She closes her eyes, recalling one of her first conversations with Mick. “Pierre Borgia manipulated the legal system. The DA made a deal with my state-appointed attorney and shipped me off to an asylum in Massachusetts. Foletta became my state-appointed keeper. Pierre Borgia rewards loyalty, but God help you if you make his shit list.”

She had been manipulated, and once more, Michael Gabriel was left to suffer the consequences.

“Ray, I’m really not up for dancing tonight. Would you mind taking me home?”

“Home? We’re halfway to South Beach.”

“Please.”

Raymond eyes the tan, sculpted legs protruding beneath the black skirt, imagining them wrapped around his thrusting, muscular torso. “Okay, Sunshine, home it is.”

The Intrepid pulls into the parking lot of her high-rise twenty minutes later.

Dominique smiles. “Thank you for dinner. I’m sorry to put a damper on the evening, but I really don’t feel well. Next time, I’ll treat, okay?”

He shuts off the engine. “I’ll walk you up.”

“That’s okay, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at work.” She opens the door and heads for the elevator.

Ray scurries after her.

Dammit. “Ray, I told you, it’s really not necessary.”

“Hey, it’s no trouble, besides; I’d love to see your place.” He waits for her to key-in to use the elevator.

“Ray, not tonight.”

“That wasn’t our deal.” He slips a thick arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

“Don’t—”

Before she can stop him, he has pushed her against the concrete wall, burying his tongue in her mouth, his right paw groping her breasts.

A wave of white-hot panic rushes over her as a dozen childhood memories race through her mind at once.

Fight back! She gags at the taste in her mouth, then bites down on the intruding tongue, drawing blood.

“Oww. God dammit—” Raymond slaps her across the face, then pins her against the wall with one hand as he tears at her skirt with the other.

“Let her go!”

Dominique looks up to see Rabbi Steinberg and his wife approaching.

Raymond maintains a grip on her arm. “Beat it, this ain’t your concern.”

“Let her go, or we’ll alert the police.” Mindy Steinberg holds up the portable alarm.

Raymond takes a threatening step toward the couple, dragging Dominique with him.

“Don’t be foolish,” Steinberg says, pointing to the security cameras.

“Hey, Ray—”

Raymond turns.

The point of Dominique’s high heel slams hard on Raymond’s big toe. He yelps in agony, releasing his grip. In one motion, the blade of her wrist strikes the bodybuilder square on the Adam’s apple, silencing his scream.

Raymond clutches his windpipe, wheezing for air. As he drops to his knees, Dominique wheels around, preparing to drive the heel of her foot down upon the back of his exposed neck.