“The guys will be right outside the door the entire time, and Mom will be just down the hall.”

I hate the doubt laced through Drake’s voice. Certain I’ll embarrass myself. And him. Which I worry about the exact same thing in this fancy spa. With Patrice’s elegant friends who all seem to know exactly what to do and say. Unlike me. The stray mutt in a room full of pedigrees. “I’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to it.”

He frowns at my forced smile. Knows too well that I’m not fine at all. But I want to be. I want so badly to be strong and confident like his mother. And Trish. And him.

“Everything’s taken care of, but if you want to tip someone or need anything, use this.”

Until Drake I’d never even seen a hundred dollar bill before. Let alone touched one. He lays a small stack in my palm like they’re a second thought. Rather than a month's rent I used to scramble to give to Trish every first. Hiding my discomfort from him, I stuff the money in my dress pocket. “I don't think I'll‒”

“Come on, Trinity!” Trish squeals in the doorway, gesturing furiously to me. Impatient for our girls' afternoon to begin. Missing me as much as I've missed her. After living together for four years, we've both had to get used to being apart. Moving forward with our new lives. "They’re ready for us, and I've got your robe for you."

“Okay, thank you. I’ll be right there.”

Once she steps back into the Lounge of Tranquility, Drake threads his long fingers through my hair, cupping the back of my head. Tingles speed across my sensitive skin from his possessive touch. I can’t move, and honestly, I don’t care. Maybe it’s wrong that he dominates me. That I allow myself to be controlled by him. But I know he would never hurt me. I’m his. I truly belong to him.

“Do you remember what I told you?”

My body clenches from his husky voice. From the memory of him inside me this morning as he reminded me over and over how much he loves me and wants to give me everything. Basking in his affection. Relishing the sincerity in his eyes as I watched in the mirror as he took me from behind. Captivated by his skilled hands pleasuring my breasts and between my legs before he slowly pushed into me and I couldn’t hold myself up any longer. Giving myself over to him completely. “That you don’t care about the money or how long I’m gone or what I drink.”

He nods from my whisper. “Because?”

Widening his stance and scrunching down so we're eye level, he tightens his grip on the strands wrapped between his fists. Delicious torture spreading through me from the tug against my scalp. That only he generates. That only he can relieve. “We’re infinity.”

“Who?”

With a shaking hand, I point to myself, then him. Brushing over the smooth fabric covering his heart. "Us."

A small groan vibrates in his throat, and he slides me closer. "Are you as wet as I am hard?"

It takes everything I have not to press myself against him. To prove to him beyond my words what he does to me. "Yes."

"Good. Then you'll be thinking about me while I'm gone."

He smirks from my laugh. "You're terrible."

"I know." A chaste kiss before he releases me. "Have fun."

"You too."

My grin grows despite myself. Dumb and giddy. Still in awe he's mine. Amazed that a man this perfect loves me so much.

One last glance back before I join the party, and, of course, he's still there. Watching me. Licking his lips. Twerking his left eyebrow. Absolutely sexy and smug and seductive. Another heart-pounding image to lust over in my thoughts until I see him again tonight.

My contentment only dampening a bit from Drake's bodyguards standing in the narrow lobby, along with the men for Patrice and Trish. All of them nodding in deference to me as I pass. The reverence always making me feel like an imposter. Respect I haven't earned. Only given because of my marriage. Out of obligation to my husband.

I quicken my pace, almost scampering toward Trish who seems oblivious to the security Noah provides for her. I wish I could be so composed.

She leads me into the dressing rooms, plush with dark cherry wood doors and swirly ivory and sage carpet. Reminiscent of the era in which the hotel was built. We strip and don gorgeous pink silk kimonos.

"Patrice has really gone all out. She has massages - prenatal for me of course - and pedicures, manicures, and facials. We're going to be gorgeous at dinner!"

So much. Too much. More than I expected. But I don't know how to protest or ask what to do. I grab some of the money Drake gave me and slide the folded bills into my pocket. Hopeful I have enough.

Once we're back in the salon, Trish pats the cushion next to her. Grateful my best friend always looks out for me. Most of the ladies have mimosas or bloody marys. The waitress offers me my favorite drink, and the butterflies swirling in my stomach finally land. Drake. Taking care of me even when he's not here. Patrice leans forward and clinks her champagne flute against my glass.

"Are you having fun, honey?"

I smile at this kind woman, with so much concern filling her eyes. Wanting me to be happy as much as Drake does. I’m quick to agree and alleviate her worry. "Yes, thank you."

And surprising even to myself, I'm actually telling the truth.

* * *

“Just relax ma’am. You’re here to enjoy.”

"Okay." Not so easy when I’m completely naked, lying face down on a cocoon of towels and sheets, with my head resting in a plastic circle providing a limited view of only the buttery yellow tile below. “Thank you.”

Oiled hands caress deeper into my taut muscles. She really is talented. Her fingers feel like magic on my back. Gliding and rubbing me in a lavender haze.

