To the Edge

By Anna del Mar

An AT THE BRINK Novel

To learn about kink, she had to learn the ropes. Yet she never expected to be so compromised she'd need rescuing. And by him. The first man she'd ever loved. The former navy SEAL who'd broken her heart. 

Don't miss this seductive and erotic romance from Anna del Mar, author of The Asset and The Stranger. 

Clara's gone wild. 

Naked. Cuffed. Caged. Is this the sweet senator's daughter I left behind? 

I didn't know it was her when I rushed into that room filled with flames, but I'll never let her go again. 

She's proposed a unique way to thank me. It could bring us both to the edge of ecstasyor to the point of no return. 

Clara wants to submit. To me. Totally. Damn any limits. The very thought of it has brought me back from the dead.  

But a stranger is watching from the shadows. He's made us his fantasy. And he plays rougher than I do. Where he's taking us now is somewhere so dark, and so dangerous, that this time it could be inescapable. 

This book is approximately 104,000 words 

One-click with confidence. This title is part of the Carina Press Romance Promise: all the romance you're looking for with an HEA/HFN. It's a promise!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carina Press
• Release date: Nov 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781459294387

Anna del Mar

Anna del Mar writes hot romances that soothe the soul, challenge the mind, and satisfy the heart. Her stories are about strong heroines struggling to find their place in the world and the brave, sexy, kickass, military heroes who defy their limits to protect the women they love. A Georgetown University graduate who met most of her real-life heroes during her stint as a Navy wife, Anna lives in Florida with her indulgent husband and a pair of very opinionated cats. www.annadelmar.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

Clara

My first attempt at submission went from failure to disaster in a whiff. An odd scent teased my nose and rattled my nerves. A prickle of uneasiness crept up my spine. I craned my neck, trying to figure out where the smell was coming from, but I couldn’t see much beyond the narrow slits of my sequined velvet mask.

Note to blog: velvet masks may shield, tease and entice, but visibility sucks.

I heard a small sound, a swish maybe? It came from my right somewhere, from the hallway that led to the powder room. I tried twisting my body around in the cage, but I could barely move. My arms were fastened above my head and my ankles were strapped to the bars near the floor. I sniffed the air again. The smell seemed fainter. Maybe it was my imagination, trying to shock some common sense into me and put an end to today’s little experiment.

I was alone in the old house. My companion had left twenty minutes ago, to find himself some coffee in town, he’d said. He’d left me cuffed in the cage so that I could reflect on my irreverent conduct. Right. Good luck with that, buddy. The truth was that he probably needed the caffeine boost in order to tackle a handful like me.

I let out a little groan. Sure, this was crazy, no two ways about it. Reckless my mother would say, risky and not exactly consistent with my usually sane behavior. But honestly? I had suppressed my life for others’ sake long enough.

But this? A seditious little voice nagged in the back of my mind. I tried to quiet it down, but maybe, just maybe, I’d pushed the edge a little too hard on this one. God, the things I did in the name of freedom.

The tight leather corset dug into my ribs. My arms ached. My legs were tired and my feet were beginning to cramp in the impossibly high heels.

Note to blog: kink garb isn’t exactly comfy.

Good God. I was actually going through with this. Me. Clara Luz. Attempting something so far out of my comfort zone, not to mention my family’s much-touted moral rectitude. I slumped in my bonds. Was I really so freaking desperate?

A week and a half ago, Annette Collins, the legendary editor of RelevantSex.com, had presented me with a unique proposition. Annette had been my advisor in grad school and as such, the only person who knew about my online adventures. From the beginning, she’d followed sextattle.com, the sex and romance blog I published—anonymously, of course.

It wasn’t as if I was particularly versed or gifted in these oh so very fascinating subjects. On the contrary. My relationship IQ measured pretty low on the success scale. But the blog wasn’t so much an advice column as it was a forum. Discussion questions came in through an unfiltered inbox, I posted them under different categories and people talked about them. I was good at research, so I mostly shared facts and links to helpful resources. I followed the old adage: those who can’t do, teach. Or, in my case, share online.

