Page 6 of Tower

Peter smiled. Cassandra would have been happier if he’d given her half a dozen more lashes with the whip, but he knew when enough was enough. Endorphins sometimes fuzzed the truth of what a submissive could take.

“I knew what I would see at the club. So, if you’re worried you scared me or something, don’t be.” She leaned forward in her seat. “I’m getting your car all wet.”

Peter made a right turn and flipped the vents to blow more on her side of the car. “What were you doing, trying to run home?”

“It’s really none of your concern,” she said, splaying her hands in front of the hot air blowing at her.

“Do you know what kind of people hang out on that corner you were coming up on?”

“If the area is so bad, why put your club there?” she countered.

He let the question pass. He could go into a long speech about wanting to revive the area. Bring it up to a better standard for those living and working in it. The women slinging sex on the street needed safer places to work.

Not that he considered himself the savior of women, or anyone for that matter. Hell, he wouldn’t be accused by anyone of having a heart of gold. But people deserved better.

“So, no cab money?” He pushed the subject again.

She didn’t answer, only huffed and scratched her neck. He let her stew in her soaked clothing while he made his way through town. She glanced at the digital clock over and over again, her fingers twisting together every time another minute clicked off.

“Go through the alley. It’s faster.” She pointed at the narrow opening coming up on his right side.

He flipped on his signal and made the turn.

“Now a left. I’m right on the corner,” she said, already gathering her belongings and grasping on the handle.

“Hold on, Azalea. Don’t jump out.” He found an open spot to pull into and hopped out, thankful the rained had died down to an annoying mist, and ran to her side.

“I could have done that.” She stepped from the car and pulled her cloak tighter around her body.

“I think the words you meant to say were thank you,” he chided in a low tone, taking a step toward her. It was one thing for her to get riled after he accused her of being a hooker, but being rude for the sake of being rude didn’t fly with him.

He blocked her from moving away from the car and towered over her. She let out a hard sigh and dropped her shoulders.

“Thank you. For the wine. For the insults. And for the ride.” She looked up at him, the innocent eyes he’d been drawn to at the club narrowed, and her lips pressed together. “I really need to go.” A tremor underlay her voice. She wasn’t irritated with him, she was getting panicked.

“Next time I see you, we can have a long chat about manners and the proper way of thanking me.” He pushed his lips up into a grin and strode out of her way, following her as she approached the stairs of the brownstone.

She stopped on the first step and turned to face him. “You don’t have to walk me up. I’m good from here.”

The lace drapes covering the front window moved to the side then dropped back into place.

Peter sensed her urgency, felt the tension building inside her, and stepped back onto the sidewalk. He’d stay back, but he wasn’t walking away. The air didn’t smell right, didn’t feel right. Something here was wrong.

“I’ll wait until you’re inside,” he said flatly. She wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise, and hopefully she understood that from his tone.

The click of a lock being undone grabbed her attention, and she spared a second to glare at him then turned and shuffled up the stairs. As soon as the door started to open, she rushed through.

She made it inside before Peter could see who opened it, but not before he heard the threatening voice greeting her.

“You barely made it home. How the hell did you get out this time?” The door shut on Azalea’s response, but Peter doubted her words would have shed any light on the situation anyway.

What the hell did he mean how did she get out?

The rain came faster and harder, again, but he stood where he was, watching the windows. A light flickered to life on the top floor. A small, single bulb burned behind the shade. It was her. He could make out her figure; she brushed her hair out as she paced in front of the window.

He shook his head, reminding himself, whatever her problem was, it was hers. He didn’t know her and didn’t owe her anything.

He did the right thing, brought her home. Didn’t let her run in the rain through a shitty part of town.

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