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“It could be…” She pauses, calculating. “… four to six more hours, perhaps. Maybe longer. Her body is recovering from multiple traumas, Lorenzo.”

I pace to the window, watching the deserted street outside. “And if she doesn’t wake?”

“She will.” Voss’s certainty is professional, detached. “Her vitals were strong when I left. Unless you’re noticing labored breathing or extreme pallor—”

“No.”

“Then let her rest. It’s the best medicine right now.”

After ending the call, I process her words. She said as much to me before I took Piper home, and I trust Voss implicitly. It just doesn’t feel like enough. I’m not built for situations where there’s nothing to do but fucking wait. There’s no way I’ll be at peace until Piper’s eyes are open.

Three soft knocks on the door jerk me from my thoughts, and when I go to open it, Maria and Cy are there. While my assistant looks as put together as always, Cy’s scowling.

“This one dragged me out of fucking bed,” he seethes.

Maria rolls her eyes, pointing toward Piper’s living room. “Stop whining and carry the things in there.”

It’s only now I notice Cy’s arms are loaded with garment bags while Maria’s balancing a box on her hip.

Noticing my gaze, she straightens. “Some food,” she explains, already walking into the kitchen. “It’s nothing fancy. Just some soup that can be reheated once Piper’s up for it.”

While she talks, Cy empties Maria’s car, carrying in more boxes than I know what to do with. But considering they’re both here in the middle of the night, I’m not going to question them.

Once we’re done, I turn to Maria. “You should buy yourself something—”

“Pretty,” she finishes for me, smiling slyly. “You bought me a new car only last week, so I’m fine. But Christmas is coming up, and you could always show your generosity then.”

I chuckle while I usher them out. Maria always buys her own presents. If I’m honest, I don’t even know how much she spends, but whatever she deems generous, she’ll get.

“Oh, wait. One more thing,” Maria says, coming to a stop. “I wasn’t able to move the Morrison meeting. However, I changed it to video call. Everything else has been moved.”

“Thank you.” I look at Cy over her shoulder. “Both of you.”

He nods. “The perimeter is secure so if you don’t need anything else, I’m getting my ass back to bed.”

After mumbling my thanks, I lock the door behind her and Cy. Then I begin the methodical process of unpacking. I hang suits next to Piper’s dresses in her closet, place my razor on the sink, and my toothbrush next to hers.

With everything put into their new space, and food stored in the fridge, I walk back into the bedroom. I frown, not liking that she’s still practically comatose. Right now, I’m longing for her to wake up even if it means she’s going to fight me. Anything would be better than this silence.

Sighing, I strip, methodically removing each piece of clothing. Then I slide back between the sheets. My toy’s body radiates heat like a furnace, and I quickly check her forehead to see if she’s running a fever. I don’t think she is.

Lifting the sheet, I check her body, needing to see for myself that she’s okay. There’s a bruise forming on her hip that I don’t recognize—not from my hands, not from my mouth.

It could be from the club, perhaps. A collision with something as innocent as a table corner or a doorframe. Yet, it makes me angry. Because if she stumbled, it could be because of Ben. Which means she’s wearing a bruise from another man.

I brush my thumb across it, feeling the subtle heat of damaged capillaries beneath her skin. By morning, it will be purple. By next week, green. By the end of the month, gone. But that’s not soon enough.

My touch tightens, and I dig my fingers in firmer. I stop when she groans in her sleep, deciding that now isn’t the time. I need to let her sleep, and I can replace the bruise tomorrow. The ownership I feel isn’t abstract. It’s visceral, physical, as real as bone. The games are over. No more blindfold. No more manipulation from the shadows.

Chapter 34

Piper

My bladder wakes me before my brain does—a screaming, urgent pressure that sends me stumbling to the bathroom. The tiles bite cold against my bare feet as I shuffle, eyes half-closed, toward relief.

Once I’m done and have washed my hands, I splash cold water on my face in an attempt to regain full consciousness. It works, and as I reach for my toothbrush, I realize it isn’t alone. Next to my rose-colored electric toothbrush is a black one I’ve never seen in my life.

There’s also an electric shaver on my sink, expensive-looking, matte black. Next to it sits shaving cream I’ve never purchased. My fingers hover over it, not quite touching, as if it might bite.