Chapter 18
Emily knocked on Julia’s door, counting the seconds tick by as she waited.
The text had come when she was in the shower. “Not feeling well. Taking the day off. Sorry.”
Then… nothing else.
By midmorning, Emily had already tried calling her twice. Julia never called in sick. At eleven, she grabbed her keys.
Impatient, she knocked again just as the door swung open.
Julia looked like she hadn’t slept. Pale. Shadows beneath her eyes. Holding herself carefully, bent slightly forward, as though every part of her hurt.
“Oh, honey. Is it the flu?” The finger-shaped bruises on her throat told Emily it wasn’t. “Julia, my God!”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said, sounding raspy. When her hand rose to her still-sore throat, Emily stared at the dark bands circling her wrist.
“Jules—”
“Okay, it is that bad. Come in.” She turned and walked inside with unnatural stiffness.
Emily followed, closing the door behind her.
“I’m done,” Julia said, flat and final, as she lowered herself onto the couch.
Emily didn’t argue, focusing on the immediate—her condition. “Have you taken anything? Tylenol? Ibuprofen?”
“Not since last night.”
Emily disappeared into the kitchen without asking and returned with a glass of water and three tablets. “These should help.”
Julia tossed them back and took a small sip, grimacing as she swallowed.
Emily took the glass and set it on the coffee table then grabbed the throw from the couch and tucked it around her. She sat next to her, not crowding her, just there.
After a moment, she asked, “What happened?”
Julia stared at the floor. “Bad scene.”
“That’s obvious.”
Color tinged her cheeks as she acknowledged with a twist of her lips, “Yeah.”
Emily let it sit. “You went back to The Underground?”
Julia shook her head immediately. “No. I promised I wouldn’t. It was a private party.”
“With people from the same circuit?”
Julia exhaled, rubbing a hand lightly over her throat before catching herself. “No. I met a sub there who told me about it. She didn’t like the vibe of that club, either,” she admitted.
Emily’s brow lifted slightly. “But you met her there.”
She released a quiet, humorless breath. “I really am an idiot.”
“No,” Emily said. “You expected what you’ve had before, safety and respect. This guy didn’t deliver.”
Julia didn’t argue that either.
Emily watched her for another moment. “Alec needs to know.”
Her head came up. “Know what?”
“About last night,” Emily said. “The setup, the people, and the man who did that to you.”
Julia’s shoulders tightened as she repeated, “It was just a bad scene.”
“Maybe,” Emily said. “But it could be more.”
She went still. “You think this is connected to the missing subs?”
“I think it’s a small world. The BDSM community is even smaller,” Emily said.
She looked down at her hands, uncertain. Emily looked too, seeing only the bruises.
“Alec will listen. No judgment.”
“I don’t see how. I’m judging myself.” Julia closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. “What would I have to do?”
“I’ll call him and see. But not without your permission.”
Nodding, Julia whispered, “Okay.”
Emily squeezed her hand and echoed, “Okay.”
Her eyes suddenly opened. “Not Leland.”
“I’ll let Alec know,” Emily said, picking up her phone. But she was wondering how they’d keep him out of it and from ripping the dom from last night apart.
Leland Hale could be a stubborn ass, but Emily knew without a doubt he cared more than he was willing to admit.
***
The Devlin their expressions—Greta’s angry sympathy, Michael’s straight anger—said it all.
Emily stepped in smoothly. “She’s here to see Alec.”
Greta held Julia’s gaze a moment longer then reached for the phone. “Conference Room B is open,” she said. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thanks,” Emily said.
Julia exhaled quietly as they moved past, not realizing she’d been holding her breath until she wasn’t anymore.
Conference Room B was small: just four walls, a simple oval table, and the soft hum of air from the vent. No looming furniture. No command-center vibe. A quiet, private space. Her tension eased a little.
Alec came in a minute later, closing the door behind him.
He took one look at her, and everything about his posture changed. Not shock or alarm. Greta, or maybe Emily, had likely prepared him. Concern, foremost.
“You okay?”
Julia held his gaze. “I’m embarrassed.”
He accepted that for what it was. “Do you need a doctor?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Another nod. Not pushing her.
He pulled out the chair next to her, swiveled to face her. Then, forearms braced on his thighs, he said gently, “Take your time and walk me through it.”
