by Diane Leyne
Thank goodness for Daisy. She swept over to the table bearing two cold bottles of beer she’d grabbed from Trace. She opened them with a wink and a flourish then headed off to greet a couple of newcomers at the door before he could even thank her. He could see the annoyance on Leah’s face that cleared the moment she saw him looking, but he knew she was definitely pissed at sweet Daisy. Damn. He really needed to talk to her, but he’d rather run down criminals than make a woman cry, and he was pretty certain that if he tried to talk to her, Leah would start crying. He had to do something, though. Micah was his best friend, and he loved Whips and Spurs. He didn’t want to start avoiding the bar, or the club around back, but he would have to if Leah kept looking at him like that. He was single, but she just wasn’t his type. Maybe if he found a nice sub to play with, someone who wouldn’t expect a commitment, maybe that would convince Leah to move on?
He knew Micah was struggling with what to do. He couldn’t afford to lose another waitress right now. Cara’s accident was a fluke and had to be totally unconnected with the recent streak of incidents, he hoped. After all, who would choose assault by high heel, unless of course you tried to hit someone with the pointy end?
The timing really sucked, though. Hell, with what was going on, part of him was convinced that it had been deliberate. Cara could have been hurt a lot worse if she’d been at the top of the stairs when it had happened, but she’d been almost at the bottom. But how would someone plan that? He was probably just being paranoid and it was a genuine accident, but now every time something happened, he worried that it was part of some bizarre plan to drive Whips and Spurs out of business.
Dace and Micah both took a long swallow of the cold brew and sat in silence for a few moments, thinking about the problem they had on their hands.
“So? What do I do, Dace? Tell the members what’s happening? When I say it out loud, it sounds stupid. Flat tires, egged houses, graffiti, keyed cars, broken equipment, a bad batch of lube, which we detected before anyone used it. Hell, no one’s been hurt except Cara, and that had to be some kind of coincidence, right? No one would deliberately sabotage someone’s shoes. And look what the cat dragged in…”
His smile belied his words. He actually liked Quin rather a lot.
“Hey, Quin! Want me to get you a drink?” Micah asked.
“Hey, Micah, Dace. I can’t stay, but I’ve got something to run by you and then I have to head home. Jules will make me sleep on the couch if I’m too late and I’m not allowed to have alcohol until either me or Doc gets her knocked up.”
“Boy, you are soooo whipped!”
“And loving every minute of it. You know your crazy sister wants a baby like yesterday, and she’s wearing me and Doc out working on it.”
Micah put his hands over his ears and started humming, which made Micah and Quin laugh. Cautiously, he removed his hands. “Are you done telling me things a brother should never know about his sister?”
“Done.” Quin laughed. “And I have a possible solution to your problems. Or at least someone who can solve them. One of the best investigators I know is at a loose end for a few weeks and might be persuaded to lend a hand.”
“I’m all ears.” Micah perked up a bit. Quin used to work for some fancy security company. The man was connected.
“I thought at first you were just being paranoid, but there have been just too many incidents in the last few months, and from what we’ve talked about, they all connect back to here. Staff, club member, even bar patrons. There have been a disproportionate number of incidents of mischief that trace back to The Whips and Spurs. At first I hoped they would trace back to Owen Firth, but I talked to the prosecutor and she’s pretty confident that Firth is telling the truth. He may have caused some of the trouble before he lost it and hired me to try to kill Murphy.”
“Luckily you were working undercover and not an actual hit man or things could have been a little awkward when you started dating my sister. And, Dace, he did try to poison the water supply and kill my sister.”
Micah felt a shudder run through his body when he thought about what could have happened to Jules. He had trusted Owen. They’d been friends for years, not best friends, but close and with a history. He couldn’t believe he could have been so wrong about him. And based on what was happening at Whips and Spurs, he was probably wrong about someone else he knew. Maybe he should just give up on people and become a monk or something. He could go and live somewhere far removed from civilization where there was no crime.
He sighed. Of course, there were no women there either. No sex. And he was pretty sure even masturbation would be frowned upon, which ruled that option out. He sure as hell hoped Quin’s plan was better.
He tuned back into what Dace was saying.
“I’m not likely to forget that, Micah. Jules isn’t just your sister. She’s my friend and I wanted to beat him to a pulp, but now he’s behind bars and paying his debt to society. But,” Dace continued, “Firth was obsessed in getting the Double S, and all of his troublemaking was to that end. He claims that it wasn’t him because he didn’t target anything to do with The Whips and Spurs. Hell, apparently his partners considered him an idiot because he refused to hurt anyone or anything that wasn’t directly connected to the Double S and Murphy Smith as a distraction from the true intended target.”
“So what can I do, Quin? I know that they are all small—slashed tires, graffiti—but they are getting more frequent. Why would anyone do this? Are they trying to put me out of business? What if someone gets hurt? And we don’t advertise the club in back.” Micah jumped up, feeling the need to pace. But then he realized where he was and sat back down before continuing.
