod.

Blake stood, extending a hand that Slay took with a powerful grip.

“Not much, brother,” Blake said. “You?”

“Allie,” Slay said, holding up the phone in his other hand with an expression that was half frustration, half amusement. “She’s been sending me cryptic texts for the last fucking hour, asking me when I’m gonna be home and telling me she has plans for tonight.”

Blake sat back down and tried to smother a smile. “Ah. And do I wanna ask what her plans are?”

Slay shook his head. “You can ask, but I don’t have a clue. Let me tell you, though, what I’ve got planned involves reminding my woman exactly what happens to a little girl who teases her Daddy.”

Blake chuckled. “You’re a lucky man, Slater.”

Slay’s eyes shone, and his smile burned bright. “Fucking right, I am,” he said softly. Then his eyes sharpened. “Matt here yet?”

Blake shook his head. “You’re the first to arrive.”

Slay nodded and looked down at his phone again, typing as he spoke. “I think Matt’s gotta get Frankie to the sitter before he comes. That’s fine. We’ve got a couple of hours before we have to be anywhere.”

“We?” Blake repeated.

“Yeah, me and Elena. She rode in with me and I’m driving her to work tonight—she’s got a night shift. She’s got something to tell you guys.”

Shit. Elena was here? Blake had been dying to talk to her, yes, but he’d imagined their first meeting after the blistering hot sex a few days ago would involve a lot more privacy and a lot less Slay. Blake was on a hair trigger, ready to combust from the potent combination of arousal and frustration that Elena always seemed to stir in him, and that would not do with Elena’s brother around.

A second later, just as Blake steeled himself to see her, Elena stepped into the room.

She looked pale. That was Blake’s first thought. Pale and quiet, as though the life that normally blazed inside her had dimmed since the last time he’d seen her. The dark pink scrubs she wore seemed to dwarf her small frame, she clutched her purse strap as though it were a lifeline, and she crossed the doorway with hesitant steps, as though uncertain whether she was welcome here.

His hands twitched with the need to stand up and grab her, pull her into his lap, and comfort her. He clenched them into fists instead.

Elena hadn’t met his eyes, but she caught the way his hands clenched and she swallowed hard. She lifted her face so that her eyes could focus on the wall just over his shoulder.

“Uh, hey,” she said, her fingers splaying in a little wave.

“Elena,” Blake acknowledged. He’d deliberately made his voice just a little deeper, just a little more commanding than usual, and as he’d expected, her eyes flew to his, responding to the command without her conscious thought.

He watched as emotions swam in her coffee-colored eyes. Fear. Fatigue. Embarrassment. Relief. And it was this last one that gave him hope.

He looked at Slay, who was immersed in his phone. “Slater, you mind doing a quick favor for me? Private room three has been rented out for tonight. I asked Donnie and Joe to set it up with all the requested equipment, but I’ve been up to my eyeballs in paperwork and I haven’t had a chance to do the walkthrough. Could you spare a second?”

Slay looked up from his phone and blinked. “Yeah, of course.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Blake said with a nod. “Daphne has the paperwork. “

Slay stood and headed for the door, requiring Elena to step closer to Blake’s desk to let him by. “Hey! Avoid hassling Blake while I’m gone,” Slay warned her as he passed. “Try not to jump all over him the second I leave, yeah?”

Elena’s pale face flushed nearly purple in an instant, and she sputtered in outrage. “I don’t… I wouldn’t… What the hell, Alex?”

Slay chuckled to himself as he walked out the door. Blake ran a hand over his mouth to stifle his own laughter. And then her furious eyes found his. And Blake didn’t want to laugh anymore.

He was on his feet and heading for the door a second later, and closing it firmly. He hesitated for a single second before deciding not to lock it. A locked door would raise too many questions that he didn’t want to answer today. Then he whirled to face the woman who’d been haunting him for weeks.

“What do you say, Elena?” he mocked softly. “Feel like jumping all over me?”

Elena’s eyes flew to his, and she backed away as he advanced on her, one step, then two, until her ass hit the edge of his desk and she had nowhere to go. She swallowed hard. He took a step closer, boxing her in.

She licked her lips, took a deep breath, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Blake’s head went back and he raised one eyebrow. “Sorry,” he repeated thoughtfully, as though testing the weight of the word on his tongue. “Sorry. Hmm. That can cover so many things, Elena. I’ll need you to be more specific. Sorry you barged into my office the other night spoiling for a fight? Sorry you begged me to take my belt to your luscious ass? Sorry that you pleaded for me to own that sweet pussy with my cock? Tell me, honey, what are you sorry for?”

