Though she hadn’t known what to think when he’d made his announcement that he intended to sleep with her, the moment he’d slid into the bed beside her, she’d known that this was exactly what she needed. She pressed her face into the soft cotton of his t-shirt and inhaled deeply. This was why she hadn’t worn the gown that she’d found lying at the end of the bed on the plane. Intellectually, she knew it didn’t make sense, but the mere smell of him—soap, some sort of spice and an earthy essence—all combined to make a unique scent, one that was Stryder’s alone. One that calmed her with each breath.

She smiled as she remembered being a little girl and so excited when her father brought home a puppy. She’d named him Mr. Wiggles because he wiggled all the time, his tail and hind end constantly whipping back and forth. She’d spent the rest of the evening playing with him. When it was time for her to go to sleep, she’d attempted to sneak the puppy into her bed only to have her father tell her that dogs needed to sleep in the main part of the house. It was Mr. Wiggles’s job to guard the family.

While she could understand, and felt proud that her puppy had such an important job, she’d lain in bed hearing the poor little thing whine and cry until she was holding back tears, wanting so desperately to obey her father and yet her heart just ached at the puppy’s cries. When her door had opened and her father entered, she’d not known what to think but had been terrified that he was upset.

“Papa, please don’t give him back—”

“Nyet, kotyonok,” he’d said, coming to her bed. “Where is the blouse you were wearing?”

She’d climbed from her bed, retrieving the garment from the chair where she’d dropped it and had taken it to him. Evidently, her expression showed her confusion because he took it and smiled, explaining that it contained her scent and that would comfort Mr. Wiggles even though she wouldn’t be actually holding him. He’d taken her hand and led her to the box they’d prepared as the puppy’s bed. Mr. Wiggles was on his hind legs, whimpering and trembling. As she knelt beside the box, petting his head, her father had laid the blouse over the towel her mother had put in the box. After a final pat on his head and a softly uttered assurance that she’d play with him soon, she’d allowed her father to help her stand. Though the dog whined a few minutes longer, it wasn’t long before he dropped down out of sight and they heard some shuffling noise. A few minutes later, she almost giggled when she heard what sounded suspiciously like a snore. Her father had led her back to bed and tucked her in and this time, she couldn’t stifle her laugh, asking the man who had always been her hero if he thought it strange that it took a blouse belonging to his “kitten” to calm her new puppy.

He’d laughed with her, explained that it wasn’t strange at all as every living thing needed comfort at times. After he’d kissed her good night, she’d fallen into sleep, the house quiet. Now, with her hand splayed across Stryder’s chest, her fingers tapping and stroking, she truly understood what her father had meant. The fear she’d felt begin to consume her once she was in her room, alone, was seeping away, replaced by gratefulness that this man and his entire family were evidently the same sort of people as her papa… making it their mission to help and comfort those who needed it the most.

“I promise you are safe, Zoya. There’s no need to cry.” The words were softly said, accompanied by a soft stroking of his palm against her back.

Shifting her head to look up at Stryder, she found a softness in his eyes, illuminated by the moonlight shining in through the window, which she’d not seen since the moment he’d stepped into the shower to do nothing more than comfort her. “I wasn’t—crying, I mean.”

“No? Well, that’s good. I didn’t mean to wake you—”

“You didn’t. I wasn’t asleep.” Curiosity had her asking, “Why did you think I was crying?”

“You were sniffing and… sort of slapping at me. I thought maybe you were dropping into a nightmare.”

She felt her face heat and ducked her head to see that her palm was still splayed over his chest, though her fingers had stilled. Understanding had her shifting back but discovering that he obviously had no intention of letting her go far.

“It’s all right. You have every right to cry, to try to get away from that nightmare.” When she didn’t speak, only gave a little moan, he was the next one to shift. Releasing her, he pushed up to sit against the headboard, tugging her up as well. “Talk to me.”

What was she supposed to say? That unlike him and his family, she wasn’t brave? That while she had shed an ocean of tears while being held captive, she’d not fought… not even the tiniest amount? That all it had taken was witnessing what happened to one of the women… to see her being dragged from the room, to hear her screams and then her begging, to know that she wouldn’t dare make a move against any one of the men, or even the woman who were constantly in and out of their room. Where she’d been able to push the memory away once he’d lain down beside her, held her, now that he was looking down at her, his eyes concerned, she wondered how his expression would change when he discovered that she was a coward.

