Zoya must had been exhausted because once she fell asleep, she remained so for the entirety of the flight. Not that Stryder could blame her. She had gone through quite the ordeal, and she had experienced things that no human should ever have to. It pained him to think about how it was just beginning for her. Yes, she would be safe at the ranch—he would make damn sure of it—but she was going to have to relive her nightmare over and over as he and his family pumped her for information to bring Vasily Poplov down. There was no other way, and they couldn’t afford to protect her feelings at this time. Normally, he wouldn’t give a fuck about what he had to do to complete a mission, but something about this woman made him care.

She made him weak.

What the fuck was he doing getting into the shower with her? Holding her? Caring for her? Sure, he was a gentleman. Any respectable Texan considered himself as such, but this was different. He was crossing a line, and he knew it. And the way that Anson had kept shooting him knowing looks ever since they had Zoya in their possession told Stryder that the fact that she had his balls in a vice was fucking obvious.

“The truck is over there,” Stryder said as he placed his hand on Zoya’s lower back and guided her to their pickup where Anson and he had left it before flying out to Russia. “It’s about a three-hour drive, but we will stop at a favorite joint of ours on the way. Will that be okay with you?”

Zoya nodded, still looking tired and not fully awake. It had been a long trip, and with the time change added to her ordeal, he was surprised she was even walking straight.

When they got to the truck, Anson went to the driver’s side while Stryder helped lift Zoya into the back seat. He was grateful when he saw an old flannel blanket folded on the floor. Unfolding the blanket, he placed it over Zoya after she buckled herself in.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

By the time he got into the passenger seat, snapped his belt and glanced over his shoulder at Zoya, she had already snuggled under the blanket, pressed her head against the window of the door, and was sleeping again.

“She’s been through a lot,” Anson said as he started the truck.

“Yeah, fucking Poplov treated her and those other women like shit.”

“I can’t get those other girls out of my mind, bro,” Anson admitted. “Their faces are haunting me. When I think about what their new Masters are doing to them right now—”

“Don’t,” Stryder interrupted. “And those weak sonofabitches don’t deserve the title of Master.”

Stryder never kept it secret from the women he dated that he was into the BDSM scene, but he had never made anyone call him Master before. Not because he didn’t like the term, but rather it just never seemed necessary or right for him. He much preferred “Sir” and even had a lovely brunette call him “Daddy” once before. He preferred to be dominant, but never to the level of Master and slave. But he did know a lot of good men who earned the title of Master, and all those filthy rich fucks at that slave auction gave the true Masters in the BDSM lifestyle a bad name.

“Very true,” Anson agreed as they drove off the airport grounds and headed toward home. “That woman we let go to Montez—Natalia. I’m never going to be able to live with myself if we don’t rescue her.”

“We will,” Stryder said, although he knew there were no guarantees. Even if they found all the women, there was no telling if they would all be alive or even in what condition they would be in once found. “I could tell she got to you.”

“She did. I don’t know why, but I can’t get her out of my mind. I’m fucking pissed at myself that I let her go with Montez and didn’t do a thing about it other than watch like a coward.”

“You couldn’t have helped her then, bro, and you know it. We had to be smart, calm, and stick to the plan. You out of all people know that.” Stryder understood Anson was having a hard time, and would until they rescued all the women, but especially Natalia.

Anson looked over his shoulder quickly to make sure that Zoya was asleep before saying, “I didn’t get to tell you this yet, but you did good back at that auction. I know it wasn’t easy for you to use the whip on her. But you impressed me with your expertise. You didn’t harm her.”

Stryder shot daggers his way. “Did you think I would?”

Anson shrugged and smirked. “I don’t know, man. It’s not like I pay attention to your bedroom antics or anything. What you do in our dungeon is not something I’ve ever really thought about, for Christ’s sake.”

The playroom he and his brothers had set up on a dare many years ago had truly become a favorite of Stryder’s. He liked the kinkier side of things, and had no shame in admitting it. Vanilla sex wasn’t for him, and he had figured that out a long time ago. He liked submissive women, and he craved their utter and complete surrender before he fucked them into oblivion. But he had no idea his lifestyle would actually come into play in aiding them on this mission. As beautiful as Zoya was, naked beneath his lash, Stryder had hated every minute of it. He believed in consensual. He believed in firmness followed by tenderness. And he believed in pleasing even more than in giving pain. He had wished desperately that he could have shown Zoya all of that. It was a shame that her first experience with dominance and submission—or at least what he assumed was her first—was that unfortunate incident. And it sickened him to think that she may never actually give him or anyone the chance to see that there was so much more delight that could come from the bite of leather.

