Monday turned out to be a slow, lazy, perfect catch up on her sleep kind of day. After Finn left, she closed her eyes and didn’t open them again until late morning, when Phin got in her face, his paw nudging her cheek insistently as he demanded his breakfast. While he ate, she poured a glass of juice and took it out to the back patio.

Drowsy, and with a contented smile on her lips, she curled up on the lounger in the shade and slept away half the afternoon. After a light supper, a not so light call from Finn where he made her feel warm, happy, and a whole lot turned on, she was in bed by nine and didn’t crack an eyelid until her alarm went off at six a.m., not dreaming once.

Rather than being refreshed and energized, Tuesday started out as a double Dew morning, needing more of a caffeine kick-start than usual to overcome the surprising sluggishness she felt.

Was there such a thing as too much sleep?

More likely, it was brought on by the dread of going back to work. Already leaning toward finding something else, Finn pointing out the unsafe neighborhood and Gerald’s lax security a symptom of his disregard for his employees in general, convinced her it was past time to give her resume a good dusting off.

That had been the highlight of her morning.

Things went quickly downhill thereafter. A four-car pile-up on the freeway put her twenty minutes late though she’d left a half hour earlier than usual. And, Mr. Reinhart’s crappy alarm system blaring for the first ten minutes after her arrival.

The police officer who responded wasn’t happy since it was the third complaint of the day and the company had been unable to reach the owner. He’d ordered them to unplug it, or his next stop would be with a noise citation.

Things had calmed down for an hour or so, but that didn’t mean Esme had smooth sailing. Her computer wouldn’t start for some reason. She crawled around on the floor, checking plugs were firmly in sockets and cords securely plugged into jacks. After searching on her knees in the cramped, dusty space, she crawled out, unable to find anything wrong.

“I have a directory on my computer, but a lot of good that does me,” she grumbled.

She was about to call Jasmine to see if she had it when male laughter made her look up.

Never in a million years would she have expected to see Carlos from Decadence standing in her doorway. Further, never would she have wanted him to, considering during their last encounter he’d been crude, abusive, and left a ring of bruises on her wrist.

“Looking for this?” he asked while holding up a computer component.

“What is that?”

“Your hard drive; I’m not taking any chances.”

“Chances? With what?” He didn’t answer, giving her a smug grin, icy contempt in his blue eyes. A chill crept up her spine. When he stepped into her office and closed the door, the soft snick of the lock seemed deafening. Esme’s alarm rose to panic levels. He had no legitimate reason for being here, let alone sealing them in an office alone, and compounding that, tampering with her computer.

“What are you doing here, Carlos?”

“That’s Master Carlos to you, cunt,” he spat.

She flinched at the foul word, which only made his oily grin widen.

“What’s the matter, slut? Can’t handle the truth? What else do you call a cock teasing submissive?”

When he moved toward her, Esme shot to her feet, stepping around her desk to keep distance between them.

“I didn’t tease you. You just came up and grabbed me. I never showed any interest.”

“Showing up on Edge Night having no intention of playing is teasing. Does Gerald know he’s got a frigid sub working for him?”

She stiffened hearing him call her boss by his first name. Something was wrong here beyond her rejection of him at the club.

“Step aside, please. I’m leaving.”

“You don’t give the orders here, bitch!” he snapped.

The look in his eyes scared her. They wavered and shone with a strange light. She needed to get out of there fast. Esme glanced at the door. To reach it, she’d have to get past him.

She inched around her desk to the left, hoping he would move as she did, and she could get to a place where she could make a run for it.

“Stop moving. You’re not going anywhere except onto that desk, flat on your back, while I fuck you.”

“You’re crazy if you think that’s going to happen. Get out of my way, or I’ll scream.”

“Go right ahead, no one else is here except Gerald who works for me.”

When Carlos lunged for her, she ran, shoving her chair in his path. This slowed him down but didn’t stop him and with a growl of rage he picked it up and hurled it out of the way. The loud bang when it crashed against the wall couldn’t drown out Esme’s screams.

