"Yeah?" I ask, surprised. "I wasn't sure. Never had my throat fucked before..."

He laughs quietly, pausing at the end of the alley as a crowd of Cyndi Lauper look-a-likes starts to form. He pulls me around, so I'm in front of him, and it's almost like instinct, but I wrap my arms around him, hugging him. I lay my head against his chest, feeling his warmth, smiling when I feel his hands on my back, holding me to him.

It's like being wrapped in a cocoon.

Public displays of affection aren't really Naz's thing, but he seems at ease--for the moment, at least.

"So you like it like that?" I ask. "You've never tried to do it to me before."

His hands rub my back. "You know I like it when you struggle."

I should probably be worried about that statement, but I get it. I do. He likes pushing me to the brink before pulling me back, shoving me under before letting me resurface. It's like it gives him life again, being there, watching me breathe.

"Yeah, you like that damsel in distress routine," I mumble. "Get your rocks off being my hero."

His hand snakes up my spine, grabbing my hair, and he pulls on it, playfully jerking my head back so I'll look up at him.

"You're no damsel in distress, sweetheart," he says. "And I'm the furthest thing there is from a hero."

"Whatever," I say. "How about for your birthday this year, I let you hog-tie me, maybe even ball-gag me, and have your way with me all night long?"

"That's not going to happen."

"Why not?"

"Because it isn't safe." He looks at me, dead serious, almost admonishing, like somehow I should already know this. "If you're tied up, you can't fight me. If you're gagged, you can't use your safe word. If you're completely incapacitated, Karissa, you're liable to get hurt. The only reason we play around as much as we do is because I know, if it's too much for you, you'll find a way to stop me."

"You wouldn't really hurt me."

"Not intentionally," he agrees. "But just because you call me a good guy doesn't mean I am one. It just means I've sufficiently Stockholm'ed you."

Laughing, I elbow him, just as someone calls my name. Melody. Turning around, I settle back against Naz, his arm still wrapped around me as she approaches, staggering, dragging Leo along. He looks hesitant, like he's trying to pull her the other direction, but she's not having it.

"Karissa!" she screeches, looking me over. At this point, I'd be surprised if she weren't seeing double. "Oh my God, what happened to you?"

I glance down at where her eyes have settled, feeling blush rising through me, settling in my cheeks. My knees are skinned from the alley.

"She fell," Naz says, tucking me further into his side, as he turns from Melody, instead settling on her boyfriend. I can practically feel him as he puffs out his chest, like he's trying to be intimidating, but okay… he doesn't have to try. Leo senses it, too, it seems, because he keeps a bit of distance between them, damn near flinching when Naz holds out his hand. "Ignazio Vitale."

Whoa.

He's introducing himself.

I'm kind of proud.

I don't know if this is some ridiculous show of arms or something, or if this is his way of trying to make friends to appease me, but either way, it's nice to see.

Leo reaches out, taking his hand, shaking it. "Nice to meet you. I'm Leo."

"You got a last name, Leo?"

Leo nods, and I think maybe that's the only answer he's supplying, before he clears his throat. "Accardi."

"Like Bacardi!" Melody chimes in, giggling. "Which is totally what I've been drinking tonight!"

I laugh at her.

Naz nods before tugging on me. "If you'll excuse us, we should get going."

He pulls me away before I can even say goodbye to my friend.

Not that she notices, really.

A quick glance back tells me she's already too wrapped up in Leo.

She's nuzzled into his neck, while he's whispering something, something I imagine is probably scandalous based on the way she reacts to it.

It's sweet, I have to admit.

Even kind of cute.

Okay, maybe I'm being ridiculous with this whole weird feeling thing.

Leo seems really good for her.

Shrugging it off, I follow Naz just down the block, to where his Mercedes is parked. He unlocks it, opening my door for me. I start to get in but pause, looking at him. He senses my attention and looks at me, wordlessly raising his eyebrows.

"Thank you," I tell him, "for coming tonight."

A sly smile takes over his lips.

"You're welcome," he says, "for both meanings of that word."

Rolling my eyes, I climb in the car. I watch out of the windshield, down the block, as Leo leads Melody away from the club. A black car pulls up, coming to a stop, double-parking the cars right out front. Leo opens the back door to the car, motioning for Melody to get in, and she does without hesitation. He gets in after her, closing the door before the car again takes off.

Naz is about to get in but pauses, watching them. He stands there, not moving, his eyes fixed to the black car as it slowly drives by us. It isn't until then that he finally gets in beside me, but something is wrong.

I know it is the second I look at him.

His posture is tense, his expression blank. Anger, sadness, and happiness are one thing with this man, but when he goes completely blank, I know we've got a problem.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

His tone is clipped.

Before I can question it any more, he turns the car on, shoving it in drive. He gives a quick glance at the mirrors before pulling out in traffic, instantly making a U-turn in the middle of the street, eliciting some car horns as people slam on their brakes to keep from hitting us.

I don't question it, though.

Not to him.

No, I clip on my seatbelt instead as my heart hammers hard in my chest. He passes cars, weaving through traffic, driving in a way Naz usually doesn't drive. It isn't until we pull up to a stoplight a few blocks away, right beside a black car, that I realize exactly what he'd been doing.

He was following the car Melody got in.

The light stays red for what feels like forever, the glow of it bathing us in the car. I'm watching Naz, on edge, while Naz is turned to the side, watching the other car. It's a BMW from what I can gather from the emblem on the hood. The windows are blacked out, darkly tinted, illegally so. New York has laws. You have to be able to see in.

I can see nothing.

The red turns to green, and the car takes off, heading straight through the intersection. I stare at it as it does, seeing a Florida license plate.

Naz sits there for a second, until the car behind us blows the horn. The sound seems to jar him back to reality as he turns, facing straight ahead, and hits the gas, heading the direction of Brooklyn.

"What's wrong?" I ask again, my voice hesitant, when he says nothing by way of explanation for whatever just happened.

I need to know, though, if it involves my friend.

"Nothing," he says again, glancing my way. "Just thought I recognized the car."

I t's a small, two story house in Bensonhurst, a neighborhood in the southern part of Brooklyn, not too far from where I live. Brick with pale pink trimming, it appears unassuming, bright and airy, surrounded by a white railing, the closest we get to a white picket fence around here. There's a small driveway right off the sidewalk, barely big enough for one car to fit.