Forever Wicked

Chapter One

“To what do I owe this displeasure?” Jason Denning leaned against the doorjamb and stared at the all-too-familiar face glowering back at him.

This close to Halloween, he wished his visitor was some kid he could hand a piece of candy then send away. Unfortunately, this wasn’t someone in a costume.

“Is that any way to talk to your mother?” Samantha Denning-Markham-Lloyd braced her hand against his chest and shoved him out of the way to enter his condo uninvited. The tap-tap-tap of her ever-present stilettoes clattered against the hand-scraped hardwood floors and echoed off the high ceilings, resounding through his downtown Dallas loft.

As he followed her across the foyer and into the great room, she picked up his remote and turned off the football game with a dramatic sigh. The TV mounted on the exposed brick wall went dark—sort of like his mood.

“No, really, Mom. I wasn’t watching that or anything.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“I haven’t seen you in three years, and you’d rather gawk at grown men chasing an oblong ball? Don’t you even have a hug for your mother?”

Samantha had barely allowed him to touch her, even when he’d been a little boy. Now, she only ever wanted something from him when her life had gone to hell and she wanted help fixing it. “You mean like we’re a warm, well-adjusted family? They usually spend Christmas together. But oh, you didn’t show up last year, like we’d planned. Thanks for not calling to let me know you weren’t coming. I had a fabulous holiday alone, thanks for asking.”

Samantha sighed. “You have your father’s sarcastic streak. I could live without it.”

“Too bad I can’t. Is there a reason you couldn’t return my messages? I haven’t moved or changed my number for the last few years, so I know you didn’t fail to call because you had trouble finding me. I assumed you were too busy with husband number three for your only son.”

“I didn’t come here for guilt.” She waved his words away, and he noticed that her ring finger was currently bare. “Lloyd is long gone. The poor bastard went bankrupt. I couldn’t possibly stay.”

Jason supposed that whole “for richer or for poorer” thing didn’t mean much to Mommy Dearest. “So you dumped him?”

“As it happened, I met another man about the same time. Robert swept me off my feet.”

Translation: He had a lot of money and spent a nice chunk on her. “So you left Lloyd for Robert. Beautiful.”

“It was,” she defended. “We had a fabulous wedding in Fiji. You would have loved it.”

Doubtful, but since he hadn’t been invited and it sounded like the union was over, his opinion was moot. “Is the divorce final yet?”

“No. He just filed last week.” She pursed her artificially plumped lips as much as the injections allowed, looking a bit like a three-year-old in the body of a woman on the downhill slide to sixty. “He met a girl making a music video, of all things.”

“A musician?”

“No.” She scoffed. “A model strutting around in a bikini and spreading her legs on the hoods of cars for the camera. She convinced him that he still had the libido of a man half his age. Now they’re engaged.” She gave him a dainty huff. “I kept up my end of our prenuptial, as I have with every husband. I remained a size four. I played the gracious hostess for all his boring business parties. I even gave him the requisite blow job once a week.”

Jason winced. “TMI, Mother…”

So Robert had left her—a first for Samantha. She was used to men of all ages falling at her feet and offering her the world. She was usually the trophy. Maybe those days were over.

Jason couldn’t tell much difference in his mother’s appearance since he’d seen her a few years ago. She stayed in impeccable shape with a personal trainer. A stylist dressed her. She religiously saw an esthetician and had a plastic surgeon on speed dial. Most people wouldn’t think her more than a day or two above forty.

She fluffed her artificial blonde hair and shot him an impatient stare. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Not really. Though he sensed the incident had broken her ego more than her heart, she still hurt. “Is he refusing to honor the terms of your prenup?”

“No, but…” She paced, looking out over the Dallas skyline all lit up in its evening glory yet not really seeing.

“But?” he prompted. The sooner she said whatever she needed to get off her chest, the sooner she would leave.

“He’s thirty-five years older than her. It’s ridiculous!”