Winded, he stopped and stared at her across the length of her desk, unfortunately, he was still on the side nearest to the door. His face looked harder, his eyes glowing bright, and anger, as well as his exertions, had stained his cheeks red. She identified the latter because he was sweating profusely.

“If you expect to walk out of here when I’m through with you, I suggest you obey me and start showing me some respect. Better yet, shut the fuck up, and I have something to make that happen.”

He dropped the hard drive on her desk and picked up a black bag from the floor beside her credenza. She frowned, he didn’t have it when he came in. But she didn’t wonder about how it got there any further, not with Carlos removing an array of implements and laying them on the desk as though setting up for a scene. First, he pulled out a bundle of rope, next a gag, and finally a wicked looking short-tailed whip.

He’d planned this, obviously. Intent on carrying out whatever he envisioned for her that night at the club. After being thwarted by her and Finn, she didn’t doubt the cruelty and pain factors would be exponentially worse now. When the cuffs came out of the bag, she didn’t wait any longer. He was bigger and stronger, and while she didn’t expect a different outcome, she had to try. She couldn’t merely remain passive while he bound her, whipped her, and raped her.

Once again, she bolted for the door screaming for help. Carlos was better prepared for her this time. On her in a blink, his fingers sank into hair, and he jerked her head back viciously.

Esme cried out at the searing pain in her scalp. Her hands flew to his, nails digging into his skin as she tried to break his grip. Tears flooded her eyes when he dragged her to her desk and threw her onto it. Papers, pens, and her laptop went flying. She would have tumbled over the other side, and maybe it would have been better if she had, but he caught her arm and ankle and flipped her onto her back.

“Ah, but that’s what you like, isn’t it? I saw you leaving with Finnegan, all misty-eyed from his charm.” He grimaced. “Do you think I’m a fool? He’s a whip master too, which means you must crave the lash, as I suspected.”

“No, please, let me go.”

“What’s going on in there?”

Upon hearing Gerald’s muffled voice through the door, Esme felt a surge of hope. “Please, help me,” she cried.

“Go away, Gerald,” Carlos called.

Keys jangled, the knob turned, and when the door swung inward, despite her boss’ stricken expression, Esme had never been so happy to see anyone in her life.

“Butt out, Gerald. This isn’t your concern.”

“No, please,” she repeated, not stopping her struggles. “Don’t let him do this.”

“You’re supposed to be finalizing my accounts. By the time you’re done, I’ll have finished with your little paralegal, and we’ll go. If she pleases me,” ruthlessly he gripped her chin, his hard fingertips pinching her skin as he angled her face his way, “maybe I’ll take her with me. The plane ride to Argentina is long and can be tedious without something to pass the time.”

“You said nothing about harming my staff, Carlos, or kidnapping. You’re risking both our necks with this ridiculous vendetta. Let her go and let’s finish our business.”

His head shot up, and he screamed at the other man. “Don’t tell me what to do! You work for me, remember?”

While he was distracted, Esme turned her head enough to sink her teeth into his hand. Carlos yowled in pain and pulled back his hand; it was the chance she needed to scramble off the desk. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she ran for the door and Gerald, who stood in front of it.

“Don’t you fucking move another inch,” her attacker roared. The raw fury in his voice, and something else, bordering on hysteria, sent a chill down her spine, Esme dared a glance back.

He had a weird glow in his eyes, and his face was mottled red. The man had snapped, and to prove it, reached into his jacket, withdrew a gun, and took direct aim at her chest.

A cry of terror rose in her throat as her mind flashed back to five years before and another man with murderous intent. Before it burst free, Gerald grabbed her and pushed her behind him.

“You don’t need her, dammit. The Feds are closing in, Carlos. Once you’re safely on the plane to Buenos Aires, the money I’ve stashed in your accounts will buy all the tail you want. But you won’t be able to spend it on pussy or anything else from behind bars.”

