“They’re going to be pissed when they find out we lied to them.” Connor smoothly navigates his Range Rover through traffic as he heads for the rendezvous point. “Where are we headed?”

“Mirror Motel in Burlington. We put a call out to the front desk, offering a reward for any info. According to this guy, some man dropped her off there, made a deal with a john, and took off. So, we can expect the trap to be somewhere outside. Once we’re done with them, I doubt the john will be any problem. Best that Rayne isn’t here. She’d want to kill him.”

“That little one sure is a spitfire. She reminds me of my Kat. You’ll have your hands full with her.”

“You’ve got it all wrong. Rayne’s a rescue, nothing more. If Sasha hadn’t been hurt, she would already be gone.” As the words leave my mouth, the lie bites me in the butt. I try not to admit I’m a hooked fish fighting for freedom while my captor reels me in. In one short week, Rayne has buried the barb. It’s just lust. A few more fuck sessions and she’ll be out of my system.

“Keep telling yourself that, bud. Did you know she’s an empath?”

“I don’t know anything about an empath, but it sure feels like she’s trolling around in my head sometimes. It’s unnerving.”

“Like she can see right through the reinforced steel vault you’ve built around your heart. I know the feeling.”

“How come you know so much about it?”

“Kat knows a lot more about it than me. Kat’s what you call a mild empath. It’s like she absorbs the emotions of people around her. Sometimes I feel like she can read my thoughts. She’s never met someone as sensitive as your Rayne.”

She’s not my Rayne. “How so? What makes Rayne so special?”

“She can feel if someone is hurt or ill. Maybe not everybody, but she’s highly tuned to some people around her. It’s freaky, really. We had a demonstration during flogging class.”

“Things aren’t supposed to get to the point of real pain. How’d that happen?”

“We don’t want undesired pain. For some, pain is pleasure. As it turns out in this case, Charmian’s Dom had instructed her not to use the safe word during her training.”

I’m fascinated, although I hate to admit it. “So, what did Rayne do?”

“You know how we stop for checkpoints? I checked in after every ten strokes. Charmian kept saying, ‘green light.’ At one point, Rayne tilted her head, squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and shook her head. When I asked what was wrong, she announced that Charmian was in real pain and wanted to stop, she just wouldn’t admit it.”

“Which exit?”

“The 403.” I don’t care about the damned directions. I want to hear what happened next.

“Yup, you’ve got it bad.”

Even Connor can see through me, but I can’t let thoughts of my Dracaena distract me from my mission. Time to focus. I check my artillery. My Cold Steel Recon Scout knife remains firmly fixed in my ankle sheath with my Swiss Army knife strapped to my waist. I lift my Glock 19 from my IWB holster and rack the slide, satisfied that a round sits snugly in the chamber.

“Are we expecting trouble?” Connor expertly navigates around the dense highway traffic. “Kat’s worried we could be walking into a trap. When things seem too easy, they are.”

“I think she’s worrying too much, Con. Viper has no idea we’re onto him. We’ll snatch Summer and get the hell out of Dodge.”

“At least we know Kat and Raine are okay. That’s one less thing to worry

about.”

I barely see the lush scenery rush by in the summer afternoon sun. I fight the tendrils of fear curling around my active imagination that has conjured one scenario after another in which things go wrong.

“Soft or hard?” Connor keeps his gaze trained on the highway ahead, but his message is clear. He’s giving me the lead—something he rarely does—and he’s checking the level of engagement. Connor is perhaps the only person in the world who has earned the singular honor of red belt before reaching his dotage. He believes you should learn how to fight so you never have to, but he had no qualms about neutralizing anyone who brings harm to women or children.

“Three guys. Hard, if necessary.” I glance over at Connor. Would he mistake my reticence as weakness?

Connor turns his penetrating stare onto me for two seconds, then gives one sharp nod. “I don’t take prisoners.”

This much I know. “Summer’s been no threat to them, so she’s pretty much dropped off and left wherever they’re working her. The pimp may check in.”

“Aren’t most transactions done via app now?”

“Yeah. Joker hacked their server. That’s how he found her. She’s scheduled for the afternoon and night.”

“Sounds like they work them to death.” Connor shakes his head. “Hard to figure.”

“They quite literally work them to death. It’s a contest to see whether the drugs, a john or their pimp will kill them first. Rayne says it will be the drugs in Summer’s case. She doesn’t fight; she just keeps asking for another hit of smack.”

“Nasty stuff. Indeed, that will kill her if she does enough of it. Where are we taking her?”

“Depends on what shape she’s in. Then it’s time to take care of Viper once and for all.” I open the yawning pit of vengeance and jump in.

