I wake up with a racing heart, as if something has gone terribly wrong.

Vaguely I remember the dream. The night I wish I could forget. The image of L’Etoile’s logo stamped into my brain. Decades later, and I still have the same fucking nightmare.

A sound comes to me, keening that makes the hair on my neck rise. Heavy shadows in the past keep me in the dark longer than I should be. I blink against the too-bright moon, struggling to remember where I am. Hands are grasping at my arm. An urgency pounds in my skull, too hard and too fast.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”

The words filter through my blurry consciousness, making me snap to alertness. Beatrix. And she sounds like she did last night, afraid and trembling, only much worse.

My heart clenches when I look down at the sight of her. She’s curled up into a ball, clinging onto my arm like it’s a life raft in a wild ocean. Her wild hair sticks to the side of her face, her skin slick with sweat. “Oh my God,” she whispers, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Bea, I’m here. I’m right here.”

“It’s not enough.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks, because of course it’s not enough. I would never be enough. “I’ll take you inside. Can you stand?”

We’re only a few yards away from the elevator. The dining area and large concrete pots with plants in them block our path. She shakes her head, burying her head against me.

I would rather convince her to come with me, but her whole body shakes violently. Small sounds of distress are coming from her, as if she doesn’t even register I’m here. I need to get her out of this situation and back where she feels safe—the penthouse.

She whimpers. “Hugo?”

Crouching over her, one hand on her arm, the other resting lightly on her head, I have never felt more helpless. This woman is suffering. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a physical punch in the stomach; it’s clear she’s hurt. And it’s my fault. I’m the one who brought her here. “I’m going to carry you inside.”

Her body relaxes only a fraction, but I’m in tune with her enough to feel it.

Which is also why my body is tied up in knots, my usual calm gone, any ability to seduce or reason with her disappeared into the early dawn. Anxiety clenches hard around my throat, as if we’re connected, part of the same body.

That’s how it feels when I lift her in my arms, when she curls herself into me—like I can finally take a breath. Her hair tickles my nose, curls itself around my face. It makes me pull her closer.

I press a kiss to her head, already striding toward the elevator. “Almost there, sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” she whispers. “Sorry. Sorry.”

She’s apologizing to me? Mon Dieu. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

The elevator takes approximately twelve years to make its way up, even though it’s private for the penthouse suite. When the doors finally open I step inside and press the P button to return to her suite. We are now indoors, in a place that she’s been herself many times, but she does not relax. Instead she clings to me even harder, her arms tight around my neck, her hands clenched in my wrinkled shirt, as if these familiar places have become new and scary.

“Almost there,” I murmur on the twenty-four-hour ride down one floor.

The doors slide open, revealing the penthouse suite…that is full of people.

I recognize some of them as hotel staff. The head of concierge. Jessica from the front desk. A maid. And a man in a suit, directing them all with an angry and authoritative voice.

“Where are the police?” he demands, before turning toward us.

For a moment we stand there facing each other, this man who must control Bea’s life. The one who’s kept her in this tower, whether she sees it that way or not.

“Leave,” he says to everyone else without breaking eye contact with me.

The room immediately clears, hotel staff filing past me and leaving the way they came, silent and obedient. Meanwhile I move deeper into the room. Past the stranger, to the bedroom. It’s hard to let go of Bea’s trembling body, but I lay her down on her rumpled sheets. This is where she should have been sleeping. Where she should have woken up, so that her body wouldn’t be flushed and trembling.

“Don’t go,” she whimpers, grasping my arm.

“But no,” I manage to say lightly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes meet mine, almost glazed from the terror she felt being on the roof. There’s pleading in her eyes, whether because she still wishes to apologize or because she’s worried I’ll abandon her like this.

“Who are you?” a voice asks coldly.

Without letting go of Bea’s hand, I turn to face the man in the suit. Only now, with Bea safely tucked in a place familiar to her, can I consider what I know. I thought I would know him immediately, on sight, this man from my nightmare. It seemed clear to me that I would, but now that I look at him I’m not sure.

The man in my dreams is ten feet tall with large muscles. He has a smile that’s terrifying, but those are the imaginings of a scared little boy. Now that I’m a man, this one looks ordinary.

Is it him? Or is it merely some other rich asshole with ties to this hotel?

“I’m Bea’s lover,” I tell him, because I want him angry. Well, he’s already angry. I want him frothing and helpless, the way I feel right now, unable to help the woman I care about.

“You’re lying,” the man says, his lip curled. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend? Non. I am her lover. Surely you understand the difference.”