“I-I didn’t fight,” she said. “I was too scared.” Her confession had the tears he thought he’d heard welling in her eyes. “I should have. I just-just let them do whatever. I’m nothing but a coward.”

“Bullshit,” he said instantly, pulling her to sit not beside him, but on his lap. “You were a survivor, Zoya. Any woman taken would be terrified… hell, most men would have been as well.”

“Not Sophia, she fought.”

“And did it do any good?” he asked, stroking against her arm. “Did her resistance set her free?”

“No, they took her away and all we could hear was the screaming. It-it was awful and when she finally was brought back, the guard was… was slapping this thick cane against his leg and asking if anyone else had something to say. He said that he’d be glad to show us what happened to bitches who didn’t know their place. Said that if we didn’t want to sell to the-the worst men, the ones who didn’t mind sloppy seconds, then we’d better follow every order given. No one said a word. She was the only one who tried to fight. Maybe if instead of being a coward… maybe if we’d all joined together and tried—”

“You all would have been beaten or worse,” Stryder said, cutting her off. “Zoya, you and the others weren’t the first women stolen from their lives and sold into slavery. Human trafficking has been going on since time began. I promise, you aren’t a coward. You are a survivor. A survivor who will do your fighting with your art, with sharing your memories of what happened with us even though all you want to do is forget.”

She remained silent for several minutes, her mind churning as she tried to accept his words. Could what she drew, what she shared, really help bring down Poplov? If what Stryder said was true, the man had to be not only evil, but had the ability to find other men just as evil. There had been women from many nationalities in that room with her, so Poplov apparently didn’t even worry about authorities from other countries. Anyone who could steal and then sell a human being without worry of being arrested was someone who had power. Sitting a bit straighter, she turned her eyes back to his and made her decision. No matter what he said, she knew she’d never be all right, not completely, if she didn’t do everything she could. She’d never be a coward again.

“I won’t forget—not until that man and the others are in prison—or better, dead. I will not forget until the women he took are free.” She paused, his arms tightening around her, giving her the strength to say, “You must promise me something.”

“I have already promised that we’ll get him—”

“No, not that,” she interrupted. “Promise me that if I start to falter, if I try to forget, to run… you won’t let me. If you do, then no matter what happens to me, I will never be truly all right. Will you promise me that?”

The fact that he didn’t instantly agree didn’t upset her. She hadn’t spent that much time with this man and yet had already learned that he didn’t tend to give false promises or issue useless platitudes. He took his time to consider, and when he did speak, she knew that he meant what he said.

“I promise,” he finally said, giving a nod of his head. “But you must promise me something as well.”

“Whatever it is, I promise,” she said, not taking even a moment to consider.

He grinned and she was a bit startled when she felt the hand that had been stroking her arm move to pat against her ass. “Just know that my methods of making sure you keep your promise to yourself might not be the ones you are expecting.”

“What… what do you mean?” The press of his fingers against her rear instantly brought forth the memory of the startling swat he’d given her before dinner. Her slight wiggle did nothing but have his fingers closing to give her flesh a squeeze and her to give a little gasp.

“I think you know,” he said, his eyebrow quirking and her heart skipping a beat when it did. “I’m not one to waste a lot of time on dialogue. I believe the quickest way to remind you will be my hand against your ass… your bare ass.” She gasped, and she felt her cheeks heat again and yet he simply grinned, removed his hand from her buttock and gave her a hug. “Not only the quickest, but the most efficient as well. Still wanna make that promise?”

“Ye…” she began, the word incomplete until she cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes, yes, I promise.”

“Good.” When his head bent, she lifted her face, and when his lips touched hers, she felt as if the room tilted upside down. Before she could consider what his kiss might mean, he’d pulled back, leaving her feeling… alone, yet he was still holding her. “All right now?” he asked.

She could only nod, her ability to speak gone, though she definitely wanted to protest when he slid her from his lap. As he settled her to lie down, curling up—behind her this time—her bottom nestled in the warmth of his crotch, she felt another wave of heat rush through her. She’d thought the kiss had only affected her and yet, she could feel the hard length of him against the crack of her bottom. Thoughts raced through her head. He was aroused and he was her… owner… her Master… and yet, once again, he was not taking advantage of either of those facts. His arms held her, she could feel his warm breath against her neck. She didn’t know what to do, what to say except to voice the question that pulled at her heart.

