“Are you sure you won’t consider another date? The clients loved your routine.” Keke, the manager of Maison’s pleads while glancing at me with large chocolate eyes. “Our agreed rate isn’t set in stone. I have a little leeway. If you agree to increase the length of your performance, I’ll increase the purse.”

Even if I didn’t already have my bags packed, I wouldn’t accept her offer. Jet was right. The clients at Maison’s weren’t as welcoming of my clothed form as the ones at Vipers. Their requests for me to remove my outfit were louder than the applause that followed my thirty minute performance.

Thankfully, Maison’s security personnel didn’t hesitate to throw out offending members. Even one client whose suit was worth more than I’ll make in a year got thrown out after he attempted to slip a hundred dollar bill into my boyleg panties instead of on the stage.

I shouldn’t be shocked by their rudeness. I’ve never met anyone who has both money and integrity.

Keke coughs, wordlessly demanding my focus. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m leaving town first thing tomorrow.”

Keke looks as heartbroken as Ryan did when I fled his car last night. God, I really fucked things up coming back here. After years of hiding, I grew weary. I thought I’d be safe here. I was wrong. I just wish I had realized that before Ryan spotted me. He doesn’t deserve to be treated how I am going to treat him. I wish I could tell him my plans to leave, but I can’t, as he’ll try and coerce me into staying. That will make matters worse for both of us. That isn’t an assumption. It is a fact.

“Okay, well, my offers stands if you’re ever back this way,” Keke informs me, standing from her large leather chair.

The weight my chest has been carrying the past sixteen hours eases a little when she hands me the three thousand dollars we negotiated weeks ago. It won’t get me the car I was hoping for, but it will give me my umpteenth fresh start the past four years.

“Thanks for agreeing to cash. I don’t have the means to cash a check.” I bop down to stash my lifeline into my gym bag.

Keke smiles, seemingly well-rehearsed on cash-only transactions.

“Molten will see you out,” she advises, nudging her head to a large Maui man standing guard in the corner of her office. “With the clients being extra rowdy tonight, make sure she gets to her car untouched.” Her demand is for Molten, not me.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replies, dipping his chin. “This way.” He gestures to the only door in the room.

I gather my gym bag off the floor before shadowing him to the door. We’ve barely crossed the threshold when shouted demands to get down rumble into Maison’s eighteen-room establishment. Men in riot gear storm into the main arena from all directions. They have assault rifles strapped to their chests and batons in their hands.

I watch the scene unfold like a horrifying action flick. Half-dressed men and women dash for viable exits, their ability to flee thwarted at every turn. There are more FBI agents than there are civilians.

I jump out of my skin when a roared, “Get on the ground,” shatters my eardrums. A man with a face shield and angry snarl stops in front of me. “Get on the ground before I place you there myself.”

“I. . . uh. . .I’m not a. . .prostitute? I was just here performing,” I stammer out, my nerves at an all-time high.

“Yeah, yeah, sweetheart. We’ve heard it all before.”

My cheek connects harshly with the polished wooden floor when he seizes my shoulder in a firm grip to drop me to the ground. His movements are so agile, I don’t have a chance to protest.

“Please, this isn’t what it seems. I’m not here illegally,” I plead as he zip-ties my hands behind my back.

After ensuring I’m adequately contained, he rolls me onto my back before digging his hands into the pockets of my shorts. A copy of the receipt I handed Pete earlier today when I resigned from Vipers falls onto the polished floor along with a dozen quarters I had planned to use for laundry last night.

Happy I’m missing any damning evidence, the agent rolls me back onto my stomach. My heart launches into my throat when my eyes scan the surroundings. The main foyer of Maison’s is covered with men and women of all shapes and sizes. They are bound with zip ties like me and also being extensively searched.

I stop peering at Keke’s apologetic face when the man arresting me drops a bundle of hundred dollar bills in front of my nose. “Not a prostitute, hey. You just carry around that much cash for fun.” Although you could assume he is asking questions, his tone doesn’t convey that.

Before I can deny his assumption, he crouches down in front of me, snags my index finger, then presses it onto a cool, smooth surface.

“What are you doing?” I ask, panicked.

