Darkest Before Dawn E-Book

Lee Savino

• Herausgeber: Lee Savino
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

For years I’ve dreamt of my own death. Not any details, just the feel of an explosion, of sparks and smoke blasting into my face. Pain and the sensation of falling.

Love feels like that. Maybe not for everyone, but to me, it feels like dying.

As I face my death, I hold onto that. My life may be bookended by pain and tragedy but there was a moment when I was loved and I loved in return.

In the end, nothing else matters.

Darkest Before Dawn is a dark romance with intense, sensual themes. It is book 2 in the His Perfect Darkness duet and the resolution of Rex and Inara's story. 

Leseprobe

DARKEST BEFORE DAWN

A DARK BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE

LEE SAVINO

SILVERWOOD PRESS

CONTENTS

Freebie - The Darkness In Him

Content warnings

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Freebie - The Darkness In Him

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Also by Lee Savino

About the Author

FREEBIE - THE DARKNESS IN HIM

Get Roy Roy’s point of view in The Darkness In Him, a freebie available here: https://geni.us/thedarknessinhim

CONTENT WARNINGS

Content warnings: assault, murder (past and on page), loss of family, stalking, violence, vigilantism, BDSM, non-con/reluctance, stabbing, surveillance, corruption, erotic scenes.

This a dark romance with intense and sensual themes. The erotic scenes depicted are dangerous and not an actual representation of BDSM, which should be conducted between knowledgeable and trusted partners with plenty of conversations about boundaries and consent.

PROLOGUE

Inara

For years, I’ve dreamt of my own death. Not any details, just the feel of an explosion, of sparks and smoke blasting into my face. Pain and the sensation of falling.

Love feels like that. Maybe not for everyone, but to me, it feels like dying.

As I face my death, I hold on to that. My life may be bookended by pain and tragedy, but there was a moment when I was loved, and I loved in return.

In the end, nothing else matters.

1

Rex

The night my parents died was the worst night of my life. Until now.

I stand with my little bird in my arms. Her eyes are wide with terror and sadness. We’re surrounded by cop cars and crime scene tape, but Inara trembles like she’s trapped in a nightmare.

And there’s nothing I can do to help but hold her.

I swore on my parents’ grave that I’d make my city safe for innocents. I honed my strength and power so I could make a difference. I protect the weak.

But I can’t protect her from this pain. In the span of a few moments, she faced a gruesome crime scene and then found out she’s the target of a stalker calling himself BK. The same initials the Bondage Killer used. She must feel like she’ll never be safe again.

I can’t stand it.

Her legs give out, and she crumples. I swing her up into my arms. I love to carry her and keep her close, but with every step, her breath hitches, and it’s tearing me apart. I want to hide her away from the world forever.

I want to tear off my suit jacket and howl. I want to use every bit of tech and surveillance equipment and weapons I have at my disposal and hunt the killer down. Eradicate this monster from the face of the Earth.

It’s what I was born to do. I was born to own her. Protect her. Fight for her.

She came to me. I’ll never let her go.

I carry her from the crime scene to my waiting ride.

“Ivan,” I call to alert him. He’s already scrambled around the car to open the back door. I slide both Inara and me into the seat.

She looks dazed. She’s still clutching the letters the stalker sent her. There’s a stench rising from the paper, like smoke and filth. I want to rip them from her fingers and throw them out the window. And if they weren’t important evidence, I would.

Damn the Bondage Killer for targeting my little bird. Damn him for rising from the dead to torment new victims. If it is him. It might be a copycat.

Whatever it is, it’s a threat to my little bird. Hunting the killer down takes second place to making sure Inara is safe.

“Back to the helicopter,” I order Ivan.

First, though, I need to get us both home. And then, once I know she’s safe and secure, I’ll figure out how to destroy the one who’s threatened my little bird’s life.

* * *

Inara

I’m trapped in a dream, standing in the yard in front of a house. The front door hangs open, swinging in the wind. The family is inside, still alive, but they won’t be for much longer. A long, crooked shadow creeps up the hall.

I’m not too late; I can stop it. Stop him.

My legs sink into the concrete walk. I struggle, but I’m trapped, buried up to the knee. I can fight all I want, but I can’t move.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I’m helpless, stuck, with no way to warn the family. No way to stop their murder.

I’ve failed. Again. It doesn’t matter how much I try, the murderer always wins. I learned that lesson decades ago, and now I’m forced to face it again.

The dream changes, and now I’m in bed, huddling under the covers, hearing the floorboards creak. Hoping it’s just the dog moving around beyond my door, but knowing it’s not.

It’s him. The killer has come for me.

I feel the same rush of terror my childhood self felt the night the Bondage Killer came for my family. This time, I’m a grown woman but just as frightened and helpless as I was then. My whole body is frozen in the bed.

And then the screams begin.

