She walked out.

The door clicked shut, and my world shattered around me. I didn’t want this to happen. It wasn’t meant to go like this, but like I learned early on in life, you can’t control someone else’s love. You can’t beg them or force them to love you.

Even though I know she does, I close my eyes and let the sadness drain from me. I meant what I said to her. I’ll never stop fighting for her heart. She’s mine. She will always be mine, even if we’re not together. There’s so much more to what we found with each other.

Yes, we probably fucked up more than we would ever care to admit, but when she walked out, she broke me. The man who always held onto all the control finally lost it. And it left with a pretty little blonde girl who’s stolen everything from me.

Perhaps she knows I’m not good enough for her. A killer. Why would she want someone like that in her life? She needs someone good. Who can love her and give her a family. Not a man who has been trained to kill.

Anger races through me. I can’t stop swiping my hand over the counter sending the glasses and bottle of wine shattering to the ground. Glass flies in every direction, splintering like the way her eyes did when I confessed my sins to her.

Of course she walked out. I can’t blame her. The anger I’m feeling is not for the girl I want, but toward myself. I fucked up. As always. When I walked into the contract with her, I knew what I was getting myself into. It was done and dusted. I would train her. She’d walk away. However, nothing in my life is simple. I fell. And I fucking did it harder than I ever expected to.

Fuck this.

Stalking into the bedroom, I tug off the jacket I’m still wearing. Once I’ve shrugged my shirt off, I head into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Tonight, I’ll lose myself in my work. Which means I’ll take a woman who wants it hard and ensure she screams.

The water steams the small tiled space, and I step under the scalding water. Dropping my head back, I close my eyes and imagine her. Peyton Moore fucked with my heart. She unlocked it from the cage and held it in her hands with such fragility and innocence I couldn’t stop my feelings for her.

Her body beneath mine, the plump lips she wrapped around my shaft, the way her whimpers echoed in my ears as I made her come haunt me. I scrub my skin. It’s raw and red by the time I realize the spray is ice cold, but I revel in the ache. It’s the only thing that makes me feel when the only person that made me feel alive walked out the door.

Stepping from the shower, I wrap a towel around my waist.

“Rick.” Cal’s voice comes from the doorway. I turn to find my brother glaring at me from the threshold. His arms folded across his chest, the black dress shirt he’s wearing looks as if it’s about to rip with his muscles bulging in the material.

“What?” My answer is spit in frustration as I disappear into my closet. Pulling out charcoal slacks and a silver button-up, I find him sitting in the chair at the window where I once sat and watched Peyton sleep in my bed. Under my fucking sheets.

“Jesus, you look like someone pissed in your cornflakes.” He chuckles. “Did the pretty blonde who raced out of here in tears have something to do with that look in your face?” He’s a smart ass, and I feel like kicking him out of my apartment, but I don’t. This is how we are. He pisses me off, and I tell him to go fuck himself.

“Fuck you, Callan,” I grunt out, shrugging on the fresh shirt. He watches me button it up. His one foot over the opposite knee. Pulling out a cigarette, I glare at him as he lights it in my bedroom. “Can you not do that in here?”

“What happened to you, brother?” His question jars me, angers me.

“What happened to me?” I respond incredulously. Stalking toward him, I lean in. Ripping the smoke from his fingers, I place it between my lips and pull the nicotine into my lungs. The hit is hard, knocking the breath from me. It’s been years since I had a smoke. Years since I did anything other than lose myself in a drink. “I lost my fucking fiancée,” I grit out through clenched teeth.

He cocks his head to the side. Curiosity burning in his dark eyes. “Really? You’re still hung up over Rory? Or is this new stick up your ass got something to do with the little blonde doll who ran out of here crying her heart out?”

Shoving away from him, I saunter into the bathroom to finish getting dressed. Once I’m clothed, I ignore Callan and make my way into the living room with him hot on my heels.

“Tell me, Rick, is there a reason why you chose a woman who looks like your dead ex-fiancée?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. Hell, I figured if I could fuck her and move on, I’d be fine,” I tell him, pouring us both a double shot of Jameson Irish whiskey. Placing his tumbler on the counter, I down mine in one gulp and pour another shot.

