I didn't turn around. I couldn't. If I looked at him now, I might reach for the gun holstered against my ribs.
Harley was waiting in the hallway, his expression carefully neutral until the heavy oak door closed behind me.
"I've got something," he said, falling into step beside me as I stormed through the mansion. "A lead on those shipment disruptions in the harbor. Looks like the Kavinal crew is skimming more than their agreed-on percentage."
The thought of violence sent a surge of relief through me. "Let's go. Maybe killing someone will keep me from walking back in there to kill them."
Harley nodded, already texting instructions to our team. "Car's out front. I've got the coordinates."
Whatever happened next, Rhea wouldn't be at that altar. And if my father or Don Juarez wanted to stop me, they'd have to put me in the ground first.
Chapter 40
Myapartmentwasasafe house these days, with Rhea pacing the floors and Gavriel coming and going at all hours with that haunted look in his eyes. Not to mention that Rhea was staying in the bunker in the basement. It was fine short-term, but if shit went sideways, she was going to need to be somewhere long-term. I had a place in mind, but it was going to be an absolute last resort. Gavriel’s contact said it could be a few more days, but even once we got the documents, we still had to safely get her out of the area. The weight of what they were planning hung in the air, making it difficult to breathe. I needed to get Gavriel out of here—we both needed it.
I found him in my study, hunched over his laptop, shoulders rigid with tension. Three empty coffee cups lined the desk, and the dark circles under his eyes told me he likely hadn't slept in days.
"Enough," I said, closing his computer with a decisive click.
He looked up, startled. "Elin, I need to—"
"You need to breathe." I placed my hands on his shoulders, feeling the knots of tension beneath my fingertips. "You're no good to Rhea if you collapse."
"There's too much to do. Rico's timeline—"
"Is too long. And you pushing yourself to exhaustion won't make those documents appear any faster." I moved my hands to cup his face, forcing him to look at me. "I'm taking you out tonight."
A flash of resistance crossed his features before resignation set in. "Where?"
"The Lounge." I let my voice drop to the commanding tone I knew he responded to. " You need to let go for a few hours, and I need to check in there."
His pupils dilated slightly at my words. "As . . . ?"
"As mine." I ran my thumb over his bottom lip. "My pretty boy. Not as an Azzaro or the Owl’s Talon. Just you, kneeling for me, letting me take control."
He closed his eyes briefly, and I could see the war within him—the need to stay vigilant against the desperate craving to surrender, if only for a moment.
"Rhea—"
"She’s going to be secure downstairs, not to mention that Harley will be here with an extensive security system and extra guards. Even if they get through Harley, they aren’t going to find her in the safe room, Gavriel. She'll be fine for a few hours." I leaned closer, my lips brushing his ear. "I need you to trust me. Let me care for you tonight."
His muscles relaxed as something in him yielded, like ice cracking under pressure. "Yes, Goddess."
The title sent a shiver of anticipation through me. "Good boy. Wear the black suit I bought you with no boxers." I pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'll call Greta and let her know we're coming."
SubduedlightingbathedtheLounge in amber warmth as I guided Gavriel through my usual private entrance. The mingled scents of leather and sandalwood greeted me like an old friend.
In the members-only section, I methodically prepared him—tucking his shirt, socks, and shoes safely away, concealing his distinctive tattoos, and securing a half-mask over his features. His bare chest would be on display, but his identity would be protected. When I produced the silver leash, his eyes darkened with desire. Without prompting, he presented his wrists. I fastened them with a small padlock, sealed our arrangement with a kiss, then changed into my own uniform: a black lace bustier and matching thong.
He followed precisely two steps behind me, the perfect submissive—eyes downcast, posture impeccable. Only, I noticed his jaw working silently, his fingers gripping the chain between his bound wrists. We were met by Greta in the foyer, her silver hair elegantly swept up. At sixty-five, she commanded respect as the reigning Madam of the Lounge, our city's second-most exclusive BDSM establishment.
“Lady E,” she greeted, giving me a quick air kiss on both cheeks. “And who is this specimen?”
"This is my Pretty Boy."
Gavriel kept his eyes downcast, ever the obedient man at my side. Only I knew the deadly predator that lurked beneath that carefully constructed facade.
"Beautiful," Greta murmured, circling him once. "The private alcove is prepared as you requested. Champagne is chilling, and the toy selection has been customized to your preferences."