Her eyes had grown wider with each word he spoke, and then impossibly hotter. He could see the pulse pounding in her neck, feel the rapid rise and fall of her breasts against his chest as she panted, but she said nothing. And then he lifted his hand to touch her cheekbone, his fingertip tracing the blush there, and the words seemed to fall out of her.

“None of those things,” she whispered. “I’m not sorry I came here. I’m not sorry we had sex. I am definitely not sorry you striped my ass.”

She darted a look from his eyes to his mouth, then licked her lips, and Blake fought the urge to grab her, to kiss the life out of her, to use his lips and teeth and tongue to punish her for walking out, for leaving him worried and frustrated and pissed off for the last two days. But then she spoke again.

“A-and I’m not sorry I left, either,” she told him, her spine straightening, even as his eyes narrowed. “I was overwhelmed, and I just… I couldn’t stay.”

“You left before we settled a fucking thing,” he reminded her. “You left while your screams were still echoing in my ears, while I could still taste you on my tongue.”

She pushed her lips together, visibly fighting against the effect his words were having on her, but he could see the way her eyes went glassy, the way her body swayed against him.

“And you stayed away for two days,” he concluded, his voice a low growl as he struggled to control his temper. “Two fucking days, with no word. Do you know what that did to me?”

As he watched, her gorgeous brown eyes filled with tears. “That’s the part I’m sorry about,” she said in a small voice. “I couldn’t talk to you the other night. Truly. I was too confused and amped up. I’d had the longest week, and the worst day, and I… I just hadn’t expected this, us, to ever really happen, you know?” She paused and ran a finger under each eye, catching the moisture there. “You have a crush on someone, or in my case, on what you believe to be multiple someones,” she clarified with a short laugh, “for the longest time, but it’s all just a fantasy. There’s the smoking hot dom who’s the definition of unattainable, the guy I’ve wanted since forever ago, but who treats me like a pesky kid sister. And then there’s the sweet guy I talk to online, the one who tries to take care of me, but he can never be more than just a fantasy because, God, I don’t even know what his hair color is, or where he lives, or when his birthday is, or what kind of kink he’s into. And then suddenly, holy shit, I’m having sex with you, and it’s both of you—you and MisterHaven, all at once. The guy who revs my engine and the guy who’s stealing my heart. And I was all worried about doing things wrong, about where we would go from here, about whether I could really handle this kind of relationship. It was just… too fast,” she whispered.

Blake moved his hand to cradle her neck, his thumb stroking the soft skin beneath her ear, and blew out a breath as he digested this.

Overwhelmed, he could understand. God knew, he’d been dealing with the very same thing. Things had happened too fast—tension he now recognized as mutual lust had smoldered between them for months, and then had blazed out of control, like a wildfire.

But he hadn’t considered how hard it would be for her to come to grips with the knowledge that he and MisterHaven were one and the same. That process, at least, had been seamless for him—to the point where he’d wondered more than once whether he’d deliberately overlooked all of the evidence that Lanie was Elena, since it had allowed him to dominate Elena in the only way he’d thought she’d allow him. But for Elena…

“I could have helped you with that, Lanie,” he told her, in a low voice, while his fingers played in her hair. “It’s my job to help you, to care for you.”

“Every time one of your texts came in, I knew, I knew, I needed to answer, but I just… didn’t know how,” she continued, her eyes roving over his face. “The longer things went unresolved, the more I felt like I couldn’t answer.”

Blake closed his eyes briefly and nodded once. And that part is on you, he told himself. He shouldn’t have let things go so long. He shouldn’t have waited.

“Right. Tonight, then, we clear the air,” he told her firmly. “Once this business is done, we’ll meet up. After your shift, you can come to my place…”

But she shook her head nervously.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she denied.

He raised one eyebrow. “All right, then. I’ll go to yours.”

She shook her head once more. “I don’t think we should meet up,” she confessed in a whisper. “Not yet.”

Blake felt his temper kindle. “Elena, I messed up this week. I should’ve come to you sooner, should’ve made you face this head-on. I see that now. If you think I’m going to compound that error by staying away from you now, let you freak out and run away from this…”

She blinked, then frowned in annoyance. “I wasn’t running away,” she said hotly. “I was… Making a strategic retreat. I was contemplating, trying to figure out what I want and what I need.”