“And you’re not fine,” he says, the English lilt of his voice carrying through. He finishes the shot, sliding the glass along the mahogany top toward me. Once the glass has another three fingers in it, he takes it and downs it in one swallow. The wince on his face makes me chuckle.

“Seems you’re not fine either,” I respond. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he flops on my sofa. The apartment door flies open, and there, in a beautiful silk dress, is my little sister. Jesus, I need to stop calling her that. She’s about to turn twenty-eight, but to me, she’s still the baby of the three of us. Callan being thirty-seven, and me being thirty-six.

“Are you two going to sit up here all night, wallowing in self-pity?” she questions. Her hands on her hips like my mom used to do. She was a feisty woman. She scared all of us when she took on that stance. We knew we’d be whipped with the belt when we’d done something naughty.

“Have a drink with us, Leigh,” Cal says. Crooking his finger, he calls her over.

I grab another glass and pour a shot, knowing my sister is much more tomboy than homecoming queen. She used to drink whiskey with us boys when she turned sixteen. It was the only way we got through knowing what we were in for as we got older.

I pour three drinks. Lifting my glass in the air, I utter, “To the O’Leary siblings.”

“Family first and forever,” we all respond in unison. The family motto still rings true. With the three of us together again, my heart swells with pride, but my mind is awash with guilt. I walked out on them when they needed me most. Cayleigh most of all.

“Where’s your girl?” she questions, causing my body to turn rigid. “Oh, Jaysus, Carrick.” Her Irish accent, strong when she curses, echoes through me. “What’d you do to the girl?”

“Nothing, Leigh. Just drink your whiskey, and let’s get downstairs. I have work to do.” I shouldn’t take that tone with her, but I can’t talk about Peyton right now. I can’t think about her, but that doesn’t stop my mind wandering to where she is, what she’s doing.

“You can’t keep running, big brother,” Leigh admonishes me. I know why she says that, because it’s what I do, but this time, it wasn’t me who ran. I stayed, I gave her the honesty, and she said she needed time. Needed to think things through. As much as I want to be angry at her, I’m not. I should’ve given her honesty right from the start. That’s what I asked for, but I couldn’t bring myself to voice the words.

We walk down the steps into the club that’s slowly filling with men and women dressed in formal attire. The evening is meant to be elegant yet relaxed. But most of the Dominants here are in three-piece suits. I don’t go that far. I never do. A suit and tie are my norm. Other than that, I’ll be in jeans and a button-up.

“Well, who’s that?” Leigh questions, leaning into my shoulder. I follow her gaze to find one of my longest serving clients and best friends, Oliver Michaelson. Dressed in a silver suit, black dress shirt, and a white tie, he looks ever the Dominant with his rigid form.

“No.” I utter one word. Leaving her to gawk from a distance, I saunter away with only that answer for my little sister who I will not allow to be taken on by Oliver. I trust him with my life. But he’s a sadist. And my sister will not be getting whipped and spanked by him, or any other man in this room.

Cayleigh’s small clicking footsteps are hot on my heels as I make my way to the bar. “What? Why? What’s wrong with him?” she squeaks. Yes, she really fucking squeaks at me. “Rick, answer me?”

“You’re not to go into any of those back rooms. Do you understand me, Leigh?” My order only causes her face to heat bright red. She was planning it. The wheels in her pretty little head are already turning. I know her better than I know myself, and she’s definitely one to defy the rules, which only makes me sigh.

“You can’t tell me what to do, Rick. This is my life and my choice.” Her words are true. It is her life, but she’s my blood.

“You’re old enough to know better,” I tell her, lifting three fingers at Dylan. He nods and starts pouring my drink. I want a whiskey tonight, but I don’t keep Jameson down here, so the gin will have to do.

“I do know better. Why is it you’re able to do as you please, but I can’t? I’m not your little sister anymore, Rick,” she admonishes me, the same way my mother would. A thought slams into me then. She’ll be a wonderful mother. And if that godforsaken shooting had never happened, she may have been. Her fiancé was killed in cold blood, and her dress bore the stains.

“You cannot go with Oliver.” My voice is adamant.