This must be the ultimate relaxation everyone talks about. I can’t keep my eyes open. My body finally droops, utterly limp from this version of heaven I've never experienced before. So overwhelming I couldn't lift my limbs even if I wanted to. So I give in, letting her hypnotize me with her powerful strokes, and sink into the blackness engulfing me.

Throbbing.

Throbbing so bad in my arm I can’t breathe.

I can’t suck in any air. My chest won’t expand, smashed against the table. I try to move. Twist around. Lift up. Anything. But tight hands keep me down. Clutching my back. Legs. Arms. Head. Keeping me immobile. Forcing me to lie still despite the agony burning in my bicep.

I’m dazed but the stinging pain forces my eyes open. Blinking through the blurriness. Shoes. So many pairs underneath me. Why are people holding me? Hurting me? Killing me?

“Drake?” No sound. I can’t manage more than whisper. “Please?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’m so sorry. It was an accident.”

A woman’s voice I don’t recognize shrieks above me. Suddenly, I’m free. Hands gone. Shoes gone. I breathe deep. Too long without oxygen. I’m rolling. Someone’s flipping me over. Supporting my flopping body.

“What the fuck happened?”

Not Drake. Butcher. He’s sitting me up. The crying lady dims from my view as my head lolls forward.

“She f-fell asleep and must have been dreaming. She was thrashing all around on the table. I t-tried waking her up and scratched her arm.”

“Scratch? You fucking ripped her open.”

His powerful fingers wrap around my pulsing muscle. Squeezing too hard. I wince, and his grasp loosens.

“I’m just trying to stop the blood, Mrs. Deveraux.”

The trembling woman offers him a towel. Stepping back as soon as the fabric is yanked from her hands. As if she’s scared of being jerked around next.

“Get someone in here to help her.”

This time he’s gentler, applying soft pressure above the white terrycloth. Slowly blooming scarlet from my gouged skin.

I’m naked in front of my husband’s bodyguard. Drake will be so upset. His wife immodest with one of his men. I try covering myself. Fumbling with the sheet. Swaying from the overwhelming dizziness I can’t seem to snap out of. I don’t even realize I’m plunging forward until Butcher catches me. His hand brushing against my breast. An accident of course. It has to be.

“Damn it! I said get me some fucking help in here!”

His scream blows over my head as I rest against his chest. The racing of his heart pounding under my ear. I’ve never been held like this before by anyone but Drake. Never been so intimate with any other man. I try to wiggle free from his tight grip, but he draws me closer. Keeping me from tumbling further down.

Yes, that must be why he won’t let me go. Not to get in trouble with his boss.

Soft hands run across my skin. Pulling on my dress. Where are my panties? No one seems to know. Women scurrying frantically from Butcher’s commands.

“She must be dehydrated.”

“Did she eat anything?”

“Maybe she’s pregnant?”

My heart clogs in my throat. Yes, that is totally possible. We’ve not been careful. A baby would explain everything. I think. I just can’t seem to make sense of anything with my head hammering so hard and my arm blazing in misery. With all the voices swirling around me. Butcher’s musky cologne stinging my throat. His thick shirt scratching my cheek.

“Can you walk Mrs. Deveraux?”

I don’t know. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry to cause so much trouble.”

His arm stays locked around my waist while I slide off the cushion. My knees buckle as soon as my bare feet touch the freezing ceramic. I’m back in his grip, curled against his chest. My head bouncing against his shoulder as he strides out of my private room and down the hall.

“Please wait. I have to tell my mother-in-law. She’ll be wor‒”

A sweaty palm pushes my cheek against the hard buttons lining his jacket. “Shhh. Everything’s fine. Let’s just get you back upstairs.”

I take deep breaths. Trying to calm my racing pulse and churning stomach. I push my eyes open when the elevator dings. Luckily, the car is empty. Butcher steps inside, flanked by my two other guards. They exchange worried looks.

Humiliating me even more that they think I’m some kind of weak, feeble woman. The boss’s fragile wife who can’t even handle a simple massage. My eyes sink shut again despite my best efforts.

I jerk from a door slam, but Butcher's hold doesn't loosen. No idea how we made it into the suite. Scaring me even more that I'm losing track of time. Too helpless to take care of myself.

Butcher settles me against the sofa cushion. I grip the arm rest, unable to hold up my wobbling head.

He squats in front of me, a bottle of sparkling water in his tattooed hand. Droplets slide down the dark blue plastic from him jerking the lid off so brusquely.

“Maybe they're right. Maybe you’re dehydrated.”

Sympathy covers his face. Kind, I think. But maybe not. He was helpful yet so rough. Squeezing me more than he should. Seeing more than Drake would ever allow. I don’t know how I’m going to explain all of this.

I nod. Because I don’t know what else to say. Too ashamed to do anything but accept the rim he holds to my lips and take a small sip.

This time his head bobs. A knowing smile slipping into a sly chuckle. “So fucking sexy, baby girl.”

Sexy? Baby girl?

No. I’m not his. I try to tell him that. To stand up for myself like Drake would want me to. Like I want to. But he drifts in front of me. Floating farther away. Wetness splashes my legs and cracking glass shatters the silence in the room. Sharp pain crushing my head and slicing the tops of my feet from shards piercing the skin. “What are you…?”

