I’d made it two weeks post-Anthony by crawling home from work and sleeping away the rest of my days, nights, and misery.

Rose wouldn’t hear of it.

Come to Sorceress, she said. It’ll be fun, she said.

After all, Sorceress was only a biker-dominated strip club in a dark and dangerous part of town. What could go wrong?

Well, nothing, not with Rose, Queen Bee of the Anathema MC, watching over me. She issued standing orders—which her boyfriend, the club’s president, strictly enforced: unlimited drinks and no screwing with me. Literally or figuratively. Just a night of fun and distraction from an unrelenting broken heart.

Which meant I claimed a table in the far corner of the club and played games on my cellphone until the battery nearly drained. Four games and one drink later, I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide from the world. But Rose had a set tonight—guitar, not stripping like the blonde beauty with legs to her neck twirling around the pole for the club’s VP.

The club was hazy, loud, and the pink neon lights gave me a headache. I wasn’t drunk, though I wished I was. I also wasn’t mortified by the strippers like Rose had feared. Duchess had numbed me to most nudity. If nothing else, the dancing girls and cheering men reminded me of a more blue-collar, grittier version of Duchess. Even the blonde dancer in charge had an air of Simone about her. No-nonsense. Tough. Commanding.

I shouldn’t have missed it. Him. Her. The club.

But I did.

That thought destroyed me more than realizing I had to open the café in six hours.

Rolling in hung-over wouldn’t earn me any raises, and drinking would waste the money I earned with my double-shifts. By my estimation, I’d needed to save another nine-hundred dollars to pay Anthony back for the car repairs. Then I could throw a check in the mail and be done with him.

Not that he expected me to pay him back—or even thought I could.

But working to exhaustion, eating only ramen noodles, and wearing my hair in a braid instead of heading to the salon did wonders for my bank account.

I didn’t need Anthony’s charity. Or his scorn.

Or his embrace. Or his kiss.

I just needed to stop thinking about him.

It would have helped if I hadn’t ordered a gin and tonic. I didn’t even like the drink. I just wanted the taste. A memory of his kiss.

God, I was pathetic.

Eleven was too early to call it a night. Rose wouldn’t understand, especially as she had only begun her set for the evening. I’d earn her forgiveness later. Now?

I just needed to get away.

No dice.

A man slid into the barstool beside me. He wore a heady cologne that didn’t suit him at all. Tanned, muscular, and blonde, he sat too close and nudged my arm all wrong. I checked his clothes.

No leather. No patch. Great. He wasn’t part of the MC. He hadn’t gotten the memo to leave me be.

His voice drawled over the music. “Hey, baby.”

No thanks. I gave a polite nod and picked up my phone, ending our brief encounter.

“You’re too pretty to sit alone.”

Seriously? I grimaced as the man checked me out, practically lifting my skirt for a better look. I didn’t want anyone appraising me anymore. Hell, I’d even worn long sleeves and a longer skirt, trying to hide my skin from the world.

From anyone but Anthony.

“Lemme buy you a drink,” he said.

I tapped my untouched gin and tonic. “No thanks.”

“That’s no way to party.”

“I’m fine.”

He flagged a topless waitress down, admiring her rack as much as my own. “Fix a Jack and coke for my girl here.”

Hell no. I shook my head. “You can keep it.”

“Wow. You play hard to get.”

“I’m not playing.”

The guy grinned a toothy smile. He leaned in too close and set a meaty forearm against the table, separating me from my purse. He wobbled towards me. Drunk.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He tried to rub my shoulder. I ducked away. “Tell me your name.”

I looked over the club. Rose strummed her guitar on stage, her crystal voice an absolute dream melody deserving of far better digs than this. Martini sat in her boyfriend’s lap in the sea of bikers set up around what appeared to be the MC’s reserved table. Too many guns up there and not nearly enough privacy. I’d thought I made the right call by sitting in my own corner.

Whoops.

I didn’t know what trembled my stomach, but something about the guy didn’t feel right. He demanded too much and presumed even more. His voice wasn’t playful, and he moved to intimidate me, as if I’d swoon as his body cornered me from the rest of the club.