She kept it clean. What she’d agreed to. Where it shifted. Where it crossed the line. Somehow, she got through it without tears or dramatics, and no embellishments. Only facts.
“When I needed it, the safeword wouldn’t come. Only stop. Then I couldn’t speak at all.” Her hand rose halfway to her throat before she forced it down. “Fortunately, others stepped in and stopped it,” she finished.
“Does this guy have a name?”
“The host called him Parker. I don’t know if that’s a first or last name.”
Alec’s jaw set, but his voice stayed even. “Show me your wrists.”
Julia hesitated before turning them over. The tender areas had deepened to a dark purple.
His gaze traced over the bruises. “And your throat.”
That hesitation lasted a fraction longer, but she moved her hair aside.
Alec’s expression didn’t change, but the shift in him from concern to rage was unmistakable. It took a moment for him to lock it down.
“There’s a lot about this that I don’t like. Especially the circles you’ve found your way into,” he said finally. “But focusing on him, I’m concerned he blew past every cue that you were in trouble, and it took until you were injured before someone stepped in.”
Julia stayed quiet.
“With women already disappearing from this community,” he continued evenly., “I think Dev and Callan should hear this.”
Not an order. A choice.
“Do you think it’s necessary?”
“Yes.”
Julia glanced at Emily who gave her a tentative smile. “This is the Devil you know. You can trust him. Callan, too.”
She didn’t hesitate after that.
A few minutes later, Dev walked in with Callan. He froze when he saw the purplish marks on her skin. Fury flashed across his face—sharp, lethal—before he locked it down.
He stepped closer, gaze steady on her. “Have you had those looked at?” he asked gently.
“I’m fair-skinned. I think they look worse than they are.”
The door opened, and Greta entered. She set a white jar in front of Julia. “This is a special balm I keep on hand. It’s loaded with vitamins, aloe vera, and arnica. It’ll take the color out fast and soothe the area.”
When she turned to leave, every eye followed her—petite, fragile-looking, married to a man at least twice her size.
“Sparring, taking down fugitives, busting down doors, dropping through skylights… this job can be rough. Just because Michael’s big doesn’t mean he’s invincible,” she said, and slipped out.
Dev’s hand fell gently on Julia’s shoulder, whisper-soft, reassuring. He slid into the chair beside her, his question directed to Alec. “What do we know?”
Alec filled him in. “Private party in Hollywood. Male dom by the name of Parker. The scene escalated beyond negotiation. Multiple people intervened.”
Dev’s gaze never left Julia. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Find him. Related or not.”
The words landed flat and absolute.
“Already working on it,” Callan replied.
“I want a full name, address, employment, vehicles, associates, financials. Everything.” Dev’s voice remained calm. “If he so much as jaywalked on the way home last night, I want that too.”
No one in the room mistook the fury beneath the control.
Beside her, Emily folded her arms tighter.
Julia sat still. Because suddenly the room no longer felt like an office. It felt like the moment before a manhunt.
Dev crossed the room and crouched beside Julia’s chair, his expression softer now. “You don’t need to worry about him,” he said quietly. “We’ll handle it.”
The knot in her chest loosened at the certainty in his voice.
“But we need details,” he continued gently. “Everything you remember. Can you do that?”
Julia nodded.
“Good girl,” Dev murmured automatically. A faint smile touched his mouth. “Sorry. Habit.”
Despite everything, the corner of her mouth twitched.
“I know about the others.” She swallowed, and this time, her hand rose all the way to the bruises. “Do you think it could have been him last night?”
“Maybe it’s unrelated,” he said. “But I don’t believe in coincidences anymore.”
His hand lifted, almost reaching for hers, but stopped. She knew he was being careful with her. The Devil she knew from the club wouldn’t have been so reserved. A squeeze or a pat from someone she trusted wouldn’t have been unwelcome right now.
He rose. “Do you need coffee, water, or something to eat?”
“No, Master Dev. But thank you.”
His smile warmed. “It’s Dev here, Julia. We’ll talk about you coming home to Devil’s Pointe later.”
It wasn’t a question up for debate. It made her feel wanted, cared for, and she almost welcomed that discussion.
When he moved to the head of the table and took a seat, Alec took the chair beside hers again. “Describe him to Callan. We’ll search for matches in The Underground’s surveillance footage.”
