She didn’t bother to turn and look. She didn’t want to see.

“Um, babe?” Logan asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Didn’t you see him? That was Sam!”

“What?” they both asked, stopping and forcing her to stop, too.

“No, I don’t want a confrontation. Please! Let’s get the hell out of here.”

She could tell they wanted to turn around and give the asshole a piece of their minds, but they let her lead them back to the car.

“And make sure he doesn’t follow us!”

“Let him try,” Toby darkly said.

“If he’s stupid enough to go inside, Eliza will likely neuter him with Tilly’s help,” Logan joked.

“Please!” she begged, near tears. “Let’s get out of here!”

“Okay, honey,” Logan assured her. “We’re going.”

He took a very roundabout course home, first heading in the opposite direction and making several double-backs, including pulling into a Walmart parking lot and waiting for a few minutes, watching for any approaching cars.

Only when she was satisfied Sam wasn’t following them did she let Logan head for home.

Why was it that just when she thought she had a handle on her life, and perfection had set in, that bastard had to reappear? It was like a bad omen, like maybe she’d chosen wrongly.

Like maybe she wasn’t meant to be happy.

Chapter Ten

Sunday morning, Eliza texted Rebecca. You awake?

Yes, she was awake. She’d barely been able to sleep despite the men being able to coax her into making love before they all crashed in bed.

Sam.

Asshole Sam.

Eliza called her after Rebecca texted her back that she was awake. “So…how are you this morning?”

“Cut the crap. Sam came in just as we were leaving.”

Rebecca heard her sigh over the line. “Yeah, I was hoping you’d missed him. I wasn’t going to say anything first.”

“Nice try.”

“He spotted me and Rusty. I pointed him out to Tilly and the others, so now they know who he is. Don’t worry, I took care of it. He won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“Yeah, well, now he knows I’m a club member.”

“So? What’s he going to do about it? Again, it’s taken care of. So relax.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“You have two guys who can kick his ass. Let him spin his wheels. Who gives a shit about Sam? Quit giving him rent-free space in your head, girl.”

Easier said than done. “I need to get off here. I have a lot of work to catch up on.”

“Okay. Seriously, relax. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

After ending the call, Rebecca stared at her phone.

If only relaxing was that easy.

Unfortunately, she’d run the gauntlet of Sam’s wrath once before and swore she’d never put herself in that position again. If he knew she was back in town, it likely meant she’d always be looking over her shoulder.

So much for my happy ending.

* * * *

Monday morning, Toby and Logan had left for work after both of them kissed her good-bye.

It tore at Rebecca’s heart, but she knew she couldn’t say anything to them.

She needed to leave.

Running into Sam at the club on Saturday like that had rattled her in a way she hadn’t expected, and it wasn’t going away. He was not a nightmare she wanted to revisit. She could tell by the look on his face when he’d spotted her that if she hadn’t been there with Toby and Logan—and her beating feet right out the door—he would have approached her.

She also suspected it was no coincidence that she suddenly had a flurry of hits on her website later that same night from an IP address in the Sarasota area, checking out every damn page, and ten contact form messages—from the same IP range—hitting her business e-mail account asking for more information about her…

Like if she had a local store they could visit.

And now knowing her uncle’s house was also in her name meant there was another way Sam could track her down if he really wanted to. She was no longer a phantom person able to disappear onto the road with no way to find her.

It brought back a nervous panic, a stifling feeling. Bad memories of trying to get herself free from Sam flared fresh in her mind.

Yes, it was probably PTSD, something Eliza told Rebecca way back then she suspected Rebecca suffered from, but it wasn’t something she’d ever sought treatment for.

She’d been in survival mode.

When she moved out while Sam was at work, she ended up leaving some things behind but getting out with her life and safety, at least. Finally. And she couldn’t claim abuse in the paperwork, because he had the slave contract he’d pressured her to sign.

And pictures.

Lots and lots of pictures. Pictures where she was obviously enjoying what was going on, or at least appeared to be.

Pictures she wished didn’t exist, but at least held no power over her now other than as a bad memory. Her parents knew, Eliza and Rusty knew, and she was now self-employed.

It had been bad enough back then having to call her parents and warn them that Sam might send them pictures of her. Reliving the stress of those days was even worse.

Hiding out at Eliza and Rusty’s house, having to quit her job and get another one, having to face the jerk in court. Horrible memories, all of them. Sam had tried to drag out the process as long as possible, but they’d owned no property together, her car had been in her name before she’d met him—fortunately—and they had no kids. She’d taken exactly half of what the current balance in both the savings and checking accounts had been at the time she left, even though most of the money in both of them had been hers.

Still, he’d stalked her, little things here and there that she could never pin down or get evidence on to obtain a restraining order. Never a threat from him, nothing actionable or traceable back to him. If she’d reported every tiny thing, her attorney told her she would look like she was the petty one and Sam’s attorney might use it against her. And she didn’t have the money to send a licensed PI after Sam to get the proof she’d need to nail him for the activity, either.

She’d even received unusual e-mails from anonymous accounts with cell phone pics of her at various places. Text messages—until she’d had her cell number changed—and how he always “coincidentally” showed up at places where she was shopping. Not speaking to her, but watching her, waiting until she saw him before turning and walking away, just another customer going about his business.

Just enough stuff to unsettle her and shatter what little peace of mind she might try to claw back.

Once the divorce was final and she had her maiden name again, she made her decision and fled, quitting her job and walking away from everything. The monthly payments on her first RV were less than rent and utilities for a crappy apartment, and she had the nation as her backyard. She was already making enough from her jewelry business at the time to support herself. The return address she used for any items she shipped was a remailer service that sent items to Eliza and Rusty’s address for her.

Paranoid? Yes.

She’d accepted a lot of mental and physical abuse under the guise of BDSM. She recognized that now, but at the time she didn’t understand she had a voice. She’d fallen in love, and by the time she realized what Sam was, she was already married to Sam and trapped under his thumb.

Not anymore.

Even better, Sam couldn’t find her, couldn’t track her, couldn’t trail her. She set up a private domain registration for her website, so Sam couldn’t get that information.

Now, he knew she was back.

The one time shortly after the divorce was finalized that Sam had shown up at Eliza and Rusty’s house looking for Rebecca, Eliza had—literally and bodily—thrown the much larger man off her front porch when he refused three times her demand for him to leave.