He gestured to Callie’s door. “She’s waiting for you.”

And Sean was in for a treat. Callie wore a bloodred dress that showed a healthy hint of cleavage, accentuated her small waist and petite stature, while revealing a lot of thigh. Matching lipstick and dark curls offset her fair face. When he’d seen her ten minutes ago, all Thorpe had wanted to do was strap her to his bed until she screamed out in pleasure for him—until he’d realized she was wearing that asshole’s collar again. When he’d questioned her about it, she’d been vague. Had she changed her mind about leaving?

Kirkpatrick knocked on her door. “Lovely?”

The second Callie pulled it open, Thorpe’s stare tangled in hers. He saw something in her eyes that set him on edge. Sadness? Before Thorpe could decipher her expression, she peeked over at the other man.

“Hi, Sean,” Callie murmured, lowering her gaze in a sweetly submissive gesture that made his cock stand tall. “Would you like to come in?”

“I would.” The Scot stepped inside and closed the door behind them.

Thorpe heard it lock. He wanted to rip the fucker’s guts out.

Instead, he leaned against the wall in the hallway and dragged in a breath, trying to calm his rage. Hopefully, in two hours or less, this shit would be over and this imposter would be gone for good. Then he could figure out what was troubling the girl and fix it.

The only reason he’d let Sean in Callie’s room was the knowledge that he could unlock her door himself in seconds. If needed, Axel’s musclemen could bust it down in two minutes flat. Her windows had bars on the outside to keep creeps out . . . or in. Zeb and Lance were stationed at either end of the hall, listening and watching, just in case. The whole plan was a giant calculated risk. Yes, he was assuming that Sean wouldn’t hurt Callie, since the prick had already had months if that’s what he wanted. Why would he do it now, when he was cornered with no escape route? Nor could he sneak her out with him past all these watchful eyes. She’d be safe; he had to believe that.

Before Thorpe gave in to the urge to punch the wall, he whirled on his heel and marched down the hall, texting Axel. Work fast.

As Thorpe passed Lance, he pocketed his phone and frowned. “Watch over the girl for me.”

Lance shot him a shrewd glance. “I’ll watch over your girl. Admit that’s what she is.”

He rubbed at his forehead where a bitch of a headache was forming. “Let’s focus on keeping her safe tonight and getting rid of the Scottish stallion. If we manage that, I’ll think about it.”

When hell froze over.

“If you won’t make Callie yours, why not let her be happy with someone who adores her?” Lance challenged. “You might not like Sean Kirkpatrick, but he’s in love with that little vixen.”

“You don’t understand.” Thorpe chafed, but the less he told the others about Callie and her secrets, the better.

“That you won’t claim her, but don’t want anyone else to have her? Sure, I do. It’s a damn shame that you prefer her being alone and unhappy to pairing up.”

Why did the other Dom have to bring up the point that pinpricked Thorpe with the most guilt?

“I don’t want her unhappy.” Though he didn’t hate the idea of Callie being alone if he couldn’t have her. And yes, he knew that was selfish as hell. “But she deserves the best.”

Lance shrugged. “Not arguing that. Just not sure he’s any worse than you encouraging her adoration when you have no intention of claiming her.” Thorpe opened his mouth to rebut, but the other man wagged a finger in his face. “Melissa, the ex-bitch, walked out on you, and it’s not an exercise you want to repeat. Got it. But use your fucking brain. If Callie stayed even after all the times you rebuffed her, I doubt she’s going to run out on you.”

Lance couldn’t be more wrong, but Thorpe didn’t dare say more. “You might be surprised.”

“Her heart is yours,” Lance insisted, scoffing.

“Not exclusively.”

And that bitter pill made Thorpe choke.

He’d had enough of this conversation. Forcing himself away, he tore into his office and tried to bury himself in paperwork. Nothing held his attention. Half-answered e-mails and discarded forms couldn’t make him forget that, right now, Callie would be pressed up against a man she didn’t really know. Sean might be ordering her to strip. She might be baring her body and soul for a stranger with sinister motives.

Damn it! Logically, having Callie occupy the asshole to flush him out made sense. But Thorpe hated this plan. It was wearing his nerves awfully fucking thin, as was Lance’s confrontation.

He stared at the clock, watching every drag of its hands. Thirty minutes took three days. Finally, his cell phone chimed. Yanking the device from his pocket, he saw Axel’s number on the display and stabbed the button to answer. “Talk to me.”