He had all the same moves as Anthony, but none of the control. The thoughtfulness.

This man was just trying to get laid. But Anthony…

Anthony was dominance.

My refusal didn’t stop him. He leaned in closer, forcing his hand onto my shoulder.

“Dance with me.” He squeezed.

I edged my drink away from the freak, just in case he plopped something into the glass. He was arrogant and forward, but that’s how he thought a dominant man acted. Cocky and smooth, offering drinks and getting in a girl’s personal space.

He was very, very wrong.

“I’m not interested,” I said.

I moved his hand away, but he seized my wrist. And tightened.

My stomach heaved.

“I think you are.” His voice wasn’t a whisper despite what the alcohol told him. “Pretty little thing like you needs someone to give her a push.”

“Stop it.” I jerked my arm back. He didn’t let go. His fingers dug into my soft skin, and it hurt. “I said, let me the fuck go.”

“Dance with me.”

He hauled me from the chair. I lurched as he pulled me away from the safety of my table.

Uh-oh.

I fought against his hold, but his drunk, brute strength overwhelmed me. He was probably six-feet and had a hundred pounds on me. The warning bells in my head turned to banshee cries.

He had me trapped.

And the douche wasn’t taking me to dance at all.

He headed towards the back of the club.

To the bathrooms.

I dug my heels into the floor and flailed, practically dislocating my shoulder to escape. I yelled, but the music blared over my profanity. Shoving and pushing only hid me behind his body as he rammed me into a wall.

He ignored my cries.

And, for the first time in weeks…

No one was watching.

I regretted wearing a skirt, a thought that had never once crossed my mind. The situation was getting too dangerous. I stomped on his shoe. He yelled, but it gave me enough time to knee his groin.

And I missed. My knee crashed into his thigh. He spun me around, looping his arms over my stomach.

In another world, with another man, this might have excited me. Held down, tied up, I would have begged for it.

But not now.

Not with this creep.

This wasn’t the dominance I experienced with Anthony. This…

This was terrifying.

I twisted before he dragged me to the hallway with the bathrooms. My back collided with the wall, and I gripped my hands over the doorframe. He shoved me against the brick.

“Right here, baby?” He rubbed his erection. “You are a kinky one.”

He lunged for my neck. I kicked again, catching him in the knee. He buckled, but his response was quicker. A slap across the face. Hard and deliberate.

My lip split, caught by a ring on his finger, but my squeal pinched off as his hand closed around my throat. His other hand unhooked his belt. He squeezed too hard, and a boiling panic bled into my veins. My lungs ached. I couldn’t breathe.

Not this.

Not here.

Please, no!

I wouldn’t let it happen. Another kick. This time square on target. He gasped and released me, but the freedom was short-lived. He reared back, and I ducked, prepared for the hit.

It never came.

The guy yelped in pain and crumbled to his knees, his arm awkwardly bent behind him. I breathed a sigh of relief, ready to thank the bartender, Rose, Martini, or whichever member of the Anathema MC that had saved me.

The flash of red hair and equally crimson lips was not who I hoped to find.

Simone twisted the man’s arm until it cracked. She dropped him, aiming a brutal kick into his groin. He groaned.

“Get lost,” she ordered. He didn’t argue.

The shock overwhelmed me. Bile rose in my throat.

The bathroom was empty. I rushed into the handicap stall and threw up. Once, twice, then more times than my last flu. The bathroom door opened, closed, then the lock twisted into place.

The revulsion churned again, but Simone’s heels clipped across the floor. For the first time, the sound relieved me.

She waited, touching up her makeup in front of the mirror. Our purses clattered to the floor near her feet.

“Don’t start bar fights, pet,” she said. “You’ll lose.”

I couldn’t answer. Another rush of sickness overwhelmed me. There was no way to muffle the sound, and so I hoped I’d choke on the remnants of my dinner and end the humiliation once and for all.

Of all the people to find me.

Of all the people to help me.

“Are you done?” she asked.

There wasn’t much left in me, but that didn’t mean my stomach wanted to give up the fight. We’d went for a nice dinner before heading to the strip club. Twenty-five dollars, literally flushed down the drain.