“Yeah, well, the whip used to be one of my favorite implements. Although after Moscow, I think I’m going to have to retire it. I don’t ever want to fucking relive that nightmare again. I’m sure Zoya would never want to…” He stopped talking when he realized he was thinking about being intimate with Zoya again in the future, almost as if that were the natural way of things. Why the fuck would he ever think such a thing?

Was it because he had seen her naked? Was it because he had held her, caressed her, cared for her as any good Dom would do? Was it all because he had already done more with Zoya in the last forty-eight hours than he did with most women, unless you counted the meaningless one night stands? While he always offered aftercare and tenderness to a partner after a scene, Stryder wasn’t one for giving love and attention to women. Not that he had never done so with anyone else, but it was rare. Yet with Zoya, they were practically in relationship status based on all the things he had already done with the girl. If he were being honest with himself, he was already seeing her as his. Not just his save, but his.

And it fucking pissed him off.

It had to be because of Maddox and Adira. Their last save was a lovely Arabian beauty by the name of Adira Nazar, and his brother had fallen in love. Hell, he had even married the girl. It wasn’t the way they did things—crossing personal with business, but Maddox had broken all the rules. Could it be that his brother’s antics were wearing off on him?

“You seem different around her,” Anson said casually as he pulled onto the highway.

“What are you talking about? I’m just doing my job.”

“Nah, she softens you. You aren’t such an asshole.”

“Fuck off.” Stryder looked out the window, happy to see the Texas scenery pass them by. It was good to be home. They were alive, unharmed, and so far the mission was going according to plan. He always liked when everything was in order. It gave him a sense of accomplishment.

Anson chuckled. “I’m just saying—”

“Shut up.” Stryder leaned his head against the window like Zoya had and closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion take hold. “I’m going to catch some shut eye until we get to The Flying Pig. Can you shut your trap until we get there?” He smiled, knowing that Anson was finding this all amusing. Both his older brothers always did like trying to get under his skin. Luckily for them, his love for his siblings always overpowered his annoyance for them, or there would be a lot of busted lips. “Are you all right to drive?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I wasn’t up all night taking care of my save.”

It was as if he could smell the juicy, mouthwatering meat in his dreams. Stryder woke up as they were pulling into the parking lot of their favorite—but secret from Jennie—restaurant. It was a reward they usually granted themselves when they traveled for work. They sure didn’t get greasy, heart-clogging BBQ like this at the ranch. A small price, of course, for Jennie’s love and her taking care of them all, but he sure did look forward to these stops. Jennie was their free- spirit, hippie, vegetable eating, quinoa cooking, Mother Earth, pot smoking, bee dancer. She was one of a kind, and if it meant he had to eat food that tasted like hay to have her in his life, he would gladly chomp on the dried grass any day.

“I can taste it now,” Anson said with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Stryder unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to wake Zoya up. She was already stirring when the truck came to a stop. “Zoya, we are here. You better wake up, because you sure as hell don’t want to sleep through this meal.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled softly. “BBQ time?”

“Oh yeah,” Anson said as he hopped out of the truck and slammed the driver’s door.

Stryder got out and opened Zoya’s door. She was sitting up and combing her fingers through her hair.

“You look just beautiful.” Beyond beautiful, in fact. “This place is nothing but a hole in the wall dive, but man oh man can they cook.”

Zoya placed her hand in Stryder’s when he offered it to help her out of the raised cab. “I’m actually really hungry. I smell smoke but also something beneath it—”

“That is the aroma of heaven. Spices, chilies, peppers, tomatoes, all slathered onto meat that’s been smoking for hours.”

“Hours? I’d think that would dry out the meat.”

“Nope, perfectly prepared BBQ is like great sex—low and slow is the key to an experience you’ll never forget.”

He could have kicked himself the moment the words left his mouth at the flash of pain in her eyes but she just said, “Well, it smells delicious.”

He helped her to the ground and escorted her to the tiny shack of a building. He could smell the fragrance coming from the smokers that lined the back of the restaurant. His hunger pangs were escalating to the point of starvation. “I could eat an entire cow.”

Anson was waiting at the door, holding it open. “Come on, you two. Jennie is waiting for us back at the ranch, so we’d better make this quick.”

Zoya looked between them, her brow furrowed. “You two seem awfully scared of this Jennie lady. For two big strong men, she sure does wear the pants in the family it seems.”

Stryder shrugged. “That is a fact. We accepted that a long time ago.”