“Uh huh. And you can figure out if we,” he lifted his hand from her neck for a moment to gesture between them, “are what you need all by yourself? Pretty sure I see a flaw in that logic, baby.”

She frowned. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“How can you possibly know if you want me, if you can handle me, if I’m gonna give you what you need, if you don’t get to know me?” he continued.

“You make a point,” she allowed. And then she lifted her hand to his cheek. “But, Blake, just being with you makes thinking impossible. You are so physical. So damn male. I can’t resist you physically. I never could. I’m standing next to you, and my heart is beating a mile a minute. My frickin’ nipples are hard, and you’re barely touching me. You were looking at me like you wanted to murder me a second ago, and I can feel myself getting… wet.” Her voice was a husky whisper, and her eyes were alight with… with…

Jesus. His hand tightened against her neck before he forced himself to loosen it.

He wanted so badly to step into her, to put his mouth on her, to overwhelm all her fears and doubts with his own unwavering certainty. In that moment, there was not a doubt in his mind that he could do it. But to what end? That wasn’t the certainty that she needed, not the kind he wanted her to have. So, instead, he forced himself to take a step back.

“What are you suggesting?” he demanded.

Her eyes got wide, and she smiled—a burst of sunshine that lit up her entire face, the entire damn room. “You aren’t gonna try to steamroll me, are you? I was really worried that you would. Or, more like, I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to help yourself, and that I was gonna let you.”

He snorted. The day this woman let him steamroll her would be a cold day in hell. “I’m not gonna let you call the shots, LanieLove. Not again. Not ever. But I’ll listen to what you have to say. Always.”

Her smile grew impossibly brighter. She sucked in a shaky breath and began, “See, MisterHaven, I had this idea…”

Then a burst of laughter out in the entryway startled them both.

* * *

By the time the door opened a few seconds later, Blake was sitting behind his desk, toying with a pen, and Elena was sitting in one of the chairs across from him, her eyes studying her hands which were folded in her lap. Matteo burst into the room, laughing at something Slay had said, and Slay walked in a moment after, carrying a spare chair.

“She behave herself, boss?” Slay asked, earning himself a glare from his sister, and a single raised eyebrow from Blake.

“I think your sister and I have just about come to an understanding,” Blake told him. He exchanged a brief glance with Elena, conveying without words that their discussion was most definitely not over and satisfied that she’d gotten the message loud and clear when a pretty blush stole over her face.

As soon as they were all seated and everyone had exchanged greetings, Slay leaned forward in his seat.

“So, Elena share her news with you?” he asked, looking from Blake to Elena.

Elena shook her head. “I was waiting for Matt so I could tell both of them at once,” she explained.

Blake frowned. What news?

“So, the other night… Um, two nights ago,” Elena said, casting a meaningful look at Blake before glancing away. “A couple of women came into the clinic for help, saying they’d been roughed up pretty badly.”

Matteo’s face darkened. “Shit. Did they report it to the police?”

“We gave them that option,” Elena confirmed. “It’s standard. We see quite a few domestic violence victims, both adults and teens, date rape victims, and other victims of assault. We have procedures in place to hook them up with counselors, social services, legal representation if they need it.” She took a deep breath and looked Blake in the eye when she continued. “What’s not standard is that these women stated that they were roughed up—slipped a drug in their drinks, then stripped, and tied up—by a dom here at The Club.”

Drugged? Stripped and tied up against their will? At his club? The tension that gripped him was immediate and total. He heard Matt suck in a breath and saw him sit up straighter, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. Slay, who had obviously already heard this nonsense, nevertheless gritted his teeth. Elena looked pissed.

“Impossible. Not a fucking chance,” Blake said flatly, and Elena nodded.

“I know,” she said calmly, and he understood she was angry not at him, but rather on his behalf.

Blake sucked in a breath. “Who are these women? I need their names, and maybe their images, so I can pull up security footage. Did they identify the dominants?” Without waiting for her answer, he turned to Slay. “Once Elena gets us that, let’s find out when they were here and who they were with.” See if there was an ounce of truth to the claims so they could take action.

But Elena shook her head. “Absolutely not. I’m not divulging their names to you.”

“Pardon?” Matteo demanded, his eyes sparking.

“Exactly what I said,” Slay agreed with Matteo, glaring at his sister.

Elena folded her own arms over her chest. “Those women come to Centered because there’s an expectation of confidentiality. I won’t break that.”