“He was about six feet tall. Brown hair. Brown eyes, I think, but the lights were low.”
“Weight?” Callan asked from behind his laptop.
“I don’t know,” she said, not a good judge. “About your size, I guess.”
He nodded as he typed. “Race?”
“I assumed white, but he could have been Hispanic. No accent that I noticed.”
“This will take a few minutes,” Callan said.
Dev asked, “Whose party was it, Julia?”
“A dom named Roman. I don’t know his last name. Rachel, one of the submissives attending, invited me. No last name for her either. I know that sounds reckless—”
“No one’s judging,” Emily quickly put in.
“What about an address?” Alec asked.
“It was off West Lake Dr. I don’t remember the house number, but it’s stored in my GPS.”
“I’ve got a few matches,” Callan said, turning the screen toward her.
Julia blinked. “That was fast.”
“That’s because I’m really good at my job,” he said, tone teasing.
“He is, but don’t be too impressed. He used a program that converts video images to stills and stores them in a database,” Alec explained, showing her how to scroll through them.
After looking at only four or five faces, Julia stopped. She could hear his voice in her ear calling her a slut, could feel his fingers squeezing her throat.
She pushed back from the table. “That’s him.”
Alec reached over and zoomed in on his face. The others crowded around to look but shook their heads. No one knew him.
“We start there,” Dev said.
“Start where?”
With everyone focused on the screen, no one had heard the door open. Leland stood there, frowning.
Julia’s spine went rigid. She tried to avoid looking at him, but his presence, as always, pulled her in, and her eyes inevitably drifted upward. He was frowning, nothing new, but his gaze was fixed on her throat.
“A meeting’s in progress,” Dev said evenly.
Leland didn’t leave. He didn’t so much as twitch. “Does anyone want to tell me why Julia’s here, looking like that?”
“There was an… incident.”
“At The Underground?”
“No. It was a gathering at a private residence. But we’re handling it,” Alec said.
Leland’s voice cut through. Flat. Controlled. “Those bruises suggest otherwise. Who’s the motherfucker who put his hands on her throat? He’d better be in custody.”
Alec met his gaze and repeated, “We’re handling it, Leland.”
Dev was more specific. “We’re going to keep her safe. I’m putting a man on her.”
This was new information to Julia. “A man?” she asked. “Like in a bodyguard?”
“Yes.”
Her gaze shifted briefly to Leland then quickly away. With him, she would feel safe from anyone but herself.
“Not him,” she blurted out.
For one brief second, hurt broke through his control. She saw it pass like a shadow over his face before disappearing. She wasn’t proud of her rejection, but she had to protect herself first.
“Not him,” Dev agreed. “If Parker, or anyone else, makes a move, we’ll be ready.”
Julia hesitated. “Maybe I should go back to The Underground and let him make it.”
“That’s not happening.” Leland didn’t raise his voice, but it cut like a blade through the room.
“He’s right,” Dev said. “You’ve done enough.”
Julia nodded, relieved. She would have done it if they’d asked, but she really didn’t want to. She wasn’t sure she could survive another night like the last one.
Across the room, Leland still hadn’t taken his eyes off her.
***
He didn’t remember leaving. One second, he was standing there, listening to them discuss procedures, leads, and strategy. The next, he was in the hallway with the door shut behind him.
Not him. Her words still echoed in his head.
She hadn’t been loud or dramatic. Just final.
And somehow, that made them worse.
It was all he could do not to flinch.
He dragged a hand down his face before bracing both palms against the wall, head lowered.
Breathe. Get it together.
She wasn’t wrong. That was the part carving him up inside. Julia had every reason not to trust him with her safety. He’d spent months pushing her away, drawing lines, convincing himself distance was protection. He’d done such a good job, now she believed him.
He shut his eyes, but it did nothing to erase the bruises left by cruel fingers, the swelling at her throat, the raw imprint of another man’s hands on her skin.
She’d been with strangers when it happened. With no one looking out for her. Choosing them over Devil’s Pointe because of him. Regret lodged like glass beneath his ribs.
There was no room for that now. What mattered was finding the man who thought he could lay hands on her and walk away without consequences. Leland pushed off the wall, cold purpose settling over him with lethal clarity.
The bastard was about to learn exactly how wrong he was.