She yanked off the blindfold and the lights blinded him. His eyes watered, but he forced them open. That’s when he noticed they were in the ring. In the middle of a big arena filled with people. All pointing and laughing at him.

Her voice teased his ear. “Remember when I said I wouldn’t humiliate you?” She paused. “I lied. Humiliation is how you get your dog to heel. Because you are a pet I play with when it suits me. Now show these people how well you obey your Mistress.” She yanked on his leash hard, not caring that he couldn’t breathe or that he didn’t have the use of his hands. He fell forward, right onto her pointy boot. “Lick it,” she hissed. “Show these people what a pathetic little boot licker you are.”

After that nightmare, he didn’t bother to try to go back to sleep. He lay restless in his dark bedroom until the hours passed.

Friday morning Knox wandered around his backyard with a mug of coffee, feeling wrung out. Mindless physical activity numbed his brain, and he wished he had a pile of wood to chop. Or paint to scrape. But he’d caught up on his house maintenance last fall.

He debated on heading to Golden to see his mom and sisters, but they’d ask about Shiori. He needed to do something, though, because the thought of staying here . . . That’s when he saw his fishing gear still out on the back deck.

Driving up into the mountains, finding a stream, and throwing a line would eat up his day. He’d decide how to fill his night later.

*   *   *

ALTHOUGH Deacon had told Shiori to take the day off, she needed to talk to Knox.

She stayed in her shower until her skin turned pruny. That helped with some of the aches and pains. Good thing she’d stopped at the drugstore last night, because she’d had nothing in the penthouse to deal with her injuries.

Jesus. She looked like Ronin the last time he’d fought. The reflection in the mirror showed busted blood vessels in one eye, and the skin surrounding the other one was purple. The bruise on her cheekbone had benefited from an ice pack; the swelling had gone down considerably in the past twelve hours. More bruises dotted her jaw. Her bottom lip was puffy, and she had to keep Vaseline on the cut or it’d rip open and bleed. The gash above her eyebrow was nasty. She’d cleaned it with antiseptic the best she could and applied a small butterfly bandage to hold the skin together. Those things were hard to put on by yourself. It’d taken her three tries before she’d affixed one properly.

But none of her teeth were loose. Not a scratch or bump on her nose. No blows to her ears.

Her gaze moved down. No marks on her chest. She had bruises on her ribs but none on her stomach. However, the outside of her hip had sustained damage from Mia’s powerful kicks. She ran her hand along the red welts on the inside of her knee where Mia had connected repeatedly through all three rounds. The skin was swollen, hot to the touch, and ached down to her muscle. That one might not bruise, but it definitely hurt.

She probably had marks on her back, but she didn’t bother to look. Too damn depressing.

After downing over-the-counter pain relievers, she brewed a pot of tea and wandered around her place. As she paced, it occurred to her that she’d never once considered the penthouse home.

Why not?

Because it didn’t feel like home. Home was Tokyo. Home was her apartment filled with the quirky things that made her happy. She’d left everything behind when she’d fled to America. Partially because after making a decision about her future at Okada, she’d needed to follow through and just . . . go.

As much as she’d adored living at the Ritz, it wasn’t practical. Not knowing how long she’d be in the States, she’d opted to lease a penthouse while the owners lived abroad. The security was top-notch, and she’d fallen in love with the view. For someone who had a hard time sitting still the past fifteen years, she spent an inordinate amount of time just gazing out the windows.

The space did have an austere feel. Modern architecture, sleek furnishings in neutral colors. The owners’ personal belongings were locked in one of the bedrooms, and she hadn’t seen the point in making this place more personal.

Shiori wandered into the closet, looking at her clothing options. As much as she liked the extra confidence a power suit gave her, she needed comfort today.

After dressing in gray silk pants and a black and silver Japanese-styled peasant blouse, she returned to the bathroom. She debated on whether to wear makeup. But there was no sense trying to hide the bruises. Everyone at Black Arts knew what’d happened last night.

She called for a car. And it was a little depressing that not only hadn’t Knox called her, but none of her friends had either.