Jason refrained from pointing out that billionaire Charles Denning had been thirty-two years Samantha’s senior when she’d married him. She hadn’t believed the age gap ridiculous then. Since his mother had given birth to him six months after she and his father exchanged vows, Jason didn’t think his mother had wooed his father away from his first wife of twenty-seven years with her scintillating conversational skills. Pointing that out now would only make her snit worse.

“Do you want a glass of wine?” A few of those usually solved her problems.

She shook her head and unwound her cashmere wrap, then tossed it at him. “It doesn’t mix well with my Xanax, and I can’t afford the extra calories. I’m looking for another man, one younger than me. I’ll show Robert.”

His mother sounded bitter. He wasn’t surprised. She’d always acted as if the world owed her something.

It was going to be a long evening.

Jason paced to the fridge and grabbed a beer, then tossed himself onto the black leather sofa, peering at the cityscape. He should probably keep his mouth shut. After all, he knew damn well that she hadn’t come to him for advice, probably money and sympathy—in that order. But she was all the family he had left. Even if she hadn’t been much of a mother, she was his.

“Maybe you should take some time to be alone, consider what you really want in a marriage before you dive into number five. There’s a reason things never work out, Mom.”

“That’s not fair,” she shot back. “Your father died on me when you were barely thirteen. I was married to Daniel Markham for over a decade before he got stingy.” She sighed. “Lloyd and I had a good five years, then…like I said, he went broke.”

“And Robert couldn’t keep it in his pants. Got it. I’m just saying that maybe some soul searching wouldn’t be all bad before you get involved again,” Jason suggested.

She cut him a blue-eyed glare as she perched on the edge of a gray suede chair and crossed her ankles. “What would you know? You’ve never been married.”

Jason froze. He should probably shut up now, but he’d learned a thing or two lately. “Actually, I’m currently married. Have been for almost a year.”

With that admission, a familiar weight pressed into his chest, unbearable and suffocating. Anger charged his veins. The constant, nagging pain followed. He shoved it all down and blanked his face.

Samantha reared back, eyes wide with shock, as if he’d just said he kept Godzilla as a pet. “You married? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried. That’s what the invitation to spend some family time last Christmas was supposed to be about.”

“Oh, well. I didn’t know. You didn’t invite me to the wedding.”

“It was somewhat…impulsive.” Because at the time, he’d thought that if he didn’t own that woman in every way possible, he would go insane.

Well, he’d slipped a ring on her finger and taken her to bed. Sadly, none of that had kept him from losing his damn mind.

He’d been a stupid bastard.

Samantha’s surprise deepened. “You’re never impulsive. And you’ve always expressed utter contempt for marriage.”

For years, he had. The not-so-shining examples around him had convinced him that he should never attempt happily ever after. That no one should. But she had been different. He’d been right about that. But he’d been so fucking wrong, too. He’d taken a stab at marriage, and the blade had cut him deep.

“Who is she?” Samantha rose to her feet, looking all around. “Where is she?”

Jason dragged in a deep breath and gritted his teeth. “She isn’t here.”

And she was probably never coming back. The truth fucking hurt.

For once, his mother looked genuinely concerned about him. “So you’re separated? Have you started divorce proceedings yet?”

It had crossed his mind…but Jason couldn’t make himself call his lawyer. Some senseless part of him kept hoping that if he gave her more time, she would return.

It’s been three hundred forty-four days. What are the odds she’ll come back to play happy wife?

“No.”

“Has she violated her prenup? You do have one, right?”

“I do, and she hasn’t.”

His mother looked around his condo. All sleek black leather, chrome, floor to ceiling windows, and pristine kitchen—without a feminine touch anywhere. Every square inch of the place screamed bachelor pad. Samantha might be a pain in his ass, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d know his wife didn’t live here and never had.

“How has she not violated the terms of the agreement? You were specific, right?”

“I outlined how much money she would receive after every milestone anniversary if we divorced. There’s a sunset clause after twenty-five years. There’s a division of assets in the event of my death.” He shrugged. “Typical stuff, but nothing she violated.”

