Pins and needles prickle across my fingers, over my toes, as the disorienting blackness fades.

Cold. The cold that burns. My bones tremble, it penetrates so deep. My skin is so numb it becomes irrelevant, a useless barrier of protection.

Grayish blurs and black dots strobe as I force my goopy eyes open. I instantly squint as blinding slivers of light pierce through jagged slats on the ceiling.

Metal steadily clanks all around me at a deafening, sporadic rhythm. Something heavy and immovable cuts into the raw, bare skin of my wrists. I guess numbness doesn’t kill pain.

I pull my hands to me, but the sandpaper chafing only grinds in harder, pulls tighter. Jerking my head right then left, my stomach twists in violent spasms—my arms are stretched out and bound at the wrists by leather cuffs with padlocks. The metallic clanking blaring through my head is the clink, clink, clink of steel padlocks hitting a metal table—a metal table I’m chained to. I snap my head up to glance down my body and find both feet restrained the same way.

Mouth stretched wide, I scream, but the sound comes out jumbled, gurgled. My chapped lips split as they stick to some kind of plastic object. A strap secured around the back of my head holds a bitter-tasting ball between my teeth and is lodged deep against the back of my tongue.

Sweat saturates my body and every muscle convulses in rebellion. The stench of my muggy and stale surroundings mix with my body odor, overwhelming my senses. Bile races up my esophagus, but hits the plastic barrier. Tears trail down my cheeks as I frantically inhale through my nose, trying not to choke. Somewhere between trying to breathe, survival turns to panic. The sour liquid flooding my throat reroutes and explodes out of my nose, splattering across my exposed chest.

Opening my throbbing eyes as wide as I can, I fight to lift my head. I’m wearing nothing but a sports bra and underwear. A long bar with cuffs on each end is locked around both of my ankles, spreading my legs far apart.

Like an animal trying to break free of its cage, a surge of energy blasts through me. I thrash against the table, the restraints. I scream against the thing in my mouth, jerk my legs up and down, pulling and slamming my wrists against the metal table. Saliva pours down the sides of my mouth as the ball stifles any attempt to coherently scream or yell, to call for help.

I want my dad. I want my mom. I want to be home.

Please, please, please, God. Let me wake up. Wake me—

The door flies open, rocking the small room as it slams against the wall. Light floods in, rendering me momentarily blind. Before the door shuts again, I catch a glimpse of my prison. A shack. I’m bound in a filthy, wooden shack. I roll my head toward the fading light, hoping, praying it’s someone coming to help me.

A massive figure looms over me, so tall his head almost hits the roof. When my eyes adjust to the darkness again, he moves to the foot of the table. He wraps both hands around the middle of the bar between my ankles. The sheer power of him—his energy is so strong, so evil, it seems to discharge through the iron bar and into my skin.

He slowly slides both hands along the bar to the ends before wrapping around my calves just above the cuffs, his grip stronger than even the unforgiving leather restraints.

My throat swells. Breath freezes in my lungs.

Monsters aren’t supposed to be real.

“You’re awake . . . I’ve been waiting.”

“No!” I shot up to my knees in bed, my hands slapping over my sweaty face. “Nooo!” I screamed into my palms as Kyle barked then began to whine. His wet snout nudged my chin and neck, bringing me back to the present.

In seconds, Chris was up on the end of the bed, guarding both Kyle and I with a low growl.

“Chris! Hier! Come!”

Only then, did he leave his post and join Kyle on my other side. The quick movement jammed my knee. I welcomed the pain. Pain meant I was awake. I was home.

My head throbbed from shaking it so hard—this couldn’t have been me. It couldn’t have been me in that room—with . . .

My dogs’ warm, furry bodies pressed tight against my outer thighs calmed the storm overriding my system. Burying a hand in the each of their scruffs, I struggled for a full breath.

I lifted my shaky hands in front of my face, my chest shuddering with each labored inhalation. The scars on my right wrist had faded long ago, but in the light, they were still visible. I focused on my left forearm. My reminder. I’d had the Latin words, eum mori et resurgere—die and rise—tattooed in a beautiful black script over the worst of the scars on that arm. I swiped under my eyes and blinked several times, clearing my vision.

Reaching over Kyle, I grabbed the notepad I kept by my bed and scribbled down every detail of the memory. Nightmares didn’t usually stay with me, but this one . . . This one was like the flashback. It was a memory, now released from my psyche to replay for all time.

