Brute swung the door open and waved out an arm for her to proceed. Before her was darkness. She could sense the staircase looming to her left because she knew it was there, yet she had no clue where the light switch was.

“Move,” T.J. growled, pushing past her. He flicked on the light, illuminating the staircase she remembered from Thursday night.

Images lined the walls, the hedonistic pictures of sex and foreplay making her pussy throb. The scrape of her thighs against one another as she descended the stairs only made her arousal more potent and the slickness of her sex seep into her panties. She wondered if T.J. would care. Or how he’d react if she told him. Yet telling him scared her. Especially when she now struggled to recognize her husband.

His large frame was tense, his back ramrod straight as he led the way while Brute followed behind her. It could’ve been intimidating—her angered husband in front, a brutal man at her back—maybe that was their intent. Instead, it awakened fantasies, making her burn all the more to experience the Vault when it was at full capacity, this time without a disguise.

When T.J. reached the bottom step, he flung out his arm and flicked on another set of lights, bringing the entry area into view. She wasn’t given a guided tour. T.J. didn’t even acknowledge the doors leading to the locker or change rooms. He stormed ahead, moving to the keypad securing the entrance to Vault of Sin at the end of the hall.

He slammed his index finger against four numbers in quick succession and the panel let out a caustic beep. He did it again, slamming harder this time, and earned another beep in return.

“Fuck.”

His hand was shaking, his head now hung low with his hair curtaining his eyes. His fragility consumed her, washing away her arousal, replacing it with the need to console. He wasn’t just filled with anger. She knew that. Underneath his resentment was pain.

“Want me to do it?” Brute asked.

“Fuck you.” T.J. straightened and poised his finger over the panel again. This time, he entered the numbers slower, the same four digits she’d memorized since childhood—one, six, one, zero.

“My birthday,” she whispered as the lock released with a click. He may be fighting to push her away now, but back when the club had opened, even after the assault in Brisbane, she’d been the first thing on his mind when he’d chosen a security code for the sex club.

He flung the door wide and held it there, peering down at her without emotion as she strolled into the room fighting to hold back a grin. Her first glimpse was different from her recollection. The large screen previously playing porn was black. Silent. The room was bathed in sterile florescent light instead of the dimmer lamps to help set the mood. But it wasn’t the Vault she was interested in. It was T.J.’s reaction. He was watching her, not in anger, not in spite, but in pained curiosity.

If only she could bathe him in the praise he deserved for creating such a respectful, reputable environment. She had no delusions that setting up this club had been difficult for him after what they’d gone through. Even though he hadn’t been able to bring her down here, a part of her was in every piece of the Vault. She was in the heavy vetting process established to make sure participants were genuine and honest. She was in the classy furniture and clean sheets. She was in the heart of this club, and he’d never be able to take her out.

“This is where the fledglings stay until they feel comfortable playing with the big kids,” Brute drawled, squeezing past her.

She inclined her head. “I like the idea.”

She continued to watch T.J. from her periphery. His posture was taut, his discomfort visible even from a side glimpse. As she approached, he strode forward, leaving her and Brute alone in the small space.

“Why is he acting like this?” She turned to face Brute.

Her business partner raised a brow. “Maybe because he wants a divorce and you won’t let him go.”

She snapped her lips shut, refusing to bite back at his heartlessness. There was no empathy in his features. No kindness. No annoyance. Nothing. He was void of emotion.

“You raise a good point.” She walked past him and into the main open room of Vault of Sin.

Everything was set out the same as the masquerade party. There was a corner lounge to her left, the bar up ahead with an entrance to the staircase leading to the car park hidden around the side. The sex swing still hung in the far corner. There was a king-size bed to her right, and every inch of the room screamed with debauchery, even though there were no writhing bodies.

She pretended to take in her surroundings, while her focus kept returning to T.J. with his back leaned against the bar in between two stools. He was watching her like a hawk. Scrutinizing her perusal, reigniting her arousal.

“I like the sex swing,” she announced to no one in particular. “I assume staff get free entry.” It was a joke. Her halfhearted chuckle announcing humor that nobody else returned.

T.J.’s nostrils flared, his arms crossing over his chest. “I’d die before I let you participate down here.”

She sauntered toward the bar, bridging the space between them, smiling as she did so. “And will you pay me the same respect?” She raised a brow, trying to contain the snarl in her voice. “Or is it already too late?”

His face fell. Undiluted guilt filtered into his features. His eyes, previously harsh with annoyance, filled with devastation. Then, in a blink, it washed away. He schooled his features, straightened and shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re free to do as you wish, Cassie. You just won’t be doing it in here.”

He met her gaze, her calm, gentle husband nowhere to be seen. Instead, she stared back at a man filled with torment she couldn’t soothe. He’d been broken by something. If it wasn’t the club in Brisbane, she had no clue what. And it scared her to ponder the possibilities.

“Exactly what I thought,” she murmured. “You didn’t answer the question.”

It was harsh to taunt him with guilt he shouldn’t feel. Regret he hadn’t earned. But she had very few cards up her sleeve, and the knowledge he’d made a mistake on Thursday was one of them.

“I guess I should be happy.” She clutched the seats of the stools he stood between, her shoes almost touching his. “Once the divorce is final, I’ll be able to get back to exploring all those things you promised me.”

He broke eye contact, his jaw ticking. His chest began to rise and fall, his chin jutting to fight off her attack. She didn’t move back, didn’t leave his personal space. She couldn’t. This harsh side of him did things to her belly, and places much lower. If only he’d succumb to his desire for her. She knew it was there, hidden under his fear.

“I wish you all the best with finding what you need.” His words were like a steel blade—lethal, sterile, cold. Deep down, she knew he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. But her strength to push wavered under his callousness.

They were playing a game. Each of them shoving at the other, waiting for the first one to crack. He would either succumb to his need for her and revoke the poor excuse for a divorce, or she would buckle under his heartlessness, too hurt to keep fighting him.

“Do you mind if we pause the tour so I can use the bathroom?” She couldn’t maintain the strong façade much longer. She needed privacy. A few moments to regroup before she came back swinging.

“No problem.” His focus narrowed on her, his curiosity seeing straight through her. He knew he was winning the war. And by the barely visible pity in Brute’s eyes, he did too.

T.J. watched her disappear into the room leading to the bathrooms. He’d grown weak, his gaze tracking her every movement, his feelings for her shoving to the forefront again.

“She sure knows her way around for someone who’s never been down here before,” Brute drawled.