“Yes. Mr. Cohen is highly skilled when it comes to such delicate and discrete work.” Lila set one high-heeled leather boot atop Griffin’s thigh and dug in with the six-inch spike, making him groan as the point pierced his flesh, drawing blood. “Now, Mr. Griffin you must hold still, you wouldn’t want Mr. Cohen here to accidentally slip and hit your eye with that tattoo gun, would you? That might smart a bit, don’t you think?”

Declan stared as Griffin blinked as if in agreement. Whatever had gone on in this room in the past hour had obviously won him over to Lila’s unique methods for acquiescing.

“What do you think? Shall we have him pierced while Mr. Cohen is here?”

Declan gripped Griffin’s arm tightly as the talented Mr. Cohen carefully displayed a piece of cork, a rather interesting looking needle, and a rather painful looking receiving tube. “What do you think, Griffin? Do you think we should show you mercy and allow Mr. Cohen to pack up?”

Lila chimed in. “You certainly don’t show any of your submissives any mercy, do you, Mr. Griffin? I’m quite surprised it’s taken this long for anyone to exact revenge on you.”

Declan removed the ball gag from Griffin’s mouth. “You fucking whore, where the hell are you going to pierce me?” Griffin spat out.

“Now, now, Mr. Griffin, is that any way to speak to someone who holds your rather painful future in the palm of her hands?”

Declan replaced the gag as Lila held up a thick gauged silver ring and Griffin’s eyes grew wide. “Time to remove those oh so attractive boxers, Mr. Griffin.”

Griffin writhed in panic the best he could against his restraints as Mr. Cohen placed a meaty hand on his thigh.

“On second thought, I think we should be merciful this evening.” Declan released his grip on Griffin’s arm and extended his hand to shake Mr. Cohen’s. “Thank you for your fine work, Mr. Cohen. We will call you shall we require your services in the future.” The linebacker sized artist nodded and packed up his things.

Declan assisted Lila in removing Griffin’s gag, and then his restraints, sitting him up while Lila held a mirror out so Griffin could see the ink embedded in his forehead. Permanently front and center were the words “Punish Me” in a heavy, thick font.

“You forget you ever knew Charlotte Flynn. Do I make myself clear?”

Griffin nodded, spitting saliva from the side of his mouth. “Fuck, fine! Yes!”

“I protect what’s mine. Charlotte belongs to me. If you even so much as think of contacting the authorities about this, like she should have when you tortured her, I’ll fucking destroy you.”

Griffin nodded again, fear blazing in his eyes. Declan released his grip on him, rapping on the door to signal to Lila’s security team so they could remove Griffin.

Declan slipped into the back of the vehicle where Owen was waiting. There was a long silent moment before Owen broke it. “Any trouble?”

Declan shook his head. “Nope. Everything went as planned. The piece of shit is dealt with, and he’ll have to deal with the physical side effects of his haircut longer than Charlotte had to. Your Lila is something else.”

“That she is. And I’m ready to get home to her. I’m sure you’re more than ready to head home to Charlotte as well.”

Declan relaxed as the car crept out of the alley and into the night.

Chapter Fifteen

Who in their right mind goes running the week of Thanksgiving? Emerson, that’s who. It was freezing out. Charlie cursed him out as she glanced over the text message again. Not only did he insist she go running with him this morning, he instructed they meet in front of her favorite bakery. The hot and cold torture ate away at her. The arctic air burned her face and lashed at her legs through the fabric of her running pants while the smell of freshly baked pastry and hot espresso taunted her.

Charlie started to open the door to the bakery when she caught a glimpse of Emerson walking toward her.

“Charlie!”

“Morning.” She walked to meet him, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“So six miles this morning?” Emerson smiled down at her.

Charlie moved back and smacked her brother on the shoulder. She hated when he was in town visiting. He always cajoled her into running with him. “You’re a sadist, aren’t you?” She laughed. “Why can’t we just go warm up with some espresso instead?”

“Running is good for you. It releases all the toxins from your body and mind. Besides, we both know you couldn’t manage yoga like Mikki. You’d fall flat on your ass.”

Emerson had a point.

***

“You do this every day?” Charlie panted. She could feel a trickle of sweat from her forehead coursing down her neck.

Emerson nodded, looking like he was just out enjoying a brisk walk. Charlie felt like she was going to die.

“How much farther?”

He looked over at her, smirking. “Three-quarters of a mile.”

She straightened up. I can do this. “Great.” Her lungs seemed to have filled with lead, and she could only take shallow, gasping breaths. “Feels amazing.”

“So, not cold any longer?”

“Not a bit.” Charlie could hear the blood surging through her veins. Their feet pounded on the trail, and no, she definitely wasn’t freezing anymore.

“So, how is your boyfriend?” Emerson asked, his breathing not even the least bit labored. “Are you bringing him to Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Umm … he’s not exactly my boyfriend,” she gasped. “Besides, I don’t know if he’ll be back in time.” It was the truth after all, they weren’t exactly dating, and she worried that Mikki would confront him about the bruising. Moreover, she had a good excuse not to invite Declan; he was in Toronto working on finalizing some new distribution contract.

“Okay, completely your call. No pressure.”

Charlie collapsed to the ground, exhausted.

“It will get easier,” Emerson insisted, looking down at where Charlie sat, slumped over in a complaining heap on the ground. “Be patient.”

“Which, the whole Master/sub thing or the running?” She pulled a few blades of crunchy grass from the frost, mumbling. It was early, the sky was dull and gray, and she was sore in places she didn’t even know she owned.

“Both.” He stopped for a moment before adding, “And stop being so bratty.”

“What did you say?”

“Get your ass up here. Let’s go get an espresso and warm up.”

***

The door closed behind them, the soft snick echoing into the darkness as the latch caught.

His hand released hers without comment as she sidestepped into the bathroom, half-closing the door behind her. He made his way into the suite, flicking on the lamp, a subtle glow illuminating the room.

She heard the distant clink of glasses and the subtle pop of a cork easing from the confines of a bottle, as she prepared for the night.

She released her hair from the French braid she had so carefully wound only hours earlier for dinner, the pins dropping into the sink, one after another, allowing her thick dark locks to curl about her shoulders. She wiped the slick of red gloss from her full lips but left the traces of scent her perfume had imprinted on her skin. It wasn’t expensive—she’d picked it up at the counter on impulse when shopping for stockings at a local department store. He had liked it, and so it became her signature scent, replacing the more costly Chanel she was so fond of wearing.

They had spent a long time getting to know one another over the course of the summer, there had been no rush, no hurry, no pressure. She stared at her reflection in the mirror wondering how it was that she felt so safe with him, so tethered to him.