Samantha wagged a finger at him, looking aghast. “Jason Edward Denning, you know better than that. You’re a young, good-looking billionaire. You could have any woman you want in any way you desire. Didn’t you spell out her duties with regard to the house? The living and sleeping arrangements? The type and amount of sex?”

Jason stifled his anger. He’d wanted her to be a real wife; he hadn’t wanted to buy her. “I kept it simple. Unlike your Prince Charming, Robert, I declined to contractually obligate her about how often I wanted oral gratification.”

His mother rose and crossed the room, sitting beside him to lay her delicate fingers on his knee. “That’s your mistake. You just need to be detailed with her. Surely, if you made yourself clear—”

“I wanted her to choose to be with me. She didn’t and now she’s gone. End of conversation.”

Growing up steeped in wealth, he’d seen all sorts of couples marry for reasons that had far more to do with money than devotion. Not that he didn’t understand a man’s desire for companionship while protecting his assets. But from those interactions, he knew that relationships were a barter, affection bought and paid for. The currency might change, but the concept didn’t. Meeting his wife had somehow altered his opinion.

He’d not only appreciated and deeply admired her altruistic, self-sufficient nature, he had married her because of it. Eventually, he’d hoped she would be the mother of his children because she brimmed with honesty and fought for what was right. For her, nothing had been about money, but loyalty and kindness. Caring. He’d trusted her more than he’d ever trusted a female. She put family first. Jason had never imagined the traits he’d once admired so much would bite him in the ass. Or that she’d not only leave him, but deny his most basic rights as her husband and her Dom—to help and protect her—proving that she didn’t trust him at all.

Then again, hadn’t that been a recurring theme for them?

“Call your attorney,” his mother advised. “Maybe you can ‘clarify’ the terms of the agreement. Then she’ll have to sign and recommit or you’ll box her into a corner and she will have to leave the marriage first. And in that case, she won’t receive anything, right?”

Yes, he could do all that. But she would only hate him for it. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, he found that idea intolerable.

Jason slammed his beer on the glass-top table and rose. “I’m going out. If you need a place to stay, there’s a guest room at the top of the stairs and to the right. If you need money, there’s ten grand on my dresser. You’re welcome to either. But if you’re here when I come back, my marriage isn’t a subject open for discussion—ever.”

Club Dominion was closed on Sunday nights, but Jason kept a private playroom here and had round-the-clock access to it. The moment he let himself into the dark, still dungeon, he realized it wasn’t the room he sought, but the memories.

Quickly making his way down the hall, he pictured his wife as he’d first seen her, arresting a rowdy drunk in the parking lot who’d been harassing females entering. She’d been questioning the club’s owner, Mitchell Thorpe. Despite the badge on her chest and the holstered gun at her side, everything about her expression and posture had shouted that she leaned submissive. When she’d looked at him with her soft, dark eyes, Jason’s need to possess her had slammed into him like a visceral force. But she’d been gone before he could even learn her name.

The next evening, he’d spotted her out of uniform, entering Dominion with Thorpe, who both escorted and explained. Jason hadn’t wasted a second before approaching her. The Dungeon Master had introduced the beauty as Greta. An oddly German name for an obviously Italian girl, but he accepted that she’d chosen a club name as a way to protect her anonymity, especially important since she worked in law enforcement.

They’d talked that first night for hours, mostly about the lifestyle, what she secretly yearned for, what she wanted to understand…and what he would be more than happy to give her.

For over a blissful year, Jason had. Casually at first, of course. He purposely didn’t form attachments to others. It wasn’t logical when so many merely sought him for his net worth. But from the start, his wife had been different.

Over time, she’d grown from an anxious novice, unsure if she truly wanted to pursue the lifestyle, to an eager, if somewhat willful submissive. During those months, he’d learned her beautiful soul, and their connection had grown. Shockingly, she lacked interest in his money or stature. At first, he’d wondered if her silence on the subject was a ploy to disarm him. Then his infatuation had kicked in, and he’d stopped thinking altogether.