I come awake with a gasp, clawing the blanket off of me. I’m too hot and too cold at the same time. My skin is clammy with sweat. My stomach cramps, and I clench my teeth to keep from retching. I haven’t eaten, so I’d be puking up nothing but stomach acid.

“Inara?” Rex sits up beside me, and I startle as I register his presence. He’s here and huge and warm. A shadow moves, and I flinch before realizing he only lifted a hand to touch me.

“It’s okay.” He waits until I reach for him and slides his arms around me. “You’re here with me.”

I sink into his warmth. My teeth are chattering, not because I’m cold but because I’m afraid. I cling to him like he’s my only hope, my only bastion against the encroaching terror.

“Shhh, little bird.” He soothes me. His voice is a deep well I can fall into, but there’s a tinge of sorrow like his heart is breaking.

“You’re safe,” he says.

But he’s wrong.

It’s not just a dream. The Bondage Killer is back. I’m trapped in a nightmare I can’t escape because it’s real.

“Another bad dream?”

Rex doesn’t know about my visions. The secret is swelling, pressing on the inside of my skull, screaming to break free. But I can’t give in.

“I dreamed I was back at the house.” I don’t clarify and I don’t have to. He knows I mean the victim’s house from earlier. Did it all happen less than twenty-four hours ago? It feels like it was long ago. I feel like I’ve aged a hundred years.

I touch the metal encircling my neck. So much has happened in the past few days. I came to Rex to entrap him and learned more than I dreamed I would. I fell into his arms, and it felt right.

Too right. I can’t give in to him, and yet, right now, he’s the only thing keeping me sane. I need him. His comfort and his darkness.

I can’t allow him to own me fully, but I can allow him to hold me, if only for a moment.

“It’s not your fault.” He brushes my cheek, and I realize he’s swiping at my tears.

I withdraw from his warmth, wrapping my arms around myself. I still feel like I’m encased in concrete. It was only a dream, but the sensations followed me, lingering like a vision. My psyche is tormenting me. “I was there, but I couldn’t stop it.” And that’s true, isn’t it? I had a vision of the latest victim’s death right here in this bed. And I did nothing.

I don’t deserve rest or comfort. I should be at the precinct, working through the night to stop the man who destroyed my family. But I’m so exhausted. My head is filled with cotton, fuzzy and full of funhouse mirrors reflecting fragments of my visions and nightmares back to me.

“You’re not the one to blame.”

I shake my head, and he catches my chin and says in his dom voice, “You’re not.”

I swallow. As soon as he lets go, I cover my face with my hands. “I feel like I’m going mad,” I tell him. It hurts to get the words out. It’s so hard, flaying myself open like this. Letting him see my insides.

“You’re not. But even if you were, it’d be alright.”

I peek through my fingers. He’s cloaked in darkness, but I can still imagine his beautiful face. “You’d still want me?” It’s meant to be a joke, but it comes out ragged, close to a sob. He doesn’t know the full extent of my brokenness. He knows me better than anyone else, but I’ve managed to keep some secrets from him.

“I’ll always want you.” He sounds so confident, so assured. I want to squirm away. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, but especially not him. He sees too much of me already.

“I just want to be okay,” I whisper. I worked so hard to hold myself together. But I was never whole. I’ve lost any hope of healing. I’m broken and always will be.

“You are okay.” His hands cover mine. Not coaxing me open but holding me, reinforcing my own barriers so I feel safe.

“You’re here with me. No one can touch us. No one can hurt you. Unless. . .” He wraps his hands around my wrists, and my pulse jumps. “Unless you need me to.”

I let him draw my hands down. His touch is light but reminds me that he’s strong enough to shackle me any time he likes.

“You’re tired,” he says. “You need rest.”

He’s right. I need to sleep, and not just so I can wake up refreshed enough to do my job and find the killer who’s terrorized so many. I’d give anything to fall into oblivion. “I can’t sleep.”

“I can help you. I can take your mind off things if you’ll let me.”

I raise my head. I want that. It would be smart to keep my distance, but right now, I’m craving what only Rex can give. “How?”

2

Inara

The best thing about being bound by rope is being forced to surrender. I had plenty of chances to escape when I presented my wrists to Rex. I allowed him to loop the rope over and over into a makeshift harness that would support me when he hoisted me into the air. The more the loops of rope touched my skin, the more I relaxed.

Now I hang suspended in my woven cocoon. I’m tied in a diving position with my arms secured behind me and my legs slightly splayed. Even my hair is wound with rope and suspended.

I can’t move. And yet, I feel so free. All the worry bleeds from my brain. There’s nothing but the rope snug around my limbs, the collar around my throat, and the shadowy presence of my dom. My Rex.

Warm air blows on my bare skin, but beyond the circle of neon light, there’s a chill. Rex could’ve brought me to his gorgeous dungeon to tie me up. Instead, he brought me to the dark cave he’s converted into his secret headquarters.

