Even I need the help of the unwitting to channel all the elements into a great, master design.

Each has a part. And when everyone plays their role dutifully, the final reveal is all the more powerful.

I run the damp cloth along the stretch of blade. The white fibers soak up the blood, leaving the silver gleaming. Tool maintenance is of utmost importance. Can’t have any cross contamination. That muddies the water. I learned this from my mentor, who was proficient in forensic science.

Not that I would ever use a dirty tool; I loathe filth. A neat and tidy workplace denotes control and demands respect. We must respect our process as much as we enjoy it. And I do enjoy my work.

It’s changed some over the past year. I was forced to find my own way. With my mentor taken from me so…abruptly, I admit, I was lost for a short time. Vengeance can infect the brain. Can cloud reason. But ultimately, that was humiliation taking hold.

So I went back to the basics. Watching. Detailing. Plotting.

I guess you could say it forced a sort of cooling off period. A chance to revaluate myself, my work, and her. I’ve learned so much since then. The more I discovered about her world, the more I recognized our link.

We were meant to be.

How fortuitous.

Chaos thrust her into my life at the sacrifice of my mentor, but fate has declared her my match. Checkmate.

So finally, after nearly two years, it’s time to get rid of the pest. I can’t blame him too much anymore, because his action—the one, inciting incident—that caused the pendulum to swing, is what brought her to me.

Maybe I owe him my thanks for that—but I think, rather, it’s time to throw down the gauntlet and take fate back into my own hands.

Puzzle

Colton

The rattling boom of house music pulses against my chest, my nerves, heightening my anxiety. I’ve been sitting on this damn stool in the corner of the voyeur room for an hour, just waiting. This is where I first saw her.

Every minute that passes and she doesn’t walk through that door…I’m losing control. She won’t come here—but still, I keep waiting. Delusional with the belief that she needs me as badly as I need her, and that prolonging until later tonight is simply too painful.

I toss back the last of my bourbon and then force my gaze away from the entrance. A scene on the stage is unfolding. Two women are chained to a man, and they’re taking turns striking him. One with a leather whip, the other with the slack from the chain. It’s edgeplay night in the voyeur room, and although admittance is extra exclusive tonight, I’ve made it known that Sadie is an ultra exclusive member.

Enjoying the scene without her has no appeal. I glance back at the double doors, tempted to take a drive to the police department. Demand to see her. It’s only a matter of time before she makes the connection…and I need to be the one to tell her first. If I’m going to confess my sins to anyone, then it should be Sadie.

Regardless of what she does after, she deserves to hear the truth right from me. I swore to her that she could trust me, and if she finds out on her own, what little trust she’s been able to invest in us will be destroyed.

Onyx saunters up and places another bourbon on the table before me, pulling my attention away from my painful thoughts. Her lips stretch into a thin smile, her deep eyes conveying what she’s too polite to voice. That I look like a wreck.

As she walks back toward the bar, I run my finger along the cool tumbler. Beads of condensation streak down the glass. Another drink is the last thing I need. False courage won’t help.

Giving up my haunt, I leave the corner table and the voyeur room, not looking back. If she can wait, then I have no choice. Besides, there’s a pile of confidential reports from the captain of the ACPD sitting in the office that I have to go over again—even if it breaks me.

Wexler didn’t just send over the pr

ofile—he gave me copies of the crime scene reports. Julian must have something more on him than just dressing in drag and getting lashings from a Domme.

When I first glimpsed the crime scene photos, a sickness took hold of me. And as I pored over the images, each scene becoming bloodier, more macabre, panic tore through my chest, crushing the air from my lungs. A cold, clamminess prickled my skin, sending a shock of awareness right through me.

The connection is too obvious to deny.

Tamping down the rising fear, I insert my key to find the office door already unlocked. My back tenses as I push it open.

Julian is seated at the cherry oak desk, still wearing his crisp black suit from the engagement party. He doesn’t look up from the case documents spread across the desktop.

I close the door behind me, shutting out the noise from the club. The many monitors stacked along the back office wall are on, but the volume has been muted. A long silence stretches out between us as I stand here, watching him take in what I’ve already discovered. The moment recognition hits, Julian’s eyes are on me.

“I should’ve looked into her better,” he says, steepling his fingers over his mouth. “Dammit. Did you know she was an agent with the ACPD?”

Tags: Trisha Wolfe The Broken Bonds Dark
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