I won’t apologize for having had a life in the last ten years. I won’t apologize for the fact that yes, I’ve screwed a number of women. And damnit, Corinna and I never had that kind of relationship before. I will cede that I owe her an apology for the past being so blatantly thrown into her face without us having had any sort of discussion about it. Despite her having written a letter that put us on a more even footing, Corinna and I still haven’t talked about what drove us apart.

Tonight seems to be the night to confront everything from your past though, I think bitterly. After being stuck at dinner with Addison for an hour, and trying to at first gently, then bluntly explaining to her I had no desire to rekindle what was mostly a two-time jack-off session with a live blow-up doll, I ended up with Addison’s water tossed in my face.

I was irritated at the scene Addison caused, but freaking pissed and hurt by Corinna.

Once again, things got tough for and she decides to take off? As I’m making a mental list of the things for Corinna and I to “discuss” the minute she’s within arm’s reach, my cell phone rings. Glancing at it, I see it’s Keene. I answer it using the speaker. “Hunt,” I clip off.

“Whatever you did, fix it,” he snaps, forcing more of my own temper to the surface.

“You don’t know anything about what happened, Marshall. Now is a good time to shut the fuck up and let me get to Corinna’s,” I bite off.

“And apparently neither do you.” He laughs darkly. “You think she’s at home curled up in a ball? Hell no—that woman is at least sane enough to call her sister to tell her where she’s partying for the rest of the night. And just for that attitude, do your own research to find her because she won’t be alone long.” Keene disconnects the call.

I let out a roaring “Fuck!” in the dark interior of the Jeep, right before I tell Siri, “Call OpsCenter-Work.” My fingers tap impatiently on my steering wheel as I wait for the Hudson Investigations Operations Center to pick up.

“Good evening, Colby. Looking for someone?” Caleb voice answers. He sounds amused, which is only mildly less irritating than Keene’s sanctimonious anger.

“Where did she go, Caleb?” I don’t even bother beating around the bush. I want—no, I need to find Corinna. In part, so I can wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze it for putting me through this crap.

His laugh is so different from his best friend. “Pissed off Keene, did you? That’s problematic as he’s probably the only one who could have had the cover charge waived for you since he knows the owner. Unless you have a spare five C-notes sitting around?”

Five hundred dollars for a cover charge? I almost run my Jeep off the road. “What the hell kind of place requires that kind of cake to get in?” I demand.

“The kind that will allow Corinna Freeman to call up the owner and sashay her sweet ass in any night of the week she wants. A club called Redemption near the city. I’ll see if I can pave the way for you to get in, but only because I’m worried about my sister-in-law.”

What has she got into now, I wonder. I’ve never even heard of this club. “Can you send the information to my phone?”

“Sure. And Colby?” I hear Caleb typing in the background.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get shocked by anything you see inside Redemption. It’s not your normal nightclub,” he advises, right before he hangs up the phone.

Great. Turning my car in the direction of my apartment so I can get a dry shirt, I drop the gear and wonder what the hell he meant by that.

Two hours later, I’m no longer wondering, and my gut is somewhere near the bottom of my dress shoes.

After following the directions Caleb sent to me, I pull up to an old warehouse on the outskirts of Manhattan in Fort Washington. If it weren’t for the number of high-value vehicles in the lot or the obvious security presence, I’d have thought he’d sent me on a wild goose chase.

I make my way toward the VIP line, much to the whiny dismay of the multitude of people waiting impatiently in line. The bouncer gives me a head-to-toe look and asks, “Male, female, or both?”

Taken aback, I choke out, “Excuse me?”

He holds up two bracelets, one pink and one blue. “If you’re here to pick up women, you wear a pink bracelet. If you’re here for men, blue. If you don’t care, you don’t wear one.”

I lean closer to the man who might, just might, be able to take me out. “What if I’m here for one woman?” I snarl.

He laughs in my face. “You still wear the bracelet, man. Otherwise, your ass might be a target for who knows what.” His grin reveals more teeth capped in gold than not.

Snagging the pink rubber bracelet out of his hand, I hand him my ID. As he checks it against the tablet resting on the podium he was leaning against, I slip it over my wrist. Fuck, it’s tighter than a cock ring. The tightness of the fit might cut off circulation later.

“And just for the record, I don’t wanna have to come down and break up a fight. If the lady in question is already claimed…” He lets his words trail off.

“Oh, she’s going to be claimed,” I mutter, trying to adjust the stupid bracelet to give my wrist room to move. Looking at the behemoth guard, I state my intention. “By me. Just in time to spank her ass.”

“We have stages for that if you want one. Just ask one of the serving staff.” Quickly losing interest, the bouncer makes his way to the door.

Running my hand through my hair, I step inside the doors of Redemption’s inner sanctum and freeze.

High-class sin. It exudes from everything in the club, from its patrons to the staff to the mostly naked acrobats dancing on platforms strategically placed around the room. My eyes glance off a woman in expensive black lingerie, bending in positions I didn’t know were anatomically possible. Another scene I latch onto is that of a male duo, taking turns getting flogged. The waitstaff are wearing shoes that would cost me a month’s salary, for Christ’s sake. And the décor is so luxurious most people would need to sell a car to buy it. Fortunately, the gyrating bodies on the dance floor are mostly clad, though the way they’re dancing leaves little to the imagination about what’s on their mind. Those not dancing seem to be holding court lounge on chaises.

And I can’t tell if anyone is wearing a damned bracelet.

I don’t know if I just walked into a high-class club pandering to the über-wealthy, a sex show, or someone’s fantasy. Either way, I’m surrounded by pulsating heat everywhere. It oozes from the air into my very pores.

Then the crowd on the dance floor parts just enough to see a swish of gold. I spot Corinna for a few seconds from my vantage point on the second floor. Her body sways to the thumping beat of the music before her partner leads her away from the crowd. The spotlight ripples off her dress as her hips sway back and forth.

Suddenly, I’m desperate to get down to her and get us both out of here.