The theme song from the movie Halloween rang out through my room—Annie’s text tone. I jumped, the pen flying out of my hand. I scrambled for my phone, clutching it to my chest.

Thank you, best friend. Perfect timing.

Before reading the message, I settled back down between Chris and Kyle. They’d been with me since they were puppies—brothers, so I couldn’t bear to split them up.

My intention had been to train them both in protection, but as a handler, training one dog was difficult enough. While both were protective by nature, as they grew and their personalities developed, Chris had proven to be the more dominant of the two. So as soon as he was old enough, I’d signed us both up for Schutzhund protection training.

When the nightmares started, Kyle had been two years old, and Dr. Rhodes suggested I train Kyle as a PTSD service dog. I’d worked with not only her, but PTSD trainers and experts. After way too much sharing on my part, they’d found a way for Kyle to bring me out of the nightmares in a way tailored to me. He barked. When my parents and doctor told me what had happened to me and how I’d been found, Kyle’s barking made sense. From what I had researched about K9 units, some of the dogs barked when they found a . . . body. I wonder if my dog, the one who found me, had barked. If so, I guess it explained why barking dogs calmed me.

Straightening out my knee, I worked out the tweak. It was still tender, but I had to start working it, so it was back to the gym tomorrow morning. I’d missed my test. I needed a good idea of where I was at with it before the next round. I didn’t need it perfect. I just needed it strong enough to convince Instructor Kovov I could fight on it. Good luck with that.

It could have been much worse. I’d been lucky with just the hyperextension. No way could I have gotten out from under that rack without . . . Oh, my God!

The Redwood.

I mentally cursed myself yet again.

The man literally saves you from being crushed, and you didn’t even ask his name? Nice.

He’d been lightning fast. Almost the second I’d done it, he’d been there, lifting it off of me as if it weighed nothing. It would have taken at least two men, one on each side, to lift that rack if he hadn’t been there.

And then I’d put him in a wristlock? Way to make an impression.

Even after that, he’d been wonderful. He’d just talked me through it. Carried me up front—carried me.

How was I supposed to face this man tomorrow? “Perfect!” Now I wished he’d have memory loss.

My original impression of him had been right, though—kind. He did have kind eyes—hazel. Until my ultimate humiliation, I hadn’t been close enough to him to see their true color. But when he’d touched me and I’d lost my damn mind, we’d come face to face, and I’d noticed they were a unique sort of amber green with golden flecks. They probably turned colors depending on what he was wearing or his mood.

Four years-plus since I’d been in a man’s arms, and when I finally ended up there, I was a sweaty, blundering, raving lunatic. Even in as much pain as I’d been in at the time, I hadn’t missed how strong he was, or how he’d held me against him in a cautious, gentle way. I even remembered the slide of his fingers around the back of my thigh, splitting my legs so that my knee wouldn’t jar as he walked. The other thing I hadn’t missed—I hadn’t been afraid.

He’d picked me up with about as much effort as he would a five-pound dumbbell. And I’d had no fear. Just . . . warmth and . . . safety. I’d felt safe.

I pushed the covers off, suddenly too hot, when my phone went off again, reminding me I hadn’t checked Annie’s text.

Hey sister. Be there around 4ish. I have to take Pat & friends to soccer practice. Any word from the Redwood?

I grinned at my phone—only Annie. Even if he had my number, he’d for sure call the maniac who yelled at him, nearly assaulted him, and ended his workout too early. I hit reply.

Didn’t think to give him my number at the time. You know, with him being so busy lifting over 500 pounds off of me and all. See you tonight. You’re horrible!

I kissed Chris and Kyle on their heads, giving the command for them to move off the bed.

Crawling out of the covers, I got up and walked to the kitchen. Coffee. Mass quantities of coffee were needed this morning. I was putting a pod in the coffeemaker when Annie responded.

U got hurt on purpose just to meet him. Well done. I’m like a proud mama! ;)

Rolling my eyes, I set the phone on the counter. I’d have to deal with her questions about the Redwood later. I wasn’t about to encourage her this early.

A pang of guilt ripped through me for calling him the Redwood now. I looked up at my ceiling and exhaled. I had to be a big girl and thank the nice man properly tomorrow, if he’d let me come within fifty yards of him, now that he’d gotten a taste of my crazy.

