Why?

Then there was Wyatt and Cameron. They’d both watched me to the point they were studying my every move.

“I see you’re getting it,” he said gently.

“Are you a cop?”

Please say yes.

Please, please, say yes.

“No. I work for an organization called Takeback. We work with federal, state, and local law enforcement specializing in the rescue and recovery of human trafficking victims.”

The relief I felt shoot through me nearly brought me to my knees. But my reprieve was short-lived. Asher said human trafficking.

“Elise,” I whispered. “Do you know what happened to her?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“What?”

“Can we maybe go sit down, get a bag of ice for my face, and you can tell me what you’re really doing at Club Joi?”

Oh, right, his face. I focused on his left cheek and frowned.

“Shit. You’re bleeding. I have a first aid kit.”

I was halfway to the bathroom when his voice stopped me and I glanced over my shoulder.

“Sweetness.” Asher grimaced after he said the endearment, a scowl so deep he looked like he was going to hurl. “Shit. Sorry. Sloane.” He shook his head and then continued. “That’s it?”

I guessed since the gig was up I’d get no more of Asher’s “sweetnesses”.

Why did that hurt so bad?

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is for the last two-plus hours you thought I was a sick sonofabitch who was ordering up a virgin. And not even five minutes ago you thought I was here to hurt you and tried to kick my ass. I tell you who I really am, and you believe me?”

Damn.

When he said it like that it made me sound like I was one of those stupid women who investigates a sound in the middle of the night instead of hunkering down and calling 911.

“Yes, I believe you.”

“Why?”

I wasn’t going to tell him why, it would make me sound nuttier than he already thought I was.

“Because you didn’t hit me back when I was kicking your ass.”

“Baby, you weren’t kicking my ass.”

“Says the man with the cut lip and black eye.”

I turned and strode into my bathroom to find the medical kit.

I was rooting through the cabinet under the sink when the full brunt of repressed sadness and fear washed over me.

Human trafficking.

My ass hit the floor, my arms curled around my legs, and my chin rested on my knees. Then I lost it.

And that was how Asher found me. On my bathroom floor sobbing like a baby.

But I wasn’t there for long. Like some sort of hero, he came in, scooped me off my ass, and carried me to my bed.

Then I did something ridiculously dangerous; I curled into him and cried myself to sleep.

11

I woke up to a soft, warm body draped over me. It had been a long time since I’d woken up in bed next to a woman—both occupants fully dressed, after the woman had cried herself to sleep in my arms, never.