The night air momentarily revives him. He manages to reach the concrete steps and hugs the steel rail. Swirling in his vision are three steep flights of stairs. He blinks hard, unable to clear the fog from his vision. Okay, you can do this. Step … now, push your foot down. He stumbles down the first three steps, then catches himself. Concentrate! One at a time. Don’t lean …

He falls the last ten feet, landing painfully on his back.

For a dangerous moment, he allows his eyes to close, giving sleep an opportunity to gain a foothold. No! He rolls over, pushes himself to his feet, then staggers painfully toward the concrete monster spinning ahead of him.

Dominique unbuttons the cashmere sweater, takes a deep breath, and steps off the elevator. As she approaches the security station, she trains her eyes on the dozen security monitors at Raymond’s back which continuously provide alternating images of the facility.

She spots the view of the courtyard. A uniform-clad figure is struggling to pull his way up the stark concrete wall.

Raymond looks up and stares at her cleavage.

Mick’s arms are like rubber. Try as he may, he cannot seem to get his muscles to obey his commands.

He feels the nylon knot slip through his fingers and falls eight feet, nearly breaking both ankles on the hard sod.

Dominique sees Mick fall and stifles a cry. Before Raymond can react, she removes her sweater, revealing her cleavage. “God, why do you keep it so hot in here?”

Raymond’s eyes are bulging. He is out of his chair, standing by the gate. “You like fucking with me, don’t you?”

In her peripheral vision, she sees Mick stand. He begins climbing again. The image changes.

“Ray, let’s face it, with all the steroids pumping through that body of yours, you couldn’t keep it up long enough to please me.”

Raymond opens the gate. “Pretty nasty talk for a girl who nearly crushed my windpipe three weeks ago.”

“You don’t get it, do you? No girl enjoys it when it’s forced on her.”

“You fucking tease—you’re trying to get me to violate my probation, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to apologize.” Come on, Mick, move your ass …

The pain is keeping him conscious.

Mick grits his teeth harder, groaning as he pulls himself higher, walking the wall like a mountain climber. Three more steps, just three more, asshole, come on. Now two—two more, work your arms, squeeze your fists tighter. Good, good. Stop, catch your breath. Okay, last one, come on—