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“This isn’t ‘home’—”

“I’ll take you for a walk around the grounds.”

“Lucky me,” she says with more acid sarcasm.

I shrug, trying to act like her words don’t sting. The nightmare clings to my psyche as I head for the stairs.

“Wait,” she says, catching up with me.

I turn to face her. She smiles up at me. Is it real – is it fake? Is it somewhere between?

“Have a good day at work.”

She wraps her arms around me and pulls herself in for a kiss. I’m aware it could be another play at manipulation, but the moment I taste her lips, I forget about any possible games. I hold her tightly against me, savoring the feel of her curvy perfection. She moans as our mouths open, our tongues tussling.

After hours of meetings and conference calls, I snatch a moment to contact Rafe. He still doesn’t have any news about where The Vultures are, and he hasn’t learned anything about why Evie is reluctant to call the cops.

“Are they ghosts?” I demand.

“We’ve never interacted with them, Dom. We know nothing about their organization. They could have safe houses all over the State for all we know. They could be in Vegas. It’s not as easy to find somebody as you might think, not if they don’t want to be found.”

I sigh darkly. “They must have some dirt on Evie,” I say, standing at my floor-to-ceiling windows and looking down at Century City. “That’s why she won’t let me go to the cops.”

“Or maybe she feels like she has to protect them. She grew up with them, after all.”

“Has her roommate said anything?”

Rafe hesitates. “No.”

“What?”

“What’d you mean,what?”

“Why the hesitation?”

“Tash and I have talked, but not about this.”

“Be careful,” I tell him. “You don’t want to fall for your prisoner.”

“Ha, ha,” he mutters sarcastically. “Pot, kettle, black. You get the gist. I’ll keep digging, but things might go quicker if you contacted the old man yourself.”

I curl my hands into fists. “As long as the women are safe from those biker bastards, I’m content with this pace.”

“Anything not to speak to him, eh?”

“Something like that.”

The rest of the day passes in a blur. I’m counting down the seconds until I can drive to my estate in Topanga Canyon. When I finally return, I find Evie sitting cross-legged in front of the coffee table, wearing kitchen gloves and curling small pieces of metal into circles.

“I need new forks,” she says, a glint in her eye that somehow turns her even more beautiful.

“You can’t help yourself, can you? How did you make the metal pliable?”

“The stove.”

Her resourcefulness would make any SEAL proud. “Did you still want to get some fresh air?”

She stands, her body bouncing as it always does when she moves quickly. Her voluptuousness is a constant temptation. Just like her smile. And her scent. And the sparkle in her eyes that hasn’t dimmed even though she’s my prisoner.