Initially, the blog had been an experiment, a grad school project that went unexpectedly viral. But after graduation, the blog transformed into a labor of love, a means to connect with people and the only possible way in which I could pursue my own journey, separate from that of my illustrious mother. These days the blog had a very respectable reach, solid advertising revenues and an expanding market that had caught Annette’s eye. She’d made me an excellent offer to merge my blog with RelevantSex.com.

The catch?

Annette wanted a trial run, a main feature to woo the editorial board and test my range, a fresh, raw take on the topic of sex and submission, a personal account of my first exploration of kink to tantalize her readers.

It’s a fascinating subject, she’d said during our meeting at LeMond’s Cafe in Adams Morgan. Look at the movies. Look at the novels. The public is fascinated by kink, domination and submission. Your readers will be too. An exploration is totally relevant.

Then why don’t you assign someone who’s already on staff at RelevantSex.com? I didn’t have any wisdom to share on the topic, zero, zip, nada. Or better yet, why don’t you tackle it?

Because I might be biased on the subject. She fastened her glimmering green eyes on my face. Whereas you, my dear, are sure to bring a fresh perspective to our readers.

Her naughty smile activated my Spidey senses and ignited my blush. I wasn’t a prude by any means, but kink? Yep, I’d bring a fresh perspective for sure. As to Annette, any lingering questions I may have had about the extent of her personal kink exposure were fully answered when she plunked down a long, comprehensive list of potential interview sources and references on the table.

Holy crap. I had a mental image of the sober pearl-decked Annette, dressed in black leather, whip in hand, red curls cascading down her back. I forced my mouth to close.

Annette’s project was intriguing but, given my leadership role at the Luz Foundation and my mother’s high profile, it was also dangerous to me, personally and professionally. I tried to err on the side of caution. I might not be the right person for this one.

Nonsense. She reached over the table and, after tucking a strand of my bangs behind my ear, trailed her fingers down my chin. You are perfect.

I had to shake off the shock. Had Annette just made a pass at me? No way. My overactive imagination was busy at work, again. Annette was a consummate professional and she’d been a mentor to me for many years. She was just trying to reassure me, something I needed, because I was torn. My brain twirled like a coin in the air, and I had no clue which one of my faces would come up at landing: dutiful Clara or her surly, rebellious twin?

Come on, Clara. Annette clasped her hands together and grinned. Say yes. Please?

Something about the idea of exploring sex’s kinky underworld had me shivering inside. I was curious and Annette was right. Her readers would eat it up. My readers would like it too. Most importantly, Annette’s proposal offered me an opportunity to reach the one thing I’d spent my entire adult life trying to achieve: freedom. The possibility of doing what I loved on my own terms and the chance to finally cut the ties that bound me to the family trust.

I couldn’t say no to freedom. I couldn’t say no to Annette or to the sense of excitement growing in me.

I took a deep breath and met Annette’s emerald stare. She gave me an encouraging nod. What the heck. I’d been wavering on the edge of this cliff for a while, but on that hot and humid September day, I jumped.

I’ll do it.

Now, almost a week and a half later, as I teetered on the balls of my feet, nearly hanging from the cuffs, the irony wasn’t lost on me. To cut the old ties, I’d had to accept some very real bonds. In my search for freedom, I’d stepped into a cage.

I let out a nervous giggle. It echoed in the empty house. Some would think I was exaggerating the scope of my predicament. They didn’t know my mother. Senator Margaret Luz had made sure to cut off all my avenues of escape as I grew up. After I finished grad school, nobody in DC would give me a job without her express consent. Instead of working for myself as I’d planned, she’d strong-armed me to work for her charity foundation.

As her only offspring, I was more of a prop than a person. Beyond birthing me, she’d designed me, selected the best genetic material she could buy from an impressive catalogue of sperm donors in order to create the perfect daughter. Sure, I owed her my existence, but my chances of meeting her high expectations had been zero from the start.

Of course, she didn’t know about my blog. She’d kill me if she did. She’d kill the blog too, and bury it forever. But Annette had gone where no one else had dared and offered me a unique opportunity. If this worked, it would be well worth the effort. I straightened my back. I wasn’t a Luz for nothing. I’d make it work.