“Some people suspect, and occasionally someone has heard something and comes looking for admittance, but you have to come through here to get to the club and they never get past our security, or even get confirmation the place exists. Our existing members are generally pretty discreet, and no one becomes a new member without a referral and a thorough background check.”
“I know, Micah. I wish I was more help, but there have been no witnesses and all the incidents are so small, it’s hard to justify devoting the limited resources I have to this, unless I position it as a hate crime against the club, and I know you don’t want or need that kind of publicity.” Dace pounded the table. “And if the membership list ever got out it would ruin a lot of lives, lives of public people who just happen to have a private kink that might not be accepted by their constituents.” He looked grim.
“Shit, you know what would happen if it was known by the general population that I run a BDSM club out back?” Micah’s stomach clenched in a way that happened all too frequently recently. If this continued, he figured he was headed for an ulcer. “I’d have every asshole perv who thinks BDSM is an excuse for abuse and every horny college student for a hundred miles lining up for membership, and every tight ass in three counties picketing me. I’d be ass-deep in paparazzi trying to catch someone important in a compromising or embarrassing situation.
“I know you have done all you can do, officially, Dace. You don’t need to justify anything. But, if anyone puts that together and realizes that no one else has been targeted…Hell, I could lose this place, Dace. The members will flee, and I couldn’t blame them.”
“I’ve done what I could. Although I’ve been discreetly checking out strangers, given the number of incidents, I have come to the conclusion that the perp lives in Satisfaction, but I haven’t gotten much further than that.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. So, Quin. What makes you think your investigator can do better?”
“Nick’s the best. Dace is hampered because if he makes the investigation official and starts paperwork on it, sooner or later word will leak out about just who was on your membership list and just what they get up to here.” Dace could hear Quin’s voice trail off as he looked at Micah’s shuttered face.
“And I’ve got a lot of very important people as members,” continu
ed Micah, his tone bleak. “What am I going to do? Six months ago, it was a single broken window. Then nothing for almost two months. Now there have been two incidents involving members in the last week. Sooner or later, one of them will put two and two together, and then word will get out and I can just shut down and file for bankruptcy.”
“Which brings me to my investigator friend, Nick Marlow. Best in the business.”
Micah found himself feeling a surge of hope but he quickly tamped it down. What could one person do? Then again, if they worked for the same outfit that had employed Quin… He allowed himself a smidgen of optimism.
“You really think he can get to the bottom of things?”
“If anyone can, Nick can, even if it is only to confirm that we are all being paranoid and there’s really no one targeting the club. Nick suggested coming in undercover and nosing around, getting to know the staff and the clientele. In cases like this, it’s always someone you know.” Quin looked Micah directly in the eye. Micah flinched but nodded.
“I’ve been trying to avoid considering that, but you are right. So call this Nick guy and tell him I’d like to hire him.”
“Not so fast. If this Nick Marlow is so great, why’s he at a loose end?” asked Micah.
“Dace. I don’t care why he’s free. I just want this thing over and done with.”
“No, he’s right, Micah. Fair question. Nick just got off a really long-term assignment, deep undercover, Nick’s been ordered to take a minimum of four weeks off to decompress but hates sitting around and would be willing to come by and lend a hand. This should be a piece of cake for someone with Nick’s background.”
“Could work,” admitted Dace. Micah could almost see the wheels turned in Dace’s brain followed by a slow smile. He was starting to hope as well. “Maybe Nick can pose as a Dom and work part-time behind the bar in both the saloon and the club. That’s a great way to talk to people and fit in quickly. He can maybe split time between both locations. That is, if it works for you. Or he can tend bar up front and just hang out as one of the Doms in the club. Up to you. Pros and cons for both approaches.”
Micah nodded “That might work, if Nick can blend in, but I’ll have to meet him before I say yes. Being a Dom is about more than just wearing leather and having attitude. But if he works for that same place you used to, Quin, then I’m certain he knows his business. Can you call him? Where’s he located?”
“Nick’s temporarily based in the El Paso office where Jess’s brother, Tait, works. Anyway, Nick’s just finishing up some paperwork and has offered to drive down so you all can chat and come up with a game plan.”
“I hate the thought of an outsider, but he does sound like a professional. If he’s half as good as Quin and Tait are, he should be able to help. Hell, it can’t hurt to talk to him. Can you arrange for him to come down?”
Quin looked at his watch. “Nick should be here any time. Well, I got to go. It’s baby-making time. Let me know how things go.”
And then he was gone and Dace and Micah just stared at his departing back.
“Okay, I guess we have a professional bad-ass spy who’s on leave after a case went bad coming in to help us. Everything should be fine now.” Micah’s tone was a little dazed. “Here’s to professionals.”
He and Dace clinked bottles and drank for a moment when the normal bar sounds were interrupted by the rumble of a powerful engine as it roared by, stopped, and returned before idling for a second, presumably in the Whips and Spurs parking lot, before going silent.
“Harley?”
“I think so. A nice-sized bike. No one in Satisfaction owns one. Tourist? Hopefully not a Hell’s Angels kind of biker. Sounds like just one, though, and they usually travel in packs. Hopefully no one looking for trouble.” Dace automatically patted his hip, forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t wearing his sidearm.
