Mission first. Draw out the stalker, neutralize the threat, keep Simone safe. But after that, she's mine.
Footsteps on the stairs pull my attention. Simone appears in a black dress—fitted, elegant. Her hair falls loose over bare shoulders.
"Ready?" I ask.
"Yes, Sir."
The words settle something in my chest. "Let's go."
We drive through New Orleans streets I've already mapped for threat assessment and escape routes. Simone sits beside me in the back of the armored SUV, silent, hands folded in her lap. Her breathing shifts when we turn onto streets that lead to the Warehouse District.
She’s close enough that I can smell her perfume. Close enough to reach over and put my hand on her thigh, feel her respond. I keep my eyes on the perimeter, but I'm aware of every shift in her breathing, every nervous movement.
"Nervous?" I don't look at her, keep my eyes on the perimeter.
"Yes." Her honesty seems to surprise her.
"Good."
Silence for a beat. Then: "What if I can't do what you're asking?"
"You can." I glance at her. "You're just scared of what happens when you do."
"I've survived by staying in charge."
"That's failing you now." I reach over, cover her hands with mine. The contact sends heat straight through me. "Someone's threatening you in ways that won't stop."
"So I just give up?"
"You trust me to handle what you can't." I squeeze her hands once. "That's the difference."
"What if I like it too much? What if I can't go back after?—"
"We'll deal with that when it happens."
The words land heavier than I intend. She goes still, processing.
The SUV pulls up to Dominion's discreet entrance. Warehouse exterior, no signage, just a heavy door with a security camera. Margot's people are in position. I can see them in the shadows, armed, vigilant.
"Ready?" I ask.
Simone takes a breath. "Yes, Sir."
We exit the vehicle. I keep her close, hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the entrance. The door opens before we reach it. Margot stands inside, dark hair in her usual braid, expression calm and assessing.
"Luc. Simone." She steps aside to let us enter. "Security's in place. Private room is ready. Remy's already inside, positioned near the bar."
"Cameras?" I ask.
"Every hallway, every common area. Private rooms have monitoring on doors only—no interior surveillance per club policy." Margot looks at Simone. "The salon's ready for you."
Simone nods, understanding immediately.
Margot gestures down a side corridor. "I'll walk you."
The salon is discreet, tucked away from the main entrance. Simone has her own locker here—two years of membership means custom fet wear, not borrowed pieces.
"I'll be in the men's changing area," I tell her. "Wait here when you're done."
