When I walk under the familiar black awning into a wash of crimson light, I don’t wait for the angelic doorman—Nick? Nathan?—to speak.

“Open the door, please.” Polite but firm.

Instead of chewing me out or threatening me, his mouth drops open before resolving into a wide grin. “Sugarplum, you’re here!”

I frown. “What? And what did you call me?”

He shakes his head quickly. “Nothing—never mind.” Jumping off his stool, he opens the padded door and gestures with flourish. “Crossroads awaits, madam.”

As I pass him, I pause and take in his ecstatic expression. Wry humor tilts my lips. “I’m on the list, aren’t I?”

He winks. “Every day of every week.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or sigh. I settle for thanking him and walking into the club. The first thing I notice is the spotlight over the pit. An amplified moan confirms that a scene is being played out for the delight of the crowd.

The communal focus is a blessing, as no one really notices as I walk toward the bar. I muse that the lack of interest could also very well be a side-effect of my dress—vivid red with a near-scandalous cut. A smile tugs my mouth as I wonder if the few people who glance my way think I’m a Domme.

Despite the action going on, the bar is packed two-deep with patrons. I wait and finally find an opening, squeezing through bodies until I reach the counter. My only plan right now is a shot of something strong.

He’s here. I can feel him.

What I don’t expect is to recognize the bartender who rises from a squat directly opposite me. Seeing me, London of the perfect-skin does a fair impression of the doorman, her mouth dropping open with surprise.

“Eden! Wow, you look so different, I almost didn’t recognize you. Are you looking for Liam?”

“Yes, I am. Is he here?”

She nods. “He’s in Dominic’s office. Go on back.” When I hesitate, she grabs a bottle and a shot glass, which she fills to the brim. With a grin, she hands it to me. “Down the hatch.”

I throw back the shot, then cough. “Christ, what was that?”

London chuckles. “Liquid courage.”

“Thanks,” I say dryly.

She tosses her head toward the door at the end of the bar. “Now go on. But take it easy on him, will ya? He’s… well, you’ll see. Good luck.” Then she turns to another customer, taking away my last excuse to stall.

Once again fighting the equal urge to laugh and sigh, I skirt around the bar to the white door. Deep breath. I open the door, revealing the familiar, empty hallway.

The first step is the hardest, but I take it. The door swings shut behind me, and the noise from the club is instantly muted.

Another step. Then another and another, until there’s only one more door between us. There I stop. My breathing has reverted to erratic and shallow. I can taste my pounding heartbeat at the back of my throat.

My goddamn panties are damp.

“You’re a fucking mess,” I mutter.

From the other side of the door, an amused voice says, “You’re right. I’m an absolute mess without you.”

The door opens inward, pulling the breath out of me. Turquoise, bloodshot eyes. Messy hair gone too long without a trim. Days-old scruff. Worn t-shirt and faded jeans.

Home.

Home.

I clear my throat. “Can I come in?”

Liam steps back from the doorway. “Yes—absolutely, come in.”

My body humming with his nearness, I barely resist reaching out to touch him as I walk to the couch and sit.

Liam closes the door and takes a step toward me, then stops. Whatever expression I’m wearing causes him to change direction. He leans against the desk instead. Hands braced tightly on the surface to either side of him, he watches me expectantly.

I lift my chin. “Will you tell me now?”

He nods. “Anything you want to know.”

The question that comes out of my mouth first surprises both of us. “How did you find where I hid the diamonds?” Until asking, I hadn’t realized how curious I was.

A brow arches. “Burying a lockbox under a porch wasn’t exactly original.”

Chagrined, I demand, “But how did you figure out my connection with Benny? I never told you about him.”

“Trade secrets,” he says, smirking.

“Liam!” I bark.

The familiar, joyful rumble of his laughter makes my heart pound hard. I want badly to smile, but maintain my stern expression.

He finally lifts his hands in surrender, laughter lingering in his eyes. “The new phone I gave you before you left L.A. was bugged. I tracked you to Benny’s. Wasn’t hard to figure out the rest.”