“Stryder?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you… um, sleep with all your saves?” He didn’t answer for a moment, and she could have kicked herself for asking such a rude question. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business. I-I’m just glad you are with me—that’s all.”

“I’m glad as well,” he said. “Get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.” He gave a low chuckle and a tighter squeeze. “Unless, of course, you’re anxious to see what happens when I need to remind you of that promise.”

Not truly surprised to feel her bottom clench, she was surprised to feel her pussy spasm. She should not feel this way, should not have to fight the almost irrepressible desire to turn in his arms and ask him to make love to her. Yet, that was exactly what she had to do. She wasn’t one to initiate anything, not one to take charge. And she knew in her heart of hearts that if she did… and if he refused her, she would somehow break. It wouldn’t be fair to the women she so desperately wanted to help, nor would it be fair to him. Yes, he’d saved her. Yes, he owned her. Yes, she was positive she’d felt his erection. But… and that was the important word… but, he hadn’t done more than press his lips to hers gently, not in any way demanding, but to offer comfort to a woman he’d thought was sniffling in tears, not knowing she’d been inhaling his very essence. A woman he’d thought was slapping her captors—not knowing she been absently stroking his chest, wishing she could touch his bare flesh.

“Good night, Zoya,” he said, his voice sounding sleepy.

“Good night,” she whispered, adding the word Master in her mind as she closed her eyes.

When she opened her eyes again, it was to find sunlight streaming through the window. Closing them, she didn’t need to roll over to know that the bed contained only her. So, he’d left sometime during the night once assured she was asleep. It was her first time being in this room, but Adira had also used the room before she married Maddox. She’d told her that this beautiful room, tucked away beneath the stairs to give it a sense of security, was considered the “save’s guest room” which meant that many different women had spent time in the room… in this bed. Though Stryder had never answered her question, she knew it had been to save her any embarrassment at hearing his answer that what he’d done was simply checking another box on his “keep the save calm” list.

What did you expect? For him to stay all night? To keep his arms around you? Sure, being his “save” might be the words he uses, but the reality is that you are nothing more than his “duty.” Not wishing to listen to that voice in her head, she opened her eyes, pushed back the covers and sat up, only to squeal and yank them up to her chin.

“Whoa, it’s all right. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Stryder said, rising from the chair he’d originally attempted to sleep in the night before.

Feeling foolish, she shook her head. “You didn’t… I mean, not really. Did you sleep there after all?”

“No,” he said with a chuckle. “I tend to wake up early and didn’t want to disturb you. I’ve been reading.” As if to prove his claim, he placed the book in his hand on the small table beside the chair.

“You… you stayed all night?”

“Didn’t I tell you I was going to?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“No buts. If you haven’t learned by now, I’ll repeat it. I don’t say things I don’t mean.” The silence hung for a moment until she managed to nod. “I’m sure Jennie has coffee ready. Why don’t you get dressed and meet me in the kitchen?”

“All right,” she said, pushing down the covers again, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“Good, I’ll have a cup waiting for you.”

He didn’t wait for her to speak, simply left the room. After showering and pulling a comb through her hair, she pulled on the same jeans she’d worn the day before, pairing it with a soft yellow t-shirt she’d found in the dresser. During their tour, Adira had assured her that all the clothing in the closet and dresser had been purchased for her use. It was another sign that this family was not only accustomed to having guests, they were well prepared. Tying her shoelaces, Zoya stood and quickly made the bed, then left to join the Steeles, smiling as she realized she wasn’t anywhere near as nervous as she’d been the night before. She also wondered what sort of repast Jennie had prepared. The woman’s “meatloaf” meal had had benefits other than those she’d explained to the brothers. The entire scene had served to keep Zoya from feeling anxious, allowed her to laugh, allowed her to feel not as much as the stranger she was, but part of the group. She’d been a bit scared about meeting Jennie and yet felt as if the woman were not only the most loved member of the Steele family, but was also a woman who had understood exactly how Zoya felt.

Entering the kitchen, she was greeted with smiles from Adira and Jennie who were both busy with breakfast preparations. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?” Adira asked.

Zoya hesitated for an instant at Adira’s question, wondering if she knew that Stryder had slept with her. “Um, good morning. I slept fine, thank you.”

“I’m glad,” Adira said from where she was standing at the stove. “I remember how scared I was my first night. Tea?”

Seeing her lift a tea kettle into the air, Zoya nodded. “Yes, thank you. I’m not much of a coffee drinker.”

