The challenge hangs between us. Mira's breathing has gone shallow, her pupils dilated, her pulse racing in ways she can't hide. She wants this. Wants what I'm offering. But she's terrified of admitting it.
"Tomorrow night," I say, making the decision for her because that's what she needs. "After we finish the interviews. I'll show you the Forge. Show you what happens when you stop fighting what you want and start accepting it." I step closer. "But understand something: once you walk through that door with me, once you see what I'm offering, you don't get to pretend anymore. You either accept what you need or you walk awaycompletely. No half measures. No professional distance. You decide, Mira. All in or nothing."
She stares at me for a long moment, conflict and want warring in her eyes. Finally, she nods once. Sharp, decisive.
"Tomorrow night," she says, voice rough. "Show me."
Then she turns and walks out before either of us can change our minds.
I watch her leave, my pulse elevated in ways that have nothing to do with the fire investigation.
Tomorrow night, I'll show Mira Vaughn exactly what she's been fighting. Show her what happens when structure meets surrender, when control gets exchanged between people who understand what that means.
And then we'll see if she's brave enough to take what she needs.
7
MIRA
Shaw stands in the doorway of the Forge, backlit by amber light that makes him look dangerous.
Part of me wants to turn around, get back in my car, pretend this conversation never happened. Professional instinct screaming to maintain boundaries, make rational decisions based on evidence rather than want.
That part loses as I step inside.
Exposed brick walls line the hallway beyond. Recessed lighting casts shadows across carpet thick enough to swallow sound. Everything about this space whispers discretion, privacy, things that happen behind closed doors. Leather and something clean underneath fills my lungs with each breath.
Shaw closes the door behind me with a soft click that feels final.
"Second thoughts?" His voice is low and intimate in the quiet.
"About a thousand of them."
"Good. It means you're paying attention." He moves past me, close enough that I catch his scent—leather and heated metal and something darker underneath. His hand finds the small of my back, pressure firm and possessive. "Come with me."
Another door opens into the main room. Warm amber lighting catches on exposed brick and polished wood floors. Leather seating areas cluster around the perimeter. Equipment I recognize from late-night research sessions dominates the center—a St. Andrew's cross mounted on one wall, a padded bench with restraint points, structures whose purposes I can only guess at.
Everything is clean, well-maintained, and clearly cared for. Not some basement dungeon hidden in shame. Deliberate, thoughtful, expensive.
"It's beautiful," I say before I can stop myself.
"A lot of people have that reaction." Shaw moves into the room, his posture relaxed but watchful. "You expected something seedy. Underground. People who've only seen this in movies always do."
"My ex, Todd, had equipment. In our bedroom." My voice is flat and empty of inflection. "A few pieces he ordered online. They looked nothing like this."
"Because what you had wasn't real." No judgment in his voice, just certainty. "This is what it looks like when people understand what they're doing. When they invest in quality, in safety, in making sure everyone who walks through these doors knows they're valued."
I move closer to the St. Andrew's cross, studying dark wood worn smooth with use, leather cuffs attached at strategic points. My fingers hover over one cuff without touching it.
"How many people know about this place?"
"Members only. About twenty regular participants, maybe another fifteen who come occasionally. All vetted, all committed to following rules." Shaw stops beside me, close enough that I feel his body heat. "We're protecting what we do. Keeping it safe. There's a difference between that and hiding."
"And you run it."
"Will runs the bar. Cole and I run the Forge. We built it together five years ago when we realized there wasn't anywhere close that met our standards." He reaches past me, touching the cross with familiar ease. "Everything you see here, we designed specifically for safety and function."
Questions pile up faster than I can organize them. About protocols and rules and how any of this works when you strip away the misconceptions. About whether what I experienced with Todd bears any resemblance to what happens here.