“You won’t,” Blake repeated. “You won’t help us figure out who’s making bullshit claims against The Club? Or, on the razor-slim chance that something actually happened to them, figure out the perpetrator and see them prosecuted?” His voice was deadly soft in a way that made even Matteo flinch.

But Elena simply shook her head again, unperturbed. “I won’t. For every woman who comes in making a bullshit claim—and yes, something felt off to me about these women even before they mentioned The Club, so there’s no doubt in my mind that they’re lying—there are a dozen women, maybe more, who come in because they’ve been abused, because they are feeling depressed, because they know that we will do our utmost to help them without judging or even telling anyone they were there. If I thought even one woman felt like she couldn’t come to me because I broke confidentiality in this case, if even one woman had to stay in an abusive situation because she couldn’t trust my discretion, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.” She leaned forward in her chair and swiveled her head, eyeing each of the men in turn. “And neither. Would. You.”

Matteo shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Slay nodded in resignation. Blake… Blake had never been so goddamn proud of anyone in his entire life. The flare of annoyance he felt at being stymied faded to nothing in the face of it.

Three huge, muscled dominants and this little woman—his woman—stood up for herself and took shit from no one. He had to fight to keep a totally inappropriate smile off his face. Instead, he cleared his throat and said simply, “I get you.”

Elena nodded, and as he watched, the fight went out of her. Her shoulders slumped and she smiled gratefully. It meant something to her that he agreed, that he understood.

Better and better.

“What I can tell you, after consultation with my boss,” Elena continued, “is that when the women were offered the opportunity to contact the police, and offered legal counsel, they declined both. They said they’d already obtained legal representation, and they even provided us with the name of their representative, which is not protected information. A man named…” She grabbed her phone and clicked a few buttons. “Jeremiah Hakim.”

Matteo frowned. He dug his own phone out of his pocket and began scrolling.

“Anyway,” Elena continued. “The women indicated that Mr. Hakim would be contacting the police and filing a claim for damages in a few days.”

“They can report it; I hope they fucking do. Let them investigate, because we have nothing to hide. But as to filing a claim, I don’t know what they hope to gain,” Blake said. “We have cameras on practically every inch of this place, we take every possible precaution, and nowadays we make even guests sign Waiver of Liability and Non-Disclosure forms. There is no way they have a case.”

Slay shrugged. “Who the fuck knows? Why make a false claim in the first place, when you know you’re making it harder for the women who are really being abused out there and are desperately trying to get someone to believe them?” He shook his head and sighed. “I’ll give Mantle a call,” he said, referring to Blake’s old friend, a former task force agent who maintained strong ties to law enforcement and had helped Matteo’s woman, Hillary, deal with a stalker a few years back. “Maybe he can look into this a bit for us. Give us a heads up if anything gets reported so we can jump on it.”

Blake nodded, absentmindedly tapping his finger on the desktop. He was back in a state of suspended animation and it fucking killed him. He wanted to deal with shit proactively. He wanted a target.

“Bingo!” Matteo said, staring at his phone. “Jeremiah Hakim. I knew the name sounded familiar. I mean, how many lawyers named Jeremiah Hakim could there be in the Boston area in this day and age? Not exactly John Smith, is it?”

“Your point, Matt?” Blake interrupted.

“Right, right. So, you know Slay and I have friends with access to some, uh, information that’s not common knowledge and is not always obtained with the assistance of a warrant?”

Elena rolled her eyes. “Super-secret-agent stuff. Got it.”

Matteo rolled his eyes at her, but went on. “I’ve used those resources to dig into the Church of the Highest Prophet.”

“Who?” Elena demanded, looking to each of the men for explanation.

Slay supplied it. “Some newfangled church that’s been encouraging its members to send Blake hate mail, saying they need to shut down The Club. We’re a bunch of degenerates, we’re going to hell, blah blah blah. They’ve apparently taken it a step further and started monitoring us, taking pictures of the exterior of The Club… and of Blake.”

Elena stared at Blake, concern written on her face. “They’re monitoring… you? Like, a personal threat?”

Trust his woman to latch onto the same idea that had been nagging at Blake, but Blake shrugged easily, not wanting her to be alarmed. “I’m the face of The Club, honey, that’s all.”

If Slay or Matt noticed his use of the endearment, they didn’t show it. He used the term casually, when dealing with their women, or even with Daphne. They didn’t understand that he used it now in a very, very uncasual way.