“Me either, I much prefer tea.” Before she knew it, she was sitting at the table again, a steaming mug of tea in front of her.

“I should have remembered that,” Stryder said, sipping from a huge mug of coffee. “I suppose people on this side of the ocean are coffee snobs.”

Zoya grinned. “Or you only drink tea iced… with BBQ.”

His eyes widened and his hand went to his chest. “Shh, not so loud. I’m hoping Jennie has forgotten…”

“Silly boy,” Jennie said, bringing a large bowl to the table. “Have you known me to forget anything, especially when it comes to the health and welfare of my boys?”

“No, ma’am,” Stryder said, his eyes going to the bowl. “Um, what’s that?”

“This?” Jennie asked, glancing down into the bowl. “Oh, you know how much I hate to waste food, and you and Anson didn’t get to finish all that delicious, nutritious meatloaf before you jumped up…”

Zoya wondered if she’d be attempting to not laugh at every meal as she heard a groan and watched Stryder’s face turn a bit gray. “Please, I’m begging you. Have mercy on a poor man…”

Jennie’s laugh had Zoya biting her tongue as the older woman shook her head. “You know, for a man who is supposed to be tough, you can be such a wuss.”

“Stop teasing him,” Adira scolded lightly as she brought over a plate piled high with pancakes.

“You’re no fun,” Jennie said, putting the bowl down to reveal the contents which turned out to be a fresh fruit salad before she turned to return to the stove.

“Thank you, Jesus,” Stryder said, reaching for the pancakes.

“I’d be thanking Maddox if I were you,” Adira said.

“Maddox? What does he have to do with anything?”

“While I was giving Zoya a tour, he volunteered to help Jennie with clean-up. Before she could stop him, he’d accidentally scraped the contents of that pot into the garbage.”

“Humph,” Stryder said, placing three of the huge pancakes on his plate. “As I recall, he was also the one rubbing it in that Anson and I got caught, so…”

“I could always scrape it right back out again.” Zoya looked up to see Maddox striding into the room. “Morning, babe,” he said, bending to give Adira a kiss before pulling out a chair for her.

“No need,” Stryder said. “I owe you one. Thanks, bro.”

Drake and Anson soon joined them and the conversation turned to the plans for the day. Though the discussion had her stomach twisting a bit, Zoya managed to eat a small serving of the fruit. When Stryder slapped a pancake onto her plate, she’d protested but he’d quirked that damn eyebrow and silently reminded her that she’d promised to help and would need fuel in order to concentrate.

Nibbling on a small piece, she wondered if he were going to be constantly referencing her recent promise. When he’d tapped the edge of her plate, she tore off another piece and figured that he most certainly would. Once every pancake that was on the second plate Jennie provided had disappeared, Zoya knew it was time to forget jokes and go to work as chairs scraped against the floor and the men rose. “Relax, you’ll do fine,” Adira reassured softly.

Nodding, Zoya rose and thanked Jennie for the meal, surprised yet pleased when the woman gave her a hug. “Don’t you fret. If it becomes too much, you just tell Stryder. He’ll take care of you.”

It was a reassurance she didn’t really need, but one she was grateful for anyway. When Stryder held out his hand, she took it, allowing him to lead her into what Adira had told her was the office. She was surprised to see a portion of the bookcase had opened to reveal a doorway. It wasn’t until she was a few steps from the door that she realized the wood paneling had become stone. “Where are we?” she asked softly.

“In the tunnel,” Stryder said, looking down at her. “Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe.”

As they continued walking, Zoya took in her surroundings with awe. “This goes into the mountain?”

“Actually, it’s part of the mountain,” Stryder said. “There are natural caverns that we’ve turned into rooms.”

Zoya found it not only unusual but incredibly beautiful. Stones surrounded them, some shimmering with what she realized were crystals. “No wonder it took you years to build this house. I can’t even imagine what amount of work was needed. It’s truly amazing.” When they turned into a room, she gasped. “Oh, my.”

Stryder chuckled. “Yeah, it’s pretty impressive isn’t it. Welcome to what we lovingly refer to as our operations center.”

Zoya glanced up at him to see that he was looking, not at the natural cavern but at the banks of equipment. Shaking her head, she said, “I was talking about those.” Her finger pointed to columns hanging from the ceiling.

