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“Yes. According to Makaio, she’s a little shaken. If I find out it has anything to do with the bastards who attacked her before, I’ll have their dicks severed and sent in a gift-wrapped box to their parents.”

The nervous shift of his feet tells me Rand believes every word of my threat. “Is that wise, Master? Given the attention Ms. Anders has brought our way?”

“I don’t give a fuck whether it’s wise, or not.”

The elevator dings again, and this time, it opens up to Makaio and Isa, who looks a bit disheveled and pale.

“That will be all, gentlemen, please excuse us.”

Both Rand and Makaio quickly exit the office, disappearing behind the closing elevator door, while Isa stands in the center of the room, her gaze downward.

In the silence between us, I scan over her, making sure not a single bruise mars her skin, the sight of which will trip my slowly budding temper. “Exciting night, as I understand.”

The way her eyes shift, glassed over with tears, makes me wonder if Makaio left out something important.

“What happened?”

Instead of answering, she shakes her head, and the quiver of her lip raises the hairs on my neck. One thing I’ve learned about Isa in the last few weeks: she doesn’t cry easily.

“They hurt you.” I can hardly say the words past the clenching of my teeth, my body wound up to throw a fist through something, depending on her answer.

When she shakes her head, I exhale the rage on a shaky breath, mentally willing my muscles to ease up.

“Makaio arrived before anything happened,” she finally says. “Your gift. It’s a tracking device.”

“It is.”

“Why?”

“The answer is fairly obvious, I think.”

“Why do you feel the need to keep track of me?”

Time for another drink.

I lean forward and pour the decanter into the awaiting glass. “Why do we put GPS on our phones. Our pets? Anything we don’t want to get lost?”

The indignant expression on her face is a sure bet she doesn’t like that answer. “Is that what I am? An object? A pet you don’t want to run away?”

“I didn’t embed it in you, Isa. It’s a fucking bracelet.”

“That you insisted I never take off.”

If this night gets any worse, I might be inclined to buy a lottery ticket. Pushing up from the chair, I round the desk toward her. “You’re angry. Shaken. You need to rest.”

The second I reach out for her, she recoils, throwing her arm back like my fingertips are hot metal. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

I lurch toward her, but she scampers back. Catching her arm, I yank her into me, holding her against me, as she squirms and pushes at my chest in a slightly humorous, yet failed, attempt to get away.

“Why did you run off?”

Another shove to my chest fails to break my grasp. “Why did you instruct Makaio to bring me back here? Are the weekends no longer my free time?”

“Not when one of my former employees was found dead in a motel room.”

She stills at that, her eyes blazing with accusation as she stares up at me. “Did you kill her? Nell?” There isn’t even a hint of apology this time, unlike when she asked about my son, which tells me she’s really pissed off at me about the bracelet.

“No. I didn’t. It seems the rumors are true this time. She overdosed.”