He had watched her with Hale at the club. Watched the way she responded to his dominance: open, unguarded, the kind of submissive who gave freely once she chose someone.
Outside the Pointe, that had changed. The softness had sharpened. There was hesitation, defiance, and “no” had appeared where compliance once lived.
The corner of his mouth lifted. He preferred resistance. Breaking a weak-willed submissive held little appeal.
Resistance made the process cleaner. Slower. Made every reaction more deliberate, more meaningful. And incredibly rewarding.
His grip tightened on the wheel as his gaze drifted over her again.
Tonight hadn’t been planned. Not precisely. But opportunity rarely arrived wrapped in a ribbon. When the opening appeared, he took it.
That was the difference between him and men like Jack Parker. Knowing when the moment came and having the discipline to act without hesitation.
Security down. Devil’s woman in the water, out of the way. Julia, standing alone on the dock.
He couldn’t have designed it better.
He cast one last look toward the shoreline, the glow from the house dimming with distance. They would be searching. Frantic, confused, trying to understand how, where, and why.
He had taken her from the one place they believed untouchable. From the center of their illusion of control. The chaos he’d unleashed filled him with satisfaction.
Julia shifted behind him, a faint sound from her throat. The sedative would wear off soon enough. That was good. He wanted her conscious and fully aware. Punishment meant nothing otherwise.
She’d made him wait. Slipping beyond his reach. Turning what should have been simple into a prolonged irritation he couldn’t forgive.
His gaze moved over her once more, slower this time. Taking in the line of her throat, the delicate bones of her wrists, the way she would need to be restrained—properly this time. Not clumsily, or emotionally, or with the reckless lack of control he’d seen from lesser men.
Precision mattered. Control required intention. That was where others failed.
He would not.
The boat rocked gently as he eased the throttle forward, turning away from the last traces of light and into the darker stretch of water beyond the Pointe.
Julia stirred again, as she drifted closer to consciousness.
He had imagined this moment more than once. The fear in her eyes when she realized no one was coming for her in time. The resistance before she gave in. Her pleas for mercy. The inevitable surrender that always followed.
And she would surrender. They all did.
They would search for her. Of course they would. Especially Hale.
There was an attachment there. Far more than he’d initially assumed.
That would make what came next even more satisfying. Because pain and fear were never limited to just the victim. They touched everyone connected to them.
That was the real art. Not the taking but the slow unraveling.
Chapter 28
The boat was still rocking when they reached it. It was empty and tied off sloppily, as though abandoned in a hurry.
Leland stepped onto the deck before it had fully settled, one hand bracing against the rail as his eyes swept the space in a single, ruthless pass.
Nothing. No sign of her. No sign of struggle. Just the faint scent of fuel, river water, and a trace of chemicals, as if he’d wiped everything down.
“Greta’s phone?” Dev asked from behind him.
Callan voice came through their comms. “The signal’s there. It hasn’t moved since the boat stopped.”
