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“ E verything okay back home?”

I grunt at her words as I put my phone face down on my knee and look out the window.

Her exaggerated sigh should grate on my nerves, but it doesn’t. I have to force myself not to smile. What can I say? I enjoy annoying her. It’s only fair with all the shit she’s put me through in the last twenty-four hours.

“You know, we’re going to have to actually talk to each other if this is going to work.”

I turn to look at her sitting across the aisle. Her company sprang for this ultra-fancy private jet, but I don’t know the pilot. He’s not one of my guys, so I’m not sure if I can trust him. Billy didn’t even acknowledge him. And he’s a guy, not a chick. From the little show of force that her company portrayed when they arrived, it’s clear that women are their top operatives. I’ve made a point not to say shit that matters, even if I’ve turned on the radio frequency shielding that Flint gave me. I trust his shit, but again, I’m an ass and don’t feel the need to talk. Didn’t want to in the car, don’t want to now. Maybe when we get there I will, but who the fuck knows.

“Not if I don’t want to. As your Dom, I have every right to require silence from you, my submissive. And if you keep yammering on, I might just pull the ball gag out that Bulldog loaned me before we get there.” I turn back around and refuse to give in to my curiosity to see how her body reacts to my words.

Charles was right to think that General would have been best for this job. He’s more active in the lifestyle than me. Even Bulldog has more playtime of late, but I know his old lady would never allow it. And I would never agree to pimp out a brother and cause problems at home. It had to be me. I might be rusty, not practicing, but I’m not on training wheels. I know what I’m doing. I let my Dominant side out with the vamps at the club, but I never go all in. They like to be bossed around a bit, but a true Dom/sub relationship isn’t something I’ve done lately. That involves trust on both sides, and I haven’t had time to develop that type of trust with someone outside the club in a while.

When I left the military, gave Uncle Sam the big “fuck you” after a few too many botched missions, I had to reestablish myself. I was a trained killer. Used to looking down a scope and waiting for my prey. The club was a good place to use my skills, but I still needed to learn to control part of it. I was a ticking time bomb at that point. That’s when Bane came along.

He was a brother in town doing a stint under Law to learn how to become a chapter president. Guy was big in the lifestyle and open about it. I asked him a few questions one night, and he took me to a place a few hours outside town to show me what it was about. Aspects of it intrigued me, especially the control. Not only the control of your partner but the control you had to put on yourself to make sure you didn’t just take. I wasn’t into that type of shit of only getting pleasure. I was drawn to seeing how far I could push a girl before I couldn’t take it anymore and had to give in to my own desires. It was the same control I had to hone when I looked down a scope. Another person’s life was in my hands then. I decided if they lived or die. I was the one that made the final call. Putting that in a Dom/sub relationship made sense to me. I might not be killing a person, but I was driving them insane by withholding either their pleasure or mine. It’s an addictive feeling, and part of my control is seeing how long I can go before releasing this side of me.

Since Law got shot, the war with the Russians, and taking over as president, I haven’t had enough time to think, much less let this part out to play. Hell, even before all this, I hadn’t dived into this part of myself for a few months. Vamps are a quick way to get your dick wet and get off. But the full-on power exchange, the control involved, and the trust… that’s something I’ve denied myself for quite a while.

I’m not worried that I won’t know how to do the Dom thing when the time comes. It’s like riding a bike—you fall back into it easily. The only part I’m worried about is that I had feelings for my “submissive” before this all began. And I’m not sure how this will end.

“Fine, but do you at least have a game plan or something you want to go over? Questions about the location or about Candy you want answered? Why we call her that and not Hansel? It’s more than just a code name. It’s her personality when she goes undercover like this. Anything? Anything at all?”

Not sure what she thinks she can answer that I don’t already know. We both got the same dossier when we got on the plane. All the intel C8 has on this. I doubt Billy was in the dark about it before the club was “hired” for this job, but if there’s something I should know, I expect her to give it to me. Makes little sense to hide anything. Not anymore. Her company already told me everything that I didn’t want to hear.

Not only did I make the club vulnerable by letting Billy and her sister in, but the club also stopped looking for a man who makes more than one of our old ladies wake up in terror. It was foolish of us to think that the cops would get shit right in naming a corpse. Wishful thinking, honestly. Hell, half the club wanted the threat gone so much, I’m not surprised we missed it.

“You got any more secrets you’re dying to let out?” I mumble into my hand as I prop my chin on it to look out the window and watch Traverse City, Michigan, come into view. You have to hand it to the BDSM community. They know how to get people into other parts of the country. Sure, the major cities have their own club fetishes, but we aren’t looking for just any club. We need an elite one that deals with overnight stays and is rumored to hold an auction house of sorts. Only a few fit that bill, but only one has water access. Which I bet is the way they plan to get Candy, and whoever else they have, out of the country unnoticed.