“You don’t have any ID, so I’m scanning your fingerprint through our database,” he answers, not the least bit deterred by the worry in my tone.

“You’re what?!” The hammering of my heart chops up my words.

He positions a small handheld device into my line of sight. It is flicking through numerous matches, searching for me in a country-wide database.

Oh god. This is going to end badly.

Realizing a bullet is the least of my problems right now, I somehow rise to my feet and charge for the Balinese door I entered an hour ago. My pace is so out of control, I’m halfway out of Maison’s before the officer realizes I am fleeing. Not even my three inch heels can slow me down.

“Stop!” several voices shout before they follow it with a warning shot.

“No. No. Please, you have to let me go,” I scream at the top of my lungs when I’m wrestled to the ground. “If he finds me, he will kill me. Please, I’m begging you, please let me go.”

The pain of a man double my size kneeling on my back fails to register when I spot a pair of ocean blue eyes across the room. Ryan is standing next to a man with a hard-lined face and blond hair. He is wearing the same riot gear as the officers surrounding me, but he is missing the face mask and FBI credentials on his chest.

Just as my arresting officer arches my legs to bind my ankles and wrists together, Ryan spots me. His face whitens as his eyes widen. With a roar, he charges for me. I watch him dart between a dozen officers in slow motion, the pain on his face matching the strain on mine.

“Get off her!” he roars before ramming the officer with his shoulder.

They land on the floor with a thud. Their brutal collision gains them the attention of every officer in the room, but no one offers assistance. They just stare, as shocked as me.

When Ryan’s fists lift from the officer’s ribs to his face, the man he was standing next to drags them apart. Ryan’s anger is so white-hot, it takes several agents to hold him back. I’m confident the tears streaming down my cheeks are amplifying his aggression, but with my hands bound, I can’t clear them.

“Get off me, Alex,” Ryan demands, his eyes locked on the blond at his side.

Alex does as instructed, but places himself between Ryan and the man he just attacked, who is sitting on the floor, cradling his bleeding nose with his hand.

“Outside,” Alex demands, pointing to the door.

When Ryan remains standing proud with his nostrils flaring and fists clenched, Alex yells, “Outside now! Or I’ll not only arrest her, I’ll arrest you for assaulting a federal officer.” He hooks his thumb to me during the middle of his threat.

“Don’t test me, Carter,” Alex warns when he spots Ryan’s determination. “I am not a man you want to fuck with.”

“Take her restraints off first,” Ryan demands, jerking his chin to my hands. “She’s not a. . . “ He licks his cracked lips, unable to articulate a word I don’t want to hear him say. “She’s not one of them,” he settles on, his voice not as confident as I would have liked.

Alex glances into Ryan’s massively dilated eyes for several seconds before he commands for one of his men to cut the zip ties digging into my wrists. I know the look Alex is giving Ryan all too well; it is the same one Ryan gave me when he thought I was deceiving him. Alex doesn’t believe him. He thinks I’m a prostitute.

After the zip ties are cut from my wrists, I warily rise to a half-seated position, cautious of the numerous pair of eyes gawking at me. When my movements are conducted without protest, I stand to my feet.

My hesitant steps to Ryan stop when he locks his furious eyes with mine before curtly shaking his head. I don’t know if he is requesting for me to stay away, or doubting the guarantee he just issued Alex, but whatever it is, it hurts.

“You two outside,” Alex says with his stern eyes bouncing between Ryan and the unknown officer. “Everyone else get back to work.”

The agents continue staring, their love of drama not contained even while on the clock.

The dead silent space morphs into a bustling hive of activity when Alex snarls, “If I am made to repeat myself one more time tonight, I’ll have you all on desk duty by 9 AM tomorrow.”

Agents dart in all directions, taking witness statements and issuing Miranda rights. Happy his minions are following his command to the stringent detail, Alex’s squinted gaze drifts to me. “If you care about his career at all, I suggest you follow me.”

Not giving me a chance to reply, much less request why Ryan’s career is in jeopardy, he shifts on his feet and exits the thrumming environment.

I’m nipping at his heels two seconds later.