I peer into the darkness beyond the spotlight, trying to discover any clues as to the inner workings of his psyche. Rex has many secrets. I might be one of the only ones who knows the full details of his alter ego, his crimes.

It’s what drove me to his mansion. A few days ago, I was on the warpath, searching for a way in, searching for evidence to expose him.

Now I’m tied up and suspended, at his mercy. And all I feel is relief.

It won’t last. Rex and I can’t be together. He’s still a killer, and I’m still a detective sworn to uphold justice. But I can allow him to comfort me, just this once.

His touch ghosts down the back of my calf, and I shiver.

“I don’t think you’re focused.” His voice is deeper, darker. I feel the vibrations of his rasp in my core. Wetness drips from my labia. I would squirm and press my legs together to relieve the ache, but I can’t move.

“I promised I’d help you take your mind off things. Give you what you need so you can sleep. But you’re still thinking too much.”

He runs a hand up my thigh and brushes my sex. His touch is barely there, but I know he’s collecting the moisture dripping from my pussy. “At least one part of you is paying attention.” There’s a smirking edge to his tone. “But I wonder. . . What will it take for you to let go?” He walks around to face me. He’s dressed in black slacks and nothing else, and his hard torso is a feast for the eyes. All sexy muscle and sinew, power incarnate.

He rubs my own essence over my lower lip. “You’re so beautiful like this.” He pushes a thumb into my mouth, and I run my tongue over it to thank him. “Good girl.”

All too soon, he moves away, and a band of black fabric falls over my eyes. The darkness falls, and I sigh, relaxing further.

I spent so many years with a white-knuckle grip on my life, keeping myself isolated so I wouldn’t dream of anyone's death. I craved connection so much that it hurt. And then, when it’d been so long I couldn’t remember human touch, I craved the pain.

It’s wonderful to give up control. I don’t know what Rex and I are to each other, but I do know he’s the only one who’s been able to give me what I need so perfectly. I fell for him once, when he was my mystery dom, before I knew who he truly was.

It’s tempting to fall for him again. But I can’t give in forever.

Just this once, I tell myself. I’ve told myself this before, but this time, it has to be true.

After this, I’ll distance myself from him. After tonight, we’ll go our separate ways.

“Give in to me,” he whispers, and for the next few moments, I do. My submission has an expiration date, but for now, I can forget myself and be completely his.

When I’m blindfolded, every touch is a revelation. He’s wound rope around my torso to suspend me, but he left my breasts hanging free. Now he toys with my nipples, pinching them until pain sings through me. I gasp and flinch and moan, and I sense him watching me, taking in every reaction. Even though I can’t see, I can feel his attention, and I soak it up like a parched plant soaking up the rain.

His hands are large and warm, cupping my breasts and tormenting my nipples. I can’t lean into him, and I can’t pull away. I can do nothing but hang from the ropes and take it. It’s horrible and wonderful all at the same time, just the way I like it.

His fingers trace circles above and below my waist where the ropes cinch me. I shudder. My pussy weeps.

“My sweet submissive. You look like you’re flying. Like a little bird.” He pokes a finger against the rope binding my thigh and adjusts it a little. “I can keep you here for hours. You can’t get away.” He pushes my hip, and I swing in the air. He’s toying with me, and it only makes me wetter. “Would you like that, little bird? Hanging here, at my mercy, for as long as I please?” He brushes my bottom, and goosebumps break out all over me. “I think you would. You might say no, but your body tells me the truth.”

For a moment, I allow myself to imagine this level of possession. What if he never lets me go? He told me I would belong to him. He wants forever.

He’s already proven he doesn’t have limits when it comes to controlling me. He’s stalked me, trapped me, killed for me. What will he do when I try to leave? There’s no reasoning with a monster like him. He takes what he wants, and he wants me.

What if he locked me up for the rest of my life? I would fight, of course, but the submissive part of me would feel so free.

The submissive part of me doesn’t get to make the rules. But just imagining it pulls me deeper into the scene.

He strokes the insides of my thighs. Does he know what he’s doing to me? What I’m imagining? It’s scary how much he sees. My darkest desire and my deepest fear warped and morphed into one.

“Just let go and be mine,” he whispers and rubs a knuckle between my lower lips, stroking beside my clit. It takes barely any time for my orgasm to rush closer.

“Rex,” I gasp, and he withdraws his hand, only to let it fall in a hard, open-palmed smack against my sex.

I cry out in shock and wonder.

“No,” he barks. “That’s not who I am to you here.” His rebuke rings through me, more painful than the slap.

What? I sort through my thoughts to figure out what he’s talking about.

When I’m inside you here, you don’t use my name. You call me Master. And you come when I tell you to come.

He told me this last time he took me in his lair.

He smacks me again, more lightly, and suddenly, I’m on the precipice, ready to tip into ecstasy.

“Oh gods,” I gasp.