He snarls in a way that is almost, almost familiar. But his hair is peppered with white, his stance leaner than I remember. Is it him? “I don’t know what kind of scam you think you’re running, but this girl is under my protection.”

“This woman does not need protection against me.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Stop!” Bea is sitting up in bed, but only barely, holding up a hand as if to ward us both away. My heart breaks for her, that she needs to worry about this when she should be focused on herself. “Please, don’t fight. Edward, what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” he says, taking a step forward which I block with my body. He isn’t getting near when she’s in this state. He gives me a dark look but stays on his side of the bedroom. “Maria came to do turndown service and you didn’t answer the door. She came in and you weren’t here.”

“I was on the roof,” she says, sounding exhausted. I’m glad she’s standing up for herself but it is sad that she needs to—against the man who was supposed to raise her.

“The roof,” he says, looking even angrier. “You took her there.”

Now I am the one exhausted. “Yes, and I can’t bring myself to regret it even seeing what it did to her. She should not be locked up like this. It’s killing her. Can’t you see that?”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “The only thing I see is a leech. That’s what you are. You see a poor little rich girl and think it’s your big payday. Well, you aren’t getting a cent from her.”

Of course I already have her money, but I don’t want it. That’s the irony of my life. Getting what I want and then wishing I had something else. “Are you any better? Wanting to marry a woman thirty years younger than you. One you’ve helped hide herself away.”

It looks like a vein might pop out of his forehead. “She told you that?”

“I’m right here,” Bea says, cross now. “And I can’t believe you two are fighting over me like you’re dogs and I’m a bone. I want to be alone now. I need to rest.”

She does need to rest but not alone. Perhaps I can convince her to let me stay. All we have to do is get rid of this arrogant bastard with his Italian suit. I know that I can wrap her in her bubble—stifling though it is—and make her feel safe again. “I’ll stay with you tonight.”

And then the man gives me a look so imperious it looks exactly like it did when I was a child. “You are nothing but trash,” he says, his voice the same from my memories. “That much is obvious from looking at you. Not to mention hearing you. I recognize the accent. Marrakesh?”

It’s him. My heart pounds a war drum. “Tangier, actually.”

“Yes, that sounds right.” A smirk, which seals his fate.

And then I’m on top of him, taking him by surprise. I’m not seven years old anymore. He can’t throw me off like I’m a pest to be disposed of. Can’t lock me in the closet this time, not with my hands wrapped around his fucking throat. His eyes are wide, mouth open as he struggles to take in air.

“Paulette Bellmont,” I say between gritted teeth. “Perhaps you remember her. She was a maid in a hotel. You stayed in the penthouse. Do you recognize my accent now?”

His mouth closes and opens, like a stupid fish. There are choking sounds.

“What are you doing?” Bea is beside me, tugging at my hands, not nearly hard enough to pull me away, nothing could pull me away. She looks shocked, horrified. Like I’m the monster instead of this asshole on the ground. “Let him go.”

For a moment my fingers loosen. When Bea asks me to do something, I wish to do it. When she wants me, I wish to deliver. It goes beyond my regular desire to please women. Beyond any sense of professional duty. This is about Beatrix, a woman who I never deserved to even touch.

Much less love. God, I love her. In the riot of emotion inside me, this much is clear.

But I have been waiting my whole life to do this.

“You followed her home one night,” I say, my voice hard, my hands tight around the neck beneath me, pleading with Bea with my eyes to understand. “She did not hear you. Perhaps because the street was busy and loud, like always. Or because she was tired from working for twelve hours straight.”

Bea’s rose-colored lips part in surprise. “What are you talking about? You know Edward?”

“You pushed your way in the door after her. Attacked her. The only thing you did not know is that she had a child living there. A small boy. Too weak to properly defend his mother.”

“No,” Bea whispers, horror in her green eyes.

Only then do I look down at the man whose skin has turned mottled red. I don’t want to kill him—not yet, anyway. I want him to hear this, and the dead never listen. “You locked me in the closet.”

I see the memory dawn in his red-rimmed eyes. Yes, he remembers now. There may have been other maids he hurt. Other women he followed home. But he remembers the screaming boy he trapped in the closet with a wood-worn chair, its hemp cords fraying, but its frame sturdy enough to hold me in.

“And then you raped her.”

“She was nothing,” he rasps, which is a fatal error.