“Trinity?”

I’m sliding down. Too groggy to answer. Unable to fight the dark current pulling me under any more.

* * *

My shot's worthless. Kind of like this entire fucking afternoon. Unable to focus on anything but getting back to her. Not just because I’m fucking obsessed. Which I fully admit to myself although no one else. But because she seemed so damn uncertain. Hesitant to be swept away with women she doesn’t know for fun she doesn’t really want.

Guilt. That’s what the weird sensation is in my chest. So foreign. But I recognize the emotion enough to know she’s suffering because of me. My stupid ass overwhelming her with my life and my family. Rather than taking my time and letting her get used to everything. Them. Us. Me.

While Dad lines up his putt, I yank out my phone like the pussy whipped motherfucker that I am. Nothing. Not sure if that’s a good sign or not. Fuck me. Unable to resist, I tap the screen.

Are you enjoying yourself?

A bit of the agony in my gut subsides when she reads it. But after a few seconds fire roars through my veins. She doesn’t fucking answer.

Sunshine?

Nothing. God damn fucking shit. She knows better than to fuck with me.

Answer me Trinity.

What the fuck? This is not like her. At all. She’s never petulant. Something’s wrong. Something’s really fucking wrong. Fear unlike I’ve ever experienced slithers through my core, squeezing the oxygen out of my lungs.

I scroll for Butcher.

UPDAY

Fucking shit I’m raging so hard I’m almost fucking blind.

UPDATE NOW

Fucking nothing. Just like her. Except he didn’t even read my text.

I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get the fuck out of here and find her. Fuck my clubs. My ball. My game. All I want is my wife. I shove my putter into the back and jump into the cart.

"What the fuck? You're leaving?"

My head shakes from my brother's irritated tone as the bile crawls up throat. "Trinity."

He nods. Well aware no one fucks with us. Or our women. If I'm bailing on our father, then the situation must be fucking dire.

"Let me drive."

Coherent enough to know I'll probably fucking kill anyone who gets in my way, I slide over. Releasing the brake, he shoves the gear into drive and waves to our Dad.

"Come on! We've got to go!"

With a quick head bob, he swipes his ball off the green and jogs toward his bag. Responding instantly to the urgency in Noah's voice. No more explanation needed from his decisive tone.

Other golfers shoot shitty looks at us from speeding down the cart path bypassing the playing order as well as all the rules and proper decorum of this exclusive course. Fuck them and their annoyance. Noah slams the brakes at the pro shop, and I hop out, racing into the hotel. Leaving my shit for the course staff to deal with.

I want Trinity, and I want her fucking now.

The soothing instrumental music in the spa conflicts with my agitation. Blazing even hotter from my mom and sister-in-law arguing with a sobbing woman near the ceiling to floor waterfall covering the back wall.

Mom catches sight of me and gasps. Horror almost as strong as mine blanches her face. "What did she say? Is she okay?"

It takes everything I have not to explode from the blood soaked towel in her hand. "Is that from Trinity?"

Her wide eyes meet mine, and she slowly nods. Fucking confirming that my wife's blood has been shed. That despite all the fucking protection and promises and preparation, my wife has been hurt. Butcher's a fucking dead man. I whisper so I don't scream. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs. Butcher took her to your room."

I tear out of the reception area with Noah and Dad on my heels. Sprinting up the stairs, our spikes pound on the concrete steps. Echoing almost as loud as the adrenaline beating in my ears. She better be all right. She better be fucking fine.

Not a soul in the hallway when we burst onto the top floor. My hand shakes like a fucking pussy ass as I shove the card against the reader. Red lights. Fuck this shit. I toss the plastic to the floor and kick in the god damn door.

Rage steals my sanity. My men sprawl on the floor. Joey with a bullet to the forehead. Nalin's shirt saturated with red. Wetness slushes in the carpet under our shoes, crunching the glass shards sprinkled by the couch.

Bedroom, kitchen, bathroom all fucking empty.

She's not here.

My wife is gone.

Trinity.

I think I'm having a fucking heart attack from the stabbing pain in my chest. Like a fucking mac truck sits on me, squeezing all the damn air from my lungs.

Her rings lay on the dining room table. Brilliant white stones catching the light. Sparkling brighter than stars in a clear night sky against the flawless ebony surface. Bands so tiny they only fit on the tip of my pinkie.

A huge smile graces her exquisite face as she holds out her trembling hand. Her gaze locked with mine as I slide them on her finger and kiss her delicate skin. “Never take them off.”

Her head tilts, confusion furrowing her brow. Love glowing in her gorgeous eyes. “Why would I?”

She trusted me. Believed in my vows to love and protect her. And I fucked up. So fucking bad. Worse than I ever imagined.

I will find her. I will put them back on her finger.

Dad’s hand curls over my shoulder. A reassuring squeeze that does fucking nothing to ease my fury. "He won't hurt her. It's just a ploy to draw you out. We'll play his game, destroy him, and get her back."

Fuck yes we will. We fucking have to. Because I have no other choice. I cannot live without her.