Anson chuckled as they walked to an old wooden picnic bench-like table covered in a red and white plastic checkered tablecloth. “Jennie’s a sweetheart, and you’re going to love her. But she likes to keep us all balanced and harmonious.” He laughed again as he nodded at the waitress who was already approaching.

Stryder helped Zoya swing her legs over the bench. When she had disappeared into the bathroom at the hotel, he’d made a call. The dress the copilot had managed to find and bring to the plane along with the gown and choice of underwear was at least a size too large but it was better than just his black tee. He hadn’t thought about shoes and so she was forced to continue wearing the ridiculously high heels. Though he couldn’t help but notice they made her already great legs look even more fabulous, he knew she had to hate them. They were the ones she had stood in… those heels and nothing else on that stage. He forced his mind back to the present, watching as she looked all around. She was clearly distracted by all the mismatched décor that covered every inch of wall space. Hundreds of baseball and trucker hats hung with no rhyme or reason from the ceiling. The walls had random shit placed everywhere from weird pictures, odd ball antiques, vintage plates, a moose head, and ribbons and awards that The Flying Pig had won in cook out competitions.

“Interesting decorations,” Zoya said, taking it all in.

“Howdy, ya’ll! Welcome to The Pig. What can I get you?” the waitress asked, holding her pencil to the pad while she waited.

Stryder turned to Zoya and the fact that her mouth had dropped open into a little “O” didn’t surprise him. He was pretty sure the waitresses in Russia didn’t wear their hair up in braided pigtails, the ends tied off with rubber bands that had fat, pink piglets dangling from them. The woman wore a pink and white plaid shirt, the ends tied just beneath her very generous breasts. A pair of shorts, aka Daisy Dukes, left a great deal of flesh visible before her next clothing which was a pair of pink cowgirl boots. He doubted Zoya had even heard the question.

“Do you trust me to order for you?” Stryder asked softly, leaning close to Zoya.

“What?” Tearing her glance from the waitress to him, she nodded. “Oh, yes, I do. I will have whatever you think I’d like.”

“The full rack of ribs and the Squealing Pig sandwich for each of us, meat over the top and extra sauce, sides of pinto beans and slaw. Oh, and a tower of onion rings to start,” Stryder ordered, handing the menus that he hadn’t even looked at to the waitress.

“Make that three,” Anson added.

“Drinks?” the waitress asked.

“Iced tea,” Anson said, which Stryder knew he would do. The boy wouldn’t even have one drink if he were driving.

“Beer… your pale ale,” Stryder said, looking at Zoya to see what she wanted. He didn’t want to even guess what she would want.

“I’ll have a beer too,” she said with a wide smile.

“Ah, a girl after my own heart,” Stryder said with a chuckle.

“You’d better marry this girl, bro,” Anson teased. “Finding a girl who will eat pounds of pork and drink beer…”

“Pretty on top of that.” He looked at Zoya, who was blushing and looking down at her hands. She was pink in the cheeks, but so freakin’ beautiful. It filled his heart to see that she seemed genuinely happy as they sat there.

When the waitress left, Anson was the first to speak. “You’d better get used to constant teasing and playing. When us brothers get together, we can be pretty ruthless.”

“I was an only child,” Zoya said. “This sibling rivalry is definitely new to me.” She looked at Anson, then back at Stryder. She did this a few more times before asking, “Why don’t you two look alike? You say you are brothers but you don’t share any of the same features.”

“We were both adopted,” Stryder answered. He wasn’t one for talking about himself. His past was his business and no one else’s, but she seemed genuine in her question, and he had no desire to avoid it. “We were both brought to the ranch as young boys.”

“Pops saved my life,” Anson said with a faraway look in his eyes.

Stryder nodded. “He found me alone in Argentina. My mother had just died and I had no one. If it weren’t for him, I would have died of hunger and illness, or entered a life of crime. There weren’t any other options for a poor street rat living in the alleys of Rosario.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so nosey. I didn’t mean to make you revisit bad memories.”

“I don’t mind.” And he really didn’t. It struck him that despite having bad—horrid—memories of her own, she’d expressed concern for him. That glimpse into who this woman was only made his anger grow at the injustices that had been done to her and the other innocent women. It seemed odd how easy it was for him to reveal his past to her. He didn’t talk about his past, and other than his family, no one truly knew the hell he had once lived. No one knew his mother had been a whore who had ended up dead and penniless.

“He sounds like a good man, your father.”