When he’d been foolish enough to make their relationship permanent, everything had gone to hell. Now he had a wound with her name on it. He’d tried to patch and heal it…but he’d never been successful. Since Jason wasn’t accustomed to failing, the bleeding bothered him even more.

“Hi, Denning.” Thorpe stepped out of the shadows. “It’s been weeks since you’ve darkened these halls. What are you doing here tonight? Not a lot of action.”

Thorpe leaned against the wall, his pose seemingly casual. Bullshit. Nothing the man ever did lacked purpose.

Jason shrugged. Thorpe was one of the few who knew he’d married “Greta” and that it hadn’t worked out. Thankfully, he’d never asked questions.

Unfortunately, Jason had a hard time maintaining a similar silence. “Have you heard from her?”

Thorpe cocked his head. “Greta is no longer a member here.”

That made Jason stiffen and his seeping wound throb. “That’s not her name. Don’t treat me as if I don’t know any better. I’m her fucking husband.”

“My apologies.” Thorpe’s tone was smooth and somehow not apologetic at all. “Gia is no longer a member, then.”

“She let her fees lapse? I’ll pay them.”

“No. She called me last month to revoke them. I refunded her the unused portion.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to call me first?” He tried not to sound like he was seething.

Apparently calling him hadn’t occurred to Gia, either. In fact, she had reached out to the club owner before she’d contacted her own husband. More unexpected pain whacked him. Dominion had been his first common thread with her. The place had brought them together. And she had renounced it without a word.

“Gia asked me not to. I respected her privacy, just like I do everyone in this club.”

Just then, a petite pixie of a brunette padded through the dungeon with her phone pressed to her ear and a grin on her face. Her tinkling laughter somehow brightened the room. Even from a distance, Jason saw her blue eyes dance with a hint of mischief.

No way Thorpe failed to miss it, either.

“You mean like you’re protecting Callie’s privacy now?” Jason drawled.

“She’s different.”

“How?” he questioned. “Unless I miss my guess, she’s on the phone with Sean. She accepted his collar months ago, but you’re eavesdropping on her conversation like whatever she says or does is still your business.”

Thorpe watched the beauty as if he’d forfeit a limb for the chance to touch her. Once, the two of them had been close—not lovers, but certainly more than friends. Jason had no idea what had caused their rift, but clearly the club owner wasn’t letting go. And as Callie stole a longing glance at her boss, Jason knew Thorpe’s feelings weren’t one-sided.

“Listen to me because I’m only going to say this once.” Thorpe clenched his jaw. “I protect every woman who passes through those doors, regardless of who or what they require shielding from. Your wife chose this separation. I’m respecting her wishes. I suggest you do the same.”

“Do you enjoy the distance between you and Callie these days?” Jason watched the woman end her call with a happy little sigh that left him little doubt she had feelings for Sean. Thorpe looked ready to spit nails. “I don’t think so, but you let it happen. That’s your choice. Good for you. But I didn’t ask for this separation from Gia.”

“I understand,” Thorpe said.

Regardless of the platitude, the man wasn’t going to budge. Thorpe, of all people, should fucking comprehend how agonizing this situation was.

Cursing under his breath, Jason resisted an unusually violent urge and tried and another tactic.

“I can’t find my wife. I’m worried about her. She was going through a great deal of personal trauma when we split. She sold her house, disconnected her number. I don’t know if she’s all right or needs my help. She’s my responsibility.”

“She’s my client. I’ve sworn to protect her privacy. Sorry.”

His empty apology nearly yanked the leash off Jason’s inner caveman. Maybe being alone for the last eleven and a half months had finally unhinged him. Maybe it was that damn hollow ache gashing his chest and infecting his judgment. Maybe seeing his mother had shown him the future he now stared down. Whatever.

“That’s not putting my fears to rest.” He gritted between clenched teeth.

“I can’t help you.”

