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Does he know it’s me? Or is he playing with a stranger?

I shouldn’t play along.But shut up, brain. I want to play.

He must know it’s me. I knew it was him the minute he spoke. I probably registered him even before. His voice, his musk, his presence—so unmistakably him.

Even while I deliberate, I slide my panties down and slip them into my small purse.

I stare at the woman in the mirror’s reflection. The woman who vowed to free herself from all the people controlling her life.

I’ve craved that freedom for years. Could this be the first step? To do something I want instead of something I should? Will that be liberating, or just plain reckless?

My cheeks are flushed and my hands are trembling. Anticipation. Desire. Vengeance?

When I return to the main floor, the music has changed. So has the mood. Three dancers gyrate around poles on the stage. A woman moans, folded over the backrest of a sofa, with a man thrusting behind her.

The room isn’t as full as before; most of the guests probably moved upstairs. But I don’t really look around; I’m on a mission.

But I stop when I realize he’s no longer at the bar where I left him. My heart races like it wants to vacate my chest.

Did he change his mind? Did he find someone else to play with?

I look around, and my mind spins into overdrive. Do I go upstairs? Do I leave? Maybe the bartender would know. Not my best option, but in the absence of any other idea, I move in her direction.

“Hello, sweetheart, you seem lost.” A stocky man with a sheen of perspiration around his mask grabs my arm. “Maybe you’re looking for me?”

He is in a suit, his belt undone. His pudgy hand on my skin turns my stomach. “Let go of me.”

“Oh, come on.” He yanks me closer. “I can show you a good time.”

I stumble, my body slamming against his belly. I gag as his repulsive musk hits my nostrils.

His fingers dig into my arm, and I try to yank away, but the fucker is strong. “I said let go of me.”

My pulse hammers in my temples, but suddenly my mind clears completely. I’ve had it with men ruling me. I propel my leg forward, driving my knee up.

He groans. “Fucking bitch. Security!”

I don’t know if I hit the intended target, but his grip loosens. The impact sends me backward, staggering.

And I hit something firm and warm. Someone firm and warm.

“She told you to let go of her.” Corm’s voice floods me with relief.

“She fucking kicked me,” my attacker sputters.

“Good.” Cormac wraps his arm around my waist.

Home.

He turns to me. “Are you okay?”

I nod.

“I will break every single bone in your body if you as much as look at my wife again.”

He beckons me forward with his hand on the small of my back, leaving the asshole behind. A shudder rakes through my body—part solace, part yearning.

My wife.