“Oh, my goodness, I can’t believe Dominick’s going to help us!” Maggie exclaims happily, falling ungracefully to the couch. We’re upstairs at the club, in the private apartment Dominick keeps. I’ve been up here before, mostly on days when Dom’s stayed over himself. It’s a cush place, small but fancier than anything I’ve ever had for damn sure. And it’s not even his real home, just a crash pad.

After reaching our agreement, Dominick ‘offered’ us the protection of the club and the use of the place. It wasn’t so much an offer as a demand. We’re definitely more prisoner than guest, but his protection comes with his rules, so here we are.

I sit down beside her on the couch, pulling her legs into my lap and slipping off her shoes to rub her feet. “He’s helping, but we can’t get too comfortable in this gilded cage. I’m not certain he won’t flip on us. And we still don’t know what he plans to do about Sal.”

Maggie looks thoughtful, smiling as she wiggles her toes for me. “Honestly, I’m not sure I care. All this mob stuff was happening before, right under my nose, and I was oblivious. If I wasn’t in the middle of it this time, I probably still wouldn’t know about this potential threat to the city. Maybe I’d be better off, happier in my blissful ignorance.”

I run my hand along her calf up to her thigh, marveling at the power in her muscles and tracing the fading marks from last night. “Maybe so. But the power structure that directs the city, from politics, to businesses, to the streets, it’s all intertwined, and if things are running smoothly, you don’t notice them.”

“Kinda like the sewer company?” Maggie asks. “As long as the toilets are working right, you never notice them.”

I nod, thinking Maggie’s found a pretty good analogy. “You haven’t noticed things here because Dominick does a damn fine job of keeping himself seamless. If Sal were running things, you’d know the difference. You’d see it on the news, you’d feel it when you walked around your neighborhood. To be a part of the solution, you have to be aware of the problems . . . all of them, even the scary ones.”

Maggie’s eyes bore into me even as she leans back against the couch cushion. “Is that why you do it, why you’re an FBI agent? To be part of the solution?”

My hands still. I’ve known this was coming. We dropped these big bombs of who we are on each other but then had to let the issues lie while we got to safety.

Now that we’ve got the semblance of protection, the tenuous pause on our questions drops away. “Remember how I told you about my dad?”

Maggie’s chin dips as she whispers quietly. “Yeah. Barney Fife, more or less.”

“Well, Barney Fife, who was about the same size as me, but yeah. He’s why I do this. I grew up seeing him help people, sometimes by being a big, powerful guy with a badge, but more often, it was by being an ear to listen to people’s problems and help them find a way out of whatever trouble they were having. When I was a kid, it was normal to come downstairs and find that Dad had taken in a stray overnight . . . sometimes a kid, sometimes a whole family, and a few times, a recently released felon who needed guidance to see the better path available to him. We had a couple of tents that Dad would let them use, or if the weather was bad, he’d let them crash on the porch or even inside in winter. I always knew I wanted to be a police officer like him, to help people.”

“So, how’d you end up in the FBI?”

“I knew I wanted to be more than a street cop,” I reply honestly. “Dad always said that the real criminals were the ones he could never touch, and I thought I could make a difference. So I went to college for criminal justice, and my grades and performance were good enough to catch the attention of the right people. I was given a few scholarships and cranked my way through a four-year degree in three years before reporting straight to Quantico for the FBI Academy. They broke me down and molded me the way they wanted, taught me how to go undercover, that creative problem-solving is an asset, not a rule-bending problem, and so much more. I don’t think my dad fully realized the extent of what I’d gotten into, but he knew I was an agent before he died, and he was proud of me. My mom kinda lives in denial about my job, but she’s proud too. She just can’t handle the constant anxiety when I disappear for long assignments.”

Maggie bites her lip, worry written on her face. “So, when this is all over, what will you do then? Will you leave for another assignment? Leave me behind?”

I pull her into my lap, cupping her face and laying a sweet kiss to the tip of her nose. Leaving no doubt as to the truthfulness of my words as I lay my heart open for her, I look in her eyes, my voice quaking with intensity. “Angel, I honestly don’t know what happens after this. All I know is that I love you. I want to be with you, know every thought that runs through that brilliant mind of yours, watch you drink coffee ice cream for breakfast every day, and hold you while you sleep every night. I want to grow old with you, have a family with you, and claim not just your body,” I rumble as my eyes rove across her skin, peppered with my love, “but also claim your heart. Forever.”

Maggie is smiling, the hope shining in her eyes as she takes my hands and holds them in hers, almost like we’re praying together. “I want that too, Shane. God, I want that too, to be your haven when you’re protecting everyone else, to fill your heart when you’ve given more than you should, to create a life with you that you want to come back to reality for after a long time pretending to be someone else. I love you so much. I never thought something like this would happen to someone like me.”