Perhaps he sees that when I squeeze hard enough to take away his air. He makes a terrible sound, like the back of a car scraping against the road. His eyes roll back, and I’m looking forward to the moment he becomes silent. I did not plan to become a murderer for this, but at the moment the rage swirls around me like a firestorm. The only thing left to do is burn.

A soft crying sound prods at the edge of my consciousness. It’s Beatrix, begging me to stop. “Please,” she says. “Stop this. Hugo, please.”

For a moment it seems that I can push aside her pleas as easily as I did before. As easily as this Edward pushed me aside when I was a child, but she is not a poor little rich girl no matter what he calls her. She’s a woman, strong enough to call me back from the brink of madness.

Slowly my hands loosen, but they’re made of cement. It feels like cracking to pry them away from where they’ve hardened. When they finally release I stumble back with the force of it.

Edward collapses on the floor, coughing and choking as he tries to breathe. As he tries to live.

Did I make a mistake? “A man like him deserves to die.”

Bea kneels on the floor, her hands clasped together in futile prayer. Or maybe not so futile. She bent me to her will, after all. It makes me resent her, even while I recognize how much power she has over me. I would not change it if I could, but I hate that she wants me to let him be.

Her eyes are solemn. “A man like you doesn’t deserve to be a killer.”

Don’t I? I hadn’t thought I deserved anything at all. Definitely not the delicate woman who just pulled me off of my mother’s rapist with the force of her will alone.

“Then he gets away with it,” I say, my voice dull.

It had always been coming to this, hadn’t it? Mama knew. Even then she knew.

The rich can get away with anything. Even now most would consider me a rich man. I could probably hurt a poor maid in this hotel and get away with it. How sick is that? I never would but it does not change the potential. How does it stop? How does it ever stop?

“No,” Bea says, urgent. “We can tell the police. You witnessed it. We can—”

A short shake of my head. “That long ago? And my mother is dead now.”

She gasps. “Did he…?”

“No,” I say with a bitter laugh. “It was cancer who finished her off. But I’m not sure she ever really lived after he hurt her. She was far too busy looking over her shoulder for that.”

“God.” She looks at Edward like he’s someone she’s never seen before. “How could you?”

He has only recovered enough to get words out one at a time, coughing each one out, spitting it at her feet. “You. Believe. This. Piece. Of. Trash.”

She stands up, holding herself with a remarkable poise considering only thirty minutes ago she was having an anxiety attack on the roof, curled into a ball. “I notice that’s not a denial. Did you do it, Edward? Of course you did. I can see it in your face.”

He snarls at her. “You. Fucked. Him.”

I move to stand in front of her. She may not want my protection in this, but she’s going to get it. “Don’t speak to her that way. In fact don’t speak to her at all. Be grateful she let you live, because she is the only reason you’re able to take a breath right now. Be grateful and get the fuck out.”

“You can’t kick me out. I own this hotel.”

“Actually,” Bea says from behind me. “Your holding company owns the holding company which owns the holding company that owns this hotel. And my lease on the penthouse still stands. And I’m telling you to get out, too.”

He narrows his eyes. “I can void your lease. You know that.”

She takes a shuddery breath. “Then do it.”

Slowly he picks himself up, looking like an old broken man. But when he stands up straight he stares down at us like we’re trash. No, I’m the one he sees as trash. And he’s right about that. “You don’t want to cross me,” he says to Bea. “I would have given you everything.”

“No,” she says softly. “You would have taken everything. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

He gives me one final look—an appraisal, this look. As if considering the man who could have killed him. Weighing whether he would survive another fight. No, he wouldn’t. Not even Bea could save him if he challenged me again. Nothing could save him if he hurts a single wild copper-colored hair on her head.

Perhaps he senses that because he turns and limps out of the room, keeping his head held high.

As soon as the elevator doors close behind him, I turn to Bea. “Are you all right?”

She holds up a hand as if I might hurt her, which makes me freeze. “I need you to go, too.”

Shock is a thousand tons of bricks on my chest. They make it hard to breathe. Harder to speak. “I’m sorry, Bea. I didn’t mean for that to happen in front of you.”

“But you did mean for it to happen, didn’t you? That’s why you came last night, without me even having to pay. Not because you’re interested in me, not because you’re a friend. So that you could find out something about the owner of the hotel.”

Shame is acid in my gut. “I care about you, Bea.”

A small smile. “Is that the company line? The official response when a client is foolish enough to think she’s special to you?”

“It’s not a line. I care about you more than I should, more than I imagined was possible. More than I ever cared about a woman before. Mon Dieu, I let him go unharmed for you.”

“You only had access to him because of me,” she shoots back.

