“The chain, Zack, now,” Aiden’s voice was clipped, all business.
In a single, fluid motion, Zack unclipped the pulley, and the sudden release of tension made Sophie’s arms fall like stones. Aiden was there, catching her, supporting her weight as her knees buckled. He worked the stocks, the hinges clicking open with a speed that spoke of muscle memory. Her wrists, then her ankle, were free.
Zack wrapped her in his jacket, the heaviness swallowing her, a dark, protective shell against the world’s prying eyes. He lifted her, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back,cradling her against his chest. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, the familiar scent of him, all sandalwood and clean skin, a desperate anchor. She could hear the frantic, uneven rhythm of her own heartbeat, a panicked drum solo against his steady pulse.
Aiden was a blur of motion beside them. “Private room. Now.” His tone was a steel command directed at one of the DMs. To Sophie, it was a gentle, grounding murmur. “I’m right here, little star. I’ve got you.”
“I've got to go see what that was,” Zack said, his lips pressed to her temple as they moved quickly through the crowd. “Aiden will take care of you. I'll be right back.”
Zack
The anger was a cold, clean fire in his veins. Every possessive instinct he had was screaming, a primal fury that someone,something, had breached the sanctuary of their scene and shattered what they'd so carefully built. His world, which for the past hour had been the diameter of Sophie’s pupils, the frantic jingle of a bell, the crimson bloom of a welt on her skin, had just been forcibly invaded.
Zack moved through the club with a purpose that parted the crowd before him. The music seemed to recede, the laughter and conversations fading into a dull hum. All he could hear was the echo of Sophie’s whispered “Red” and the roaring of his own ears.
The disturbance was centered in the back corner near the auxiliary bar, an area usually reserved for quieter negotiations or post-scene decompression.
Dungeon monitors were forming a loose perimeter, their faces grim. Colton had a firm grip on Claudia’s arm, physically restraining her as she tried to lunge forward again. Her face was a thundercloud of fury, her usually immaculate hair disheveled. Across from her, a woman who looked vaguely familiar was being escorted out by Violet, her steps unsteady, her face a mask of sullen defiance.
“What thefuck?” The words were torn from Zack, a low growl that cut through the ambient noise.
Noah turned from the group, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held a weary resignation. He stepped toward him, creating a buffer between his raw rage and the simmering incident.
“Zack. Take a breath,” he said, his voice low and steady, the tone he used when a scene was about to spin out.
“Don’t tell me to take a fucking breath, Noah. This is my club and there’s no place for this. That wasourscene,” Zack snarled, gesturing back toward the empty pillory. “That was Sophie. She’s in a private room right now, shattered, because of whatever this shitshow is.”
“I know. And that’s why you need to be calm when you hear this. Reacting hot won’t fix it.”
Noah’s placid calm was usually a balm. Tonight, it was gasoline. Zack got right in his face, his hands fisted at my sides. “Talk.”
Noah’s gaze flickered past him toward Violet, who was now pushing the other woman through a staff-only door. The woman was stumbling, her mouth open in a stream of what were clearly insults, though the words were lost to the club’s bass. The click of the lock behind them was a definitive, final sound.
“Cora was running her mouth,” Noah explained, his arms crossing over his chest, a wall of information. “According to Colton, Cora made a comment. Something along the lines of, ‘Must be a slow night if the owners are wasting their talents on a cheap little sub who can’t even take a proper scene.’”
A white-hot surge of protectiveness, violent and absolute, washed through Zack. It wasn’t for himself. It was for Sophie. For the raw, breathtaking way she gave herself over, the trust she placed in them.Cheap. The word was an insect, crawling under his skin.
“Claudia was at the bar. She heard it,” Noah continued. “Colton said she didn’t even hesitate. Walked right over, picked up Cora’s glass of whiskey, and threw it in her face.”
Zack’s gaze darted to Colton, who had finally released Claudia. She was standing there, shaking with fury, her knuckles white where she gripped the bar. Her mascara was running in two dark tracks down her cheeks, but her chin was held high, defiant. A warrior.
“Cora then decided it would be a brilliant idea to lunge for Claudia,” Noah said, his own voice dropping a degree, the calm veneer cracking to show the steel beneath. “That’s when Violet and I intervened. We’re handling it, Zack. Cora is out. Banned. Claudia is… she’s going to face a consequence from the club for breaking protocol. She knows that.”
But Sophie. The image of her terrified, whispered “Red” pushed everything else aside. The glass, the argument, Cora’s ugly words—they were all secondary. The primary wound was onSophie, in the private room, feeling the fallout from a battle she hadn’t even known she was in.
“Fine,” Zack bit out, the word tasting like ash.
Zack nodded to Wes. “Think you can handle this?”
“Sure thing, boss. Go take care of your submissive.” There wasn’t a need to correct him anymore.
“Yes. I’ll see you Tuesday about those new plans.” Zack turned on his heel and strode away, the cold fury in his veins demanding a single, solitary focus.
Zack made his way to the aftercare room, where he left Aiden to tend to Sophie.
The secluded room behind the staffing area was specifically designed for emergencies. Whether from the submissive’s dominant or their aftercare staff.
He stopped in the threshold, a shadow in the hallway, and just watched.
