She nodded, her lips pressed so tight together her mouth was little more than a thin slash of red lipstick.

“Did you know that in the BDSM world, it’s always the sub that holds the power?”

Her brow furrowed, and she shook her head.

“It’s true. Just like us. Just like now. We’re going in because we have to. Because I want you safe, and we’re going to figure out who’s harassing you. But ultimately all of this is your call, sweetheart. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“And anything that does happen,” she began, her voice still soft. “It’s all for show? To draw out my stalker?”

“Yes,” he said, the word holding the weight of regret, making him truly realize how much he craved reality over fantasy, and driving home just how much this assignment was going to hurt.

And in that moment he knew only one thing for certain. The second this was all wrapped up, he was getting on a plane and getting the hell away from Natasha, his memories, and this goddamn city.

* * * *

Riley used Lyle’s car service to take them to The Firehouse. Not only did he not want to deal with parking in downtown Los Angeles, but he also didn’t want the road stealing his attention from Natasha. She’d admitted to being nervous because of him, but he was certain it ran much deeper. They were trying to flush out a stalker, after all. She’d be foolish not to be at least a little scared. He got that. And, dammit, he was making it his first priority to make sure she was as comfortable as possible.

“I thought it was interesting that the club’s built inside an actual old fire station,” she said as the car pulled to a halt in front of the old two-story building tucked in between what now served as low-rent office space on the edge of downtown.

“It makes for a nice big space,” Riley said, though he knew she didn’t need a reply. She was simply making conversation as she tried to get a handle on her nerves.

“You’ve never been here before?” she asked, a question to which, once again, she already knew the answer.