“No,” he purrs. “I’m not a god. Who am I to you? Tell me, and you get to come.”

“R—” I start to say his name, and he pats my sex, not hard enough to make me come, but hard enough to make me groan. “Oh fuck.”

“I’ll fuck you after you give me what I want. Can you do that? Can you be a good girl for me and tell me what I want to hear?”

If I call him Master, he’ll allow me to come. He’ll give me everything I want. I did it before, just last night. I don’t know why it’s so hard this time.

I should’ve known he wouldn’t allow me to withhold any part of myself. He’s always sought my submission.

And I’ve always given in. Like now.

“Please. . .”

“You beg so prettily, sweet submissive. But you still haven’t given in to me. What do you call me when we’re in here?”

“Master.” It’s the barest whisper, but he hears me.

“Good girl.” He presses against my side, gripping my hair below where he’s bound me with the rope, and shoves his fingers into my sopping sex. He uses the rough edge of his thumb and rubs the needy spot next to my clit, hooking two blunt fingers in to massage the inner wall above my entrance. My orgasm blows up so fast I scream. I explode, fragmenting around his fingers. The convulsions rock me, making me swell and strain against the ropes.

I’m tied up tight, and I’m flying. I’m free.

“Such a good girl for me,” Rex murmurs, and gods, I need him. I need him to hurt me, to bring me down from this painful ecstasy. I need him to shove his cock into me, so I can focus on pleasing him. So I can earn his praise.

“That’s it.” He thrusts his fingers in and out, giving me a little taste of what it will be like when he’s moving his cock inside me. It’s not enough, but my inner muscles clench, milking him desperately. “You need this, don’t you? You need me to tie you up and spank your pussy so you can get relief.” He withdraws his fingers. With one last swipe over my sex, he moves around to my front. “Here. Taste yourself.” He smears my juices over my face before shoving his fingers into my mouth, deep enough to make me gag.

“That’s it. Open up for me. Show me you can take it.”

It’s almost too much, being bound and helpless and humiliated like this. But I don’t care. I love it.

He withdraws his fingers and wipes them on my bare breasts. He’s making a mess of me, and I want him to. Yes, please. Wreck me.

“Now it’s my turn. You’re going to suck me, and if you do a good job, I’ll fuck your pussy until you come all over my cock.”

I open my mouth wide, ready for him. I don’t care if it’s humiliating to beg like this, with my face wet from where he used me like a rag. There’s nothing I won’t give him right now.

He steps close, and I smell his delicious scent, cedar and spice and a tang of sweat. He teases me, brushing the head of his cock over my mouth, painting my lips with his pre-cum. I lick my lips and extend my tongue, chasing another taste. His dark chuckle rings in my ears, making me blush. He’s mastered me, and he knows it. But he gives me what I want, pushing past my lips and filling my mouth. There’s a tug on my hair. He’s holding the ropes back around my hair again and using them to control me. “Lick the underside,” he orders, and when I do, he groans. “That’s it, baby. Gods, you feel so good.”

He presses forward, hitting the back of my throat. I gag a little, and he backs off, only to push forward again. He tugs my hair with one hand and strokes my neck with the other, coaxing me to take him deeper. “Relax, little bird. Let me in. Yes, like that. Fuck, how you please me.”

His dick knocks at the back of my throat. I breathe through my nose and keep my muscles loose. I love this, I tell him by swirling my tongue around him. Give me more. I push my head forward and hum. He curses and tugs me back by my hair until tears leak out from under my blindfold. My pussy throbs, aching and empty, but I feel so satisfied, licking him, choking on him the way he likes.

“You’re too good.” He pulls out. I’m panting, my face painted with our combined essence, and all I feel is immense satisfaction at having pleased him.

He trails his fingers over my swollen lips. His scent wafts over me when he leans in to kiss me. I respond with eagerness, craning my neck to push into the kiss, straining towards him as much as I can while being restrained.

“Shall I give you your reward?” he whispers. His big hand cups my cheek, and I lean into it. My sex thrums with anticipation, but I’m content to soak in this moment of tenderness. This is why I love submitting to Rex. He thinks ahead to the next move. All the decisions rest on his shoulders, and I can just. . . be.

“Whatever you want.” I turn my head to kiss his fingers. “Master.” I still hesitate to call him that, but when I force it out, it fills me with peace. There’s nothing left for me to do but surrender.

“My gods.” His normally certain voice shakes. “You were made for me.”

He walks down the length of my body, his fingers never leaving my skin. He’s tied me up at the right height to pull my hips towards him and thrust into my entrance.

I’ll never get used to how his thickness stretches me. We both moan from the pain that’s on the edge of the pleasure, and the pleasure that’s on the edge of pain. He trails his fingers across my skin, tracing the sensitive line of flesh at the edge of the bindings. The rope creaks as he begins to move. I can’t push against him, can’t escape; I can only hang here and take it. His movements make me swing, and as the cool air rushes over me, I focus on the place we’re joined. The way I’m stretched around him, the way he probes me, driving deep, using the swinging momentum to slam into me, tipping my senses into blissful overload.