I walked into my neatly disheveled office to start work and tried to get my mind on my job when I realized something. It wasn’t just the injury and not working out that had made me grumpy and edgy—it was not seeing him.

My best friend sat on my couch across from me, shaking her head behind her glass of Chardonnay. Annie raised her free hand to the sky as if asking the heavens for help before focusing on me again. “No. Tell me you didn’t. Tell. Me. You did not put the Redwood into one of your crazy wrist holds.” She shook her head at me. “So this is why you’ve been giving me the runaround on the phone . . . you went all psycho ninja on his ass! How are you ever gonna get a date, V?”

Heat flooded my face as I reached for my iced tea. “Annie! It was too much to go into over the phone—you know I hate the phone. And it’s not like I knew it was him. I just reacted. I wasn’t exactly thinking correctly.” Like I didn’t feel guilty enough already.

“Did you at least apologize?” She raised an eyebrow at me over her wine glass as she took a long sip and set the glass on the table.

I dropped my head and exhaled. My mother would have been horrified.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Valentina! You didn’t even say you were sorry?”

It had been a frantic moment for me. I forgot everything I needed to apologize for. “I thanked him for helping me,” I said, trying to convince myself it had been enough.

“At least, that’s something. But you didn’t apologize for biting his head off when he gallantly carried you to the front of the gym, or for almost breaking his wrist?”

No. I grimaced, not enough. I hadn’t apologized for either of those things, which made me look ungrateful, not to mention a bitch. “I couldn’t have broken his wrist even if I’d tried; he’s too strong.” He really had been good with me when I thought about it. “The weird thing is, it’s like he understood. I can’t explain it. He didn’t even get upset.”

Annie rolled her eyes at me. “So, I get that men actually being real men is new to you, but he knew you were in pain, in which case a normal man—not like that asshole you were married to, I’m talking about a normal man, mind you—wouldn’t get upset. I’m sure he has some questions about your reaction, though.”

Annie knew as much as I did about my past. I didn’t hide anything from her. She was my other therapist. The one I didn’t have to pay, and the one I did talk to about men.

I shrugged and ran my finger around the rim of my glass. “I’m sure he does. It wasn’t a normal reaction, but then again, I’m not normal.”

“Don’t start with the ‘you’re not normal’ shit right now. Stay focused. Redwood. Apologies. Dates. Getting you laid. Let’s stay there.”

I snapped my head up and smirked at her. “You’re awful. Yes, I will apologize to him.”

“When?” she demanded.

“Tomorrow morning, Mom. If he’s there.” I knew he’d be there.

“Good.” She picked the glass up off the table and grabbed the bottle of wine. As she refilled, she glanced up at me. “You know what my New Year’s resolution is?”

I covered my mouth to stifle a groan. “I don’t want to know, and it’s still December!”

With an evil grin, she casually reclined against the cushions and crossed one leg over the other. “To get you properly laid. And before you bitch, let me tell you how this is gonna go. You’re gonna walk into that godforsaken gym, straight up to the Redwood, apologize, and ask all the appropriate questions.”

“Annie. I don’t need dating adv—”

“My ass, you don’t! You’ve only been with Rick the Dick.” Her hand flew into the air once again. “Unacceptable. New blood, sister. New year. New you. New man.”

I had only ever been with Rick, and our sex life—close to non-existent. Rick had been vigilant about reminding me how lucky I was he stayed, despite my “abnormalities.” He was a dick, because of how he left. But I was pretty messed up when it came to sex, given what lay beneath my clothes. Kind of hard to get comfortable when the important and surrounding body parts look like a road map from hell.

Annie cleared her throat, bringing me back to my current problem. Maybe she had a point. Maybe I didn’t know what the appropriate questions were, because I’d never had to deal with . . . dating. Rick and I really didn’t date. We’d studied together, and it had grown from there. He had made me happy in the beginning. Maybe I didn’t know how to date?

She nodded with a knowing smirk. “Good. Here’s how this goes: Does he wear a ring?”

“No. I’ve never seen him wear one, but he power lifts, so no ring doesn’t mean he’s not married or involved with someone. And besides—”

Annie cut me off. “Hold up, before you go all self-deprecating and make me want to scream, no ring doesn’t mean no ties, true, which is why you have to ask.”

Readjusting, I brought my left leg under me on the couch, trying to get comfortable. “How am I supposed to ask without being obvious? Aren’t we working off the hypothetical theory that dating is even an option? We’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

“My ass!” Annie blurted. “If you weren’t interested, you’d have never brought him up.”