“The million dollars I’ve paid you in legal fees means I get to do whatever the fuck I want, including doing the little ice princess here. Step out of my way.”

“Stay behind me, Esme,” her boss directed. Even though he was bravely protecting her, his body trembled against hers, and she heard the quiver in his voice.

“Stay behind me, Esme,” Carlos mimicked. “Aren’t you the big hero all of a sudden? What? You’ve got a hankering for her too? Or maybe you’ve already had a taste and want to keep her for yourself.” He shifted the muzzle of the gun toward Gerald. “I thought I told you to finish the account transfers.”

“They’re done.”

“Excellent. That means your services are no longer required.”

A gunshot exploded in the room. Gerald’s body jerked violently and flew backward, right into her.

Too terrified to scream, Esme slid down the wall and onto the floor with her would-be protector on top of her.

“Good riddance,” Carlos said while staring dispassionately at the man he just shot as though it was nothing. Then, he looked at her. “Now, cunt, if you don’t want to end up the same way, get your ass over here. I’m tired of your disobedience.”

Crushed beneath Gerald’s dead weight, she could hardly breathe, let alone move her ass anywhere. Her horror didn’t end at Carlos’ name calling, or intentions of whippings and rape, or his death threats, or being trapped beneath her boss’ still warm corpse, it continued as his blood, warm and sticky, soaked through her clothes.

The scene was too much like the nightmare from her past; this time, Esme was the one who snapped.

When Carlos rolled Gerald off her with his foot and reached down for her, she went berserk. Fortunately, she caught him off guard; he expected her to be cowed by the gun he still held or numb with shock after witnessing someone shot dead in front of her. And she should have been, such a reaction was perfectly normally. But Esme fought him tooth and nail—literally—kicking, punching, and biting. She did anything and everything to force him to release her, determined to escape the gunshots, and the blood—so much blood.

In their struggle, she head-butted him under the chin, which snapped his head back. Seeing her opportunity, she followed it with a two-fisted backhand punch which twisted him around. The gun went flying one way and she the other—out the door, down the hall, and through the rear entrance. She took the rickety steps two at a time and with strength and speed born of pure adrenaline raced across the parking lot.

When she got to her car and jerked on the door handle, it slipped through her blood-slick fingers. She gagged, wiped her hands on her clothes and tired again.

“Fuck!” she screamed with frustration when it wouldn’t open. Her keys and purse were in her office with Carlos and poor dead Gerald.

She sobbed hysterically. Was she living under a freaking bad luck cloud?

But in a flash of rationality, she remembered her spare key. She raced to her rear tire well and reached inside, searching around blindly.

“Please, God, let it be here.”

Her fingers brushed the key holder and pried the metal box secured by a magnet loose. With trembling fingers, she slid open the lid, dumped the key in her palm, and unlocked her door.

When her ass met the seat, she barely had her feet inside before she slammed the door and hit the locks. With her lungs seizing and her heart pounding like a bass drum in her chest, she tried sucking in deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating. That’s all she needed right now. She stabbed the key at the ignition, but her hands were shaking so hard, she missed.

A second and third attempt had identical results, and she mentally cursed herself for buying used instead of paying the little bit extra for the newer model with a push-button start.

Finally, on the sixth or seventh try, while using one hand to steady the other, she got the key in the small slot. Her success came at the same time as an enraged shout rang out behind her.

“You’re dead, bitch!”

Convinced Carlos would end her as heartlessly as he had Gerald, she prayed her not always reliable eight-year-old vehicle would start. The engine turned over on the first try, and with a sob—half relief and half terror—bursting from her throat, Esme threw the car in reverse.

Without sparing a glance behind her, too afraid to, she roared out of the space. Her fear was justified because as she slammed on the brake and shoved the gear shift into drive, a gunshot rang out, and a metallic ping sounded as the bullet deflected off her car.

Screaming, she ducked down just as another bullet hit, this time shattering her rear windshield. She didn’t think, just reacted, and stomped the gas pedal into the floor. The tires spun and squealed telling her to let up a bit. When she did, the vehicle hurtled toward the exit.