There’s a tear down the center of me, its edges singed with guilt. The past and present. Revenge and a woman I can’t ever have. “What will you do?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Look for somewhere else to live, most likely. Edward probably has his lawyers looking for a loophole in the contract right now. I mean, it’s not going to be hard. They wrote the contract when my trust leased the penthouse.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. What you said… what happened to your mother… to you, it’s horrifying. I can’t believe that he… and well, somehow I’m not as surprised as I should be. He’s always thought he was above the rules.”

Relief suffuses me. She understands. “I knew he might have ties to this hotel, but that’s all. I did not know for sure that he was the owner. It might have been a dead end, but that isn’t why I came last night. I came because I wanted to see you.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she looks at me again her eyes are clear. Poor little rich girl, he called her? How can you he look at her, standing here like a goddess, and think she is anything but strong? “I understand why you did it. More than you know.” She has a sad little laugh. “I used to dream about getting my hands on the Somali pirates who killed my parents. Not that I would have been able to… you know, choke the life out of them.”

“I stopped. I stopped for you.” How could that not be enough? Why doesn’t she? That was everything to me. My driving force. I gave up my past for her, for a chance at a future, and now I’m left with nothing.

Her eyes glisten with tears. “But I can’t trust you. God, I barely know you.”

“You do know me,” I say, urgent. “What you said in the video… that was all true.”

“You saw that?” She shakes her head, sad and lost. “I can’t trust anything anymore. Not even myself. I thought Edward had my best interests at heart, even if he was a little pompous about it. But he was a monster all along. You need to go.”

“What if he comes back?” What if he forces his way inside this penthouse? What if he pushes her down on the bed? Bile rises in my throat, knowing what he’s capable of.

She shakes her head. “I can protect myself more than you think. More than he thinks.”

“Let me stay. We don’t have to do anything. We won’t have sex or even talk if you’re not ready for that. I’ll sleep on the couch, but I’m not going to leave you alone.”

“It’s my decision,” she says, and I can see her shutting down. I can see the walls come up around her like the marble walls of L’Etoile and the high windows. Like the private elevator that only she can use. “And if you don’t listen to me, you’ll be as bad as him.”

Dread squeezes my heart. “I would never force you.”

“Then go.”

The Den is quieter in early afternoon, a steady hum of conversation instead of the raucous crowd. I’m surprised to see Sutton sitting in an armchair in front of the fire, a beer dangling from its neck, the glass beaded with condensation.

I sit down in the chair next to him. “A little early,” I say, nodding toward the beer.

It’s an invitation for him to tell me what’s wrong. He takes a swallow before answering. “Needed a break from the office.”

“Problems in paradise?” I ask, my voice light. The construction and real estate company he owns with Christopher does well. And so far there hasn’t been conflict between the two men. I suppose it’s only a matter of time. They’re both strong-willed and stubborn, in their own ways.

“You could say that.” Sutton leans forward and sets down the beer between his boots, studying the ground like it has the solution to life’s problems. “There’s this woman.”

I groan. “No talk of women. Not today.”

His eyebrows go up. “You love talking about women.”

“Only good things. And I have no good things to say today.”

He laughs. “Don’t tell me Hugo Bellmont finally met his match. The virgin?”

She’s not a virgin anymore, but I don’t mention that. I’m sure he can fill in the blanks. I put up a finger for the cocktail waitress, because today we are drinking early. “Apparently you’ve met your match, too. Tell me about her.”

“It’s not like that. I mean, she’s beautiful. Smart. Like crazy smart.”

“Does she use words too big for you?”

He snorts, not bothering to argue the point. Sutton is basically a genius, he just hides it behind a Southern drawl. “That’s not exactly the problem.”

“Then what is it?” The waitress brings my brandy, and I take a sip.

“Christopher. She’s his stepsister. Or at least they used to be. I’m a little hazy on the background except that I know there’s something there.”

I look into the fire so he can’t see that it troubles me. There’s history between Christopher and this Harper. And if it comes between them it will disrupt more than the company. It will disrupt the Thieves Club, a friendship I’ve come to enjoy greatly. “History is in the past, my friend. So what are you going to do about this?”

“The only thing I can do. The only thing I’ve ever done.”

The answer is simple for a man as hard and ambitious as Sutton. “Go after her.”

He nods. “I would prefer that it didn’t interfere with business.”

“I would have preferred that also, but here we are drinking at three in the afternoon.”

