Broken. Rebecca Zanetti

      Chapter One

      Clarence Wolfe strode up to the entrance of the super-secret sex club as if he had done so a million times before.

      Down the street and partially hidden by the branches of a sweeping cherry tree, Dana Mulberry ducked lower in her car and pressed the binoculars to her face so hard they pinched her skin. What in the world was Wolfe doing at a Captive party?

      She swallowed. Her heart rate, already thundering, galloped into the unhealthy range. It had taken her weeks to find out about the club and track down the location of the newest party, and yet another week to finagle an invitation to the casual play night as a guest. And the ex-soldier, the beyond hunky badass who’d relegated her immediately to the friend zone, was walking inside like he owned one of the coveted million-dollar memberships?

      She shook her head. Twice. When she could focus once more through her binoculars, there Wolfe prowled, clear as day in the full moonlight.

      He’d followed the rules for the night, too. Male doms were to wear leather pants and dark shirts, females any leather outfit, and subs were to wear corsets and small skirts if they were female and knit shirts and light pants if they were male. Apparently, Wolfe was a dom. Figured. She had assumed she’d chuckle at seeing guys in leather pants, but there was nothing funny about Wolfe’s long legs, powerful thighs and tight butt in those pants.

      In fact, he looked even more dangerous than usual, and she would’ve bet that wasn’t possible.

      Where in the heck had Wolfe found leather pants? Was he really some sort of dom who went to clubs? He didn’t like people enough to spend time with anybody in a dungeon. She giggled, the sound slightly hysterical, so she cleared her throat.

      What now? She looked down at her tight green corset and a black skirt that was as short as she dared go. At least it covered the still healing knife marks on her upper thighs that she hadn’t told anybody about. Not even her doctor. The guy who’d cut her had been killed in jail, so why did it matter?

      Forget the nightmares. They’ll go away soon.

      Her more immediate problem was that Wolfe had just walked through the front door of the mansion housing the latest Captive party. The man she needed to find was inside that place, and she’d spent a lot of time gearing up for this.

      Would Wolfe blow her cover?

      She’d been sitting in her car for an hour watching people arrive. Okay. She might’ve been gathering her courage. This was so outside her experience. She hadn’t even known sex clubs existed until that movie came out about BDSM.

      But her boss at the national newspaper where she used to work, had once said she’d do anything for a story, and he’d been right. Well, mostly. Okay. She could do this. In fact, why not look at the fact that Wolfe was inside as a positive? His presence gave her unexpected backup.

      Yeah. That was the idea. Forget the fact that the sexiest man she’d ever met was in a sex club right now. Yep. Good plan. She slid from her car and pulled her skirt down as far as she could, which still barely covered her butt.

      Her heels tottered on the uneven sidewalk as she clip-clopped alongside a high stone wall that no doubt protected another zillion-dollar mansion. Then she crossed the street, her head high, shivering in the chilly breeze as she reached the front door and knocked.

      “Hello.” A man in full tuxedo opened the door. He was about six feet tall with curly blond hair, and he was built like a linebacker. “Can I help you?”

      There was no way anybody could get by this guy if he didn’t grant access. She handed over her gold-foiled invitation.

      He accepted the paper and held up a small tablet to scroll through. “Ah. Miss Millerton. I see that you answered the questionnaire and have signed all of the necessary documents.” He focused on her, still blocking entry. “A couple of quick questions.”

      She forced a smile, feeling way too exposed in her scant clothing. Hopefully the questions weren’t about her cover ID. “All right.”

      “What’s your safe word?”

      “Red,” she said instantly.

      “Good. If you need help, who do you yell for?” His voice remained kind but firm.

      She paused, thinking through the documents she’d read online. “For anybody, but especially the dungeon monitors.” The words felt foreign in her mouth. Should she ask him about Albert? Or was that taboo? She didn’t want to get kicked out before she found her