Someone up above must have been watching over the crazy lady on Wilshire that day because when she barreled out of the lot doing sixty and turned onto the always busy street without looking, no one was coming. Esme recognized that small piece of luck on a horrific day such as today, couldn’t possibly hold out and scooted up in her seat just enough to peek over the dash. With no destination in mind other than away from Carlos as fast as possible, she went straight if the light was green, turning right when it was red, doing whatever was necessary to keep from stopping.

She’d witnessed a murder and an attempt on her own life. He’d come after her to protect his ass. She had to go somewhere safe.

The police station was the obvious choice, but the only one she knew of was in her Northridge neighborhood ten miles away. Calling 911 wasn’t an option because her phone was with her keys and purse at the office. She didn’t dare stop to make a call.

Finn’s image popped into her head. If not him, one of his men would be in the office this time of day, surely. Searching the street signs to find her bearings, she passed a sign for I-110 and realized she was headed the wrong way.

“Shit!” she cursed, sensing the black cloud creeping over her again. Crossing two lanes of traffic, she made a left at the next light, her eyes shifting between her mirror and the road constantly like she was at a tennis match.

And in all that time, she never passed one police station or patrol car.

Opening her door, she checked both ways. With no deranged man intent on murdering her in sight, she ran for the glass double doors with the company name etched in black. Her legs were rubbery as shock took hold, so her sprint was more of a stagger.

The receptionist looked up as she entered, gasped, “Dear God,” and even though she stared at her, horror-struck for some reason, she reached for her phone. Her alert of “Code 6 in the lobby,” could be heard from speakers overhead.

“I’m calling EMS now, honey. Hang on.”

“No. Call Finn first, if he’s here, then the police.”

A door slamming open coincided with a ding, and she turned toward the barrage of thudding footsteps that came next. Four big men, all of whom she’d seen before in the unlabeled, non-descript, warehouse-big, bondage club across the street, skidded to a halt when they spotted her. All except Master Eric who shouldered past the two frozen men in front of him and came toward her.

“Jesus, fuck, Esme,” he exclaimed. “Where are you hurt?”

“Has she been shot?” one of the asked.

“Joann, call 911.”

“I’m doing it now,” the woman told them. “Gunshot wound. Rossi Building. Beverly Boulevard.”

“Call Thomas too. He’s at the club,” another man advised. “Tell him to bring his kit.”

“How are you on your feet, sweetheart?” Eric, next to her now, took her gently by the shoulders while he scanned her chest and abdomen.

“I’m not shot.”

“Then where are you injured?”

What were they talking about? She was shaken up, and the right side of her face was numb where the bastard had backhanded her, but not badly enough for an ambulance. But as she stood there, surrounded by men who could help her, only one man would do. Already the adrenaline surge had started to recede. Her hands were shaking so badly, they didn’t stop when she clenched them into tight fists. As the hysteria rose within her, she felt sure she would lose it, if she didn’t find Finn soon.

“I need to see Finn, now,” she demanded in a high pitched, shaky voice. “Can you call him for me, please?”

“I’m right here, lass.”

Spinning around, she found him standing in the same doorway she had entered only moments before. Overwhelming relief washed over her. She wanted to go to him, to melt in his arms, to feed off his strength, but her feet wouldn’t move. But thankfully, she didn’t have to. He came to her, his hands encircling her upper arms. At his touch, her knees gave way and so did the hold she had on her tears, emerging in a loud barrage of sobbing

His greeting was the same emphatic, “Jesus, fuck,” as his friend’s and followed by a similar question. “Where are you injured, lass?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” she wailed.

“Because, baby, you’re covered in blood.”

Following his gaze, which moved systematically over her chest and belly as Eric’s had done, for the first time she saw her blouse. Once white, it was now stained crimson with blood. So much had soaked through the silk and adhered to her skin.

