Kingdom Come

by Terri E. Laine

  Mr. Haddad leaned back in my chair. “As you can imagine, my little girl, my only daughter, is a princess to me.”

  Hearing that word only reminded me of the blonde and what I couldn’t have if I didn’t survive this.

  “And what do I find out? That’s she’s not at the college dorm I pay for, but she’s here.”

  He glanced at his guards and I wasn’t sure they knew what kind of club I operated. It wasn’t like I advertised.

  “We’re a private club,” I began.

  He waved at the two beefy men he brought with him. “Leave us.”

  I held back a smirk as the two guys muttered, “Yes, boss.”

  They had to wait a second before I decided to move, letting them exit. I wanted them to know I wasn’t afraid. They were big, but I wasn’t unarmed.

  “You too,” he demanded of Eliza.

  She didn’t move except to face me. I nodded. When the door closed behind her, I eyed Haddad.

  “I know what you do,” he said.

  “I cater to a clientele with specific wants and desires. There’s no shame in that, especially in a safe environment.”

  “Safe,” Haddad barked, jumping to his feet.

  The only reaction he got from me was a lift of a single brow. Long moments later, I said, “Yes. Safe.”

  “I sent her to New York to get her away from men who would use her to get to me.”

  I was well aware of the strict rules pertaining to women in places like Dubai. Progressive on the surface, but highly traditional when it came to customs that dated as far back as biblical times.

  “Which is why I protected your daughter.” I nodded toward my computer. “I can show you.”

  The man hadn’t let his guards leave without having some sort of backup. Mine was tucked in my jeans, behind my back. So when he gave a sharp bob of his head, I took the laptop from my desk without giving him a view of my back.

  When the video was cued up, I set the laptop to face him. Without seeing my screen, I knew what he saw. I’d already saved in a specific folder for this very situation—as I did with any high-risk member. Haddad watched. Faintly, I heard myself speaking as I stood on stage before giving Sara that publicized spanking.

  The video was a risk. From his perspective, he could see me violating his daughter, or he could see how she’d been protected at every stage. All the way to Griffin bringing her to my office and laying her unmolested on the sofa the goons had stood in front of. I’d made sure Griffin’s face couldn’t be seen, and with a little bit of editing magic, the film skipped past the conversation she had with Griffin and went to where she’d been put into a cab an hour later, her father none the wiser that there was missing footage.

  “As you can see, your princess was treated with respect.” At least that was what I hoped.

  “You had her half naked… in front of a crowd…”

  “I didn’t dress your daughter. I’m sure you’re aware of that.” I waved to the door his muscle waited outside. “Someone’s tailing her and would report to you everything, including how she was dressed. I could have taken advantage of her. She was primed and ready and begging for what she got. I could have had her on her knees, swallowing my cock.”

  Haddad got to his feet so fast, the chair spun. Maybe I’d gone too far.

  “How dare you?” he sputtered.

  “No, how dare you come into my office when I did nothing. The members of this club sign non-disclosure agreements. For a woman with your daughter’s needs, this is the safest place for her.”

  I held my ground as he rounded the corner. When I didn’t back down, he glared at me.

  “I don’t understand her,” he said before muttering in Arabic or some language I didn’t know. “She gets this from her whore of a mother.”

  Somehow, I doubted that. Based on this conversation, I thought Sara might have daddy issues. But I kept that to myself. “As I said, she’s safe here. Nothing will happen to her she doesn’t consent to. My floor workers are trained to know when a timeout is needed even when our guests don’t.”

  “Guests,” he spat. “You’re getting paid.”

  “That’s the nature of commerce. If I didn’t get paid, your daughter could have gone somewhere else where her needs weren’t considered at all.”

  In silence, he seemed to think about what I said and come to the right conclusion. “You’re right.”

  I nodded, not needing the validation.

  He pointed in my direction. “I also see potential.”

  And there it was. I could have written a script for how tonight would go. He was taking a predictable path.

  “Commerce. Your words, right,” he said.

  I said nothing.

  “Your wealthy clientele may have other needs that I can provide.”

  “Before you say something on the record”—I pointed at a visible camera, not one of the hidden ones— “this is where this conversation ends for the both of us. Let me just say that to keep things safe for my clients, there is nothing you can purchase in the club—not drinks, sex, or anything illegal.”

  “Drinks?” he asked.

  “Yes. To keep things safe for all, it’s important that no one is drunk. Each member is entitled to two drinks a night as a part of their membership fee. There are no on-site purchases.”

  “But…” He glanced at the camera.

  I finished for him. “Consent is questioned when someone isn’t in their right mind. They may make choices they come to regret or say they wouldn’t have made.”

  “Ah. But they can come to the club already fucked up, so to speak.”

  “They can. And a well-trained staff can spot that and deny entry, as per the contract signed by every member.”

  “You can’t spot it all,” he said.

  “No, I can’t. But I can do my best and reduce risk for all by doing so.”

  “And what if I want a membership?” he said.