And when he’s thoroughly used my body, he grips the tied length of my hair, bowing me back further. Making me feel his control. Obliterating me until there’s nothing left but pleasure. No more Inara. No more Rex. Only us.

I spent my whole life running from this level of intimate connection. Only Rex, with his passion to consume me, could coax me to this level of surrender.

In another life, Rex would be perfect for me. We could be together. Joined completely, allowing our bodies to sing to each other in counterpoint. It’s a tempting fantasy.

It’ll have to remain a fantasy.

After this, no more. I can’t allow myself to be with Rex.

But I’ll always remember this moment, this feeling of being totally his.

3

Rex

The best thing about a long scene is the aftercare. I carry Inara’s limp body to our bedroom. The first stop is the bathroom, where I wash us both clean. The ropes left red marks snaking over her golden skin, and I admire them before massaging the braid-like indentations. I offer her painkillers and arnica, but she mumbles and shakes her head, so I bundle her up and take her to bed. I wrap myself around her and sleep like the dead until morning.

Two things wake me—her leaving the bed and my rock-hard dick. I roll to my back and admire her shadowed silhouette. She sneaks to the bathroom, and then returns, but not to bed. She tiptoes to one of the closet doors, sneaking a glance inside.

I give the command for the curtains to open. Daylight pours in, startling her.

“Going somewhere?” I ask.

“I need clothes.” There’s a glow to her skin, a hint of a blush, and she’s looking everywhere but at me.

“Do you?” I want to tease her, introduce the idea of walking around naked except for her collar, but she crosses her arms over her chest, and I relent. She’s feeling vulnerable, which is making her pull away. If a few thin layers of fabric make her feel safe, then there’s no harm.

“Here.” I cross the room and open the door to the correct walk-in closet. “This is all yours.”

“What?” She peeks in, and her eyes widen. “Of course,” she murmurs mostly to herself. I’ve given her a wardrobe before, back when she stayed at Hotel Magnifique. She’s starting to get used to how I anticipate her needs.

She wastes no time selecting a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt, grabbing a lingerie set almost as an afterthought. To my disappointment, she disappears in the bathroom to change.

I make use of the moment of privacy to receive my morning report from my AI assistant. Stock prices, corporate negotiations, and, more importantly, the results of the forensic testing Hamish ran on the letters sent to Inara. So far, there’s no DNA or fingerprint evidence linking the Bondage Killer to the letters, but if there is, we’ll find it.

By the time Inara emerges, I’ve dressed for the day. She’s sleekly groomed and gorgeous in the casual clothes she favors for work. Her expression is closed off, a little wary. Her hand is at her throat, playing with the silver collar I placed around her neck.

She must have a lot on her mind, but she’s acting strange around me. Almost. . . shy.

I want her to be comfortable, but I savor her uncertainty. It says something about the monster I am that I enjoy having her off balance.

Even her trepidation is delicious.

“Are you sore?” I ask.

“Not really.” She’s still guarded. “Rex, we need to talk.”

“Of course.” I hold out my hand. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Breakfast.”

She glances at the window. “It’s late.”

“Brunch then.” She’s acting like she has somewhere to be. I need to have patience. Yesterday, she insisted on going to work. Now that a killer is stalking her, things have changed, and she’s probably adjusting.

I can take her mind off of everything for a little while.

“Let me show you what Roy Manor has to offer.” I’ve already ordered a full brunch spread, but I take the long way to the breakfast room, guiding her through two ballrooms and a gallery or two. She lets me lead, holding my hand and taking everything in with wide eyes and a solemn expression.

Only once does she tug my hand for me to stop. She stalls in front of a portrait of my family. Me, as a boy with my parents. Back when they were still alive.

She studies it but says nothing. I brace myself for the sight of my dead parents and force myself to look up at the painting as if it’s a bland landscape that means nothing to me.

The faces look the same, and I wonder how many of my memories have shifted to match this painting versus the reality of how they actually looked. Have I forgotten them?

But no, when I remember them, I hear their soft voices, the sound of their laughter. There was so much love saturating each moment we spent together. It doesn’t matter what they looked like. All that matters is the love.

That’s what I lost.

And now I stand before them with the woman I’ve chosen. I know what they’d think of her. But what would they think of me? I’ve become someone they wouldn’t recognize. Certainly not the sort of man they raised me to be. My father was a doctor, my mother a philanthropist, both focused on saving lives, not destroying them. They wouldn’t approve of my intense focus on keeping the city safe at all costs. They wouldn’t condone the lines I’ve crossed. The lives I’ve taken. They might mourn the man I’ve become.

But they would approve of Inara.