“I’m in. It’s his place, all right. I had to turn the place upside down to find anything, but . . . ” Axel paused. “You better be sitting. I’ve got bad news, boss. Really fucking bad.”

* * *

CALLIE trembled as Sean approached. “I’m glad you came.”

“Though Thorpe all but summoned me, I wasn’t going to say no, lovely. Any opportunity to see you is one I’ll take.”

She lifted the corners of her lips and hoped it looked like a smile. Knowing these were the last moments she’d have with Sean, that she’d already laid eyes on Thorpe for the final time, that tomorrow she’d be in another city and never see Dallas or the people who’d become her family again . . . Callie sniffled. She couldn’t afford these tears and her maudlin whinefest had to stop.

“Are you all right?” Sean asked, curling a solicitous hand around her elbow.

“I’m fine. Just allergies.” She forced herself to smile brighter, but it didn’t seem to be working. The concern in Sean’s frown deepened.

If he looked at her too hard, he would see that something troubled her. She didn’t want her last memories of him to be of anger or rebuke as he futilely tried to pry the reasons for her mood from her. She had a plan; she needed to stick to it. Everything was ready, including the spare key to her car since Thorpe had never given back the ones he’d swiped from her purse. The emergency pack she’d left Chicago with all those years ago, along with a few other things to aid her disguise, was stowed in the trunk of her car. The money she’d scraped together over the years was inside as well. She’d take nothing else with her, not even her phone, filled with pictures of everything and everyone she loved. As much as she wanted to, there was no way she could risk carrying around the memories.

Shortly after Thorpe had the burglar bars installed over the club’s windows, she’d loosened them just enough to wiggle through . . . in case she ever needed to leave. Earlier today, she’d tested them. She could twist through, but just barely. So even if she could take her memories with her, they would simply have to stay behind.

Besides, a clean break was always better. She’d been through this enough to know.

Callie turned to the glasses of wine she’d procured earlier from Dominion’s bar and handed him the one she’d doctored in advance with two Ambien. They wouldn’t hurt him, but they should knock him out and give her time to slip away. She should be at least an hour or more down the road before Thorpe discovered she was gone.

Ditching her little sedan and buying another would be her first priority. It sucked that tomorrow was Sunday. Most car dealerships in Texas were closed. She’d have to find a used lot somewhere and hope for the best. But that was later. She wanted to enjoy her last minutes with Sean. The yawning chasm of all her empty tomorrows stretched out in front of her, and she’d have to face it soon enough.

Handing his glass of wine to him, she grabbed her own.

He raised his. “A toast, lovely. To new beginnings.”

She tried not to cry at that irony. “To new beginnings.”

Hers would simply be far, far away.

Sean caressed her with more than kindness. Devotion and hunger lay in his smile, and she let herself bask in his gaze for a few precious seconds. If she’d been a normal girl with a normal past, she would give her heart to this man and be so grateful to have him in her life. As it was, she’d probably die alone in some big city she wasn’t familiar with. Whoever found her body would never know that she was Callindra Howe. They’d never really know the woman underneath whatever fake name she’d assumed. She’d be given a pauper’s burial. No one would come to her funeral because no one would care.

Gawd, she’d gotten good at depressing herself. None of that mattered. Pick up. Move on. Don’t cry.

“Bottoms up.” She clinked their glasses together and took a sip, watching as Sean swallowed some of the red wine.

“That’s a mite dry, just how I like it.”

Great news. Hers was super sweet, but the drugs had a bitter aftertaste, and she’d known that crushing two pills into the liquid would alter the vino’s flavor.

“I want to toast new beginnings because on my way in, Thorpe and I reached a bit of a truce,” he explained.

“That’s great!”

If they weren’t at one another’s throats once she’d fled, then maybe no one would be going to prison for murder. Thorpe would discover her gone, and it should be obvious that Sean had not helped her escape. He might be angry that Sean had been unable to stop her, but no way Thorpe could blame him. They might each look for her for a time. Separately, of course. They didn’t like one another well enough to do that together. But eventually, they’d give up. Their lives would move on. Hers would be forever marked by a few distinct events: her mother’s death shortly after she’d turned six, her family’s murder ten years later, and the day she’d left the two wonderful men she loved.