“I think I’m okay,” I said.

“Finally.”

Every part of me stayed queasy and gross. I wiped my mouth. My stomach turned again, but I ignored it. I would not throw up on Simone. No need for that gossip to spread around Duchess.

Like nearly getting raped was any better.

“What are you doing here?” I closed the stall behind me.

Simone looked up from her cellphone. “Out on the town with my best gals.” Her voice raised an octave as she mimicked my Facebook status. “Good to hit Sorceress and have some fun.”

Damn it.

“Do you have any idea how stupid is it to post exactly where you’re going?”

I did now.

“And do you have any idea how dangerous this place is?” she asked.

“My best friend knows the owner.”

“This is a biker bar. You could have been hurt.”

“Yeah…” I wavered on my feet. “I…I know.”

She offered me a damp paper towel. “Is this what you’re doing now? Bar hopping? Searching the scene for another guy?”

“My friends dragged me out.”

“And where were they while that douche was pummeling the virtue out of you?”

My hands twisted in the towel. A bruise darkened my wrist. Great. A reminder. My stomach heaved again, and I rushed into the stall. Nothing came out but tears. I’d rather have thrown up.

“Don’t tell Anthony,” I whispered.

Simone hopped onto the heat-register against the wall, crossing her legs and watching as I groped my way back to the sink.

“I’m not stupid. You think I want Anthony in jail for murdering some biker prospect? Or worse…starting a biker brawl?”

I closed my eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Why, I’ve missed you, pet.”

“Do you want to gloat?” I turned to face her. Despite my best efforts and my attempt to reignite any bit of my dignity, I still couldn’t look her in the eyes. “Are you here to mock me? Gaze upon Morgan, the laughing stock and failure. Is that how you get yourself off?”

“Careful, pet. You might have walked out on Anthony, but you don’t speak to me like that.”

“Fuck. You. I’m not playing that game anymore.”

Simone slid from her seat. Her steps rattled inside my gut, but there was nothing left to twist and knot. She stopped an inch from my face, her expression a solid mask of beauty and irritation. She pushed me against the sink.

“This isn’t a game. It wasn’t with Anthony, and it sure as hell isn’t with me.” She pointed to the water. “Wash your face and sober up.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Then what’s your excuse?”

I did as she asked, only because the water cooled my skin and cleared my head. She expected an answer. I wondered how long she’d wait for a response. I hoped an eternity, because I had nothing for her.

Did she want a fight? An agreement?

I didn’t even know why she was standing there. Anthony wouldn’t have sent her, not after he made it abundantly clear how he felt about me.

Then again, Simone was a sadist. And probably evil. Screwing with my head would get her off for weeks.

“Leave me alone,” I said. “You wouldn’t care even if I could explain it.”

“I’m insulted.” Simone faced only her reflection, boosting her cleavage with a tug on the shirt. She kissed at the mirror. “I didn’t hear a thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, what.”

Absolutely not. I reached for the purses, but her shoes cracked down between me and the bags.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m leaving.”

“No. What are you doing.”

I spoke slowly this time, brave enough to stand toe to toe with her. “I’m leaving.”

She kicked my purse towards me. For the first time, her voice wavered too.

“You broke his heart.” It was the first genuine emotion she’d ever shown me, and it hurt. “You broke his fucking heart, and you don’t even care.”

“His heart? He doesn’t have one to break.”

“You think so?”

“You don’t know the things he said to me.”

“You’re unfocused. Ruining your life. Wasting your talent.” She counted on her fingers like it was a guessing game. “You aren’t trying, you gave up on yourself, and you aren’t good enough for him.”

I wished I had something left to throw up. My stomach did not like dropping alone.

“He told you.”

“He tells me everything.” Simone shrugged. “And you have a problem with what he said because…”

“He used it to hurt me!”

“Isn’t it all true?”

Yes.

Every word of it.

And I wasn’t ready to admit it.

“I don’t need this,” I said. “Thank you for saving me, but I am not going to stand here and let you insult me just like him.”

Simone whipped out a compact and dusted her nose and cheeks as I stormed to the door.