“I was seven when this was painted,” I tell her because I need to break the silence between us. I need her to know me in a way I haven’t allowed anyone else to know me since my parents died. “They hired the same master who did their wedding portrait. Family tradition.”

She looks down the long hall full of oil portraits on the wood-paneled walls. Generations of Roys stretching back to before my ancestors came to New Rome. “Ah.”

“After my parents died, I avoided this hall for years. Something about the way they’re smiling. They look like they’re looking forward to something.” I swallow, and it feels like razors are lining my throat.

She steps closer to me, and that makes the pain of talking about my parents worth it. “Like what?”

“Nothing. Everything. Life, I guess.” I stare at the gilt frame, unable to look even the decades-old visage of my father or mother in the eye. They had so much life to look forward to.

She leans in, pressing against my arm. She might be moving closer to see better, not to comfort me, but I feel comforted all the same. “You’re not smiling.” She points out the blank expression on young Rex Roy’s face.

“No. I wasn’t.”

Looking at the portrait has lost its appeal, so I look at her instead. Her profile is lovely. Enchanting, even though she’s withdrawn from me this morning. She’s possibly more enticing because of that. I always did love the chase.

I want to know what she’s thinking. I’m about to ask when her stomach gurgles.

“Let’s get some food into you.” I take her elbow, and she lets me steer her down the long hall, leaving the likeness of my parents and younger self.

We have breakfast in the south wing in a dining room that gives us a view of my mother’s gardens.

“This is incredible,” she says once she’s finished her omelet.

“What?”

“All this.” She waves a hand around the cavernous room. This was my mother’s favorite dining space, full of light. It was designed with white columns and cream and gold wallpaper, and she added large pastoral paintings in ornate frames.

“Oh.” I set down my napkin. I say thank you because it’s polite and not because I had a damned thing to do with the architecture.

“I can’t imagine growing up here.” For the first time today, she meets my gaze. We share a long glance, and I sense that she’s not complimenting me on the grandness of the house. She’s thinking of how it would be to live here as the last remaining Roy. So much wealth and grandeur and nothing to make it a home. “You must have been lonely.”

“Hamish took care of me,” I say lightly. “And I went to school.”

“Until you were kicked out.”

“I see you read my journals.” I know she found my boyhood bedroom. I watched her on the surveillance cameras. We haven’t discussed it yet.

She looks abashed at invading my privacy. “Only a few. But I don’t need to read them to know how alone you were.”

She knows because she’s felt that deep, aching loneliness herself. She didn’t have the comfort of wealth to buffer it. She sees me, and she understands.

As exciting as it is to have her know my secrets, I don’t know if I’m ready to be dissected like this. “When you’re finished eating, I’ll give you a tour of the rest of the house.”

“Rex,” she hesitates, and I know she’s going to say what’s been on her mind since she woke up. “I’m not staying.”

I half expected it, but it still hits like a body blow.

“Thank you for breakfast,” she continues, “but I should be going.”

I control my impulse to shout No. “Where will you go?”

“To the city. To do my job.” She’s toying with her collar again.

I clear my throat and look pointedly at her collar until she realizes what she’s doing and drops her hand.

Only to raise it again to indicate the metal at her throat. “When are you going to remove this?”

“Why would I remove it?” I’ll make her say it outright. Tell me she doesn’t want this.

We both know she’d be lying.

She huffs. “I can’t wear it forever.”

“Why not?”

She looks around as if waiting for help to come. “Because I need to work. I need to get back⁠—”

“No, you don’t.” I let my gaze roll over her. She’s wearing the clothes I gave her and eating the food I provided.

She flushes because she knows how much she loves it when I care for her. “You thought I would, what, quit my job and be your full-time submissive?

“Sounds perfect.” Being with her is the most pleasure I’ve had in this grand room. I lean in, coaxing her to confide in me. “You love this. You love my control.”

She averts her gaze, and I want to grip her shoulders. Make her admit what she seems so reluctant to voice.

“I’m not interested in being a trophy.” She goes to touch her collar again, and that subconscious gesture tells me she’s preoccupied with the physical evidence of my possession. She realizes what she’s doing and brushes her hair back instead. “I do love what we shared. But. . .”

“I told you when you came to me, I’d keep you.” My voice is soft but firm. “I keep my promises, little bird.”

Her pulse flutters in her neck. “That was just a game.”

“Such a lovely game.” I capture her hand and bring it to my lips. I kiss and caress her fingers, and some of the tension in her shoulders softens.

“I enjoyed it.” Her voice is low and throaty. “You know I did. But it can’t go on forever. There’s too much at stake.” She withdraws her hand, looking resigned. “It can’t continue.”

She’s pulling away. Earlier in the bedroom, she wasn’t feeling shy and nervous; she was putting up her walls. Does she need evidence of how good we are together? Because I have plenty of that. “Last night⁠—”

“Last night, I needed comfort. A place to land. I’ll always be grateful, Rex, but⁠—”

“You belong to me.” It comes out too harsh, and I know it’s a blunder. I’m being a clumsy negotiator, but dammit, she surrendered herself to me, and I’m never letting her go.

