Page 20

I catch Coach’s voice through his half-open office door as I pass by on my way to the showers. Something about Chicago, Milwaukee, travel arrangements. But it’s the other voice that makes me stop—Sage’s voice, professional and controlled.

“I understand,” she says, and I lean closer to the doorframe.

“Flight details, hotel info,” Morrison continues. “Since this is your first trip with us...”

Trip? She’s coming on the trip with us.

A slow smile spreads across my face as I continue toward the locker room.

My plan with Riley worked perfectly. The bastard ran just like I knew he would, leaving Sage to pick up the pieces.

And now she’ll be trapped on a plane with me, stuck in hotels with me, unable to run away every time I get too close.

Perfect.

But the memory of her breakdown in the office keeps playing on repeat in my head.

The way she was shaking, the panic in her eyes, the desperate way she’d pushed against my chest like I was some kind of monster.

That wasn’t the Sage I know—the confident woman who looked me in the eye while her hands worked magic on my hip, who called me out on my bullshit and didn’t back down.

Something happened to her. Something that made her terrified of being vulnerable, of being seen. And if I want her—which I do, more than I’ve wanted anything in years—I need to figure out what the fuck that was.

I don’t want her submissive because she’s scared of me. I want her to choose it, to trust me enough to let go. I want her to have fun with me, not cower like I’m going to hurt her.

I have plans for her. Plans that require her to be willing, not terrified.

The shower water is scalding against my skin as I work through my strategy. I need to be smart about this, patient. I can’t just corner her and demand answers—that clearly doesn’t work. I need to smooth my way to her heart, make her want to tell me her secrets instead of forcing them out of her.

But I also need to keep her at a distance from everyone else. The way Davidson was looking at her today, the easy way she smiled at Mitchell yesterday—that shit needs to stop. I don’t care if she doesn’t like how protective I am. I will always protect what’s mine.

And that thought stops me cold.

What’s mine?

Jesus fucking Christ.

When did I start thinking about Sage Monroe as belonging to me? When did I realize that I wanted to do more than fuck her? How is this turning into something deeper, more possessive?

It’s because she’s interesting.

Difficult.

Broken.

Like me.

For the first time in my life, I’m genuinely interested in a woman beyond what she can do for me physically. I want to know what makes her cry, what demons live in her past because I can tell from our interaction earlier that she has some deep wounds.

I don’t know if this is a good thing. Interest leads to attachment, and attachment makes you weak. It gives people power over you, ways to hurt you that go deeper than physical pain.

But she’s coming on the trip. Three days of planes, drives, and hotels and close quarters. Three days to figure out how to break down her walls without destroying what’s underneath.

Three days to claim what’s mine.

I turn off the water and reach for my towel, my mind already working through the possibilities.

The team always stays at decent hotels—separate rooms but close quarters.

Team meals where I can watch her interact with the other guys, make sure they know she’s off limits.

Long bus rides where maybe, if I play my cards right, she’ll let me close enough to start earning her trust.

By the time I’m dressed and heading out to my car, my strategy is forming. I won’t push her the way I did today. I’ll be patient, careful. I’ll show her that I’m not the monster she thinks I am, even though we both know I am.

Because the truth is, I am dangerous. I am violent and possessive and probably exactly the wrong kind of man for someone with her history. But I’m also the only one who can protect her from everything else in this world that might try to hurt her.

And if that makes me a hypocrite, so be it.

She’s mine now. She just doesn’t know it yet.

I pull out my phone as I reach my car, scrolling to her contact. For a moment, I consider texting her, maybe something softer than my usual demands. But then I think about the way she looked at me today—like I was something to be feared instead of wanted.

No. Texting won’t fix this.

I need to show her in person that I’m worth the risk.

Seeing her tonight can’t come fast enough.

By 7:45 PM, I’m pacing my living room like a caged animal. She should be here by now. I told her tonight wasn’t a choice, and despite her protests earlier, I expected her to show up. She always shows up, even when she doesn’t want to.

