His to Take

  tiptoed behind him.

  As soon as he unlocked the door and opened it, she rose up on her tiptoes and lifted her arm soundlessly. Normally, she’d never be able to hit anyone. But this was life-or-death.

  He whirled suddenly and gripped her wrist in his unyielding hold. She couldn’t move as his eyes burned into hers.

  “Sweetheart, I’ve worked as an undercover agent fighting some of the most dangerous people in the world longer than you’ve been legal. Did you really think you were going to surprise me?”

  His mocking question made her feel small, helpless. She hated him for that. “Let me go.”

  He grabbed the wooden block from her hand, then released her. “Nice try. By the way, the name your biological parents gave you when you were born was Tatiana. You were Viktor Aslanov’s youngest daughter.”

  Then he was gone, the door secured with a sturdy click behind him. Bailey stared, gaped, rooted in place. Could any of what he claimed actually be true?

  Chapter Four

  THE moment Joaquin let himself out the bedroom door, Mitchell Thorpe, Dominion’s owner, stood, blocking the hall with one sharp brow raised. His stare censured. Despite the man’s impeccable suit, Joaquin was pretty sure Thorpe could be a badass. Since he’d had a really long few days without a lot of sleep—and no peace whatsoever—he didn’t need the other man’s shit.

  “I appreciate that you’re in a difficult position.” Thorpe adjusted a cuff link. “As soon as I heard screaming coming from my bedroom, I called Logan. He explained your situation a bit more in depth. I allowed you to come here because the Edgington brothers vouched for you and I was given to understand that you were protecting the potential target of a killer, not abducting a woman. Club Dominion maintains a strictly consensual environment. You can’t keep that woman here against her will.”

  Joaquin swallowed, fighting frustration and dread. “I get that you don’t want anyone shining a light on this place or trying to shut you down, but—”

  “I have enough of those problems already. Both the evangelists and the asexual lobbying to end my club are apparently either not acquainted with orgasm or afraid of it, so . . .”

  A hundred tactics ran through Joaquin’s head. He finally settled on the truth. “She’s in shock. I’d hoped that once I jogged her memory a little, she’d remember the past. Even though she admitted she has nightmares about the night her family was murdered, she’s adamant that she’s not Tatiana Aslanov. I need time. If I let her loose now, it won’t be long before whoever is doing the hideous work for these bastards will catch her. Did Logan tell you how they’re torturing these women?”

  “You want to keep her safe. It’s admirable. But I can’t have her here against her will.” His stance softened slightly. “Are you sure she’s Aslanov’s daughter?”

  “I’ve got the right woman. She even dreams about the house in the snow and the couple who found her wandering the side of the road. I need a few days to convince her and find out what she knows.” Thorpe still looked skeptical. “What if these bastards were still after Callie?”

  “Why does everyone use Callie against me?” Thorpe’s expression thundered with anger. “Leave my submissive out of this.”

  Joaquin tossed up his hands. “She was ass deep in this mess for nearly a decade. You know just as well as I do that if they’d gotten their hands on her, they would have tortured—”

  “If you finish that sentence, you won’t have any teeth left.” Thorpe looked dead serious. “Callie has suffered long enough. Sean and I are doing our best to make her happy now. We will do whatever it takes to keep her as far away from this as possible.”

  Time to step back. This tactic was simply pissing Thorpe off, and Joaquin needed the man’s cooperation. “Fine. Sorry. If you’ll let me, I’d like to talk to both Sean and Callie. I think they have information that could save Tatiana’s life.”

  “I’ll ask Sean if he’ll talk to you. That’s up to him, and will depend, at least in part, on what the FBI wants to keep strictly in-house. Callie . . . Sean and I will have to decide that together. The TV interviews Callie gives are never in depth. They’re a matter of survival, since they keep her too public for anyone to kill. But a direct probe about who chased her and why might be too much for her. It’s barely been three months. And with the stress of the wedding . . .”

  “You agreed yesterday.”

  “Before you added kidnapping into this mess.”

  Joaquin didn’t like Thorpe’s answer, but he understood it. “I know she went through years of hell. I wouldn’t ask her to tread this ground again unless I believed the information could help save lives. You and Sean can be beside her every moment.”

  “I’ll consider it. I’d like to talk to Tatiana.” Thorpe phrased it like a request, but it wasn’t.

  Joaquin hedged. “She’s probably showering now and she needs some food first.”

  He didn’t understand the protective instinct that suddenly filled him. No, it wasn’t quite something protective that nagged at him. Instead, it was almost . . . possessive. That made even less sense. From everything he’d heard, Thorpe was devoted to Callie, so he wasn’t likely to proposition anyone else. Besides, Joaquin barely knew Aslanov’s daughter. She was just someone he had to keep alive, nothing more.

  But he enjoyed the thought of covering her fragile body with his own and filling her with his cock. In fact, parts south stiffened and rose at the idea. He held in a curse.