Jason didn’t want to argue with Thorpe. The man was as bendable as steel. But he refused to give up because he wasn’t going to heal without seeing Gia again. “Tell me something. What would you do if Callie left Dominion—and you—without warning?”

Thorpe’s face tightened as he searched for the right response. “There is no place she can go where I won’t find her.”

Jason saw his opportunity and seized it. “But what if she disappeared? Wouldn’t you goddamn look for her and want to chew the head off of anyone who kept her from you?”

With a sigh, Thorpe sized him up. Resolution crossed his face. “Come into my office and have a drink. We’ll talk.”

That sounded like as much fun as a lobotomy, but it was progress. Besides, the Dungeon Master had left him little choice.

After trailing the man into his well-appointed office, Jason sat in a cushy leather chair. Thorpe lifted a cut crystal decanter of Scotch from a heavy cabinet and poured him a glass. With a nod, Jason took it. “Thanks.”

After rounding his sizeable desk, Thorpe sank into what could only be called his throne. “Start at the beginning and fill in the blanks for me. Tell me what I’m not seeing in this picture.”

In other words, Thorpe would intervene only if he heard the facts and decided the situation warranted his help. Jason didn’t particularly like the idea of the other man as judge and jury.

“You know the basics.” He really didn’t want to air his dirty laundry. He revisited the moments he and Gia had shared enough in his head.

Yes, he could hire a private investigator, but he knew exactly how that would chafe Gia’s independent nature. He would find her again, but she’d be too mad to speak to him. If he wanted to locate his wife and have any chance of reconciling with her, he had to play this Thorpe’s way.

Leaning back in his seat with a sigh, Jason tried to decide where to start. Not the first big scene he’d set up with “Greta” at Lakeside Park late one night. His wife had exhibitionist urges—and a lot of Catholic good-girl upbringing to overcome. She’d been unable to let go that night, and it had become a disaster.

He’d recovered quickly and staged another scene at Dominion a few days later, more private but still public enough to give her a thrill. Logan Edgington, another member of Dominion, and his wife Tara, at the time an FBI agent in field training, had witnessed his lovely sub stripping down to her skin, exposing her newly waxed pussy, then masturbating for her unknown audience. She’d surrendered to him entirely, giving him every bit of her body for the very first time. Jason still remembered how perfect she felt clinging to him, clutching his cock inside her snug little cunt. He’d suspected even before then that “Greta” was special, but that nooner had sealed the deal.

No sense in spilling those details to the club owner. Because Logan had seen it, the former SEAL had undoubtedly shared it with his buddy Thorpe. Even if Logan hadn’t, Thorpe somehow knew most everything that happened under his roof.

Jason swirled the Scotch in his glass. Where to begin? Not the early days of their courtship, but later…when she’d finally trusted him with her real name, when everything between them had become genuine. The beginning of the end.

“Last November, I invited Gia to a benefit dinner for the homeless. It raised money for a shelter and kicked off a coat drive. She’d seen enough of my life by then to know that we’d be photographed and that people would speculate. At first, she told me that she didn’t own a dress fancy enough for a five-thousand-dollar-a-plate dinner. I offered to take care of it. She insisted I take the money I would have spent on her ticket and a dress and donate it because those people needed it far more than she did. She was the first woman I’d ever met who turned down money.”

Thorpe sipped his drink. “And that shocked you.”

“Completely. I was already infatuated with her. But her selflessness…did something to me.” And he’d never recovered.

He swallowed, remembering that he’d driven to her house that night, uninvited, and fucked her like a man possessed. She’d been surprised, but welcoming. Happy, even. The night had been extraordinary, and he’d realized then that he hadn’t scened or had sex with anyone else since meeting her. He hadn’t wanted to. A first for him.

“The next day, Gia called me because she’d heard on the news that the same foundation would be serving an early Thanksgiving dinner to the homeless downtown and that I would be there helping. She surprised me again by asking if she could come along to lend a hand. When she refused the benefit dinner, I’d wondered if she didn’t want to be seen with me and gossiped about. But no. She really just didn’t want to take money that would help the needy. Instead of accepting a Versace gown so I could wine and dine her, she offered to donate food, cook, clean—whatever we needed.”