She shakes her head, and the light catches her collar, negating her refusal. “I belong to myself.”

“You gave yourself to me.”

“You want the truth?” Her chest rises and falls as if she’s bringing out the big guns but is reluctant to use them. Sometimes in our arguments, I sense that she’s being careful, almost reluctant to hurt me, as if she intuits that she’s one of the few people who could.

I get control of myself. There’s a panicked part of me screaming that I need to beg her to stay, but I refuse to act so needy. So pathetic. “Tell me.”

“I came here to trap you. To see if I could gather evidence of your crimes.”

It’s adorable, her thinking she can entrap me. “I know. You see yourself first as a detective. You’d like to only be a detective instead of what you are.”

“And what am I?”

“Mine.”

She shakes her head as if dizzy.

I enjoy seeing her overcome by me, but I know it’s not a fair fight because her desires side with me. “Has it occurred to you that I used your single-minded focus on justice to trap you?”

“Yes.” She closes her eyes briefly. “I thought I could resist you. I told myself I would get close to you, give you what you wanted, and see if you’d make a mistake. Give me something I could use to nail you to the wall.”

“So that’s why you were snooping around.” She’d found my childhood bedroom, my journals, and evidence of my search for her. And then she found my underground headquarters. “You found more than you bargained for.”

She gives me her hard-edge detective glare, but the effect is diminished because she’s still wearing my collar.

“Whatever you told yourself, it’s time to admit it was an excuse. You manufactured all sorts of reasons to put yourself in my clutches. But whatever reason you gave yourself was quickly eclipsed by your desire.” I pause to give her a chance to protest, but she doesn’t. “You were fooling yourself.”

“You’re right. I was fooling myself. And now I’m not.”

She’s trying so hard to pull away. “I get it.” I let my voice soften. “You’re afraid of this, of us. It’s new⁠—”

“It’s not that. I need to focus. You’re not the priority anymore.”

She’s talking about me like I am only a target, not her dom. “Why are you denying what we have together?”

“Because it’s not right. It’s twisted.” She swirls her finger against the outside of her water glass, collecting condensation. I want to put her in a posture collar and force her to look at me. “Maybe it’s just who we are.”

“And what is that?”

“We’re broken. Both of us. I don’t know if what we can have together would be right.”

I get a flash of the inadequate feeling I felt earlier when I faced my parent’s portrait. “We are right,” I insist. “We make sense together. Inara”—I push back my chair to face her fully, with nothing between us—“you’re the only thing that makes sense.”

“Rex.” She’s looking at me with sorrow and pity. “Two broken people don’t make a whole. There are things you’ve done, that I’ve done–”

“What have you done?”

She presses her lips together, and my anger flares. She’s holding back. Again.

I knew I should’ve shattered her when I had the chance. Broken her into so many pieces that only I could put her back together.

There’s still time.

If she thinks I’m a monster, I can prove her right.

I want all of her. I need her mind and body under my possession, and if I don’t get it, I’ll go mad. And then the monster will truly be unleashed.

I grapple with my intense feelings and force myself to speak softly. “You’re saying this because you’re terrified. You’ve always been afraid—and with good reason.” I think of the terror she went through as a child. “But you know me. You’ve trusted me with your body.” If I stripped her naked, she’d be covered in my marks, proof of our compatibility written on her skin. “You can trust me to keep you safe.”

I’m appealing to what drew her to me in the first place. It’s ruthless, but I’ll use any weapon I have to keep her at my side.

And she looks tempted, her face filled with yearning when I murmur, “Let me be your safe place to land.”

She shakes her head slightly. “Safety is an illusion. And I don’t think you want me. You just want to own me.”

I shrug. “It’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s not. You’ve fixated on me. You enjoy dangerous games, but everything in your life has come easy. I was something you couldn’t have for far too long. Now I’m just a challenge to overcome, a prize to be won.”

I smirk. “Such a lovely prize.” It’s the wrong thing to say.

She pushes to her feet. “I’m leaving, Rex. I have a job to do, and it needs me more than ever.”

I rise also, kicking myself. I forgot myself and fell into the fun of fighting with her and went too far. “No,” I blurt, rage and panic pumping through my heart until I’m made of emotion. I need to stop her, but I can’t lose control. “Inara, think about this. It’s not safe for you⁠—”

She whirls to argue, but we’re interrupted when Hamish glides through the door.

“Sir, there’s something you should see.”

“Not now, Hamish.” He wouldn’t interrupt unless it was important. I don’t care if every stock I own is tanking or every business I own burns to the ground. Nothing is as important as keeping Inara here.

“You’ll want to see this news briefing. There’s been another murder.”

