Page 156 of If Our Hearts Collide

“I asked for it.”

“You are a victim,” I correct. “No one deserves to be beat.”

“Fuck, Penny. Did you follow me here and sneak in?”

My body twists around to stare at him. “Oh, how dare you!” I rant.

Collins doesn’t back down. He maintains eye contact right back. “Can we discuss this someplace else?”

“Oh, that would be really convenient for you, wouldn’t it be?”

“I assure you, it was consensual,” Daphne says softly, the look of embarrassment reddening her skin. She doesn’t need tobe ashamed for a man’s evilness. “You may be in trouble for interrupting though. And I don’t think I can even defend you on this one.”

“What?” Why would I be in trouble?

When I look back at the spectators’ area, it has completely cleared out—except for Yuri who is making his way toward us. Oh, shit. He does not look happy.

“Miss Hoffman,” he says with disapproval. “Where is your wristlet?”

“I lost it. It must have fallen off.” But why does he care? I haven’t been wearing it for some time.

“That explains why you weren’t stopped from being granted access to this floor. But you’ve broken a cardinal rule here at Limit-X. You mustn’t interrupt any scenes.”

“But…”

“No buts.”

“She was getting beat.”

His eyes glance to Daphne’s, and he can’t help but smirk. “The wench does love her drama. Is this enough excitement for you, Daph, or do you want another round—but this time in my personal dungeon?”

Daphne swallows hard. What is happening? Get me out of this twilight zone.

Turning his attention back to me, his eyes go stern. “If you feel as passionately as you did during any scenes, the correct protocol would be to hit the wall button or find a guard to assist. We have safety measures in place for that very reason. However, being overwhelmed by any scenes does not justify interrupting them.”

“I…”

“We know each other,” Collins says to Yuri.

Yuri looks from me back to Collins. “Is this true?”

I can only nod.

Collins rubs at the back of his neck. “I’ll take care of it and make sure it never happens again.”

My eyes narrow at him. Am I theit? Then I watch, frozen in place, as he grabs a folded robe off a nearby shelf and attempts to drape it over my shoulders.

“Save it,” I say.

I can tell he disapproves of my outfit based on how his face can’t stop from looking angry at my refusal. And to think I’m one of the most modestly clothed people in the building.

When he tries again, I toss the robe onto a bench. I don’t need warmth right now. Right now, I need an explanation.

“Penny…”

But I can already tell he’s not going to talk. Men like Collins rarely do. They dole out information in breadcrumb portions, never handing over a full cracker.

With my anger and embarrassment so fresh, I do what I do best. I turn and retreat.

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