Jason had seen Gia’s big heart and lost his head. As he’d stood beside her and dished out trays of food to the homeless, he had totally fallen for her. A pressing need to make her utterly his assailed him. He’d been unable to talk himself out of it, so he’d set the wheels in motion.

“Your wife is a good person. I understand the circles you were raised in. A big heart is both very rare and very attractive.” Thorpe looked out the open door of his office and spied on Callie, tidying up around the silent dungeon—and sneaking a peek Thorpe’s way.

The yearning on the man’s face told Jason that he did, in fact, perfectly comprehend.

“The day after Thanksgiving, I took Gia to dinner.” He gave a self-deprecating grin. “If I’d been thinking, I would have realized that The Mansion on Turtle Creek wouldn’t have been her first choice. I probably also would have chosen a more modest engagement ring, something more her style.”

Thorpe looked mildly amused. “How big was it?”

“The center stone was about five carats, cushion cut, set in platinum with another two carats surrounding it. I might have gone overboard.”

“Might?” Thorpe raised a brow.

Jason shrugged. “Okay, so I did. My wife isn’t a little thing like Callie, but the ring looked huge on her hand. I don’t even know if she liked it. She didn’t say a word other than ‘yes.’”

That had been one of the happiest nights of his life. Gia was the most genuine person he knew, and she made him look at everything in a different light. With her around, he could be more generous and grateful, even optimistic. Other than an isolated childhood, life had been pretty damn good to him. But she’d made everything perfect for that idyllic forty-eight hours.

“You hustled her to Vegas the next day?” Thorpe asked, though he knew the answer.

After keeping her in his bed all night long. “I did. I wasn’t going to give her any time to change her mind. By that Saturday afternoon, we were married. We had the penthouse at The Venetian, along with all the room service and champagne we could consume.”

And they’d had each other. That incredible night—the only he’d ever spent with her as his wife—was forever etched in his memory. Hands down, it had been the best of his life.

“When did things start to roll downhill? From my vantage point, it looked awfully fast.” The Dungeon Master swallowed back the last of his booze, then glanced at Callie as she pranced past his door again.

Thorpe didn’t like having emotions for the girl. A hundred bucks said they made him feel somewhere between uncomfortable and unwise. Jason related.

“That Sunday at four a.m., Gia received a call from her father saying that her brother had been killed in the line of duty.”

“I heard. He was a cop too, right?”

“Yes. His partner at the time was the only one who witnessed the shooting deep in South Dallas gang turf. He apparently stayed with Tony rather than running the asshole down. None of the other units were willing to come into that neighborhood to back him up and track the thug down. Gia was heartbroken. We rushed home. And that’s when things went wrong.”

That’s when the terrible hemorrhaging had set in.

“She was going through a lot,” Thorpe pointed out.

“And like an idiot, I stepped back to give her space because she asked me to.” He rubbed at his forehead, where he felt a headache developing. “During that conversation, she admitted that she’d never told her parents about me. She hadn’t met my mother either, so I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t really understand what a big deal family was to her until it was far too late.”

“Did she say why she turned you into her dirty little secret?”

“Yes. She’s from a family of police officers. Her parents wanted her to marry some guy named Enzo, another cop they’d handpicked for her. He’s a member of her church, and she’s known him all her life. Gia swore that she married me because she loved me. Whatever that means.” Probably not relevant since it hadn’t lasted.

“I don’t think she’s the kind of woman who would lie about her feelings.”

“Intentionally, no. I think she liked the fantasy of me better than the reality. When faced with the prospect of telling her family about the guy who wasn’t Catholic and didn’t have a drop of Italian blood in his veins…not so much.” He shook his head. “Until then, I’d never heard that money didn’t fix everything.”

“Maybe she just needed time to tell them gently.”