Elena nodded, and then her eyes widened. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed. “The protest! I completely forgot!” She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand and jumped up from her chair. “The other day, the other morning, I mean. The morning of the day that these women made their claim?”

Blake nodded. “Calm down, Elena. Everything’s going to be fine,” he soothed. Meanwhile, he had to grab the edge of the desk with his hand, so strong was his urge to leap up and calm her down.

Christ. She’d better come to grips with things sooner rather than later, so they could get their relationship out in the open.

She kept her eyes locked on him and sucked in a breath. “That morning, I was running late to work.”

Blake nodded. He remembered. Or, rather, MisterHaven did.

“There was a protest happening near the hospital as I was going in for my shift. Picket signs, angry yelling, the whole nine yards. I didn’t have a chance to check it out, but I would almost swear that they were protesting The Club.”

Slay let out a soft curse. Blake exchanged a glance with Matteo, who grimaced, as all of them connected the dots.

The women didn’t need to prove their claims. They just needed to get them publicized. The false claims, the protests, the hate mail… all were part of a very, very well-executed smear campaign.

One that would be hard to keep from touching Elena, if they were to continue their relationship.

FUCK.

“It gets worse, boss,” Matteo said. “Since we’re already playing six-degrees-of-Jeremiah-Hakim, wanna guess what other notorious baddie is on Jerry’s client list? I’ll give you a hint—this guy was actually represented by Jeremiah the last four times he was in court and got off on technicalities every fucking time.”

He pulled up a picture on his phone of two men in business suits walking down the steps of what might have been a courthouse. One was younger, Caucasian, whip thin, with dark hair and glasses. The other, was a heavyset, middle-aged Latino whose friendly smile made him look more like your friendly neighborhood tax accountant or overworked school principal than what he really was.

“I’ll take ‘Asshole Cartel Leaders We Hoped Had Gotten Themselves Dead’ for $200, Alex,” Matteo said in his best Jeopardy-announcer voice.

Slay shot him a furious look. “Funny, Matt. Except it wasn’t your girl who was tossed around by a goon on Chalo Salazar’s payroll.”

Matt nodded and clapped Slay on the shoulder in apology.

Chalo Salazar. Drug dealing criminal with a penchant for young ladies… very, very young ladies.

That was all this fucked up situation needed.

“So Salazar is behind this,” Blake surmised. “The whole smear campaign against The Club is his brainchild?” If so, the photo of Blake was not a shot in the dark, but a declaration of intent.

Matt shrugged. “Sure seems that way.”

Slay shifted in his chair and reached up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “He took a hit publicly after his little lackey, Gary Levitz, was convicted of assaulting Alice. We weren’t able to get enough to tie him to anything directly, but we were able to nail a couple of his best sellers and get them off the street, meaning he also took a financial hit. I was involved very heavily in both of those events. He’s been laying low for a while, but it would not surprise me at all if the first thing he did when he’d gotten himself back on his feet was to come back at me, and through me, at The Club and Blake.”

There was a thread of remorse in his voice that Blake had to address. “Hey,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger in Slay’s direction. “This is not on you, brother. Not remotely. You get me? And Jesus, so what if some Salazar-backed nut job wants to send me to hell? Your sister’s been sending me to hell since the day we met and it hasn’t worked yet.”

Slay snorted.

Elena’s eyes met Blake’s, and he winked at her. She smiled widely, even as she shook her head at him.

“You worry about Alice,” Blake continued, addressing Slay. “Allie and Charlie are your priorities, and you let me worry about The Club.”

“Problem is that the fucker is so slippery,” Matt said, scrolling through the information on his phone. “There’s no way to get this information legally, and so there’s no way to tie him to the church. And the church, while annoying, hasn’t done anything illegal yet, so…”

“So, we ride it out,” Blake said.

“Or maybe not,” Elena said slowly.

All heads turned to look at her.

“What if we don’t have to prove anything? What if we play Salazar’s game right back to him?” She looked from Slay to Matt, then her eyes caught Blake’s and held. “What if we contact someone at The Boston Star about the information Matt obtained—all hush-hush, obviously, and not naming any super-secret-agent sources. And we could have her investigate things, and if she finds any evidence, she can write up what she learns! It might not be enough to convict Salazar of anything, but if we can suggest a relationship between a reputed drug kingpin and this Church of the Highest Prophet…”

“It would discredit the church!” Matt said, his eyes alight. “Damn. Good thinking, Elena. Easy to see who got the brains in your family, man,” he added, nudging Slay.