Strong point by her—I wouldn’t have. “You haven’t seen him, Ann. I should see if he wants extra work doing romance covers. My clients would kill to have this man on their covers.”

“Bonus. Huge bonus.”

“What the hell am I supposed to say to him? Just saunter up to him in the gym and say, ‘Hey, so sorry about putting you in a wrist hold and going all Sybil on you, but are you single?’ ”

“A little rough, but yeah, something like that. We need the important questions answered before we move forward. You know . . . ” She put a finger to her mouth and tilted her head. “I’m kind of lucky you’re so clueless. You’re good practice for when Alexis gets to dating age.”

“Oh, you mean when she’s ninety?” To say I loved Annie’s kids was a vast understatement. I’d been there for both of their births. I’d witnessed Alexis come into this world, and it was the single most beautiful moment of my life to-date. Annie’s children were the closest I’d ever come to having kids of my own and I’d have gladly given my life for either of them.

“You can’t be crazy with kids today. They’ll rebel. It’s a thing.” She waved a hand dismissing me. “I digress . . . Appropriate questions . . . what’s your name? Are you single? How old are you? What do you do for a living? Do you eat pussy? You know, the important shit.”

I practically spit my iced tea onto my coffee table. “You did not just say that.”

The wicked grin reemerged. “These are things we need to know.” She sat forward. “All kidding aside, but I really wasn’t kidding, please don’t write this guy off yet. Apologize; thank the man, but talk to him. V, this is the first person who’s held your interest in over four years.”

I let out a sigh, because she didn’t get it. “I’m not writing him off, but you’re not considering that even if he is single, he may not be attracted to me, and I’m not being self-deprecating.” I sat up straighter and pointed at her. “I’m telling you, no way this man is single.” The man screamed sex and that was even obvious to me.

“I’ve known you for almost twenty-five years now, sister. When you look in the mirror, you don’t see the woman the rest of us do. You just don’t. With your past, I get it. I do. But trust me on this . . . Men, even ones as good-looking as this one seems to be, find you attractive. You don’t pay attention, or it goes over your head. How are you going to know if they’re the real deal if you don’t try?”

“Now you sound like Mom and Dr. Rhodes.”

She raised her glass in a mock toast. “Smart women both. In the normal world, hon, a man who’s a cross between the Hulk and Adonis is a plus. You said he’s super tall, which means you could wear five-inch fuck-me heels and climb him like a goddamn spider monkey. Jesus! You could have sex against a wall without being afraid he’d drop you.” As soon as I opened my mouth, she waved me off. “Okay, I got a little carried away, but trust me, these are solid perks.” Her eyes softened. “You already admitted you’re not afraid of him.”

I met her gaze, feeling so out of touch with normal life and socially inept. “I wasn’t afraid in that moment, no, but that’s not a permanent guarantee. I don’t know if I could handle anything other than a friendship, but this man . . . kind of makes me want to give it a shot.”

“Leave the past in the past. I want you to not just exist, Valentina. I want you to live. I want you to experience all the beautiful, sensual, lustful, and loving nuances of life you’ve missed. I want you to know the mouthwatering difference between making love, sex, and fucking, because all three are distinct. And as much as it pains me to say it, I want you to be able to travel without me. I want you to see new places, with a man, one who loves you for the incredible woman you are. He’s out there. Maybe it’s the Redwood, maybe it’s not. But I want you to fall so deep in love you can’t see straight.”

I wanted that for me too. But the level of trust I’d need to put in a man . . . I didn’t see happening. I knew loss. I knew pain. After Rick, I knew I could never let another man see me that vulnerable—that exposed, again. How could any man get beyond my mutilated body? Why should he have to when perfection was everywhere? I didn’t blame them or think them shallow for it. My God, I understood and I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself. I’d gotten over self-pity a long time ago. But there was a reason I’d hung every mirror in my home from the chest up except one, and I only looked in that one when I was fully clothed. Even I avoided looking at my lower body as much as possible. I had to live with it, yes, but my stomach still turned every time I saw it. You show me a man who can handle that sight and I’ll show you a saint.

While Annie and I both wanted the same thing, a change in my non-existent love life, and if said change involved the possibility of the Redwood . . . for once I wasn’t about to fight the nagging voice in my head.

Pipedream.