Page 113 of Breaking Free

Just then, she emerged from the bathroom wearing only a towel, her skin glistening from the shower, worry etched on her beautiful face. The memory of losing her in his dream was still fresh, the pain of it more real than that of his throbbing toe. He’d known her a little more than a month, and already he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it.

“Are you all right?” Piper asked, drawing near. “I thought I heard shouting.”

Tristan inhaled deeply, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. It was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and hold her close to convince himself she was really there. Instead, he gave her a bullshit excuse for his behavior. “I hit my toe on the chair.”

Fucking coward, he berated himself for not telling her how he truly felt. What if yesterday had turned out differently, and he never had the chance to do so?

“Oh, I moved that. I’m sorry. Should I get some ice?”

“No, it’s fine.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her flinch. The sharpness in his voice caught her off guard as much as him. He forced himself to continue in a more even tone. “Why are you up so early? Did you have trouble sleeping?”

“Not at all. I don’t think I moved all night. My body has gotten used to getting up at the crack of dawn.”

“Are you almost done in the bathroom? There’s a debriefing on the case this morning, and I need to shower.”

“I’ll be out in two shakes. Then I’ll make us coffee for the ride in,” she said, rushing to the bathroom door.

“You’re not required to be there.”

She twisted in the doorway and looked back at him. “But I want to be. I have so many questions. Besides, shooting was canceled for today, so I’m free.”

He hesitated. She’d been through enough.

Piper crossed her arms and, with her chin high, addressed his reservations. “You said being submissive didn’t mean you had to take crap handed to you. Morgan gave me a shit ton of crap last night, culminating a month full of shit. I want to know why. I’m going.”

This from the small-town girl who saidoh sugar beets and fiddlesticks? The dom and the man respected her grit, determination, and right to choose.

“With morning traffic, we need to leave in thirty minutes.”

She smiled, not smugly, just satisfied. “I’ll be ready.”

When the door closed behind her, Tristan sat on the edge of his bed and dropped his head in his hands. Axyl was right. He needed to make her his in every sense of the word or cut her loose. After feeling the warmth of her sunshine, one of those two wasn’t an option. He just had to reconcile himself to the fact.

TALLER THAN MOST WOMENand many men, Piper had never felt small and delicate, but seated at the large, oval table in the Rossi conference room, surrounded by eight Rossi men who looked like they could play in the NFL, she felt petite.

Detective Lloyd, who she learned moonlighted with Rossi occasionally, led the debriefing together with Christian.

Seated next to Tristan, Christian leaned forward, looked at her on his other side, then sat back again. Thinking he was being quiet, he said, “Morgan is one sick motherfucker. Do you really want her here for this?”

“As she’s told me several times,” he replied. “She’s a big girl, and she insisted.”

Ignoring them talking about her like she wasn’t there, she asked Keiran the most crucial question, “How is Axyl?”

“Stubborn fool lost a lot of blood. They’re transfusing him now. Although they have his condition listed as serious, his doctors expect him to make a full recovery.”

“Thank goodness,” she whispered, relief washing over her. “He saved my life.” Her gaze scanned the table. Every man seated around it had a hand in keeping her alive. “I wouldn’t be here if not for all of you. I can’t thank you enough.”

“You shouldn’t have been in a position where you needed saving,” Tristan grumbled angrily. “What did we overlook?” he demanded of the others.

“No one would have guessed it was Perry without him showing his hand first.” Christian cleared his throat and then revealed what they had uncovered. “You know about the hundreds of pictures papering his walls. He had a tripod in his upstairs bedroom with a clear line of sight into your courtyard and Piper’s front door.”

He hesitated, his gaze shifting between her and Detective Lloyd. Her stomach roiled uneasily, convinced she hadn’t heard the worst of it. Piper reached under the table for Tristan’s hand, comforted when his fingers tightened around hers.

“This part is even more disturbing,” the detective said, taking over the narrative. “We found monitors connected to a live feed and traced it to a camera hidden in the ceiling vent above your bed. He could operate it remotely, change the angle, zoom in and out, and record, which he did. He had hundreds of hours of video.”

Piper sat frozen, trying to process what she was hearing. Morgan would have seen her undressing, watched her sleep, and listened to her private conversations with Josie and her family, and... Dear heaven. He would have seen her with Tristan.

People joined the club with the expectation of seeing and being seen. Everything that happened was consensual. This was the complete opposite. The break-in had left her feeling violated. But this intrusion upon her private time with Tristan, knowing Morgan had watched and listened, doing heaven knew what while he did, was far worse.

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