I tested the cuffs and puffed. Where the hell was Mark Walker? My test Dom for the day was taking his sweet time getting his damn coffee. I gritted my teeth and groaned. Patience had never been my strong suit. Once I made my decision and committed to the venture, I’d considered the risks and, in true Luz fashion, planned and obsessed over every step.

I wasn’t an idiot, so I’d started by vetting Mark Walker thoroughly. Even though he’d come highly recommended by Annette, I’d commissioned a background investigation from one of Washington’s premier security firms. Yep, that was me, all right, ever the overachiever. Mark passed with flying colors, a model citizen in every way, requirement number one. A little adventure was exciting, but a sadist or a serial killer had no place in my risk assessment matrix.

To protect myself and my name, I’d also had Mark sign RelevantSex.com’s ironclad confidentiality agreement. Then I’d scheduled a preliminary meeting to make sure we were both on the same page. Our deal was kink 101, a limited intro to the BD part of BDSM, no intercourse or pain. Safety first.

I’d taken equal care when selecting the location for this meeting. The house where we used to summer when I was young was located smack in the middle of Avalon, an island in the Chesapeake Bay. The property was surrounded by a wildlife refuge on all sides. I’d inherited the Victorian beauty from my grandfather, who’d been senator before my mother.

I’d always felt safe here. The house held some of the best memories of my life. It was out of the way, accessible only by ferry, remote, secluded and most importantly, way outside of my mother’s radar, a fact that started to feel a lot like a liability when the odd scent tickled my nostrils again.

This time around, I recognized the smell. Smoke. My heart tripped. Alarm crawled up my spine like a bunch of daddy longlegs. I tugged on the cuffs. They clanged on the bars, but they didn’t give. I craned my neck and, peering through the mask’s narrow slits, caught a glimpse of white wisps trickling from the hallway into the living room.

Oh my God. Smoke. A fire? No way. The house hadn’t been used in years. Mark and I were the only ones here and we’d done nothing that could possibly start a fire. Right?

Wrong.

I had a memory of Mark Walker as he stepped out of the bathroom holding the lit candle he’d used to introduce me to a little wax-on-ass play earlier today. Lit candle. Matches. Wicker wastebasket.

Holy shit.

My belly turned to ice. The key. Where the heck had Mark put the cuffs’ key? In his front shirt pocket, I remembered him teasing me with the act. Crap. I tugged on the cuffs. The cage rattled, my wrists smarted and yet the cuffs held. Where on earth was Mark Walker when you needed him?

I looked around the room, growing more alarmed by the moment. The wrist cuffs wouldn’t budge, but maybe if I freed my feet I could lift my knees and use my weight to bust the chain that connected the cuffs. I kicked off my right shoe, pointed my toes and contorted my foot, choking down gulps of panic. This was going to take some doing.

A fire. A freaking fire. I railed at a God who amused himself with stuff like this. Keep your head. Use your wits. Don’t panic. It would’ve been the Luz motto, if we’d had one of those. I ignored the terror squeezing my throat and kept working on the ankle strap. Success. My right foot came free. I started to work on the left strap right away. If I could only do the same with my wrists...

The sound of crackling echoed from the hallway, a low, husky growl. Holy Mary. Maybe I was having a nightmare. I really wanted to pinch myself awake. But there was the small problem of the cuffs. I was not going to die today.

My left foot came free. Hallelujah. I didn’t waste any time. I flexed my legs, pulled on the cuffs and, curling my knees into my stomach, added my weight. The chain didn’t break. I kept at it, but I needed plan B. I tried screaming for help, but the gag in my mouth muffled my cries and the screech that pierced my ears sounded more like a yowling she-cat.

Note to blog: gags are a pain in the ass.

And who the hell was going to hear me anyway? Avalon’s population amounted to 727 souls who lived mostly on the bay, ten miles down the gravel road. The cabin was surrounded by the Luz wildlife refuge, my grandfather’s doing. I was in so much trouble.

