She didn’t knock.
Not anymore.
By now, the garage felt more like her confessional than a place of repair. She came here not to be saved, but to be broken. Over and over again.
The oil-stained walls, the scent of metal, the silence — all of it made her feel alive. She belonged on her knees here more than she ever had behind a desk. And the man who pulled orgasms from her body like he was fixing an engine?
He owned her.
Or so she thought.
Jade pushed the metal door open and stepped into the glow of the overhead lights. Her heartbeat was already speeding up, breath coming shallow.
But something was off.
Laughter.
A woman’s laugh. High and breathy.
Her feet slowed. That laugh wasn’t hers. She didn’t make sounds like that when he touched her. She screamed. She cried. She moaned like a