“Why is that, Rick?” The smooth baritone of Mr. Michaelson sounds behind me. My sister blushes at his presence, and I can only groan in resignation. As much as I want my sister safe, I know he’s the only one in this club who will ensure she is. He’s experienced, he trains submissives all the time, but what man wants to know his sister is about to get flogged, bound, and tortured?

“Oli,” I respond, reaching out a hand he accepts and shakes. His amused smile does nothing to quell the frustration at Leigh’s insistence. “I was just telling my little sister”—I emphasis little as if it would make a difference, which I know it won’t— “she’s still new to all this.”

“Well,” he starts, taking her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles in a show of chivalry. “I’ll take good care of her,” he tells me but doesn’t avert his gaze from Leigh. She’s smitten. Her cheeks are bright red as she smiles up at the man.

“I’m Cayleigh,” she tells him, her voice sugary sweet.

“What a beautiful accent,” he coos, and I feel the need for much more alcohol than I planned on drinking tonight. Oliver glances up at me. He’s asking permission. My sister’s gaze burns into me. If there’s one thing I can’t do, it’s refuse her.

I nod, and that’s Oli’s cue to lead her off to the back rooms. I don’t know which one he’s chosen, and frankly, I don’t want to know. Turning back to the bar, I grab both her abandoned glass and mine and down both shots.

“Are you on a bender?” Callan sidles up beside me, settling onto the bar stool. He grabs a drink and swirls it in his hand.

“I’m just trying to get the image of Leigh getting spanked by a much older Dominant out of my head,” I tell him. He chuckles, lifting the glass to his lips. I signal Dylan for another round as I finally take a seat.

The lights dim, and I know Mason and Savvie are up on stage soon. When the announcer steps up to the mic, I can’t help but smile. Eva looks incredible. She was my project when I found her at sixteen on the streets. She thinks I gave her a full submissive experience then, but she had no idea how easy I went on her.

There was an elegance about her. Even in the tattered clothes, she exuded beauty. She’s exquisite, and I can see why Nathan is so enamored with her. Since he’s claimed her, they moved to the West Coast, opening a branch of Sins in the city. I didn’t realize they were here.

She announces the act and steps off stage. I watch in awe as the Merlot-colored fabric hugs her curves as she heads straight for me. Before she reaches Callan and me, Nate is at her side as I expect him to be.

“Darling.” I lean in, pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks. “You look exquisite,” I offer, roving my gaze up and down her form.

“She does, doesn’t she?” Nate shakes my hand. “We’re expecting,” he tells me proudly, and that’s when I notice the tiny bump of her stomach. She’s positively glowing, and that’s why.

“Congratulations. You’re both going to be incredible parents,” I tell them, offering each of my friends a hug. We’re very close; they’re like family. “This is my brother, Callan,” I introduce Cal, who offers them a smirk.

“Good to see my little bro has some friends around him.” He chuckles, shaking Nathan’s hand. When he glances at Eva, I can tell he’s smitten by her.

“We’ll always be there for Rick. If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be married,” Nathan says with a smile that lights up the room. “We’ll see you later,” Nate tells me, moving over to order drinks for them both.

Once we’re alone, I can’t help noticing my brother’s attention on a table in the far corner.

“You okay, Cal?”

He snaps his gaze to me, then back to the table. “Who’s the stunner with the red dress?” he questions, taking a drink of the beer he ordered moments ago. I stare at the girl for a moment, trying to place her. She’s familiar, but I can’t think of where I’ve seen her before.

It’s only when she laughs, rises, then heads toward the bar that I see her face properly. “No, Callan. Do not even touch that,” I warn. “That’s the senator’s daughter.”

He shrugs, and I realize I’ve just fucked up. When you tell Callan not to do something, he does it because he wants to piss you off. I guess the O’Leary kids do have something in common after all.

“Why?” he questions, not casting his glance to me.

“She’s sweet, innocent, and she’s not to be mauled by an animal like you,” I hiss in his ear, earning myself a guffaw. “Trust me, Cal. That’s a family you do not want to piss off.”

“Who said I wanted the family? Perhaps I just want the sweet little cunt that’s under that red silk,” he confirms, pushing off the stool, leaving me staring after him.