Whoever invented the quote “ignorance is bliss” is a moron. My watering eyes haven’t left Ryan’s side since Alex placed me in the back of an unmarked SUV nearly twenty minutes ago. I think I am under arrest, but I’m not one hundred percent certain. If I could settle my panic for just a second, I’d look into the circumstances of my detainment with more diligence. But until I know Ryan is okay, I must wait.

It feels like the moon circles the planet fifty times before Alex and Ryan head in my direction. With Ryan’s strides not as confident as Alex’s, he soon trails behind him. With a nudge of his head, the locks on the SUV pop up. When Alex opens the back passenger door, I hesitantly climb out.

“You’re free to go,” Alex advises, his tone low and brimming with anger.

“Me?” I ask, touching my chest. There isn’t any one within a hundred feet of us, but I’m still certain I heard him wrong.

Not appreciative of my ditziness, air whizzes out of Alex’s nostrils before his eyes drift to Ryan. “Good luck with that one.”

The anger lining Ryan’s face deepens when Alex nudges his head at me during the “that” part of his comment.

“One time only deal, Carter. This will never happen again,” Alex advises as he returns to the injured man glowering at me.

When they enter Maison’s, I shift my eyes to Ryan. “I wasn’t—”

“Just don’t, Savannah. Just fucking don’t,” he replies, his words as dangerous as quicksand.

I bite on the inside of my cheek, praying the pain will stop my tears from falling. His tone reveals he isn’t just disappointed in me, he’s embarrassed. That hurts more than anything.

Not wanting him to see the moisture welling in my eyes, I stay a few feet behind him when we walk to his unmarked patrol car parked half a block down. The sky rumbles above my head, but not a drop of rain falls. My ass was saved more times than I can count tonight, so clearly all my luck has dried up.

Unlike the past week, Ryan doesn’t open my door for me. He just violently throws open his own door before sliding into the driver’s seat. Even with my heart sitting in my throat, I mimic his movements. Every penny I have is now in possession of the FBI, so I have no other means of getting home.

With Maison’s being situated on the swanky side of town, the drive to my apartment building is painstakingly long. Even Ryan’s love of the gas pedal doesn’t make it shorter.

“I was just performing,” I mutter under my breath when the tension grows too thick to ignore. “I’m not a prostitute.”

“Goddamn it, Savannah. Will you just cut the bullshit?!” Ryan screams, slamming his hand on the steering wheel during his last sentence. “I nearly lost my job because of you—my fucking freedom. And for what? For you to give me the same excuse you gave every other man in that. . . that. . . brothel tonight? They all looked at me like I was an idiot. That I’m so blinded by you I can’t see the glaringly obvious right in front of me. They already think you’re a stripper, and now. . .Fuck. . . Now they think I shelled out money for last night.”

I try to reply, but I can’t. I don’t care what his work colleagues think of me. Ryan arrived at Vipers with his partner in tow. If he was truly worried about their opinions, he wouldn’t have done that. I’m just shocked at the first half of his outburst. I did give him the same excuse I’ve been issuing all night. I didn’t alter it at all. I’m treating him as if he is like every other man I’ve met. But he isn’t. Not in the slightest.

“Tell me what to say? I’ll say anything you need to hear.” My words are choked by a sob sitting in the back of my throat, dying to be released. I hate the way he is looking at me now—like he can’t stand the sight of me.

Ryan’s chest puffs high before he releases the exasperated breath he’s holding. “How about the truth, Savannah? Do you even know what that is anymore?”

The sneer in his tone cuts me to pieces, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “I understand you’re upset, but you don’t need to be mean.”

“I’m not being mean. I’m being honest. I don’t care what you say, or how you say it, there is no way your dad would approve of this, Savannah. He’d be as disappointed in you as I am.”

My hands dart up to my chest, certain I’ve been mortally wounded. Although my hands come up free of blood, the inside of Ryan’s car looks like a massacre. The pain in Ryan’s eyes. . . God. It is ripping my heart into a million pieces. I’ve only experienced this type of heartache once before. It was when my father took his final breath.

Ryan’s foot slips off the gas pedal when I mumble, “I’m not meaning to hurt you, Ryan. I’m just trying to protect my little girl from a monster as violent as your father.”