Inara blanches, and I reach to comfort her. She’s just been through her worst nightmare, and I want to give her what she needs.

But she pushes past me and barks a demand at Hamish. “Show me.”

In the short walk from the breakfast room to the study, Inara fully transforms into the hardened version of herself she becomes as a detective. She’s wan and withdrawn, the flickering light of the television emphasizing the bruised hollows under her eyes.

“I’m on location at the scene of a second murder,” the TV reporter says, standing on a sidewalk corner with the wind tugging at her blonde hair. “An inside source says this new murder might be related to the horrific Green Street killings we reported on yesterday. NRPD has yet to comment.”

Green Street is the crime scene where I met Inara yesterday. Where she almost collapsed after seeing a scene that matched her family’s murder.

“In both cases, the killer entered the home at midnight while the victims slept. This time, his target was twenty-five-year-old Emily Rodriguez⁠—”

A picture of the victim flashes on the screen. It shows the young woman at a happier time, when she was alive and well, instead of as a now mangled corpse. Horror hits me. The shape of the victim’s face, her long dark hair—she looks like Inara.

The reporting continues, showing B-roll of the neighborhood, charming brownstones and old oak trees now marred by yellow crime scene tape. I don’t hear a word over the high-pitched whine in my ear.

The killer wanted Inara. He targeted her first with the letters and then with a series of murders. First, a family was killed in the exact way her family died years ago. Now, a woman who looks like Inara. It can’t be a coincidence.

I need to focus, to think. But all I can see is Inara lying dead on the ground. It could’ve been her.

Maybe it’s because I just studied their portraits, but for a moment, I’m transported to that horrible night in the alleyway outside the theater, the smoke of gunfire hanging over my mother and father’s prone bodies. One minute we were laughing and talking, the next, they were dead. Leaving me with nothing but the echo of gunshots and the loss I would carry for the rest of my life.

Inara is in danger. She could die, just like my parents. She would’ve died last night if the killer had found her.

Only I can keep her safe. And I will do anything. There’s no law I won’t break, no boundary I won’t obliterate.

Nothing matters but protecting her.

* * *

Inara

The Bondage Killer has struck again. This time, instead of a family, it’s a single woman. She was alone in her apartment when he broke in. I feel a flash of terror and anguish, and I don’t know if it’s mine or a psychic response to the victim.

They show a picture of her when she was alive, smiling, with her arms around her dog. The mention of a dog tugs at my memory. The detail matches my dream last night, where I was a grown woman lying in bed, hoping the sounds outside my room were made by the dog and not an intruder.

Dear gods. It wasn’t a dream.

“Pardon, ma’am?” Hamish mutes the TV and cranes his head as if to hear me better.

“Nothing.” I didn’t mean to say that aloud. No one knows the truth about the visions I see of victims before they die, and no one ever will. It’s a secret I’ll take to the grave.

I shake off the sick feeling of psychic horror and try to focus on the facts of the case. There’s no time for me to collapse, not now.

“Are there any more details?” I ask. On the muted TV, the news broadcast has switched to images of Chief Jordan waving away microphones. The chyron announces an upcoming police press conference.

“I did make a few inquiries and learned a detail left out of the press reports,” Hamish says. “There was a note left on the latest scene. Much like the ones sent to you, Detective Ramos.”

I jolt. Of course. The letters. “What happened to the letters?” All I remember is gripping them while getting into the backseat of Ivan’s town car. “I need to get them to the precinct. They’re evidence.”

“We have them,” Rex says. “They’re in my lab. We took the opportunity to run some forensic testing.”

“You did what?” It’s bad enough that Hamish so easily uncovered sensitive details of the case, but tampering with evidence? He’s gone too far. I channel my shock into anger and round on him. “There are rules about the chain of custody for a reason. The letters are our best hope of finding the killer, and now they’re tainted⁠—”

“Because evidence is never tainted in police custody.” Rex doesn’t bother to hide his sarcasm.

“I guess you would know.” I remember how easily Rex made evidence disappear in the Martin case, and my face and chest grow hot. “You have no right⁠—”

“Do you want to know what we found?” Rex interrupts.

I pause with my mouth open. If he compromised the evidence, I might shoot him. Not anywhere fatal, but maybe in the leg or something. He’s lucky I’m not armed now.

But I do want to know what he found.

I nod, and he beckons. “Come see for yourself.”

We end up back in his HQ or, as Hamish calls it, his “lair.” Beyond the illuminated workspaces, the place is as dark and forbidding as ever. Rex leads me across a metal bridge to a large glass cube, a makeshift room filled with lab equipment. There are stainless steel counters and a hanging array of computer screens.

“This can’t be sterile,” I mutter.

“Alfie?” Rex asks, and the computer answers in a cheerful, artificial voice. “We maintain the strictest sanitation levels and disinfect all surfaces regularly. Would you like a decontamination report?”

“That won’t be necessary.” I roll my eyes.