What would my mother say if they found me out here, burned to a crisp, shackled in a cage? Her embarrassment, not to mention her rage, would probably far exceed her grief. The newspapers. Social media. The scandal. I wiped the image from my mind and concentrated on the cuffs. I wasn’t going to burn, wasn’t willing to die, not yet, not this way.

A voice caught my attention. A call came from the outside. A call? I squealed back in reply. Within moments, the back doors exploded off the hinges. A man broke through, angled forward like a linebacker, tall and broad-shouldered. His run came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the living room. He took in the scene and quickly assessed the situation like a man who was used to danger.

The look of competence in his stare restored my hope for a longer life. Thank you, God! I would’ve whooped with elation if I could. His eyes widened with surprise when he registered the cage—and probably my attire—but he didn’t hesitate as he rushed over.

Hang on, he said as he unlatched the cage’s door. What the hell is going on?

I craned my neck to follow his progress, mumbling frantic gibberish through the gag. Something about him was familiar, the wide cheekbones, the straight angle at the jaw, the eyes, black, soulful and deep. My heart jerked to a sudden stop. I did a double take. No way. It couldn’t be.

I stole another look at him. My elation turned to shock. Was I losing my mind? I rose on my toes, lifted my face to the heels of my hands and managed to knuckle my eyes. Maybe I was delusional. Maybe he was a ghost. Maybe I was suffering from oxygen deprivation, even though the smoke didn’t look nearly that bad. I blinked several times to clear my vision. It couldn’t be, shouldn’t be, and yet, when I looked again, there he was, the same man, the face I remembered so well.

A rush of blood heated my face. No. Oh, no. Never in my wildest dreams had I expected to find him here, now. Of all the people in the universe, he would’ve been the last I wanted to see me in my current state. How could this be?

His appearance weakened my knees and demolished my fortitude. My rescuer, the one person who’d heard my cries and who could potentially get me out, was also the same man who’d almost destroyed me once. He might not be able to recognize me yet, but I sure recognized him. The last time I’d seen him was right here, in this house, an hour before he broke my heart. It was him. The first man I ever loved.

Noah Blake.

Chapter Two

Noah

The cloud blackening the sky above my kitchen window alerted me to the sort of trouble I didn’t need. My senses ratcheted to high alert. I downed the last of my protein shake, plunked the glass on the counter and raced upstairs. It was a fluke that I’d left my office in the middle of the day and spotted the smoke at all, but after stalking my prey for forty-two hours straight, my eyes needed a break.

For several days now, my team and I had been trailing one of the world’s most wanted, a terrorist with many aliases, code named Josephus. He was the mastermind of a series of lethal attacks on Americans abroad. His deadliest role included recruiting disaffected children of the West to kill their own kind, something he did over the Internet and the Dark Net with infuriating regularity.

My team and I had already identified and helped capture most of Josephus’s recent contacts, but I was determined to get the fucker. I’d traced the asshole all the way to Spain. The takedown operators had reported they’d missed him by less than five minutes. The snake had slithered away at the last minute, but the raid had netted the rest of his cell, including his cousin Rashid, who was now in paradise fucking a bunch of ex-virgins. Son of a bitch. I was going to get Josephus.

I reached the top of the spiral steps, barged into the octagonal room at the top of my newly restored widow’s walk and grabbed the binoculars. From my perch high above the ground, the profile of a single roof pierced the tree line west of me. Sure enough, a column of smoke rose from the clearing, billowing from the only other house remotely close to mine, a place I knew well.

Dammit. We didn’t have a fire station on Avalon Island. We did have a loosely organized volunteer fire crew, mostly composed of local fishermen who weren’t sitting around waiting to fight a fire at the moment. Even if I gave the alert, it’d be at least thirty minutes before anyone showed up. Hell, if anyone was trapped in the house, they’d be toast by the time the fire crew got there.

I ran down two flights of stairs. What the hell was going on? In the past two years, no one had visited the Luz compound, not even summer renters. In any case, the island’s brief summer season was over. Leaden clouds darkened the afternoon and the Chesapeake Bay roiled in advance of an October gale.

