She’d been snatched by a psychopath.

Nora heard the front door open, heard his booted steps cross the living room and get closer to her, but she remained where she stood. In the doorway to his kill room.

That was the correct term, right? The room used to torture and kill victims of serial killers. Yes, that’s what she was staring at.

“Shit. Nora.” His hand clamped down hard on her shoulder and yanked her out of the way, so he could pull the door shut. “You shouldn’t have gone in there.”

But she did. And now he’d kill her.

“I’m sorry for bothering you at all.” She backed away from him, but that meant heading deeper into the apartment and farther away from the only exit she knew.

“Nora. Calm down.” He crept closer to her, his hands displayed in front of him like he was trying to tame a wild animal.

“I want to leave.” Her back bumped into a closed door, or was it a wall; she had no bearings on where she was anymore.

“Where will you go?” he asked, dropping his hands to his sides.

She glanced over his shoulder to the opening leading to the living room.

“Home. I’ll go home.”

“And what about Antonio? The Santinelli brothers? You think that’s all over with?” His calm voice should have soothed her, but it only underlined the trouble she was in. Going home wasn’t an option, staying with him wasn’t a good idea either.

“I didn’t see anything. I mean nothing I’ll talk about. The brothers won’t hurt me. They don’t hurt civilians,” she said, fumbling for a door knob behind her.

“You witnessed them killing someone, Nora. They don’t let you just walk to the police station after that.” His eyes were focused on her. Steady and resolved.

“Then I won’t go to the police. I already told you I don’t want that. I’ll just pack a few things and head out of the city for a few days. It will be fine.” Fuck. Even as she said the words she knew it wouldn’t work. She knew how the brothers and the family handled shit like this. It’s why she was working at that the damn flower shop in the first place.

“Nora.” He straightened his back, rolled his shoulders, and set a stern expression on her. “I’m not going to hurt you. That room you were looking at isn’t meant for torture. It’s my playroom. And I get that means nothing to you, and I’m asking for a lot of trust when you don’t know me, but I need you to try.”

Playroom?

“You had a cage in there. Chains, and I saw a whip.” She knew she was sputtering, but given the events of the day, she thought she was taking things in great stride.

The corners of his lips twitched upward, like he was going to smile. Of course, a madman would be pleased with his playground toys.

“It’s not what you think, Nora. It’s a playroom. Only women who agree to go in and play do. You don’t have to go in there.” He sounded sincere; his eyes had an honest twinkle to them.

“Just let me go. Thank you for getting me away from the flower shop, but I can take it from here.” She straightened herself up and thrust out her chin; if she could only get her eyes to meet his she might be able to pull off the confident look she was going for.

He let out a long sigh. “I know you think you’ll be safe, but I know guys like the Santinelli brothers. You’re a loose end, and they don’t like those.”

She licked her lips and forced a smile. “You know the way those families work? You’re in one maybe?”

“I’ve been around enough shit to know guys like them don’t just walk away if they feel threatened.”

“You a cop?” she asked, sudden panic building in her chest.

“No. Nothing like that. I was military. Just got home a few months ago. But I’ve seen bad guys, Nora. These are bad guys, and until I can get someone over here to take you somewhere safe, I’d rather you stuck with me.”

Someone else? He was going to just hand her over to someone else? This entire situation escalated beyond reasonable. He was a fucking customer at the flower shop. Antonio was dead—killed right in front of her—and the Santinelli brothers wanted her head.

Remaining silent, and no longer all that concerned about his playroom, she pushed past him and found the couch to sink into. She needed to come up with a plan.

Her father had warned her to always have a backup plan. Never assume the first route will get you where you want to go. She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled.

She could hear him pacing the room, but at least he wasn’t talking.

“Did you really come into the shop today for carnations?” she asked, staring at the floor beneath her feet.

“Yes.” Firm and to the point. Good.

“You don’t know the Santinelli brothers or Antonio?” she continued.

“No. Other than reading their name in the news, never heard of them.”

The news. The extortion investigation. She cursed under her breath. Everything had gone to shit in such a quick amount of time.

“Okay. I need to make a call.” She didn’t see any other way.

“Who are you going to call?” he asked.

She stood up from the couch and put out her hand. “My phone’s in my purse back at the shop. I need to use yours.” A distinct calm came over her once a decision had been made.

“Nora. Who are you going to call?” he asked again, in a firmer tone. She found herself gazing up at him, and her body responding to the sternness in his voice, but she shook it off. The entire day made her too tired.

“Look. I don’t care about your playroom. If you like spanking and tying up women, or men, I don’t really give a fuck. But I do need to make a call and since I don’t have my phone I need yours.”

With her own voice coming in loud and clear now, the steel back in her spine, he stared down at her.