“It doesn’t take blood to make family,” Stryder said, watching the waitress walk back with their drinks and appetizer. “Anson and I are proud to be Steeles, even though we weren’t born one.”

Though Zoya thanked him for the beer he handed her, her eyes were on the tall wooden contraption that had perfectly golden fried rings, graduating in size from huge to smallish forming a tower. He chuckled as she shook her head.

“That could make an entire meal!”

“Nah, these are just to get the juices flowing. Here.” He plucked the first ring off the tower and laid it on a small plate, putting it before her. “These are made from the best onions on the planet. They are called 1015s and I’m telling you, you’ll love every bite.” Taking his own ring, he held it out as she lifted hers. Touching the two was silly but when he added, “To your first taste of Texas fare,” it brought a smile to her face which grew when she took her first tentative bite. “Good?” he asked, half his ring disappearing in one bite, the crunch audible.

“Delicious,” she agreed, taking another bite before returning to the earlier conversation.

“Who all lives at the ranch?” Zoya asked, sipping her beer and letting the foam coat her upper lip.

“Pops, Jennie, Maddox and his new bride Adira, Anson and myself. We also have ranch hands who live on the property.”

“It sounds big.”

“It is. But cozy. We all built it from scratch. Even though we run our operations out of it, we wanted to make sure it always felt like home.”

Anson nodded in agreement.

“There are several horses as well. We breed and sell. So it’s really busy and something is always going on.”

“And none of them will mind me coming to stay?” Worry washed over her face, and Stryder wanted to instantly bring back the soft smile and happiness that was once there.

“They will love you. And besides, it’s what we do. We rescue and provide safe haven to people in need. Everyone is used to guests on the property,” Stryder assured her.

“Why?” she asked, her tone indicating she really wanted to understand.

Stryder shrugged. “Our pops decided a long time ago that he would make it his mission to help those in need. To help those who maybe the government wouldn’t help because they were mixed up with the wrong people. He believed that all deserved help if they needed it. He’s a good man.”

“And you and your brothers decided to take on the family business? No other jobs or goals?” There was no judgment in her voice, just simple curiosity.

“We all went away and joined different branches of the military,” Anson interjected.

“We trained for this,” Stryder added. “But yes, it is our family business. The Black Stallion Ranch is far more than just a ranch that breeds horses. We act as a witness protection for the underground. Like with you. You will stay with us and remain protected.”

“For how long? How long will I live there?” Her look of worry intensified.

“Depends. I won’t let you leave until Vasily is dead or behind bars for good.”

“I prefer dead,” Anson chimed in.

“We all do,” Stryder agreed.

The food arrived, and any worry that was once on Zoya’s face was replaced with shock, surprise and amusement. “That is a lot of food! How are we going to eat all this?”

Anson chuckled. “Oh, we will. Don’t you worry about that.”

Stryder helped the waitress organize the food on the table. “Think of this as your last meal. You may never see real meat, real juicy fat, or really delicious anything for quite some time.” Stryder looked at Zoya and winked. Her blue eyes were as wide as saucers as he set a red plastic basket filled with huge yeast rolls, thick slices of Texas toast, and muffins on the table.

“We didn’t order bread—”

“Don’t need to. Bread is a staple; you’ll use it to soak up all those juices and sauce. Here, try a corn muffin first.” He placed a golden yellow muffin on her plate. “I warn you, you might find it a bit spicy as there are jalapeños inside but man, they are great, especially with some whipped butter and local honey.” He placed two small bowls containing butter and honey next to her plate as well.

Zoya shook her head at the next plate he put before her. It wasn’t even large enough to hold the rack of ribs as they hung over the edge. “If this is how you boys eat, I don’t blame Jennie one bit for controlling you. This looks like the butcher slaughtered every animal on the farm!” Her angelic laugh made Stryder smile. She unwrapped her silverware and began to put the napkin in her lap.

“No, not like that,” Stryder said, “like this.” He took the oversized napkin from her and reached to tuck it into the collar of her dress. As his fingers grazed her skin, he felt his pulse jump. Get a grip, man, he told himself. Spreading the napkin out until it covered her entire front, he tried not to let his fingertips graze the rounded swells of her breasts.

After tucking his own napkin into place, Stryder rubbed his hands together in excited anticipation. “No fancy manners required. Except for the sides, fingers are the only silverware you’ll need. Ready?” At her rather bemused expression, he grinned. “Let’s dig in!”

“Jennie is probably pacing back and forth waiting for us, but man, you can’t ask a starving Texan to hurry through BBQ,” Anson said as he placed a rib to his mouth, closed his eyes, and moaned.