Page 162 of What We Become

“We’re good,” she says.

She’s not lying.

We drive back to Unholy Desires.

The secured bay opens before Eli reaches the gate, then closes behind us the second we’re inside. Holden, Milo, and Micah are waiting beyond it, still in their operational clothes. Holden’s arms are folded, and his jaw is tight enough to crack a tooth. Milo is pacing. Micah looks calmer, but only because he’s better at containing panic than Milo.

Holden comes toward us before Eli kills the engine. “Tell me you weren’t seen.”

“We weren’t,” Eli says as he climbs out. “It’s handled. Odin’s lookout warned us, and we fell back.”

“Ayre?” I ask.

“Done,” Holden says. “Clean.”

“Did you do the dick mutilation thing?” Milo asks, appearing beside Fury the moment she opens her door. “Because I wrote about it in his note, so if you ran out of time⁠—”

“His dick won’t be bothering anyone again,” Fury says.

Micah reads her face—the flush, the brightness, the post-kill energy she hasn’t burned through yet. “Good night, then?”

“Great night.”

We change back into our club clothes in the bay, although the process slows when Fury strips out of black beside the SUV and steps naked into that dress. By the time she slides her heels on, every man in the room is watching the cutouts frame bare skin beneath the collar at her throat.

She hefts her go-bag onto the hood and digs inside.

“One more thing,” she says, pulling out a slim chain leash.

Milo stops mid-button.

Fury clips the hook to the ring at the front of her collar. The click carries through the concrete bay, small and sharp enough to pull every set of eyes toward her.

Then she holds the loose end out to Eli.

“We still have a cover to sell,” she says. “Playroom. Now.”

Eli closes his fist around the chain. The moment it draws taut, he leads Fury toward the private corridor, and the rest of us follow without wasting another second.

THIRTY-SEVEN

SAGE

“Pick your playroom, little savage,” Eli says when we step out of the private corridor and the thrum of music and bodies closes around us.

I don’t answer right away, too busy swaying my hips to the beat, letting the energy of the place flow through me. The black dress clings to my hips, the cut of it making me feel like something a person would ruin their life over. My silver club mask hides my face, and the leather collar feels like a hand about my throat with the chain hanging down between my breasts. The men crowd around me, wearing black—tailored shirts, fitted pants, and matching masks that make them look like five exquisitely dressed reasons to be me.

“Sage.” Eli winds the end of my leash around his fist. “I asked you a question.”

I let the silence stretch, tasting his patience like a wine I haven’t decided on yet. The leash pulls taut—enough to remind me who’s holding the other end.

Laughter bubbles out of me. I could answer him. Should answer him. But there’s something delicious in making Eli wait, in watching those warm hazel eyes behind his mask go sharp with authority while his mouth stays perfectly controlled.

“The voyeur room,” I say finally, letting my voice drop into something throaty and careless.

Eli’s fingers tighten on the leash, and I feel the pull all the way down my spine. He doesn’t jerk it—he’s too controlled for that—but there’s enough pressure to make my breath hitch, to remind me exactly what game we’re playing.

He looks at each of the others, getting their okay one by one. Then he tugs me against him and presses his mouth close to my ear.