  Thorpe paused. “I’ll make sure she gets food. While she’s eating, she and I will chat. I’ll keep it friendly.”

  Despite those assurances, Joaquin still wanted to say no. But Thorpe held him by the balls. If he wanted to keep Tatiana someplace secure and talk to the people who could tell him about the group responsible for these murders and their motive, then he had to play by the club owner’s rules. It fucking grated on him.

  “She’s afraid.”

  “I’m sure.” Thorpe looked at him like he was an idiot for stating the obvious.

  Despite all the praise the Edgington brothers had heaped on Dominion’s owner, Joaquin wasn’t sure he liked Thorpe at all.

  “You took her from her bed and brought her in here unconscious,” the club owner pointed out. “I don’t approve.”

  I wasn’t asking for your opinion, Mr. Stick Up Your Ass. “I didn’t have better options.”

  “Well, now you have forty-eight hours to make your . . . guest consent to being here or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

  Joaquin gritted his teeth and watched Thorpe walk away. He stalked down the hall in the opposite direction.

  Now what the fuck was he supposed to do? He could study the evidence again, but he’d done that a thousand times. Without fresh eyes or clues, he was no closer to knowing exactly who had killed Nate or why. Small mercy they hadn’t tortured him terribly. And if he didn’t want to see the woman in Thorpe’s room reduced to a bleeding heap of flesh, he needed to bite his tongue. He also needed to figure out how the hell he was going to convince Tatiana to consent to being here in the next two days. He’d given her his evidence. He didn’t have a lot of other avenues left.

  So he found the bar instead. With the club closed, he didn’t see anyone except a muscle-bound guy with a square face, a cleft chin, and a fuck-off attitude. The guy took up the space behind the bar on a step stool, looking at a security camera behind a plastic dome in the ceiling.

  “You work here, man?”

  The big guy didn’t look at him, just directed a screwdriver at the camera’s protective bubble. “Yep. I’m Axel, head of security. If I’d gotten a vote, I wouldn’t have let you come in here with an unconscious woman who hadn’t consented to be here with you.”

  Get in line. “You’ll be happy to know that Thorpe doesn’t approve either.”

  “I have zero tolerance for bullies and even less for rapists.”

  “Whoa, I’m a federal agent protecting someone who hasn’t
figured out she’s in danger yet.” And why was he explaining himself to this guy? Because Axel kept this place safe. Damn it. “Is it possible to get a beer around here?”

  “We don’t serve much booze. Things like restraints, wax, and fire play don’t mix well with intoxication.”

  Joaquin’s temper ignited. He rattled Axel’s step stool. “I’m trying to save a woman’s life. Not rape her. Not get drunk. Why the fuck am I the enemy?”

  Finally, Axel looked his way, his blue eyes sharp. “Why should I give a shit about your little feelings? You’re a stranger to her, restraining her to a bed against her will. Not only that, if this place gets shut down, I don’t have a job and fet folk in Dallas won’t have a safe place to play.”

  He didn’t know much about the fet community or their tribulations in finding a protected environment. He didn’t want to put anyone out, but he couldn’t sacrifice Tatiana’s safety, either. “I’m going to convince her that she wants to be here, okay?”

  “Make it fast.” And with that, Axel was done talking.

  Whatever. Maybe a beer wasn’t a great idea anyway.

  But without something to drink or anything to do except wait, he was going to climb the damn walls. Back down the hall he stalked. How the hell could he become someone Tatiana trusted in the next two days? The only two possibilities he saw: He had to become her friend . . . or her lover.

  Joaquin wrestled with his conscience, then buried it. If she wouldn’t see reason, he’d have to influence her in whatever way he could. He wasn’t out to break her heart, just make sure she lived. And if he got to touch her . . . The situation seemed like a win-win to him.

  He smiled and started to plan.

  * * *

  BAILEY looked up to find an imposing man striding through the door to the bedroom, carrying a tray. He wasn’t the same one who’d tried to convince her that she was the Russian scientist’s daughter. This one was more refined, a bit older, but he still had an edge of danger that made her take a half step back.

  “Sit.” With a jerk of his head, he gestured toward a desk against the far wall.

  It looked more decorative than anything. She’d already tried searching inside it for anything useful, especially a way to reach the outside world. She’d settle for Morse code at this point. But she could find nothing. The drawers were locked, and twelve years of ballet and a penchant for science hadn’t given her the skills of a petty thief.

  Since this man gave off an air that warned her against messing with him, she did as he bid. Besides, Bailey could smell food even across the room, and she was starved.

  As soon as she sat, he set the tray in front of her and disappeared through the bathroom.

  “That’s roast chicken with fingerling potatoes and asparagus,” he called across the room, then emerged a moment later carrying a robe. “You can wear this for now if you’re cold.”

  She hadn’t been earlier, but after her shower, she’d been unable to find a hair dryer and the strands of her wet hair now brushed all over her back, wetting her nightshirt. She didn’t have any other clothes with her. But no complaints. She hadn’t expected to find a new toothbrush, a razor, a comb, scented body lotion—a whole array of toiletries.