“Oh.” Stryder chuckled, having the grace to look at least a bit chagrined. “Sorry. I know the stalactites and stalagmites are pretty amazing, but I guess I’m just used to seeing them daily.”

“I don’t think I’d ever become accustomed to them,” Zoya said, looking up again. “But, I know we’re here to work, not sight see.”

With a gentle guide of his palm against her lower back, he led her to a round conference table. Slipping into the chair he pulled away, she saw that the purchases they’d made at Wal-Mart the day before awaited her. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the drawing pad and the charcoal pencil. Flipping the cover of the pad, she closed her eyes a moment at the sight of the first blank sheet of parchment.

“Hey, just relax.” Stryder’s voice had her eyes opening to find he’d squatted down by her chair. “Just take your time and do the best you can. No pressure.”

“I’m fine,” she said softly. “Just picturing the… the subject.”

He nodded, reaching to pat her hand before rising. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“I will.” She watched as he walked the short distance to drop into a chair in front of a bank of computer monitors where Anson was already seated. They began to talk softly as she turned her attention back to the pad. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes for a few more moments, steeling herself for the feelings that she knew would threaten to consume her. Don’t. They can only frighten you if you let them. You are safe. Prove you aren’t that coward. It’s time to turn the tables and get the sons of bitches before they could terrorize another woman. Opening her eyes, she began to draw, the amazing room, the brothers’ soft voices, the hum of the machines disappearing as she poured every ounce of her concentration into creating the portraits that would help begin to bring down Poplov’s empire.

With every stroke of her charcoal pencil, a face began to emerge. Curves became eyes, arcs formed eyebrows and lines formed a jaw. Without conscious thought, she opened the tin of colored pencils, using a combination, she added color to the skin, the hair that was slightly too long. It was as if she were back in that club… too far gone with the drugs slipped into her drink to fully understand that life as she’d known it was over. But the moment she picked up the dark blue pencil, applying the color and using another of lighter blue, blending the two hues together, the shudder of fear that ran down her spine told her that she’d gotten this one exactly right. Not only could she do this… she had to do this. Flipping the page, she began the next drawing, ignoring Katarina who had stood between the two men… for the moment at least. Time disappeared, the point of her pencil growing a bit dull, the charcoal transferring from her fingertips to her cheek, her throat, her forehead as she unconsciously lifted a finger to rub at her temple or massage her neck. The two men from the club completed, she put the finishing touches on the portrait of the woman she’d been foolish enough to consider a friend. Needing to get that face out of her head, she flipped a page and began to draw again. This was the one that broke her. It wasn’t Poplov or any of his employees, or even one of the monsters who had stood in that room, willing to part with obscene amounts of money in order to own, to use, to abuse another human being. When she saw the depth of the pain she’d drawn into the eyes of the woman, she stood, pushed the pad aside, threw the pencil to the floor and tore from the room.

“Zoya!”

Ignoring Stryder’s call, she raced back the way she’d come, bursting over the threshold into the office, continuing through the house. Her heart was racing, her feet pounding over the floors, her vision blurry with tears. The voice in her head screaming at her to get out, to run, drowned out the sound of Stryder calling to her. She gave a strangled cry when she had to slow in order to open the front door, but once through, she flew down the steps, her tennis shoes pounding the dirt as she ran… ran as if the very hounds of hell were on her heels.

They’d driven over a rise to reach the house, but as she was going the opposite direction, the slope had her practically flying. Any thought that attempted to grab her attention was shoved away. She didn’t want to think—to feel—all she wanted was to run and so she did. It wasn’t until a sound she’d never link with that of anything from that nightmare reached her that she even turned her head. What she saw had her stumble and almost fall, her arms windmilling until she regained her balance. When the sound repeated, she was shocked to realize she felt no fear. She continued to place one foot in front of the other, eating up yard after yard but no longer running alone. A colt, solid black except for white “socks” on each of his legs, ran beside her on the opposite side of the fence. He would toss his head and give a repeat of the whinny that had first pulled her attention away from the memory that she had fled from… the eyes she’d drawn, eyes that belonged to a woman who hadn’t been as lucky as she. As she began to slow, the colt keeping pace right beside her, she began to sob.

“I’m sorry, Natalia… God, I’m so sorry.”

The next time she stumbled, she fell to her hands and knees, her head hanging as she struggled to breathe through the sobs that were tearing through her chest. The colt pulled up, his head hanging over the fence, dark soulful eyes on her as he gave another soft whinny.