“The playroom didn’t scare you.” It might have been a question, but it came out more like an accusation. One that she wouldn’t confirm or deny. She’d seen plenty of shit online. Some of her fantasies ran outside the normal roses and sonnet romances.

She never fully understood the whole spanking thing, or domination stuff, but whatever got people’s rocks off was their thing—not her business. His playroom had spooked her at first, she wouldn’t lie to herself about that. But once it registered as a playroom and not the room of a psychopath killer, it didn’t concern her. Whatever he did with his girlfriends was between him and them.

“No. It didn’t. Very good.” She threw in a wink. She’d hoped the fear she’d portrayed at finding the room would make him let her go, but he really did seem to want to play hero in her story.

She didn’t need one of those.

“Your phone.” She jiggled her hand, expecting his cell to drop into it at any second.

Soft knocking on the door grabbed her attention.

“Don’t move.” He jerked his finger at her. Where the hell would she go?

When he opened the door, the same woman who greeted them downstairs rushed inside, quietly took the door from Greg, and pressed it closed.

“Aubree? What’s wrong?” Greg’s voice immediately softened, and he leaned over toward her, like he was ready to protect her at a moment’s notice.

“Blake’s downstairs with two police officers. They said your car was spotted leaving a crime scene with a girl, an Elenora. Is that you?” she asked Nora.

The tingling in Nora’s spine shot up through her. She’d said no cops.

“Did you call the cops when I told you not to?” Nora demanded of Greg. He settled a glare on her and shook his head.

“I asked my brother to get me in touch with a safe person to talk with,” he said, his hard tone returning for her benefit.

“Blake hasn’t called anyone. That’s what I’m telling you.” Aubree waved her hands. “I don’t know what’s going on, but they know she’s with you, Greg.”

Greg cursed at the same time Nora let out a string of her own expletives.

“Okay.” Greg’s voice softened again when he spoke to Aubree.

Did he have a thing for her?

“Here’s what we’re going to do. You go back down and just say I’m not here. I’ll get us out of here through the fire escape and get somewhere safe. Did they check out back yet? Did they see my car?”

“I don’t know. They came in through the front. Your car’s registered here,” Aubree said.

“Look, if you’ll just let me make a damn phone call I’ll be out of all of your hair,” Nora spoke up. Decisions being made for her weren’t her cup of tea, especially when they were made by people she didn’t even fucking know!

“That sounds familiar,” Aubree muttered.

“Don’t go there.” Greg shook his head at Aubree, then turned his tense expression on Nora. “Once we’re out of here, you can tell me who you’re calling and why, then we’ll figure out—”

“Oh, fuck this.” Enough really was enough. She’d played the damsel too long, she really needed to get to a safe spot and call Bernie.

“Aubree, go on back downstairs, and I’ll get Nora somewhere safe.” Greg focused on coming up with a plan that might work for a little while, but Nora needed more than that. She needed to get a hold of Bernie and get out of this mess altogether.

Bernie would know what to do, he’d be able to get her out and to a safe location.

Nora walked over to the large windows overlooking the alley and peeked out. Yep, just like she figured. She threw open the window and wiggled her way out onto the fire escape. The blast from the instant heat she stepped into took her breath away for a moment, but she quickly regrouped and found the ladder.

“What the hell are you doing?” Greg hissed from the window. Half his body was already outside, but she wouldn’t let it deter her.

“Look. Thanks for your help, but I’m good. I don’t need your protection. I have this all covered.” The wrought-iron ladder burned against her palms, but she managed to lower it without making too much noise.

“If you think for one second I’m letting you—dammit. Nora!”

She laughed at the incredulous undertone he used. He really expected her to just stay because he said so. Well, she didn’t play that game.

Climbing down the ladder, she was careful to keep her steps as silent as her shoes would allow. Thankfully, she’d opted not go to work in sandals and had worn her skater shoes. Not much of a cushion in the sole, but it made climbing down the ladder easier than her sandals would have.

As she hopped off the last rung, she noticed the jarring of the rig. Looking up, she found Greg clamoring down after her.

“I don’t—” Before she could finish her sentence he jumped off, skipping the last five steps, and landed in front of her with a prepared glare.

“You are working my last nerve.” He grabbed her arm. “I’m not chasing you again, get in the car. And then you can tell me what the fuck is really going on.”

She tried to pull free, but she could see through the window of the back door into the bar that the two cops Aubree had warned them about were still talking to—she assumed—Blake. But they were casting glances down the hall.

“Fine.” She gritted her teeth. At the very least she could use a ride until she could get a hold of Bernie.

And then she’d get away from Greg, hide away from the Santinelli brothers, and figure out what the hell to do next.