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for. And they didn’t require a partner, begging or anything besides batteries. That she could understand. The fact that anyone could find pleasure inflicting pain and humiliation on others under the guise of being a Dom was beyond her scope of comprehension.
    She shut the door then moved to Tyler’s free side, squeezing his hand in silent support. He tightened his grip around her hand until it was almost painful. He gave her a weak smile, just a hint of one curling over his lips. It was a small form of thank you that she sensed he wasn’t used to giving.
    Her chest tightened, and for some strange reason her eyes suddenly stung. She blinked and willed the tears back, unsure of where they’d come from and unwilling to let the two men see the weakness. The dinging of the arriving elevator broke the moment and gave her the distraction she needed to regain her composure.
    She held the doors open then followed them inside. She didn’t trust Seth. Not his actions or his intentions. The frustration that she could’ve been so wrong about him burned in her stomach. But it only made her more determined to help Tyler. She’d make sure he was safe, even if that meant going against the arrogant Dom at his side.

Chapter Four
    What in the hell is taking so long? Seth leaned back, the hard plastic chair creaking a warning at his sudden movement. The distinctive smell of antibacterial cleaners, medical supplies and sickness that seemed to cling to all hospitals made his stomach churn with bitter memories.
    He tightened his grip on the armrests, flashes of the past merging with the present to showcase his failures. Grief, pity, pills and whispered admonishments mixed with sad looks or worse. They were all things he swore he’d never subject himself to again, never be the cause of. But here he was.
    And this time, Taylor was the one paying for Seth’s failures.
    With effort, Seth pried his fingers from the plastic, crossed his arms over his chest and forced his attention outward. The low sounds of weeping from the woman across the room mixed with the background chatter of nurses and the intermittent swoosh of the doors opening and closing—the din of a hospital that seemed to go hand in hand with the smell. Another brutal reminder of how much he hated the place.
    His legs ached from sitting, or maybe it was impatience. He wanted to pace, vent and howl at the injustice—all ineffective actions. The small, cramped waiting room wasn’t the place for any of that. His frustrations were his own, not something to be displayed to others. That included the woman sitting next to him. Allison English.
    Her hands were folded in her lap, displaying burgundy nails and a professional manicure. Long legs were crossed at the knee, a pointed heel bobbing a slow rhythm. Her eyes were focused on the floor and combined with calm features to present a facade of indifference. But he doubted her mind was that quiet.
    Even at two o’clock in the morning, she maintained the cool, collected image of the lawyer she was. But he’d seen her curiosity, the desire and interest that had flashed in her eyes on Mardi Gras night. She was a beautiful woman who would be positively stunning if she ever let her passions out. What would it take to make that happen?
    Shifting his thoughts, he broke the silence that had extended between them since their arrival. “Why’d you call him Tyler?”
    She looked up, the sharp jerk of her head causing her curls to sweep down her shoulder. Her expression gave away nothing. But her silence did.
    He wanted to smile, almost did, but managed to restrain the urge. She was a challenge. One he’d love to tackle. He’d expected an instant barrage of questions or accusations the second Taylor had been taken to a room. Instead he’d received icy silence, which only intrigued him more.
    “I didn’t do that to him.”
    She blinked, her thinning lips giving away a small hint of her irritation. “Maybe not. But you let it happen to