Lahat ng Kabanata ng Heels & Handcuffs - Club Gold Trilogy: Kabanata 71 - Kabanata 80

Alex. The bass thrummed through the walls of Club Gold, a steady pulse that matched the beat of my heart as I watched the scene unfolding on the main floor. Nick stood beside me in our private observation room, his shoulder nearly touching mine—the way it had been since we were seven minutes younger than me in our mother's womb. Through the one-way glass, the club sprawled below us in all its decadent glory. Dim red lighting cast shadows across leather furniture and polished steel fixtures. Bodies moved in choreographed scenes of power exchange—some gentle and sensual, others intense and primal. The air down there would be thick with desire, sweat, and the heady scent of expensive cologne mingling with leather. "She's beautiful," Nick murmured, gesturing toward a blonde submissive kneeling gracefully between two Doms. Her head was bowed, her hands positioned perfectly behind her back, every line of her body speaking of training and submission. "But she's not ours." I took a si

NICK I'd been halfway through a particularly intense scene with the Jacobsons when Alex's text came through. The vibration against my thigh made me pause, and something in my gut told me to check it immediately. *Storage area, camera 12. Someone's hiding. Meet me there.* I excused myself quickly—the Jacobsons understood, knew Alex and I co-owned the club—and made my way through the service corridors, my mind already running through possibilities. Industrial espionage? A stalker targeting one of our members? Some teenager on a dare? What I found was none of those things. I slipped into the storage room to find Alex in the middle of what appeared to be a very delicate negotiation with shadows and boxes. His posture was tense but carefully controlled—the same stance he'd use when approaching a spooked horse or a traumatized victim in one of our security cases. I stayed quiet, letting Alex take the lead. We'd always had this unspoken communication, even as kids. He was the pla

ALEX. Marcus Hartley. The name echoed in my head as I sat in my home office, fingers flying across my keyboard while Nick stayed with Bella in the kitchen. We'd divided responsibilities without discussion—Nick keeping her calm and comfortable while I did what I did best: investigation and threat assessment. What I found in the first ten minutes made my blood boil. Marcus Hartley, 35, heir to the Hartley Industries fortune. Princeton educated, board member of half a dozen charitable organizations, photographed regularly at high-society events with a different beautiful woman on his arm every few months. Except for the past three years. For the past three years, there'd been one woman: Isabelle Morrison. Bella. I pulled up photos from society pages, charity galas, art gallery openings. In every single one, Bella stood beside Marcus, perfectly styled, perfectly poised, and completely lifeless. Her smile never reached her eyes. Her body language screamed discomfort even as she playe

NICK Watching Bella sleep through the security monitor felt wrong. I knew it did. But after she'd settled into her room—the master suite on the opposite end of the cabin from the one Alex and I shared—I couldn't help myself. She'd changed into the sleep clothes we'd provided, brushed her teeth with mechanical precision, and then climbed into bed like she was afraid it might bite her. Even now, two hours later, she slept curled into a defensive ball, one hand tucked under her pillow. "You're staring again," Alex said from his position at his laptop. We'd set up a temporary office in the loft, giving us a view of the main floor while maintaining privacy for our work. "She's had three nightmares already," I said, gesturing to the monitor. "Wakes up shaking, checks the locks on her door, then forces herself back to sleep." "PTSD," Alex said without looking up. "Classic symptoms. It'll take time." "How much time?" "As much as she needs." He finally glanced at me, one eyebrow raised.

ALEX I woke with Bella curled against my side, her head on my chest, one small hand fisted in my t-shirt like she was afraid I'd disappear. Nick was on her other side, his arm draped protectively over her waist. We'd fallen asleep like this after her nightmare, maintaining the pretense of propriety even as we surrounded her with warmth and protection. Now, in the gray light of dawn, I allowed myself a moment to simply feel—the weight of her against me, the trust implicit in her unconscious surrender to sleep, the rightness of having her here. Then my phone vibrated on the nightstand, and reality came crashing back. I eased away carefully, not wanting to wake her, and grabbed the phone. Jake's name on the screen made my stomach clench. He wouldn't call at 5:47 AM unless it was important. I slipped out of the room and into the hallway before answering. "Talk to me," I said quietly. "We have a problem." Jake's voice was grim. "Marcus Hartley filed a missing person report on Bella