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“That we have an arrangement. That you don’t look at other men or speak to them without my permission. That you do what I tell you to do, and that’s what we’re both into.”

She blinked, wrapping her head around what he was saying.

“You told them I’m your submissive.”

“That’s the gist.”

“And that’s what the kneeling was?”

“That was what sold the story. I was scared you wouldn’t do it. If you had slapped me or laughed in my face…”

They would’ve both been dead now.

He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to.

She stared at the ceiling. A water stain spread across one corner in a shape that looked like nothing, and she stared at it anyway because looking at the ceiling was easier than looking at the man sitting on the floor next to the bed.

She wasn’t submissive. She had no problem with BDSM stuff between consensual adults, but that had never been her thing.

But she had knelt when he told her to.

Not because it was a sexual turn-on, but because listening to him, doing what he said, had quieted her brain. It had stopped the storm in the midst of a full spiral.

“I’m not submissive.” She wanted to make sure he understood that. Whatever had gone on in that kitchen wasn’t her normal MO.

“I know. I didn’t tell them that because I thought it was true. I told them⁠—”

“To keep us alive.”

“Yes.”

Now she looked at him. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet than having this discussion. “Is this something you’re into? Normally?”

“No,” he said. “Although it fit the persona of the man they knew me as before.”

“And what man was that? What did they know you to be?”

He looked away. “Someone who would’ve liked to dominate. To hurt.”

He hadn’t been acting before. Hadn’t been undercover. So whoever they’d known him to be, they had a reason for thinking it. And evidently dominating and hurting fell under that umbrella.

She was about to press for more details when he continued.

“Like I said, it’s what I came up with because I needed them to stop questioning why you were there and then why you couldn’t function around them. The kneeling, the not looking at people, following my commands. All of it makes sense inside that submissive framework. Without it, your behavior looks suspicious. With it, you’re just a girl who’s into some slightly kinky stuff. They stop asking questions.”

“They stop seeing me as a person.”

“Yes.”

She grabbed the washcloth and held it against her neck, but it was warming against her skin and losing its edge. Outside this room, somewhere in this house, men who looked at her like property were going back to sleep believing she belonged to Ryder.

“None of this matters anyway because I’m getting you out of here as soon as we’re sure everyone has gone back to sleep.” He stood up. “I’ll take you back to Isaac and Nolan, and you’ll be back at Rogue in a couple hours.”

“And what happens to you?”

“I stay. Figure it out.”

“Aren’t they going to wonder where your submissive girlfriend went to?”