  Yet another thing I guessed he would say. “You can put in an application. There’s currently a waitlist.”

  “My daughter—”

  “Your daughter was extremely lucky. We had a spot open. With her youth, her family background, I thought it was safer for her to bump her up the list and give her the open spot. You see, I know young women like her can find themselves in trouble in the wrong company.”

  “So you’re doing me a favor?”

  “No. I did her a favor. I didn’t want her to become a statistic.”

  He stepped forward, trying to intimidate me. Though he was taller, he was also round in the middle. If it came to a fight, I could take him. But I was sure we were both armed and it would end up a standoff.

  “What if I insisted?”

  I held my ground. “I would hate that for you and her. I could make that video public.” His jaw dropped and before he could say something, I finished. “And don’t think you can destroy it. The file is in the cloud. If anything happens to me or my assistant, that video, along with everything that happened in this office, goes viral and the police will be called immediately.”

  He laughed. “And if I called your bluff?”

  I shrugged. “Try me.”

  “You may think you have me by the balls, my friend, but I’m not American.”

  We were not friends. “No, but you also come from a conservative country. That video would bring shame to your family.”

  His lips thinned.

  “You aren’t the first man with power and money to throw your weight around. What you should realize is I’m doing you a service in a clean and efficient manner.”

  “Clean? You threatened to expose her and myself.”

  “Only because you threatened me first. You came here to intimidate me, thinking you could possibly own me. I have no desire to ruin your daughter’s life, but I value my own and that of my employees. Remember this—she will get what she needs, either here or somewhere else. You’ve seen the place. You’ve seen how she was treated. You should feel better.”

 
; He stepped back and clapped. Here comes the finale. Because men like him always had to have the last word. “You’ve got me.”

  I did but didn’t say it.

  “But remember this, Mr. Black, if anything happens to my daughter, the next conversation we have won’t be as friendly.”

  He opened the door and left. Seconds later, I watched the security footage on my laptop as Eliza escorted them out the front exit and locked up after them. She armed the system before ambling back to my office. I was sitting in my chair when she arrived.

  “Tell me,” I said, because they couldn’t have gotten in without help. Haddad was rich, but he wasn’t subtle. He was a showy guy who was more apt to breaking and entering with a battering ram than with a tech guy who could beat my security.

  Her head dropped as I steepled my fingers much as Haddad had earlier.

  “I told you how I was feeling,” she said, and I nodded. “I went to a bar last night where I met him.”

  It took me a second to realize she meant one of the three men who had come to the office. My guess was the bald, well-built guy.

  “I was needy and somehow we got on the subject of kinky sex. He offered to take me to his place and play with his toys, but I just met him.”

  Clearly it had been a setup she hadn’t seen coming. I’d thought better of her.

  “So you thought, why not bring him to the club?”

  Her voice broke as she rambled. “I didn’t think. I’d turned down his offer last night but rang him up this afternoon out of desperate need.”

  We all had needs and if not taken care of, they can lead to mistakes. “That’s the problem.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I was trying to be safe. The club was closed. I told him to meet me here. I didn’t expect him not to be alone.”

  “How about the fact this isn’t your personal playground?” I interjected.

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re right it won’t,” I said.

  “Are you firing me?” she asked, enormous eyes shimmering with tears. Eliza wasn’t a crier.

  “I’m thinking about it. Go home.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “Go home and think about how you put us both at risk.”

  She turned and walked out. Part of me wanted not to care about her safety. I had no idea if they were waiting. I couldn’t be sure how much she’d revealed to him. I watched her on the camera until she drove off into the night.

  After arming the system and checking every camera to be sure I was alone, I closed the laptop. Then I pulled a false drawer from the bottom of my desk and took out another laptop. The one on my desk was more for show. There was nothing on the hard drive. Access to the cameras was through a secure closed internal internet access with a firewall most hackers couldn’t penetrate.

  Still, Haddad had been left near the laptop for I wasn’t yet sure how long. It was compromised as far as I was concerned.

  I wove my fingers together and flexed them before placing them on the keyboard of my real computer. I had work to do. My bluff had been a bluff to a point. If something happened to me, I had someone on the outside who would send out certain files to police and media. But I didn’t have someone watching twenty-four seven. I couldn’t trust that. I scrubbed through the files every night and categorized them. Certain files were uploaded to the cloud my designated person would gain access to in the event of my death.

  On top of that, I had to consider my security system also compromised. I had to view all the footage from the night before and reset the protocols. Then I would need to contact Griffin and let him know. It would be a long night.

  No way I’d make it back to Lizzy’s bed.

  Twelve

  Lizzy

  Monday came way too fast. I’d slept most of Sunday, making up for the night before. I ached in places I didn’t know were possible. Unfortunately, because I’d woken up late again on Monday, I couldn’t linger in the shower and replay those events in my mind while using my fingers.

  By the time I got to my office, I was grumpy for several reasons. One was I wanted to call Striker and beg him to fuck me. Right on my office desk if he didn’t mind. The other had to do with a shadow outside my window that made me mutter a few curses.