My eyes widen. “I knew it!” Feeling vindicated, I lean forward and cross my legs. “Okay, now tell me about Hernandez.”

Liam sobers, chest expanding on a sigh. I study him carefully for signs that he’s preparing to lie, but I don’t find any. For better or worse, whatever’s coming is the truth.

“Hernandez tracked me down in Dublin last year. I don’t know how, but he put together what happened to the diamonds. He gave me an ultimatum. When the time came, either I did whatever he asked me to, or he would freeze the account and arrest you for the theft. I called bullshit—until he told me about his move to the CIA and named the bank on Cook Islands. And I knew he wasn’t bluffing.”

I release a slow breath. “And then?”

“He called me when you went missing. Same day as the shooting in your hospital. We improbably found ourselves on the same side—trying to find you and the Donnellys.”

“Why didn’t he want me to know?”

His eyes soften with apology. “Because six weeks… it’s a long time for a person to be victimized. Even after I found you, when you were rehabilitating, he wasn’t convinced he could trust you. I told him he could, Eden. I swear it.”

I snort in disbelief. “He thought what—that I’d been brainwashed into a bloodthirsty Donnelly?”

“Or had Stockholm syndrome, yes.” He says it without judgement.

Though we’ve never talked explicitly about Chris and the complex feelings he evokes—hatred and sympathy—from the compassion in Liam’s eyes, it’s clear he can relate. Knowing he has similarly conflicting feelings about his father is both tragic and cathartic.

I’m not alone.

“It’s a psychological mindfuck, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

I nod, sighing. “I guess I can see where Hernandez was coming from. But why didn’t you tell me that day? Was it because he was in the room?”

“No, love,” he says softly. “Blame it on the blood loss. I do, sometimes. I couldn’t get my head straight. All I knew was that you were walking away from me, and that if I tried, I could stop you. Instead, I pushed you away. A large part of it was I didn’t believe I deserved you. I still don’t—not really. But I also knew you needed something I couldn’t give you.”

His gaze flickers over my body, cataloguing everything from my relaxed posture to my long, unbound hair and the bold, sultry dress. I hear his words, even if he doesn’t speak them—whatever it was, you found it.

I drag in a shuddering breath. “Then you came here and waited to see if I’d come back to you.”

“Aye,” he whispers. “And have you?”

I want more than anything to fall to my knees before him, to surrender in a way I never have before. A way I didn’t understand before. Resisting the instinct takes every ounce of willpower I possess. Or nearly every ounce, because with the last drops I have left, I stand and square my shoulders.

“It depends.”

“On what?” he breathes.

“Whether or not you’re still willing to serve.”

His eyes widen with surprise, swiftly overtaken by relief. That’s all I glimpse before he steps toward me, bows his head, and lowers gracefully to his knees.

“I serve at your pleasure.”

The next breath I take crosses the boundary of flesh into spirit. Does the soul sleep, only to awaken? Because that’s what it feels like is happening—my soul’s first breath of life after a long sleep. An expansion of unparalleled warmth and rightness.

Tears prick my eyes as I take his face in my hands and guide it upward. In his brilliant eyes, I see us together. Not as we might have hoped, but as we are. And we are perfect.

I stroke my thumbs across his cheekbones. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about topping you. Can you imagine me with a whip? I’d probably hurt myself. And you know I can’t tie knots to save my life.”

I lower to my knees, shifting forward until we’re chest to chest. “I like this better, anyway.”

Liam’s confusion shifts to something infinitely more transparent and precious. His warm, strong hands cover mine. Mirth and love shimmer in his eyes.

“Eden Elizabeth Sumner, did you just make your Dom kneel as a test?”

I nod. “Yes, definitely. In case you were wondering, you passed.”

His lips twist comically before he releases laughter. “Thank God. I’m not very good at following orders.”

My laugh is light—as light as I am.

“Neither am I.”