The moment when Carlos had pulled a gun from his inside jacket pocket and put a bullet in Gerald’s chest flashed in her mind. She relived the bullet’s impact, the sick sound as it ripped through flesh, and the warm splatter of blood onto her face as the bullet exited his back and came only inches from Esme’s head.

“Get it off,” she cried in horror. Her fingers curled into claws, and she tore at the buttons.

“Mo chuisle,” he uttered, attempting to soothe her as he caught her wrists. “Let me see to you.”

“No! Too much blood. Get if off,” she repeated, struggling against his hold.

“Esme, stop!” he commanded sharply, fingers like steel bands trapping her hands against his chest. “You’ll hurt yourself more. You’re in shock, baby. We’ll take care of you first, then clean you up, I promise.”

Suddenly, she froze, his desperation penetrating at some level. Staring up into his handsome face, ravaged with worry, she whispered, “It’s not mine, Finn.”

“Then whose?” he demanded, searching her face to make sense of it.

“Carlos. He was at my office and shot my boss. He landed on top of me,” Her face and body crumpled, falling against him weakly, as the brutal scene flashed before her again. The sobs returned. “I’m fine, but Gerald... he’s dead; this is his blood.”

He swept her up in his arms and cradled her close. When her fingers curled into his shirt, gripping him like he was a lifeline, his hold tightened. “I’ve got you, love. Let’s get you upstairs.”

When he moved a wave of dizziness assailed her, and she closed her eyes.

His men followed, and though she could clearly hear the thud of their boots on the tile, their voices were muffled, as though from far away and she could barely make them out.

“Carlos who?” one of the men asked.

“Does she mean Hernandez? From the club?” asked another.

“Formerly of the club,” a third corrected. “Eric kicked him out.”

“What does that have to do with Esme, and her boss?” the first man inquired.

“Good question,” Finn muttered.

“So much blood,” she whispered, “and death. Just like before.” As a rushing sound filled her ears, she felt her body go limp, her fingers no longer able to hold on, released Finn’s shirt. Then, all she knew was blackness.

Esme didn’t bat an eye when he took her downstairs to the locker room, stripped naked, then removed her blood-soaked clothes and carried her unconscious into the shower. He examined every inch of her body as he washed her clean, then had her dried and dressed in oversized sweats from his locker by the time the paramedics arrived. They insisted on evaluating her and, except for a nasty bruise and swelling over her right cheek, like him found no other injuries. Keiran knew they were there, deeply emotional, just not visible to the eye.

Her vital signs were normal, still they wanted to take her in because she wasn’t responding. Thomas arrived in time to explain he was her personal physician and she was under his care. They looked skeptical but after seeing his credentials and without medical cause, other than being sound asleep from mental exhaustion, they packed up, got Thomas’ MD on the dotted line, and took off.

“She’ll be safer here than in a packed ER somewhere,” he’d explained when Keiran thanked him. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but it involves Carlos Hernandez and Esme’s boss, a local criminal defense attorney.” He gazed down at her pale face, her form motionless, other than the slow rise and fall of her chest. He addressed his friend without looking away from her. “I don’t want to leave her like this, but if you’ll stay and watch over her, I’ll go figure it out.”

“Of course, I will,” Thomas assured him with a hard clap on his shoulder. “The little redhead got under your skin, quick.”

“Yeah, and she’s dug deep and if it’s up to me, there for good.”

Val arrived shortly after and was put in charge of sitting with Esme who still slept soundly on his office couch. This freed Thomas up to man the control room, as he pulled men off non-critical assignments to help make sense of whatever shit had gone down and put his woman in the middle.

While he made the calls, Keiran got in touch with Jonas Mitchell, the best computer man in the company, and had him dig deeper into Carlos, and Gerald Reinhart. With that in the works, he and Eric made a visit to their contacts on the LAPD.

Leads were coming in, money trails were popping up, and by evening he and his team had connected the dots, including narrowing down Hernandez’s whereabouts to one of four possible locations. The detectives were making headway, but they also had other homicides they were working where Keiran and his men did not. Their snail’s pace wasn’t fast enough for him, not with Esme’s life in danger. He assembled the team at the office gave them their assignments, expecting to have this wrapped up, with the asshole terrorizing Esme turned over to the police by morning.

