The fact that she’d probably be horrified, or even disgusted, by the very thought of it just made me feel even more hopeless. I wondered if I’d be willing to rein in my dominant side if she didn’t feel comfortable with it. The thought almost made me smile. The way I felt about her, I’d be more than willing. I just doubted I’d be capable of it. Grace was a loose cannon, anyway, at the moment. It was better I took a step back and waited to see if she came to me.

The lift doors parted, and I entered the dark fog that was Dominion. It was a Wednesday night, and it showed. The place was quiet, with only the odd knot of guests. Most of them were standing around the edges of the dance floor. In the middle, our resident Japanese Ropemaster, Takao-san, was demonstrating the fine art that was Shibari suspension bondage on his nubile young sub, Cho. As I walked across to the bar, she was spinning gently from the rig, one leg extended up above her, the other bound tightly into her buttock, affording the audience an open view of her crotch.

Unlike many Masters, Takao-san had afforded her the dignity of underwear. He was respectful and demanded the same in return. She tried her best, but she’d told me once, on bended knee, that Cho was Japanese for ‘butterfly’, and it had suited her at the time. She’d flitted from one Dom to another until Alex had taken her under his wing and done his best to tame her.

He’d passed her on to Takao-san, who was renowned for his tireless patience, and she seemed more contented now, under his firm but gentle guidance. At that moment, she looked completely at peace, and she probably was; lost in the almost hypnotic trance that was sub-space.

She hung there on her side, her eyes half-closed, rotating slowly, an intricate web of knots and ropes keeping her still and safe. Her hair was woven into the web, pulling her head backwards towards the cluster of knots at her back and extending her slender neck into a graceful curve. It was truly beautiful, and just as dangerous in the hands of anyone but an expert like Takao-san. There weren’t many Masters I’d have allowed to do this without my personal attendance, but he was the finest Kinbakushi this side of the Atlantic. For me to question his methods would have been laughable, not to mention insulting.

Alex was standing at the bar, watching the display from a distance. He put his glass down as I reached him. ‘You’ve missed most of it, Sir,’ he said, indicating the dance floor. ‘I was going to shut up shop when they finish. There’s been no play tonight, as such.’

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Do that. I just needed to ask you, in person, if you’ve heard anything from Rick since he did his disappearing act. I know you two were close.’

‘No, Sir.’ Alex’s mouth went into a hard line. ‘I’d like to catch up with him, though. He’s let me down, too. I vouched for him.’

‘It was a long time ago,’ I said, with a shrug. ‘It’s not your fault. None of us saw it coming. I doubt he did himself.’

‘Why are you asking me now, Sir?’ Alex looked as if he was expecting bad news, and I had plenty to give him. When I told him about the million pounds he uttered a short, sharp laugh. ‘The girl’s hardly worth that, Sir.’

‘It’s not just about the girl, Alex, for fuck’s sake.’ I ran my hand through the front of my hair in frustration. ‘It’s the family. It’s a matter of trust…loyalty. It has to be sorted.’

‘So what do you want me to do, Sir?’

Alex leaned in towards me, listening intently as I detailed my intentions for the following evening.

    Four

Her

It wasn’t until the next morning that I remembered about the message he’d written on the business card. I woke late, and Liv had long gone. I felt guilty. It was all right for me to be up late, but she had work, and Max would tear her off a strip if she was anything but focused. After last night, I had a hard time believing she’d be able to keep her eyes open. And Leo had caused some sort of damage in the living room, not to mention the tension he’d created between Liv and me.

God, why did he have to be such a nightmare when he’d been drinking? I knew it was partly my fault. He always got frustrated if I didn’t speak to him but, after everything that’d happened, I hadn’t been able to face it, and he made no allowance for that. He just didn’t get it.

I sat up and swang my legs over the side of the bed, sighing. Footballers…they were all the same. They just didn’t get that other people had feelings, besides them. I’d heard so many of the other WAGs say the same that I was under no illusion that my problems were anything special.

I pushed myself up off the bed, noticing that my arm hurt. My shoulder ached and, as I turned my head to look towards it, I noticed a cluster of bruises across the top of my arm. Finger marks. I ran my hands across my thighs. They were sore as well. I had no doubt I’d find similar evidence of his brutality, seared across them, when I took off my bottoms.

Why did he have to be such an asshole? He could be so sweet, when he was sober. It was why I’d found it so hard to pull away from him. We had such a history; together since we were eighteen and Leo had been nothing but a hopeful youth team player. We’d been so close back then, before the pressure of joining the footballing elite had turned him into a self-obsessed drinker, battling the bottle.

He hated himself for it, I knew, and it was this frustration that he turned so often onto me. And it was because I understood, that I’d continually made allowances for him, telling myself it would get better and that he wasn’t a bad guy really. I’d turned a blind eye to so many things, believing we were as strong as he’d always insisted, but I’d been wrong. He was a bad guy. I knew that now, and I was an idiot.

Even so, I couldn’t help worrying about him. How’d he got home last night? I hoped he hadn’t missed training. He was clearly in enough trouble already, and it might be the end of his career if he went skidding off the rails now. For a moment, I felt so guilty that I considered calling him, just to check he was okay.

I stood up and pulled off my PJ bottoms. Sure enough, there were purplish bruises smeared across the insides of my thighs. No. No phone calls. No contact. Period. I had to stay strong. But, God, it had been a night and a half.

That, on the heels of everything that had preceded it, made me shake my head and sit down again. The group of guys…the incident in the foyer…the walk along the embankment…it all came flooding back. And my ridiculous belief that he’d liked me. That guy – that Filth Monger. I groaned aloud. I must’ve been perfect fodder for him. No wonder he’d been so interested in me. Whatever he’d expected to get, he’d been disappointed. He’d kissed me, but he’d got no further than that. Just dropped me home and given me that damned card. I covered my face with my hands, as I recalled reading it.

That was when it hit me. He’d written a message on it. I remembered it clearly now. He’d reached towards me to get the card, then again to get a pen from the glove box. No wonder Leo had freaked. It probably had looked like he was kissing me and, just because I’d left him – just because he’d screwed another woman – didn’t mean he’d play fair and accept it was over. Leo didn’t play fair. He was a footballer, for Christ’s sake.

I stepped back into my PJs and rushed downstairs. As I entered the living room, I paused and looked around me. Liv had straightened up the coffee table, and it seemed to be okay. The real damage was to the fireplace. A huge crack ran through the tiles on one side of the surround, and I could only stare at it for a moment or two, in horror. It was a beautiful surround. Art Deco and original, I was pretty sure. I was going to have to sort it, and soon.