The surveillance camera on my front porch shows nothing but empty driveway and the glow of streetlights. No car pulling up. No Sage walking to my door with that determined set to her shoulders.

7:50 PM. Nothing.

The anxiety crawling up my spine is foreign, unwelcome. I don’t get anxious about women. I don’t pace around waiting for anyone. But here I am, checking my phone every thirty seconds like some dumb fucking lovesick teenager.

7:55 PM. Still nothing.

The rational part of my brain knows she’s probably just running late. Traffic, work stuff, whatever. But the darker part—the part that saw her break down today—whispers that something’s wrong. That she’s hurt or scared or in trouble.

8:00 PM exactly, and I can’t take it anymore. I hit her contact, and the phone barely rings once before she picks up.

“Hello?” Her voice is breathless, but not in the way I want it to be.

The sound that hits me through the speaker isn’t her voice—it’s music. Loud, pulsing, club music that makes me have to strain to hear her.

“Where are you?” The words come out harsh, but I’m too pissed to care.

“Slater?” She draws out my name in a sing-song voice that immediately sets me on edge. “Always so serious. So unprofessional.”

She’s mocking me. The little brat is actually mocking me, and I can hear the smile in her voice even over the deafening bass.

“Are you drunk?”

She laughs—actually laughs—and the sound is loose and careless in a way that makes my chest tighten. This isn’t like her. Sage is controlled, professional, careful. She doesn’t get drunk at loud clubs on work nights. And at 8:00 when she should be here? Does my princess have a death wish?

“Sage. Where the fuck are you?” I snap, anger simmering in my chest.

I’m fucking livid.

“I’m at...” The music gets louder for a moment, like she’s moving deeper into whatever den of chaos she’s found herself in. “I’m dancing! With Emma! And this place is amazing, Slater. Everyone here is so pretty and gay and—”

“Gay? Where the fuck are you?”

“Emma!” she calls out, presumably to someone nearby. “What’s this place called?”

I hear a muffled response through the noise, “Rainbow’s End!”

I hang up and I’m in my car before my brain even processes the decision. The GPS on my phone shows Rainbow’s End is clear across town—a twenty-minute drive that I plan to make in ten.

Rainbow’s End is exactly what I expected… neon lights, rainbow flags, and a line of people dressed in everything from leather harnesses to sequined dresses. The bouncer at the door is a mountain of a man wearing glittery eyeshadow, and he looks me up and down with obvious skepticism.

“First time?” he asks with a smirk.

“Looking for someone,” I mutter, pushing past him into the chaos.

The music is even louder inside, the bass vibrating through my chest as I scan the crowd. The main floor is packed with bodies moving to the rhythm, but I don’t see Sage anywhere in the sea of dancers.

Then I spot the stairs leading to a second level. My eyes scan the entire place, looking for my girl.

Got her.

I take the steps three at a time, my eyes sweeping the upper level until I find her. She’s backed against the railing, and there’s a woman pressed close to her—too close. The woman has short purple hair and is wearing leather shorts with her ass sticking out at the bottom.

What the actual fuck?

I see Sage lean back, one hand covering her mouth in a gesture that looks more panicked than playful. That’s all I need to see.

I storm across the crowded balcony, shouldering through groups of people until I reach them. My hand closes around the woman’s arm, and I pull her away from Sage with more force than necessary.

“Fuck off,” I tell her, my voice deadly quiet despite the noise around us.

The woman stumbles backward, her eyes going wide as she takes in my size. But instead of backing down, she gets right in my face.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she shouts over the music. “We were just talking!”

But I’m not looking at her. Sage has gone completely white, her hand still pressed over her mouth. The look in her eyes is the same one I saw in the office today. Pure panic.

And then she runs.

She pushes through the crowd like her life depends on it, heading for what I assume are the stairs. I start after her immediately, but Purple Hair grabs my arm.

“Hey, asshole! You can’t just—”

I shake her off without even looking back. Whatever lecture she wants to give me can wait. Right now, I need to find Sage before she disappears into the night and does something stupid.

Or before someone else tries to take advantage of whatever state she’s in.