Our words feel like vows, promises for a future we may not get. There’s no preacher, no ring, nobody to even witness them, but none of that matters. I kiss her fiercely, putting every bit of my heart and soul into the breath I give to her and demanding every bit of hers in return. Nothing less than pure honesty between us will ever be enough again.

My body responds, my cock surging inside my jeans as we part lips, panting, and I want to slip inside her sweet pussy once again, be one with her.

But I need to be inside her mind even more, know everything there is to know about my sweet Maggie, so I still her squirming hips, holding her tightly against my thickening cock. “Tell me, Angel. What did you think would happen to someone like you? What did little Maggie Postland think her life would be like?”

She smiles softly, suddenly shy. “Don’t laugh, okay?”

My face is calm, more curious than anything, and after she’s sure I’m listening, she continues. “I wanted to be Barbara Walters. She’s like this spitfire you don’t expect. Early in her career, she was seen as this blonde woman who couldn’t possibly do a man’s job and interview these powerful leaders. But she did, and she used her charm to get insights no one else could, without selling herself short. Nobody imagined she’d accomplish so much, but she never doubted her ability to get the scoop, verbally wiggling and manipulating her way into the interview of the decade, all the while making it seem like it was just a friendly chat. And it gave little me, blonde, sweet, kinda nerdy little Maggie hope that I could do that someday and make a difference.”

I take a moment, studying her face before nodding. “I can see it, Interviews by Maggie Postland. You sitting in a chair, sipping coffee, and smiling that sweet smile. Maybe not Barbara style, but more like Oprah, maybe, or like one of the late-night hosts?”

“But more serious,” Maggie says, and I nod.

“Right. The people you interview would never see it coming until you hit them like a fucking heat-seeking missile and started asking the tough questions. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even know they’d spilled government secrets until it was too late, mesmerized by your sweet girl goodness.”

Maggie lays two fingers over my lips and then lifts them high, blowing a puff of air across her fingertips. “From your lips to the universe’s ears.”

I smile, knowing that she’s being silly but at the same time, very serious. “What about now? What about your job?”

Maggie scrunches her nose up like a bunny before making a disgusted sound. “Ugh. I’m pretty sure that I’m fired by now. My boss is strict and demanding, and considering I haven’t submitted a story in over a week and haven’t even called into the office in days, she’ll have already started paperwork to fire me. And I’m guessing Dominick won’t let me wait tables here anymore, so currently, I’m unemployed.”

“And how does that feel?” I ask because she doesn’t seem all that upset, which surprises me because I’ve seen how hard this girl works. If someone could figure out a way to generate electricity from her, she could power half the city.

Maggie grins, sighing happily. “Honestly, I feel free. You have to understand. The Daily Spot isn’t like working for CNN or even TMZ. Sure, it was a job, but everyone there—well, nearly everyone—was either trying to scramble their way up the ladder or was bitterly hanging on so they didn’t fall down to Weekly World News level. It was dog-eat-dog, and not even about important things. Just an overarching sense of desperation and disrespect. And here with you, even though we’re basically being held hostage and everything’s going to hell right now . . . I feel free.”

She smiles, and I’m struck stupid once again at her beauty. I don’t know how, or why, but I do think I’ve freed her of something she’s been carrying around for a very long time. Although I bet if I were to dig deep enough, I’d find out that all I did was help her free herself.

From there, we spend the rest of the afternoon and well into the night talking about our lives, our hopes and dreams, books, TV, and everything in between. It’s like we’re taking our courtship, the little things that most people learn over the course of weeks or even months of dating, and compressing them into a hyper-speed conversation.

But I don’t feel rushed at all. Instead, with every revelation from the mundane to the philosophical, I fall deeper in love with this girl, storing away every tidbit she gives me in my heart.

The heat builds between us, embers always burning just below the surface but spark-flashing into flames, and we pause our conversation to make love or fuck, sometimes both. The pulsing music from the club below occasionally gives us a new tempo to match, leaving us both laughing at times afterward.

With Maggie, even when I’m slamming into her from behind, her hair wrapped in my fist as she cries out, her ass pink from my hand and my marks all over her smooth skin . . . even then, it’s a hundred percent love.

Finally, we fall into bed together, happily exhausted.

“Well, at least we’ve done one thing right,” Maggie says as she giggles and lays a naked thigh across my leg.

“What’s that?” I ask. “I think we’ve done a lot of things right today.”

“Oh, no doubt. But what I meant was that everyone goes to a strip club to indulge in a sexual fantasy, but it’s only that, a fantasy. We get to do the real thing.”

“Good point. Now we just need to get a pole up here and—”

Maggie tickles me in the ribs, making me laugh. “And I’ll make you dance for me!”

I don’t answer, but the reality is if she asked, I damn well might do it.