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him.”
    His chest constricted, the tightness threatening his ability to breathe. He looked away, his sharp inhale sucking a rush of needed air through his nostrils. He swallowed down the bitter hit of truth behind the tight clench of his jaw. “I didn’t let anything happen to him. We stopped the Scene as soon as it went beyond consent.” The low timbre of his voice simmered over his anger. “What happened to him is not what The Den is about.”
    “But it did happen.” She leaned into him, bracing her hand on the armrest. “To your sub.” Her eyes were narrowed in censure, the dark brown color deepening to almost black.
    It was sheer determination and years of practice that enabled him to keep his reaction hidden. He met her stare and her challenge. That her assumptions were so wrong only fired his resolve to show her the errors in her thinking. Despite her exposure and the close friends who were in it, she still had no clue what BDSM was really about.
    With slow calculation, he curved his lips in a half smile. “Your naïveté is showing.” He mimicked her move, leaning in until her face was just inches away. Her eyes widened, but she held her ground. “If Taylor was really my sub, then nobody would touch him but me. I don’t share. I don’t exploit. And I definitely don’t beat and fuck a sub until they bleed.”
    The short inhale was her only giveaway that his words had penetrated her defensive shell. Her faint floral scent broke through the rank hospital smell, enticing him closer. He leaned back an inch, purposely scanning her face and noting the pursed lips—lipstick long ago faded. The deep scowl tugging her sculpted, but not overly plucked, brows together. The long lashes and expert makeup that made her eyes look bigger without being blatant. The small mole by her ear that peeked out from behind a curl and dared someone to kiss it. Everything about her spoke of a perfected image.
    And he knew just how fake images could be.
    “Submission is a gift of trust,” he continued, his voice lowered to a near whisper. “I would never abuse that gift.”
    She studied his face, absorbing his words before she eased away. “The Den is covering his medical expenses.”
    “Of course. I already told him we would.” The quick change in topic was a familiar game that he was an expert at playing, in both business and the Dungeon.
    “Then why did you ask me to come tonight?”
    “To represent Taylor.” She flashed a smile, a hint of amusement at his expense, he was certain. Obviously, Taylor wasn’t the man’s real name. Irritation at his ignorance made his voice aggressive. “He should press charges.”
    “A lawyer isn’t required for that.”
    “But it helps. And in this case, it will be needed.”
    She raised her brows. “Why?”
    His jaw clenched at the thought of the pompous city council member responsible for the crime. “Our confidentially agreements prevent me for saying more.” Even if the member was a slimy, married asshole who didn’t deserve Seth’s loyalty. Actually, ex-member. There was no way the scumbag would be allowed back in The Den.
    A twinge stabbed at his cheek and Seth flexed the muscled to release the ache. He rubbed a hand over the tightness, the beard-roughened skin chafing his fingers. “The man needs a guaranteed person on his side. The Den supports him, but he doesn’t trust us and I don’t blame him.” His jaw twinge again. “We’ve done nothing to earn it.” When she didn’t respond he added, “If you’re worried about the money, I’ll cover it.”
    “I’m not worried about the money, Mr. Mathews—”
    “Seth,” he cut in.
    “Seth,” she repeated, pausing to clearing her throat. “I’m concerned about my client.”
    “Good. I want you to be.”
    “Why are you so worried about him?” Her voice was lined with the doubt that showed in her eyes. “If he’s just a visitor, not your sub or even a member, why are you so concerned? Is it just a front to