Broken. Rebecca Zanetti

to the door, which, somehow, he reached first and opened for her.

      “Thank you,” she murmured, instantly hit by a wave of noise and heat. Music blasted from the ceiling, and in front of her, a palatial living room had been set up with a dance floor on one side and a full-length bar on the other. Bar. Definitely bar. She could have a drink and maybe chat up the bartender. A quick glance around the darkened room, highlighted by deep purple lights from far above, didn’t reveal Albert’s location. She didn’t see Wolfe, either. Good.

      She made her way through a crowd of people in leather and other gear, finally reaching the bar.

      A six-foot-tall female bartender wearing a full leather outfit leaned over, her full breasts spilling out of the tight V-neck. “What can I get you, hon?”

      “Tequila. Shot,” Dana said. Should she ask for a double? No.

      “Sure thing.” The woman poured a generous shot and pushed it across the inlaid wood. “You a guest tonight?”

      Dana tipped back the drink, sputtering just a little as her throat heated. “Yes.”

      The woman grinned, revealing a tongue piercing. “You new?”

      “Yes.” Dana coughed.

      “I’m Jennie.” She tilted her head and poured another shot. “Mistress Jennie.”

      Oh yeah. Dana had tried to memorize the appropriate lingo from the online sites. She accepted the second shot, her hand shaking. “Thank you.” Was she supposed to add the “mistress”? The website hadn’t said.

      “You bet. Just have some fun and remember you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. The playrooms are all over the house, and if there’s a red sign on a door, it can’t be closed. You can just watch if you want,” Jennie said, moving down the bar as somebody caught her attention.

      Good advice. Definitely. Dana took the second shot and let the alcohol warm her body.

      “Hello.” A man appeared at her elbow. “We haven’t met.”

      She partially turned. The guy was about fifty with shrewd eyes and an iron-hard body. He wore leather pants and a red leather vest that showed muscled arms. “Hello. I’m Dana,” she said.

      “Charles.” He held out a hand to shake and kept hers longer than necessary. “You here to explore a little bit?”

      Oh, crap. “I’m just here to ease my way in.” She tried for a flirtatious smile, but her lips refused to curve. “In fact, I was looking for my friend Albert Nelson. Any chance you know him?”

      Charles slid closer, his pupils dilated. “No. But I could make you forget him.” He took her hand again, and she tried to pull back, but he just smiled. “How about we check out some of the rooms? I could show you around.”

      “No, thanks.” She forced a smile in place as panic began to rise.

      “Come on—” Charles began.

      “She said no.” Charles’s hand was instantly removed from hers, and he was tossed toward the dance floor, barely catching his balance before he collided with two people slow dancing.

      Dana gulped, tasting tequila on her lips as she looked up, knowing the voice well. “Wolfe.” Only training kept her from blanching at the raw fury in his bourbon-colored eyes.

      He leaned in, his full lips near her ear. “What the hell are you doing here?”

      She shivered and dug deep for her own anger. Then she pressed her hands to her hips. “What are you doing here?” she snapped back.

      His gaze swept from her revealing top, down to her toes, and back up to her blazing face. “Subs don’t use that tone, baby. One who does ends up over a knee. Quickly.”

      Oh, he did not. She glared. “I am not a sub,” she whispered.

      “You’re dressed like one.” His dark T-shirt tightened across his muscled chest as he leaned closer again. His buzz cut had grown out to curl a bit beneath his ears, giving him a wild look.

      “There weren’t many options,” she hissed.

      “Wolfe.” A man also dressed in leather, his brown hair slicked back, moved up beside Wolfe. He was about forty with tattoos down one arm. “I see you found a friend. Finally going to play?”

      Wolfe didn’t look away from Dana, his gaze going from furious to calm in a second. How in the world did he control himself like that? “I’m normally not a public player, as you know.”

      What did that mean? Dana began to ask, but Wolfe subtly shook his head.

      The man held out a hand. “In that case, I’m Master Trentington. How about I show you around tonight?”

      “That’s kind of you.” Dana shook his hand, her lip trembling annoyingly. “I was actually looking for a friend named Albert Nelson. Do you know him?”

      Trentington reluctantly released her. “I do, but he’s not here tonight. I’d love to be your guide in his stead.”

      “No,” Wolfe answered before she could, angling his body closer and partially blocking the other man. He glanced over his shoulder at Jennie. “Spare cuffs?”

      Jennie grinned, reached under the bar, and tossed over a pair of bright pink wrist cuffs.

      Wolfe snagged them out of the air and snapped them on Dana’s wrists before she could blink. They were fur lined and soft, but felt restrictive nonetheless. “We’ve already reached an agreement,” he murmured.

      “Well. In that case, have fun.” Trentington moved to leave.

      “Charles was being pushy again,” Wolfe said quietly. “It’s time you kicked him out.”

      Trentington sighed and turned toward the dance floor. “Thanks.”

      Dana looked down at the pink cuffs. She kind of felt like Wonder Woman. “Why did you—”

      “They show ownership,” Wolfe said, clipping the cuffs together easily.

      Her abdomen rolled, and her head snapped back. “Excuse me?” She tugged hard, but they wouldn’t separate, effectively binding her wrists together. She eyed his shin. With her heels, she could do some damage.

      He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. It slid over her skin, burning her from within. “Right now, you’re playing a sub, no doubt for a story. But I’m playing a dom, and if you kick me, I’ll toss your ass over that bar and beat it.”

      His words slid right through her to pulse between her legs. For Pete’s sake. That scenario was not sexy. The idea of Wolfe’s hand anywhere near her butt sent her already sensitive body into hyperdrive. Oh, she’d handle him later. For now, she had work to do, so she shook off all emotion and leaned closer. He’d said “playing.” “Are you on a job?” she whispered.

      “Yes.” He glanced around. “Who’s Albert Nelson?”

      “Someone I need to talk to,” she said, looking again. “I scared him off last week, but I know he’s a member of Captive, so I came here to ask him questions.” She planned to pressure him into answering all of her questions this time. She no longer cared about subtlety. Finding out who’d killed her friend was all that mattered. “Your job?”

      “Confidential. You know a guy named Clarke Wellson?”

      “No, but I could do a background check later,” she murmured. They’d helped each other with cases before.

      Wolfe glanced down at her, his gaze warming. “You look incredible.”

      “Thank you.” It was nice he’d noticed, although the outfit wasn’t really her style. She was more a jeans and flannel type of girl. She shuffled uneasily in her heels. That way he had of switching topics had thrown her ever since they’d met. “Okay. I’m going to mingle and