I jammed my arms in my jacket and rushed out the back door, coming to a screeching halt at the end of the deck. My body refused to move forward. An invisible barrier held me back, jolting me like an electrified fence. My heart boomed. Slowly, I put a tentative foot on the ground. The lawn bulged and pulsed under my shoe. I gritted my teeth. Tick-tock, a countdown began in my mind. Shit. I jerked my foot back.

There are no improvised explosive devices buried in the yard, I muttered, pacing the deck, trying to impose logic over irrational emotion. Stick to reality, Noah.

None of my frozen muscles reacted to my brain’s logical appeal.

Fuck this. I stalked back into the house and kicked the door shut. You fucking coward.

I plopped down at the base of the stairs, raked my fingers through my hair and sank my face into my hands. How the hell had I turned into such a useless pile of crap? I wasn’t some ignorant grunt. I was an ex-Navy SEAL and a high-level intelligence operative. I’d fought wars, infiltrated hostile countries and hunted the world’s most dangerous terrorists, yet here I was, trapped in my own house. What a joke. I pressed at my temples. Someone could be in danger and all I could do was watch from afar.

I clenched my jaw so hard that my teeth ached. Even a piece of shit like me had to admit that the house currently on fire was the number one reason why I’d chosen this place for my self-inflicted exile. The Luz compound was one of the few places on earth I associated with happiness. Those memories were the only thing I had left. Would they evaporate like so many other things in my life if the house burned?

Hell, no. I couldn’t let the memories go. Not yet, anyway.

My gaze fell on the little green bottle on the kitchen counter. The last time I’d had some of that, I’d been sick for days. But it had allowed me to make it through the funeral. I’d even gone to the grocery store for a few minutes. LCOS, the guys from the support group liked to call it, liquid courage on steroids.

I got to my feet and made my way to the counter. I picked up the bottle and rolled it between my fingers. No label, no warnings, nothing. Home brewed by some biochemically savvy veteran in his basement and most definitively not FDA approved. If it were any other uninhabited house on the island, I might have called it in and been done with it. But this was the Luz house. I couldn’t let go. What the hell. I unscrewed the top of the bottle and, after suctioning half a measure into the glass dropper, squeezed it underneath my tongue.

Bitter. Sharp. Sour. My taste buds screeched. The poison set my throat ablaze. I shut my eyes, gritted my teeth, and clutched the counter until the world stopped whirling. Toxic. That’s how the stuff felt as it burned through my body. As if it was killing me, right before it freed me.

Thirty seconds later, I could think again. That’s when the vascular spasm hit me. My toes and fingers went numb and my fingertips turned white, all side effects from the liquid courage. It would take a few minutes to work, but the Luz house was burning right now.

I forced myself out the door, onto the deck and down the steps. I closed my eyes and, heart pummeling my ribs, settled a boot on the lawn. Nothing exploded. I let out a rattling breath and took another step. I edged my way across the trees, fighting an irrational impulse to run back to my cottage and the false assumption that I’d be safe in there. Safe from this moment, maybe, but not safe from myself.

Mind over matter, I muttered to myself. Baby steps. Fear is the mind killer. Whatever cliché worked, it didn’t matter. I forced myself forward, hoping that the stuff I’d taken would kick in soon.

I made it to the woods and onto the deer track then ran through the scrub. No IEDs here. No booby traps or shooters. Move, move, move. My mouth and nose sucked in the humid air, and my feet hammered the earth in an all-out race toward the fire. My ears and eyes worked the terrain, anticipating the snipers hiding behind the trees, the enemy waiting in ambush. The fear pounding in my temples was as vivid as the flashbacks.

I broke through a line of overgrown sedges and into the backyard of the main house, heart pumping to the point of pain. I bent over my knees, assessing the Victorian mansion between gasps. Most of the grand old house was intact, but a small window on the far side of the house puffed with a stream of smoke. The liquid courage must have kicked in then, because my entire body flushed. A roar ignited my blood and bellowed through my veins. For an instant, I felt superhuman. Best part? The earth stopped shifting beneath my feet. My nerves settled and my mind cleared. I focused on the present.

I cupped my hands at either side of my mouth and shouted at the top of my lungs. Hello? Anybody in there?