Connor spins the steering wheel tight, presses the accelerator, and peels to a stop in the parking lot behind a 7-Eleven across from the motel. We hop out and eye the motel. Its crumbling brick walls have faded to a puce color that reminds me of the noxious activity taking place behind its closed doors. I square my shoulders.

“Are you sure you want to do this, man?” Connor shoots a quick glance my way.

“No choice.”

We scout the area. Locate the three goons. Two watch the back. One who thinks he’s hidden behind a spruce tree watches the front. I nod. Connor takes the two. I take slow, measured steps. Without a sound, I come up from behind. Wrap my left forearm around his neck. So easy to snap. He stiffens and braces to fight. I tap the sweet spot that renders him unconscious. Zip tie hands to ankles. Duct tape the mouth.

Connor pulls up in front of the office. He hops out of the car. I run to join him. We wrench open the sagging ripped screen door. Even the bright summer sun can’t penetrate the dark and dingy lobby. A thirty-something man wearing a grease-stained T-shirt of indiscriminate color sits behind a dirty counter. He jumps up and grins, exposing several gaping holes where rotting teeth have once enjoyed the same filth as their remaining relatives. His body odor almost knocks me over.

“You the guy come to get the girl in twelve-B? Where’s my dough?” Greed shines through the guy’s eyes. I remove two envelopes from my inside jacket pocket and slide one on the countertop. “This one’s for the key to the room.” I waive the other envelope in the air. “You'll get the other half when we have the girl.”

“Hey look, man, that wasn’t the bargain.”

“It is now. Take it or leave it.”

The guy grabs for the envelope. I place my hand over it, shaking my head. “Nuh uh uh.”

He mumbles and shuffles around to a large pegboard covering the wall behind him. He hands me a key. “Make it quick.”

“Is she alone?”

“You think I spend all my time watching the little whores?”

I reach across and grab the front of his T-shirt and haul him across the counter.

“You really want to mess with me?”

The guy shrugs me off and tries to look all full of bravado as he pulls the filthy shirt over his beer belly. “No way, man. Don’t get your shirt in a knot. Her john just left. This one was quick. Her pimp won’t be back ’till the half hour when he brings the next guy.”

No time to lose. We make our way to room 12-B. I check my arsenal while Connor follows suit. Guns drawn, we stand on each side of the door. Connor taps the door with the butt of his Smith & Wesson Magnum, and it swings inward. I go in high. Connor goes in low.

We scan the small room and bathroom. No goons. A young girl lies in a heap on the bed, naked from the waist down, curled in the fetal position. I sit beside her and cover her with the threadbare bedspread. I touch her hair. She moans and pulls away. Her movements are slow and sluggish.

“Summer, you’re safe now. We’re friends of Rayne.”

At the mention of Rayne’s name, Summer moans something unintelligible and shakes her head. Did I hear the word “trap”? I rest my hand on the back of her head. She shudders and curls into a smaller ball, trembling. I remove my hand.

“I can’t hear you. What did you say?”

Summer turns her head toward me. Pupils the size of pinheads stare up at me from eyes filled with cunning and fear. “Rayne’s as good as dead. He’s going to kill her.” Her hand darts from under the comforter and grabs my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip.

“Where’s my fix? I need my fix,” she whispers in a young child’s voice.

I look at the row of fresh track marks lining her arm and shake my head.

“Fuck,” Connor says. “Looks like she’s smacked out. It’s only been a week, hasn’t it?”

“A couple. It only takes a few hits to be a full-blown addict, especially when you’re in this position.” I point at Summer as she wretches on the bed. Connor brings over the garbage can and drops it beside us. I nod my thanks. “Can we take her to our rehab clinic?”

“Let me make a couple of calls. Kat’ll make sure there’s a bed for her,” Connor says. He dials his cell and listens. “Call me, babe.” He clicks off the call. “That’s weird. It went to her voice mail.”

“What’s weird about that?”

“Usually, when she’s waiting to hear from me, she answers before the end of the first ring. I’m sure it’s nothing.” Connor hides behind a mask of nonchalance, but I know him well enough to know he’s worried. I pull out my cell and dial Rayne. No answer. Shit.

“Maybe they’re still at the club. I’m sure they’ll get back to us in a tick.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.” Connor pulls his cell phone again. “Bri? . . . Good. Where’s Kat? . . . What? . . . What men? . . . When?” Connor clicks off. He rests his forehead on the fist closed around the phone. “He’s got them.”

I know precisely what he’s talking about. My heart plummets as I embrace my reality. The ubiquitous love wasn’t meant for me. I drop a vault over that small glimmer of hope fighting to break free.

“I knew this was some kind of trap,” Connor said.

The hairs rustle on the back of my neck as if a ghost is breathing on me. I pick up my cell and press the speed dial for Rayne’s iPhone. No answer. I text. No answer. I slam the base of my hand on the dash. “Shit.”