Before he headed out, he stopped in once more to check on her.

Haunted green eyes met his when he sat down on the couch beside her. She was still pale, and even though she’d slept the entire afternoon, looked like she hadn’t shut her eyes in a week.

Taking her hand, encouraged when her much smaller fingers curled reflexively around his own, he lifted them to his lips for a kiss, then leaned forward and placed another on her forehead.

“Esme, darlin’, I’ve got to go, but Val is here, and Thomas is upstairs if you need him. I have guards posted to keep you safe until I return. And when I do, this nightmare will be over. I promise.”

Her grip tightened painfully as she clung to him. “Stay with me, Finn. Let the police handle it.”

“We’ve got leads to check, Esme. They’re strong. This can be wrapped up tonight.”

“No,” she exclaimed, her other hand coming to his chest, her nails digging in and biting into his skin even through his shirt. “You won’t come back.”

“I will, baby. We’ll get him and put him away where he can’t hurt you again.”

“No,” she repeated, climbing into his lap and wrapping her arms in a choke hold around his neck.

“Hush, darlin’, trust me.” But she wasn’t hearing him, keeping up a steady chant of no’s and don’t go’s. He looked to Val for help over her shoulder.

She moved close, tears in her eyes as she spoke low, and explained, “She’s in shock. In her sleep, she kept talking about blood, death, and Andrew.”

“Her husband.”

“Yes. He died in her arms, and now her boss. I think she needs sedation, maybe hospitalization.”

“She stays here, where she’s safe. Call Thomas down here,” he demanded. “Maybe there’s something he can give her until this is over.”

“I’ll get him,” Eric said from the doorway.

“Master Thomas? From the club?” Val clarified, turning to her husband in confusion. “What can he do?”

“He’s a doctor, love,” he told her before disappearing into the hall.

“No doctors, no hospitals,” Esme cried in his ear. “If we stay here he won’t find us.”

He could feel her body trembling, and her voice wasn’t her own, more of a frightened child stuck in a night terror. But today, Esme’s had been all too real.

When Thomas arrived, Keiran tried to put her down, so he could examine her. But she shouted, “No!” and climbed up his body like a tree, her arms and legs wrapping him up tight.

It broke his heart, but he held her still while the doctor exposed her hip for an injection. “What is it?” he inquired as he looked on.

“Lorazepam, a mild sedative. It should take effect in a few minutes and she’ll sleep for a few hours.”

As Thomas predicted, her body stopped shaking and the death grip she had on him relaxed very quickly. In about ten minutes, he eased her down on the couch and covered her with a blanket Val handed him. Her eyes were open, though getting heavy, but the lingering fear he saw stabbed at him like a knife in the gut.

“Close your eyes and rest, baby,” he urged softly while stroking her hair back from her face. He continued to do so until he could no longer see her beautiful green gaze and her lashes lay in a dark fan against her pale cheek. He waited another few minutes, giving the medication time to knock her out, before he moved. Seeing her like this strengthened his conviction to have Hernandez behind bars tonight, or out of her life in other more permanent ways.

Thinking her asleep, he shifted to stand, but her hand shot out to his, her grip still surprisingly strong. She looked drugged but sounded lucid when she demanded, “Promise you’ll come back to me.”

“I promise, a stór,” he stated firmly while bending to press a kiss to her lips. “Sleep and heal, baby.”

She nodded but had one last thing to say. “If you don’t come back, and I lose another man I love, so help me God, Keiran Finnegan, I won’t mourn because I’ll never forgive you.” She said nothing more and her eyes drifted shut.

“A vow of love and a threat all in one. Your woman has a way with words, my friend.”

He rose and strode to the door, brushing against Eric as he moved through. “Come on. Let’s end this, so I can keep my promise, my woman, and her love.”