“I understood why she didn’t want to spring the surprise on them the day her brother died, but I thought she’d do it in the next few days. Certainly before the funeral. But she didn’t. Instead, she attended without me.”

“Ouch.”

Jason hated to admit even now the agony that had caused him. He’d needed to lend her support, hold her hand, and be her rock. But she’d turned away from him and anything he might have provided her. Instead, she’d disregarded their vows and elected to do everything for her family alone. In some ways, he’d been proud as hell. He’d been fucking infuriated, too.

“She barely called that first week. Never came to see me. I left her umpteen messages. It didn’t take long before she stopped returning them. A week slid into a month. I’m not unfamiliar with the mayor. I asked him to poke around to find out what the hell was wrong. He did some digging, and I learned that Gia was consoling her parents and helping her sister-in-law through an injury of some sort. She was also caring for her nephew and newborn niece.”

“She had a lot of people counting on her. Her communication could have been better, but you can’t fault her heart.”

“No. However, I can fault her for turning into a one-woman vigilante squad, determined to bring down the gangster who’d killed her brother.”

“Yeah, if you discovered that she was gunning for him, you absolutely had to deal with it.”

“And I did,” Jason confirmed. “As soon as I found out, I called and left her another message, told her that she had twenty-four hours to contact me or there would be hell to pay. I’d had enough. I missed my wife. She hadn’t let me lift a finger to help her, goddamn it.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. A day went by. Then another.” He dragged in a deep breath. “She didn’t bother to refuse; she just didn’t acknowledge me at all.”

Thorpe sat up, leaned across the desk. “Seriously?”

“Yep. Instead, she went back into that ghetto and tried to arrest the punk by herself. And he shot at her. I was fucking done.”

Thorpe winced. “I don’t blame you. What did you do?”

“I reached out to a few people, called in favors, greased palms.” Jason shifted in his chair. “I had her put behind a desk. There was no way I was going to stand by and watch her get killed.”

“I’m sure that got her attention.”

“Oh, she came to see me that night, angrier than hell and itching for a fight. I was dumb enough to give it to her. She threw her ring back at me and stormed out. Hell of an early Christmas present.” He smiled grimly and shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to her since.”

He’d tried. For months, he’d called. Not to apologize. He wasn’t going to say that he was sorry for trying to keep her safe, especially after she’d backed him into a corner. But he’d left messages asking her to fucking talk to him, to at least meet him halfway. Nothing. The last time he’d called her, he’d gotten a recording that her number was disconnected. Somewhere between fed up and worried, he’d climbed into the car and driven across the city through rush hour and road construction to her house—only to find that she’d moved out months ago and new owners had taken her place.

Never once had Gia asked for his help. She’d just picked up and carried on with her life as if he didn’t matter. No, as if he no longer existed.

Damn it, his chest throbbed again.

“These last months must have been difficult, but you did the right thing. After all, you can’t force her to submit if you doesn’t want to put herself in your hands.”

“Don’t I fucking know it.” Jason raked a hand through his hair. “Since she apparently wants nothing to do with me, I keep expecting her to file for divorce. I’m surprised she hasn’t.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“Right now, that’s not possible since I can’t find her.” No, that was an excuse—and he knew it. “Even if I could, I’m not ready to quit. We only had twelve hours together as man and wife to decide if we were compatible. I’ve seen people get divorced quickly, but even that would be a record.” Besides, their time together had been damn near perfect. And he had to understand why she’d ended all contact and cut him off at the knees. He might have to give her up eventually, but he refused to do it without a fight.

“I don’t know Gia’s side of the story,” Thorpe admitted. “When she called to revoke her membership, she sounded stressed and upset. I pressed gently, but she wouldn’t talk. I’d be violating my own rules if I gave you her current contact information, but I can call and ask if she’d be willing to speak to you.” He sighed, sneaking a sideways glance at Callie. “Because if someone left me like that, I wouldn’t rest until I had answers.”

“Exactly.”