“Anthony is a narcissistic ass,” she said.

I regretted stopping. “Glad I’m not the only one who sees it.”

“He was supposed to collar you at Duchess a few weeks back. Everyone was talking about it. He’s never taken a permanent slave. And, pet…” She shimmied. “We had all sorts of nasty surprises for you. You would have hated it and loved it, and everyone there would have eaten it up.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Not me,” Simone said. “Anthony. He’s never been rejected like that. Never had a sub walk out on him. You can imagine the scandal at the club.” She winked at me through the mirror. “Poor thing hasn’t been back to Duchess since you left. Hell, he hasn’t even been in the city.”

“Am I supposed to feel bad for him?”

“I’m sure you feel a lot of things for him.”

“Not many of them are good.”

“You were right though. He doesn’t understand you.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, he told me all about how you left in a huff…” She winked. “And I told him you were absolutely right.”

I froze. “What?”

“Anthony was born into a trust fund the size of Manhattan. He never had to work for anything in his life. He went to good schools because his daddy put him there. He got into Yale and did fine, but Daddy got him there too. Joined Daddy’s law firm. Got the best accounts. Only took six years before his father retired and Anthony inherited everything. Do you understand?”

“He’s lucky.”

“Listen to me, Morgan. He invested his money in a fetish club so he could indulge in his wildest little fantasies. He fucks submissive women. He made his every desire come true. And he’s never once been denied anything he’s ever wanted.” Her eyebrow rose. “And then he met you.”

I rolled my eyes. “He told me I was a natural submissive.”

“You are,” Simone said. “For him. But he still had to work to get you there. Any of the girls at Duchess would have climbed on that table and gotten fucked the instant he ordered it. But Anthony had to seduce you. Dominate you. Mold you into the woman he wanted.”

“Great.”

She scowled. “Don’t you dare take that for granted. Anthony is a great man. He sees something in you that you’re too afraid to find.”

“He doesn’t want me,” I said. “He said I wasn’t good enough for him.”

“Did you fuck up the audition?”

I didn’t dare answer that question, but my flash of panic revealed the truth.

“That makes much more sense.” Simone smiled. “Anthony’s too dense to realize it. You fucked up the audition. Didn’t get the part. And you’re running because you’re ashamed.”

“He wouldn’t understand now if I told him.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“So, what does it matter?”

“It matters.” She shrugged. “What are you doing here? Drinking at a strip club? Wasting your night alone and miserable? That’s not you. What are you doing with your life? Right now? In this instant?”

I lowered my gaze. “I’m trying to make it stop hurting.”

Simone finished with her makeup and adjusted her outfit to look as lethal and sexy as she could manage without her crop. Then again, she didn’t need a crop to inflict pain. She was doing a pretty good job twisting the hypothetical knife in my gut.

She passed by me, unlocking the bathroom door.

“Then do something about it. For once in your life, Morgan. Take control.”

The door closed behind her. I collapsed over the sink, splashing water in my face until I felt like I was drowning from the inside out.

How had I messed so much up?

Not just my classes or graduation, the music or my family. I couldn’t pinpoint the moment when everything started to suck, but I knew exactly when I’d ruined my last chance at happiness.

I missed Anthony almost as much as I hated him.

And I hated everything that he said almost as much as I knew how true it all was.

I also hated Simone, but nothing much had changed there.

But the hatred I had for myself? That was new. I loathed feeling so damn worthless. It was my own fault this had happened.

Enough was enough.

This had to end sometime.

I had to fix things.

I texted Rose and Martini and apologized for leaving without saying goodbye. I hurried home, racing nonexistent traffic, desperate for the quiet, dark solitude of my apartment.

The door closed behind me.

And I locked every last bit of fear, anxiety, and depression outside in the cold.

I grabbed my violin and set up a chair. The sheet music was tucked inside a marked banker’s box, the last concerto I played. The one I loved so much I tattooed it onto my ankle.

I played the movement until it was time for work.

I played it as soon as I got back.

I played it until my body trembled with fatigue and I passed out on the couch, bow in hand.

And I felt...better.