  “That frown is not a good look. What’s crawled up your ass?” Anderson complained. He handed me a steaming cup of coffee, which was much appreciated.

  “Can you grab me another?” I asked with fake sweetness.

  “Do you think you really need this much caffeine when you’re already on bitchiness overload?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not for me. Just get me a to-go mug, will you please?”

  “All right,” he said, waving me off. “I don’t want to guess what you’re up to.”

  When he returned, I put my finished cup on my desk and marched outside to confront my shadow. There on the side of the building, looking like Secret Service in a dark suit and overcoat with sunglasses, was the man who had followed me from Soho to the office.

  “Here.” I held out the travel mug. When he didn’t take it, I added, “You can tell Griffin I don’t need a personal security guard.”

  Finally, his posture shifted from immovable man to oh fuck I’ve been caught.

  “You might as well take it and follow me inside. It’s too cold for you to be out here all day.”

  “Ma’am, that’s my job.”

  “And a job I didn’t ask for, but that’s not your fault. Come in or I’ll freeze to death and how will you explain that to your boss?”

  After taking his hand and securing the mug in it, I went back inside, confident he’d follow me.

  “Get him a chair,” I announced to Anderson, waving in the general direction behind me.

  My assistant nearly lost his tongue down his throat as the big man came in behind me.

  “I don’t need a chair,” the security man said.

  I spun. “What’s your name?” I almost giggled, thinking about how Striker had asked me that question and I’d dodged it for no good reason other than to protect my heart.

  “John.”

  “Okay, John. Stand if you want, but you’ll have a chair if you’d like.”

  Anderson bustled in with a chair.

  “Put it anywhere except in front of the windows. I don’t want to scare away potential customers.”

  There was plenty of foot traffic because of the name of the street, but most of my real clients came by appointment. Those who wandered in typically hightailed it out once they heard the price of one piece.

  Anderson did as I asked, and I snapped my fingers while gesturing toward my door. “My office.” When he came in, I leaned on the rim of the desk. “Sorry for being a bitch. I don’t mean to take it out on you. Let’s just do the morning wrap-up and I can get my shit together.”

  “First order of business is you’re going bankrupt.”

  My jaw dropped, and I waved at the wide-open office door.

  Anderson covered his mouth before dramatically removing it as if he could be seen through the wall, but he spoke loudly enough to be heard. “Of course, that’s relative. I mean, bankrupt for you is like buying one Chanel bag instead of five.”

  I groaned as he closed the door and closed the blinds on the sidelight window.

  Anderson whispered loudly, “Sorry about that. But to be honest, you didn’t break even this past month. As much as I like my job, I hate that you’re spending your trust fund to keep this place afloat.”

  Location was everything, even when I worked by appointment. Being on Fifth Avenue gave my gallery a prestige my surname couldn’t buy.

  “I know things aren’t great, but I have a plan.” It was unconventional on short notice, but I was banking on curiosity to drive sales.

  “I hope you do, because I really don’t want to go job hunting, but I will.”

  “I have more art from Haven, which sells.”

  “At a considerable cost to you. That deal you made—”


  “Gave me exclusivity. It brings buyers in. And I might have a lead on a promising unknown.” That was where I could make money. An unknown would be willing to take less to get their art on a gallery wall. “Just work on the showing this weekend. I have some calls to make.”

  Normally we would promote the hell out of a show for weeks in advance. Still, marketing it last minute as an exclusive first look could work on buyers who wanted to be in the know first. I could pitch it as an opportunity that had come up last minute. There were possibilities—if I could pull it off.

  When Anderson left, I made a call to Kalen’s office before remembering he was out of the country. I sent him an email asking if he knew the artist whose work hung on the walls in my temporary apartment in Soho. In an hour, I had an email. Apparently, the place belonged to his brother. Kalen gave me his email and said Connor liked his privacy, so Kalen wouldn’t give me his phone number.

  To: Connor King

  From: Elizabeth Monroe

  Subject: Help

  Mr. King, my name is Elizabeth Monroe and I’m currently staying in your condo in Soho. It’s great by the way. I’m contacting you today in regard to the beautiful art on the walls. I own a gallery and I’m having a showing this weekend and would love to contact the artist to see if I could get a few pieces for the show.

  I read it a few times before signing with my phone number beneath. What I didn’t expect was to get a reply before shutting my computer down.

  To: Elizabeth Monroe

  From: Connor King

  Subject: Regarding Help

  Elizabeth. I like that. I think the first order of business is your unlawful occupation of my condo without paying rent. We should discuss that before anything else.

  I had to check my jaw as it hung open, ignoring his strange comment about my name. I didn’t have to think before I hit Reply.

  To: Connor King

  From: Elizabeth Monroe

  Subject: No Help Needed

  My lawyer would tell you, Mr. King, that I have written communication from your brother allowing me to stay in the condo in Soho. Any rent and any other legal communication should be sent to him. If you could just put me in touch with the artist, we can cease communication.