A muffled scream broke through the fire’s rumble, shrill, sustained and desperate. Was it real? I called out once more. The sound came again, undefined but urgent, echoing from the first floor, where, if memory served me right, the main living room of the house was located.

Someone was in there.

I reverted to my old self. I considered the house with the eyes of an experienced SEAL evaluating the mission. It helped that I remembered the interior layout so well. So far, the smoke came only from the south corner of the house. I had a few minutes yet.

I mounted the wraparound porch and tested the French doors. They were locked. I stepped back to gain some momentum. That’s when it hit me, a sense of impending catastrophe, the knowledge that I was at a crossroads, and choosing this path would result in the destruction of my life as I knew it.

Fellow veterans and survivors often spoke of experiencing this powerful sense of doom, right before their arms and legs got blown off, an instant before getting hit. I’d felt the odd emotion before, advanced notice that the world was about to tilt on its axis, an inexplicable sense of fate, danger’s clear and imminent warning. Standing on the porch of the Luz house, I felt the shift coming my way. My hackles went up. The world contracted as an invisible pulse thumped through me, heralding a cataclysmic detonation like the one that had rendered me captive in my own house.

And yet I made the same choice I’d made before. I had to go in, because dread was not an excuse for cowardice and bravery was the act of punching through one’s fears.

I kicked open the doors and rushed into the living room. It was like time travel, like stepping into the past, where an old black-and-white reel whirled before my eyes. The stately old home showed none of the luster I remembered. The furnishings were covered with sheets. The place felt drab, forlorn and forgotten. Smoke puffed from the hallway and drifted into the living room in an ethereal, foul-smelling haze.

An odd sound caught my attention, a primal mewling. My head swiveled toward the fireplace. An antique Victorian aviary stood in the corner, the same tall, elegant wrought-iron cage that I remembered admiring fifteen years ago. A pop of color caught my attention.

What the hell?

Time slowed down as I took in the odd sight. For an instant, I forgot about the fire, because the cage—which had once housed a pair of expressive, impressive macaws—now held another species, an erotic mirage. No, not a mirage. A real woman, and not just any woman, but one plucked right out of my head, true to my personal definition of beauty down to the smallest physical details. My oldest, wildest and most treasured fantasy come true.

Chapter Three

Noah

I did a double take. The woman stood in the center of the cage with her back to me. A pair of sturdy cuffs shackled her wrists to the cage’s scrolled dome. Her arms flexed in the air, showcasing a trace of definition at the biceps. Tension squared her shoulders and straightened her back, where a set of crisscrossed laces secured the leather corset that narrowed her waist. Below the corset, her body flared into a set of wide hips and the creamy expanse of a round, plump ass divided by a leather thong.

The blood rushed out of my head and straight to my dick. The sudden bulge between my legs actually ached. The liquid courage I’d taken must have magnified my reaction, because the sight left me breathless and light-headed. It was as if the image had been plucked directly from some fetish website for my exclusive benefit.

A muted hiss came from behind the walls. A rush of heated air gushed from the hallway and reminded me that time wasn’t a free commodity. The woman squirmed in the cage. Her back muscles bunched up as she yanked on the cuffs. Snap out of it, Noah. I rushed over and tested the padlock.

Hang on. The metal clanked as I lifted the hasp and pumped it. Every cell in my body pinged with warnings. What the hell is going on here?

She craned her neck around. Her entire body froze. I caught a glimpse of sparkling blue eyes through the mask’s narrow slits, along with a gleam of panic. Her jaw dropped. Her plush lips separated in surprise. I got the impression that my appearance shocked her almost as much as her presence in that cage stunned me. She actually jerked away from me when I threw open the cage’s door.

Easy, now. I’m here to help.

A crash down the hallway startled us both. The woman’s plush lips worked around the ball of a gag. What was it about those lips that I found so distracting? She mumbled something urgently and lifted her face upward. The cuffs. Of course.

I reached up and tried to release her wrists, but the handcuffs were locked in place. They were standard police issue, plated steel, Hiatt type, circa 1990, doubled locked, modified with extra links to allow for the longer chain that wrapped around the overhead bars.

Where’s the key? I asked.

