It was amazing how time seemed both infinitely endless, yet profoundly inapt when time itself was of the essence. Watched, the hands on my watch refused to move, but the moment I take my eyes off the piece, a full twenty minutes had passed. The knowledge that my time was running out amused me to no end, especially given that Kieran was under the impression that he could bluff his way into getting what he wanted. It would certainly be the highlight of my year to see his face when the time ended and he was still no closer to getting his Gabby back. If I had any say at all, he would never get her again. Let him live the rest of his life wondering what became of her, if he would ever find her.

But the first order of business was to pull Gabrielle from that doll factory and put her somewhere secluded, somewhere no human on earth could find her. All that ridiculous talk about freedom and respect had greatly soured my notions of Rutherford’s abilities as a trainer. He clearly had no concept of what was required to properly break a woman. I had no patience for men like that, nor would I give them my money, and for what? I wanted Gabrielle shattered. I wanted her will completely eradicated. I wanted her listless, obedient, terrified. What did I care if she enjoyed it? That was useless to me.

No, I would need to find someone else, someone better. If not, I would do it myself. Once she was completely mine, I would have an endless supply of time to dedicate on her, to mold her properly.

I arrived at the warehouse and parked at the back, just like we’d been instructed to when visiting our ... dolls. I understood the importance of secrecy, but I disliked being made to wait outside the door until someone verified my identity.

There was nothing remarkable about the back parking area, a square patch of gravel that led up to a single, metal door stamped into an equally boring, metal wall. A dome above the frame blinked, its cold, plastic lens shuttering once in focus.

“Welcome to the Doll Factory,” came the cool, feminine greeting from the box built into the wall. “Can I get your member ID number, please?”

“Thornton, David, member ID echo-alpha-tango 1748.”

A moment passed, whole seconds where I wondered if she was too stupid to find my name in her system. My impatience with incompetence extended up the back of my neck, burning the skin until it prickled. I had half a mind to tell her to get her boss when the latch gave with an audible buzz.

I snatched at the lever and wrenched it down. The door opened and I marched inside.

The backdoor opened into a narrow strip of corridor with a short alcove cut into the left side and a metal door that led down into the meeting place. That was where Gabrielle was. I remembered it from my initial tour. The bottom let out in a short entrance, then another door, then the girls. Normally, the corridor was empty, a measure of privacy, I assumed, but Rutherford himself was on the other side, waiting for me.

“Mr. Thornton.” He offered me a slight inclination of his head. “Welcome back.”

I wondered if that was typical behavior, but given how much money I’d already given them, being greeted at the door could have been expected.

“Mr. Rutherford.” I accepted the hand he offered in a brisk shake. “I’ve come to see Gabrielle.”

“Of course,” he replied as if that made perfect sense. “She’s quite spirited.”

I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I was done standing around.

“But first,” he stepped sideways with me when I started for the door, blocking my path. “If I could have a moment of your time.”

If he wanted more money, I would draw the line, especially considering I had every intention of pulling Gabrielle from that place. If anything, he owed me a refund.

Nevertheless, I motioned him to continue.

“In my office, if you will.”

Not waiting for me to agree or refuse, he turned on his heels and marched further down the hall.

I knew it ended with a reception’s desk and waiting area where newcomers arrived through the front, but there was also another set of stairs behind the pert little blonde that went up to Rutherford’s office.

Set up in a loft style layout, the space was open and spacious with rows of windows along two full walls and deep, comfortable seats facing a white desk. The opposite end carried a cozy sitting area facing an unlit fireplace. Behind the desk, a large, black cushion had been tucked into one corner. It was too massive for a single cat, but I hadn’t seen any dogs.

“Please.” Rutherford waved me to one of the chairs, distracting me from staring. He rounded to the other side and claimed the high back chair the same white as the desk. One long, pale hand unbuttoned his blazer. “Thank you for coming. I was just on my way to contact you, so this is perfect timing.”

I claimed the same seat I had just that morning. Being back already did nothing to sooth my annoyance.

“Was there something wrong with the paperwork?” I demanded.

“Not at all.” He rested the tips of four fingers on a folder between us. “No, the paperwork seems perfectly in order.”

I hated playing the fifty questions game.

“Did you need something, Mr. Rutherford?”

“Yes, actually.” His lean frame rested back in his chair. “I have some questions, if you don’t mind.”

The bastard didn’t even attempt to place it as an actual question.

“Can it wait for another time? I would really like to see Gabrielle.”

The hiss of the folder being pulled to him was the only answer I got for that.

“I was looking over the file and I noticed that Gabrielle’s surname is also Thornton.” He didn’t bother opening the folder to confirm, which made me think there was a bigger picture he was painting very slowly. “I originally assumed that perhaps she was your ... wife.” His mouth worked up in the ghost of a smile. “For my own records, I did some research and it turns out, Mr. Thornton, that Gabrielle Thornton isn’t your wife at all. She’s your daughter. Is that correct?”

The question tacked on at the end only served to irritate me. He knew already. Asking was just superficial and ridiculous.

“It’s a very complex and delicate matter,” I began.

“It really isn’t, Mr. Thornton.” His hands lifted and steepled beneath his chin. “Either she is or she isn’t.”

A strange brewing of dread and fury boiled up inside me. It spread across my nerves in a fine layer of sweat.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business. I paid for your services and discretion, and paid you very well. You have no right to ask—”

“But I do. You see,” he tilted his head to one side, “you may have paid for my services, but not for my integrity. That can’t be bought. I run a clean, safe place for those who enjoy something different. Our personal desires may be questioned by the outside world. We may be considered different for the things we enjoy, but those lines do not extend to what you’re asking. We have rules and limits. Children. Animals. Blood relations.”

“She’s not my blood,” I blurted, having come too far to have her to let some technicality stand in my way.

“I see.” His head shifted back to its rightful angle. “If I were to request a copy of her birth certificate, it won’t list you as her father?”

I stilled.

That was one of the many things I’d had to do after the little bitch had been born. To properly claim her as mine, what choice did I have but to give her my name? How else was I supposed to face the world as the lady’s man whose wife opened her legs for someone else? My reputation, the reputation of my family was on the line.

“Bring her to me,” I said instead. “I’m taking Gabrielle out of here.”

The man’s cool, unwavering scrutiny never wavered, not even a flicker in surprise.

“Mr. Thornton.” The folder was flipped open. From within, a slip of paper was unearthed. It was set on the table and pushed to my side, face down. “It’s quite unfortunate that we must see you go.”

I took the paper and turned it over.

It was my check. The one I’d written that morning.

I peered over the top of it to the man still studying me in that eerie blankness.

“Where’s Gabrielle?”

The folder was closed and pinned by the hands he folded on top. “Ms. Thornton will be remaining with us as our guest until we can return her to her proper place. You, Mr. Thornton, are no longer welcome here at the Doll Factory. Your access code will be revoked and your file will remain with us for legal purposes, but otherwise...” He shoved gracefully to his feet, hands moving to work his blazer button back into the hole. “Hanna will show you out downstairs.”

I couldn’t move for several heartbeats. I stared at the man, dumbfounded.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” I blurted at last. “I am David Thornton. If I wanted, I could buy this shoddy little business of yours. I could ruin you.”

The man gave a delicate shrug. “Possibly, but it won’t change the facts. Now, please.”

I pushed up, not because he was telling me to go, but because he seemed to be looming over me, despite the desk between us.

“You will regret this,” I promised with a hiss. “Gabrielle is mine and nothing is going to stop me from having her.”