“Could be Nick Marlow…”
The outer door of the bar opened and both men took assessing glances as a stranger walked in. He looked to be a little under average height, maybe five foot seven, Dace automatically calculated, slender and dressed in full black biker leathers from head to toe, including gloves. He was also wearing a black helmet with a full face shield so none of his features were visible. On his feet, he wore a pair of heavy-duty, well-worn motorcycle boots. If this was Nick, he was a lot smaller than Dace had anticipated. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t competent.
The stranger paused at the entrance, removed his gloves, and then reached up to remove his helmet. Dace’s eyes narrowed.
Holy shit! Definitely not Nick Marlow.
He, or rather she, shook her long, dark hair free and tucked her helmet under her arm as she surveyed the room, checking out each of the patrons, her intelligent-looking, light-colored eyes fringed with dark lashes moving quickly around the room. Her gaze stopped briefly on Dace, apparently noting his uniform, before heading on to Micah and then onwards again, this time to the bar where Trace stood, transfixed. Then she walked up to the counter and set her helmet down. With her back to him, Dace got an excellent view of her very shapely ass and could feel his cock stirring. It had been a long time since he’d had such a visceral reaction to a woman, and even longer since he’d spent quality time playing with one in the club.
However, this woman didn’t look like a sub. She certainly wasn’t dressed like a sub. She was a confident woman and looked to be about thirty. Hell, if anything, she was probably a Domme, given her swagger in those tight leathers. He felt a sudden urge to see her on her knees in front of him. Her submission would be all the sweeter because he would have to earn it. Regardless, she had no way of knowing the saloon was connected to a BDSM club. There was no sign or anything to indicate there was a club in the back. Hell, even if she did know, there was no guarantee she be interested in playing. Hell, she was probably just passing through and stopped for a drink, but he could fantasize about stripping her naked, tying her down onto his favorite spanking bench, and turning her ass a nice, rosy pink before fucking it. Maybe she’d be sucking Micah’s cock while he reamed her ass, ordering her to get his best friend off before he’d let her come. He shifted in his seat. His cock was reacting to the fantasy and his pants were becoming distinctly uncomfortable.
He watched her leaning on the bar chatting with Trace and felt a surge of jealousy. He adjusted his fantasy. Maybe instead of spanking her, he’d use a flogger on her ass and then sink his cock inside her dripping pussy as she screamed out her orgasm while Micah tortured her nipples before fucking her mouth. Damn. He gave himself a mental shake. He usually had more self-control. He was a Dom, an experienced one. He had iron control. But damned if he didn’t want to see her wearing handcuffs and nothing else. He smiled to himself. He’d love to see her locked up naked in one of his cells. He’d bring her food and water, and she’d suck his cock through the bars before he’d let her eat and drink.
He took a deep breath and then a long draw on his beer. His jail was empty just now. Most prisoners were kept in the main facility over in Kinsdale. The Satisfaction jail was only used for short-term arrests, such as drunks kept overnight. He could keep her locked naked in a cell and take her out to play and no one would ever know. Except Micah. He’d tell him after a few days, and the two of them would play with her and then lock her away when they were done to await their pleasure.
Or, he considered, he could use the Wild West jail playroom at the club. It was a recreation of an old time western cell, but with all the BDSM accoutrements including soft leather manacles and various hooks and straps to use on a troublesome sub. They could strap her down and play with her to their heart’s content.
He smiled to himself. She’d probably kick him in the nuts if he tried something like that, but damned if he wouldn’t give his left nut to see her naked behind bars—behind his bars. Hell, he might even get on his knees and beg for something like that. He’d settle for getting her naked in the club’s jail, one of the many theme rooms Micah had created. There was a li
brary, a schoolroom, several doctor’s offices, two authentic-looking dungeons, and the Wild West jail. He’d personally helped design the club’s jail. Yes, it would probably be a better choice than the actual jail. If he used the real jail, besides being unprofessional, with his luck, they’d bring in some drunk to his actual jail to sleep things off while they were in the middle of playing and he’d be caught by a deputy with his pants down.
Yes, he’d love to take her to the Whips and Spurs jail, but that was just a fantasy. Odds were, she was just lost and asking Trace for directions or for the use of the ladies’ room. He watched as she laughed at something Trace said, and he had a sudden urge to punch the other man.
He snuck a quick look across at Micah and saw that his gaze was locked on the newcomer as well. He snickered quietly. He and Micah had known each other a long time and had similar taste in women. Hell, they shared women most of the time and had done so since college. He was willing to bet that Micah was just as smitten and his cock just as hard as his was.
He could see that Trace was smitten, too, even from across the room. He watched as Trace flirted as hard as he could with the newcomer, who appeared to be teasing him, but her body language didn’t indicate the same level of interest that Trace’s did, even though she did put her hand on his arm. Then she seemed to be asking Trace something. He could see the reluctance in Trace’s body language as he gestured toward Dace and Micah.
The newcomer turned and looked their way. Look at me. Look at me. Dace tried to will her to look at him, but she seemed to only have eyes for Micah. Lucky bastard.