She muttered something unintelligible.

Let’s take this thing off, shall we? I grappled with the leather strap and released the buckle on the back of her head.

She spat the ball out. No key. She pressed her lips together, moistened them with a swipe of pink tongue and pointed with her chin at the door. He took them when he left.

Who? My hackles sharpened. Who brought you here?

There was another crash beyond the hallway, the sound of glass exploding.

Hurry up, she said. I can’t believe this is happening.

Her voice chimed to my ears, sparkling notes full of fear but also somehow familiar, like an old song I hadn’t heard in a long while, a sound that electrified my brain and threatened to throw off my concentration.

I need an answer, ma’am. I groped through my pockets, looking for some sort of tool that might help me spring open the cuffs. Did somebody force you to come here?

No. Her cheeks flushed into a deep shade of red. I... I came here on my own.

My balls tightened. You came here of your own free will?

I know. Stupid, she said. But please, hurry up. I don’t want to die like this.

Me neither.

We’re getting out of here. I scoured my surroundings for a tool, any tool. Count on it.

I spotted a bobby pin at the base of her neck, where her hair was trapped in a bun. I plucked it from her nape, disturbing the ribbon that kept her mask in place. The mask stayed on. Was it prop or disguise?

I filed my questions for later and concentrated on the task at hand. I unfolded the bobby pin and flattened it into a straight line before I stepped into the cage and squeezed my shoulders into the tight space. I’m afraid it’s going to be cramped quarters for a bit.

She pressed herself against the bars, straining her arms, trying to make space for me. Whatever it is you’re going to do, please, do it fast.

Yeah, sure, only the small problem of the locked cuffs. I twisted like a goddamn contortionist, until I had a good angle on the cuffs’ keyhole. If the situation wasn’t so dire, I might have taken a moment to laugh at the irony of someone using the Luz house for a kink den, considering the family’s reputation for righteousness. Truth be told, Senator Luz was one uptight bitch. She’d have a cow if she knew. Hell, she’d probably burn this little witch at the stake if she got her claws on her.

Concentrate, Blake. I put the pin to the keyhole and bent it at an angle. I turned it around and bent it again, until I shaped it into a squiggle. Now I had to test the old skills. I fit the end of the shaped wire into the keyhole and began to feel for the mechanism. It was hard, because my fingertips were numb from the liquid courage.

The woman squeaked. Can’t you go any faster?

Trying over here. I had to reshape the wire. This is asinine. Careless too. No safety release. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to leave you all locked up in here?

He was supposed to come right back.

He’s an inept, irresponsible fool. I returned the wire to the hole and twisted the pin between my fingers. These fucking antiques are a safety hazard. Did you know he was such a fumbling idiot when you agreed to come out here?

No.

Then what the hell are you doing here?

Experiment, she stammered. First time ever...

First time ever?

Oh my God. Panic sharpened her voice. We’re going to die here.

Negative. I rotated the wire and felt a second pin gave way. "We’re not going to die today."

Another crash challenged my statement. The smoke began to bubble more fluidly from the hallway.

Leave, she pleaded. Noah, please, get out of here.

My hand froze. My gut turned to ice. My senses had known it was her all along, but my brain had been in complete denial. The shock threatened to paralyze me, but I forced myself to function, twisting the pin in the keyhole. It was the kink garb. That’s what had thrown me off. It was impossible to reconcile the sex kitten in the cage with the wholesome girl I remembered. Wholesome, yes, but she’d had spunk and she’d liked sex. Clara Luz. Christ. What the hell was she up to?

My fingers tripped. The mechanism gave way. In the cage’s crowded confines, I grappled with the cuffs. They snapped open and suddenly her hands were free.

She whirled around and threw her arms around me. You did it!

If I had any doubts left, in in that instant, my body confirmed my brain’s findings.

It took all the training I had to keep the mission going. Now more than ever I had to keep my shit together. Clara was here and so help me God, I would not allow a single spark of the fire to harm her.

Let’s get the hell out of here. I squeezed out of the cage, helped her out and gestured toward the doors. Get outside. Go.

She stepped out of the cage, snatched her shoes from the