We lapse into a contemplative silence. I didn’t come here expecting to see anyone I knew. Sutton knows better than to push me when I don’t want to talk. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does it usually has to do with Melissande. And history. But history is in the past, as I said.

So what am I going to do about it?

The moments that follow are a brief reprieve, but in the back of my mind I know what I have to do. Revenge has been the thing that drove me for years. Now it will be something else, but no matter what I choose to do, I’ll be left alone. That’s all I deserve, really.

The waitress returns, this time with a note on her tray. Hugo Bellmont, it says on the front.

And inside: Come upstairs. – D

“I have been summoned,” I say to Sutton, dropping the note on the small oak table between us.

He reads it with surprise. “What’s your business with him? Do you need backup?”

It does feel good to have friends who would have my back, but he has his own problems. Problems of the female persuasion. And I need to solve this one myself. Need to solve it alone.

At the bottom of the stairs I pass by Penny, who is Damon’s girl. I recognize her from around the Den and from our one meeting at Beau Ciel. “Good afternoon,” I tell her with a small bow.

Her cheeks turn a little pink. It used to bring me pleasure that I could make any woman—even ones contented in their relationships—blush, but instead there’s only emptiness. “Damon’s waiting for you,” she says, revealing that she knows more about his business than some people would suspect.

“Merci. And do you have any words of advice for me? He has quite a reputation.”

“Don’t believe a word they say. I mean, some of it’s real but you’ll never really know which parts.”

“Very reassuring,” I say drily. “You are a good match for him, to be sure.”

She laughs. “He’s a softie inside.”

I’m still shaking my head, a small smile on my face, when I reach the top of the stairs. It is only such a ridiculous statement as Damon Scott being a softie that could make me laugh. It occurs to me that perhaps that’s Penny’s goal, to cheer me up against all odds. In which case she truly is a good match for the man who sits at a desk set far back in a dark room.

He does not look up when I enter but I know he hears me. There’s nothing that happens in the Den that he doesn’t know about. Maybe even in the whole of Tanglewood.

“Good afternoon,” I say, neutral. “You asked for me?”

Of course he did not ask, it was a command. I do not take offense, not if he delivers what I need him to do. He looks up and sets his pen down. “Our deal. Do you still want it?”

I step farther into the room but don’t bother to sit, not even when he inclines his head at the oversized leather chairs in front of the desk. This isn’t a deal I want to sit for. “Melissande. You want her ruined. You haven’t told me why and I don’t imagine you will. But I agree to that.”

“And in return I will ruin Edward Marchand. The owner of L’Etoile.”

This is what it feels like to be torn in half, the halves pulled away completely. I’m two pieces now, the one from the past and the one adrift. “No.”

One eyebrow rises. “No?”

Well, that’s something at the least. I have managed to surprise Damon Scott. “Instead I wish for you to purchase the hotel for me. I will provide the money, but the owner may take some persuasion.”

Damon leans back, pondering. “I have some knowledge of your portfolio. It’s significant. Probably enough, but only barely. You won’t have anything left.”

And with Melissande ruined I won’t be able to work in this town. At least not for the prices I normally command. She will do her best to blackball me and probably succeed.

It does not matter. I don’t matter, not if it means Bea can be safe.

“Do we have a deal?” I ask, my voice even.

“Consider it done.”

I set down a flash drive on his desk. It contains photographs I took in her office late last night of her ledger, written in her own handwriting. Names and dates and dollar amounts. The fact that she’s a madam is well known in the underworld of the city. No cop would make a move on her for selling sex. Half of them are under her payroll. And the other half… well, she would be out within twenty-four hours and make it her mission to destroy them.

That’s why I’ve circled the names of boys and girls I know to be under eighteen. It’s a dark truth of the sex industry that this happens. When they don’t have a good family, when the system fails them, it’s the only way they survive. There are clients who prefer the young ones.

Which is one of the reasons Melissande wanted me all those years ago. She probably enjoyed that I worshipped her at the beginning, as well. But it wasn’t long before she put me to work.

Damon nods. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

No, I have experience with pleasure. This was something else. “You’ll let me know?”

“It will take a couple days. I’ll be in touch.”

And this is how you make a deal with the devil. By selling the most valuable thing you have for the only person worth anything to me. Losing L’Etoile will be nothing to a man like Edward Marchand. It will not ruin him, not when he has a hundred other more valuable properties. Decades of searching for revenge, only to give it up in a single afternoon.

But it will mean freedom for Bea, which is the most important thing now. The only thing. I traded everything for her to feel safe, for her to never again tremble in fear.