  “Thank you.” She didn’t take her eyes off the man as he pulled up a nearby chair and regarded her with concerned eyes an unusual shade of gray.

  “You’re welcome. My girlfriend isn’t exactly your size, but she’s far closer than anything I could offer you.”

  He was nearly as tall as the last man who had walked through that door and not any less built. Anything of his, she’d swim in.

  “So . . .” he went on. “I’ll bring you something of hers shortly. I wanted to feed you first.” He looked at her untouched plate and frowned. “Go ahead.”

  Bailey picked up her fork. The man seemed imposing, but not menacing. Still . . .

  “Who are you? No offense, but I don’t trust you or your weirdo of a buddy.”

  “I’m Thorpe.”

  His name sounded familiar. She wasn’t sure exactly why. Then again, everything with her right now was off-kilter. Maybe she was hallucinating.

  He wore a ghost of a smile. “And that weirdo isn’t exactly my buddy. Joaquin is a friend of a friend, more like. I don’t know him well, so I can’t precisely set you at ease there. I’ve already told him that I don’t like you being here against your will. That aside, our mutual friends are very highly decorated soldiers and the best men. If they say you’re in danger, then you are, and I would caution you against making yourself an easy target for killers.”

  She didn’t have any reason to believe him. For all she knew, Thorpe and Joaquin—the name fit his rugged, macho kind of vibe—had a good cop/bad cop thing going on. It might all be an act, and the pair of them might be playing her. But her gut told her no.

  Spearing some asparagus, she popped it in her mouth. She had to believe that they wouldn’t talk until her ears bled about keeping her alive, only to then poison her. “I’m not eager to be an easy target. But Joaquin didn’t say a word to me before shoving a needle in my neck and dragging me here.”

  Thorpe’s lips pursed in disapproval. “We’ve exchanged words about his methods. He knows I’m not happy. This place is mine, and I made it clear that while he’s under my roof, he’ll be playing by my rules. I’ll make you a promise, too. Nothing will happen to you that you don’t want.”

  “I don’t want to be here at all.”

  “I understand. Give him two days to work this case and see if he can solve the problem so you can walk out of here without a threat hanging over your head.”

  “I can’t put my life on hold for two days.”

  “I’m sorry. I know this is difficult.”

  But Thorpe wasn’t going to change his mind or help her escape. “I have a rehearsal today. I never miss them. Then my friend Blane is coming over tonight, and I’ll need to let him know I won’t be there.”

  “That’s not my decision. I’ll speculate that Joaquin won’t give you a phone so you can tell the world where to find you, but you’re welcome to ask him.”

  “How could I tell anyone where I am when I don’t even know?” she pointed out. “How do I make you understand? Blane will report me missing if I don’t show up or tell him I’m somewhere safe.”

  “And maybe that’s for the best.” Thorpe stood. “These killers are watching. If you disappear, maybe they’ll hesitate or make a mistake. You don’t want to give them any reason to pay Blane a visit and try to extract information from him, do you?”

  After that photo Joaquin had shown her on his phone? “No!”

  “That’s what I thought. Now I’ll leave you in peace.”

  She recoiled from the urbane man. As GQ as he looked, she sensed there was far more under his surface and that she’d just been manipulated.

  “Wait!” Bailey bit her lip until he turned to face her with an inquiring brow. She got the distinct impression he wasn’t used to taking orders from anyone. “Why should I trust you?”

  A little smile broke across his face. “Let me put it to you this way: I have no reason to lie and everything to lose if I don’t keep my promise. You may not believe me yet, and that’s fine, but you will be safe.”

  * * *

  ABOUT twenty minutes after Thorpe’s departure, Bailey heard a click of the door again and spun around to see Joaquin enter, a plastic grocery sack in hand. God, it was stupid, but she almost gaped at him. It felt ridiculously schoolgirl of her, but he’d showered and shaved, and the absence of stubble showed off every sharp angle of his jaw and chin. He wore another pair of jeans and another tight T-shirt that showed off his muscled physique. The fact that he was physically gorgeous wasn’t enough to interest her, though. Her reaction now was about the totally new warmth in his eyes.

  “Hi.” He entered, setting the bag down on a nearby bookcase and locking the door behind him.

  “Hi.” She didn’t know wh
at else to say.

  “I’m sorry about earlier, if I scared you. If.” He snorted. “I’m sure I did. Whether you believe me or not, I don’t want to see you wind up like the others.”

  “So it’s okay to abduct me?”

  “Strictly speaking, no. But I figured better kidnapped than tortured and murdered. The lesser of two evils.” He shrugged. “Not a perfect choice, but I didn’t have many other options in the few hours I had before this sick bastard came for you.”

  And she supposed that pointing out once more that he could have talked to her first would again fall on deaf ears. Besides . . . would she really have listened? She’d probably have written him off as a psycho.

  “That government agency you work for condone kidnapping,