Slay raised an eyebrow at Matt before turning to glare at Elena. “I don’t like it. You say someone at The Star, but you mean Gretchen, don’t you? Your college roommate?”

Elena nodded. “Yeah, but this is hardly a dangerous assignment for her, Alex. She’s an investigative reporter. She’s dealt with much worse than some corrupt church, trust me.”

Slay huffed out a breath, and tipped his chin to Blake. “What do you think, boss?”

What did he think? He thought he wanted to take the woman, wrap her in a cocoon, and keep her carefully hidden away from anything that could hurt her… But as he was coming to understand, that would hurt her worst of all.

“I’m only going to contact her and pass on the same information I gave you. No more,” Elena promised. “Please. Let me do this.”

Blake stroked his hand over the stubble on his jaw, his eyes locked on hers, and he nodded, once. “One contact. That’s it. If she gets back to you, or wants to meet, you come to us. You will not take chances. And, Slay, see if one of your super-secret-agent friends is interested in some side work,” he said, enjoying the way Slay rolled his eyes. “I know you say that your friend is used to this sort of thing, but I’d feel better with a man on her,” he told Elena. And then to Slay, “I’ll comp his pay.”

Slay nodded, pleased. But Elena looked as if he’d just given her the moon tied up in a bow. She was practically glowing with excitement, and Blake found himself needing to look away before he did something ill-advised… like bending her backward and owning her mouth, right in front of her brother.

“Jesus,” Slay said, glancing at his phone. “I’d better go. I need to drop Elena and get home.”

“Letting your girl play you, Slater?” Matt teased.

Slay grinned, not remotely put out. “Letting her try,” he corrected, rising to his feet. “Makes it all the sweeter when I remind her who’s in charge.”

“Jesus,” Elena gagged, rolling her eyes. “You’re insufferable. How does Allie put up with you?”

“I make it worth her while,” Slay laughed. “You’ll see, baby sis. Someday in the distant future when you’re ready to find a man.” He reached out to tweak her nose.

“I bet you’re right,” she agreed quietly, her eyes on Blake. “I bet I will see.” And she allowed Slay to usher her out the door.

* * *

Not two minutes later, he sent the first text.

MisterHaven: Behaving yourself, LanieLove?

LanieLove: Just sitting here in Slay’s passenger’s seat, not taking chances.

He snorted.

LanieLove: Hey, how did you know I was going to suggest that we go back to texting? I’m starting to think you’re kind of a mind reader.

Right. More like he was smart enough to know that the best way to keep Elena off the church’s radar was to keep her away from The Club, and from him, at least temporarily.

He sighed.

And he was also a man who knew that any dominant worth his salt considered his sub’s needs and feelings before his own. If Lanie… Elena… needed time to come to terms with what he hadn’t the smallest doubt they would become, he would give her that time. As much as it galled him, the best way to accomplish both aims, was to keep their relationship online-only for right now.

MisterHaven: I can’t read everyone’s mind, but I can definitely read yours. I bet I know what you’re thinking right now.

LanieLove: LOL. Bet you don’t.

MisterHaven: You’re thinking about how it felt two nights ago when I bent you over my desk. How the wood felt against your cheek. The sound my belt made as I slipped it off. The way the air tickled your skin as you waited for it to connect. The sting, the pain, the rush of arousal. The way it felt when I slid inside you so, so deeply. The way we moved together. The way you cried out when you came...

One minute passed. Then two. He smiled. Just as he was about to type again, she answered.

LanieLove: Blake! You cheated! You knew the second I read those words, that’s all I would be able to think about!

He grinned.

MisterHaven: I never said I wouldn’t cheat, Lanie. Keep that in mind. If I’m going to be dreaming of you every night, I’m going to make sure you’re dreaming of me. Every. Single. Night.

LanieLove: Gah! Enough! I beg you. I am sitting next to MY BROTHER here!! Changing the subject… NOW.

Blake imagined her squirming in the front seat of Slay’s truck and laughed out loud.

LanieLove: So… have I ever told you how I got the name LanieLove? It was a nickname from my Grandma.

Nice attempt at distraction, baby, Blake thought, and he grinned as he replied, happier than he’d have thought possible three hours ago.

MisterHaven: No, you haven’t. Tell me.

Blake found himself eager to hear her answer. He was eager for a lot of things where his LanieLove was concerned.