Page 83 of Beneath the Surface

Hale snapped the whip again, harder this time, the sting of leather biting into her skin. Isobel’s body jerked with the pain, but she refused to cry out. She closed her eyes, letting herself drift further into her memories of Brad, pulling strength from their bond.

"Don’t think of him," Hale snarled, his voice darkening. "He can’t save you. He’ll never find you."

His words sent a jolt of fear through her, but she shoved it away.Brad will find me.

"You want to scream, don’t you?" he taunted, moving in front of her again, his eyes narrowing as he searched her face for anysign of weakness. "But you won’t, will you? Not yet. Not until I make you."

His hand wrapped around her braid, a braid he’d woven, tilting her chin up so she was forced to look at him, the chain around her neck pulling painfully as she met his cold, sadistic gaze. "I’m going to break you, Isobel. You can’t run from it."

But instead of fear, something else surged within her—defiance. She stared back at him, her heart steadying, her mind anchored in the strength of her connection with Brad. No matter what Hale did, no matter how hard he tried to tear her down, he would never touch the part of her that belonged to Brad. That part of her was untouchable.

"You won’t break me," she whispered, her voice steady and low, surprising even herself. "You’re nothing but a sick man. You’ll never be what Brad is to me."

For a moment, Hale froze, his expression flickering with something like fury. His grip on her chin tightened painfully, but Isobel didn’t flinch. She held his gaze, letting him see that no matter what he did, no matter how far he went, she would not give him the satisfaction of her submission.

In her mind, she clung to the image of Brad searching for her. She wouldn’t give in to this monster. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her fear.

Hale released her with a sneer, stepping back, his eyes dark with rage. "We’ll see about that," he said coldly.

But Isobel knew the truth. She had already won.

In the darkness of that room, stripped and vulnerable, Isobel realized her strength wasn’t in the absence of fear. It was in her ability to face it—and rise above it. Brad had given her that strength, but it was her own now. And no matter what Hale did, he would never take it from her.

The tensionin the car was suffocating, even as the wide expanse of the highway stretched before Brad and Larson. Pierre disappeared in the rearview mirror, but what they had learned from Mistress Raven clung to them like a shroud. The traffic ahead slowed to a crawl, brake lights glowing like malevolent red eyes in the dusk.

Larson drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his jaw tight. “You believe her?” he asked finally, breaking the silence.

Brad stared out the window, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrest. “She didn’t have a reason to lie. Her business is already under scrutiny. Talking to us puts her at risk.”

Larson nodded slowly. “Still doesn’t make it easier to hear.”

The words echoed in Brad’s mind—too dangerous for even her clientele. Mistress Raven’s voice had been calm, collected, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease as she described Malcolm Hale’s depravity. He was a man who thrived on fear and pain, who had turned the darkest desires into something monstrous.

“She banned him from Hot Shots,” Brad said aloud, his voice low. “Think about that. A place that caters to people willing to push every boundary, and eventheycouldn’t stomach him.”

Larson exhaled through his nose, his frustration palpable. “That’s saying something. Fire play, asphyxiation, needles, bloodletting… the man’s got no limits. And those groupies Raven mentioned.” He shook his head. “How does someone like that attract people?”

“Think about those men in prison getting fan mail—there’s a sick appeal.” Brad closed his eyes briefly, images from theirconversation with Raven flashing through his mind. She’d described Hale in chilling detail: an attractive, well-built man with no hair on his body, a veneer of control masking the chaos within. Women were drawn to him, not in spite of his darkness butbecauseof it. Women who craved pain, degradation, and the razor’s edge of danger, rewarded with what Raven had called “incredible orgasms.”

“It’s not attraction,” Brad said finally. “It’s manipulation. He knows how to use people—what they want, what they’re afraid of. He’s a predator.”

“And the circuit,” Larson added. “The fact that there’s an entire underground network protecting people like him…”

Brad’s jaw tightened. Raven had spoken of this “circuit” with a mixture of disdain and fear. The wealthiest, most powerful participants in the darker side of BDSM, shielded by their money and influence. Yet even among them, Hale was burning his bridges. Raven’s parting words haunted him: “Death contents him.”

Larson glanced at Brad as the car inched forward. “He’s out there right now. Doing God knows what. And we’re stuck in traffic.”

“We’ll find him,” Brad said, his voice harder now. “We have to.”

The rest of the drive passed in grim silence, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows on their faces. When they finally pulled into the hospital parking lot, the day pressed harder on Brad’s shoulders. He stepped out of the car, his legs stiff and his chest heavy with dread.

Inside the lobby, Charlotte Everhart and Alex Marcel were waiting. Charlotte’s face lit up with a small, weary smile as she saw them approach.

“Brad,” she greeted him softly. “John.”

Brad’s first question tumbled out before she could say more, “Molly. Is she okay?”

Charlotte hesitated, then nodded. “She’s in the ICU. She lost a lot of blood, but she’s stable. And… she and Ethan have a baby boy. Eight pounds, healthy. They named him Wyatt.”

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