“God.” She sighs again, heavier if that’s possible. “You ever going to let that go?”

I flip my head back so fast, I feel the wind on my buzzed scalp. The look I give her has her squirming, and I don’t go easy on the glare. “The BDSM lifestyle has many aspects, but the most prominent is trust. Tell me how I’m supposed to trust you after everything.”

“Fine, I get it.” She straightens in the chair opposite me, separated only by the aisle between us. “Ask me anything.”

I just glare.

“Seriously, ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“When did you start with C8?”

“Recruited at sixteen but didn’t get on board till I was eighteen. They wanted me to finish my doctorate first and start vet school.”

“You have to be smart to get into school that young.”

“Yeah, you do. I have an IQ of 186. Only reason I don’t sound and act like Cheyanne is because I grew up on the streets and with Jack.”

“Who isn’t your sister.”

“Not biologically. Foster sister for about a month before she got pulled to another place. We stayed in touch and have always claimed sisterhood ever since.”

I suspected as much. They have similar traits, but not enough to share more than one blood relative at most. I was guessing half siblings. They’ve known each other long enough to have that closeness that comes from growing up together.

“Favorite food?”

“Pizza.”

“What kind?”

“Anything. Even anchovies.”

I raise my eyebrows at her, and she shrugs.

“Hard limits?”

“Blood and urine play are a hard no. Not interested in being shared, doctor play, or fisting either.”

“Caning?”

She shrugs again. “As long as there aren’t any lasting marks. I don’t like to put future jobs at stake because I messed up my appearance.”

I nod in understanding and respect that she looks at the future of things and doesn’t just live in the moment. Usually I have more time to figure these things out, and maybe we should have been having this conversation on the ride up here, but I wasn’t in the talking mood. Still not, but I recognize that I need to get the job done, and pouting about all the bullshit isn’t going to change anything.

I’m not a fan of marking a woman long term or even big on pain. If that’s what C8 was hoping for, then I really should have let General take this job. He gets hard on that shit. I can take it or leave it. Not my flavor of choice, but I know how to use it if I need to.

From the little I know about Billy, pain doesn’t seem to do it for her. Not that I’ve seen her in pain, but when she watched her sister and Rue fight, she did so almost clinically, not with the urge to see more.

“Weapon of choice?”

“Glock, but only because I don’t want to get my hands cut if I don’t have to.”

“Why?”

“Despite what you might think, I really do like my job, and I take it seriously. Being a vet, I work with my hands all the time. I need to protect them, just like a surgeon would protect his. But I’m pretty good in a knife fight if I had to do hand-to-hand combat.”

“Why do you like being a sub?”

“It’s freeing.”

I keep my face neutral, though I smile internally as I watch the surprise ripple across her face. Rapid-fire question/answer gives you more truths than lies is what I’ve always found. And a little self-truth for Billy might just be what she needs.

I’ve gotten a lot of answers to that question from subs before. Freedom isn’t something that’s common, but I know how to handle that. In my experience, submissives who want freedom have a job outside the lifestyle that takes all their time and effort. They have to decide for more than just themselves, and they just want a moment to not think. To just do the minimum and have someone else take the steering wheel for a while. All they have to do is feel—just follow the basic instructions and let go.

I’ve only ever experienced this with partners who were mothers, either working or stay-at-home. They have a million decisions to make a day to keep their children alive, and to be free of the responsibility is craveable. I get it. I yearn for the same thing. But for me, I find the freedom in having the control. Of being the one who calls the shots and knowing that pain or pleasure is something only I can decide on. Be it from my own hand or another’s, I’m making that decision. No one else.

I nod. “It can be. Continue to be honest with me and I’ll make sure you find that freedom you’re looking for when the time is right.”

She blinks, looks down, and some of her long blonde locks fall in front of her face, shielding her a bit like a see-through curtain. Not enough to obscure it entirely, but enough for me to have to guess at what she’s doing. Like now, when I question if she’s nodding or just swallowing a large gulp of air.

“And when will that be?” It’s soft, but I hear it. Theres’s hesitancy there too. Either fear of what I’ll do to her or the desire of what’s to come. Both, if I were a betting man.

“When the time comes for us to prove our partnership.” I turn back to the window and watch the trees pass seconds before we touch down.

My words are more for myself than for her. This isn’t a pleasure weekend. This is a job. Billy is part of that job. Nothing more. Whatever could have been will never happen on a level beyond the duty of fulfilling my role. I’m dedicated to the job. I know how to do that, know how to make it my priority. I can turn off the emotion, the attachment. My sniper training taught me. No reason to think this mission is anything else.

Even if it involves sex with Billy. I can take what I need as a Dom but still remain impartial to the lasting feelings. It’s possible. Doable.

I’m just not sure if it’ll kill a part of me in the end.