Finders Keepers (Fairy Tales After Dark Book 2)

by Jessica Collins

  Laughing at the voice, she shook her head. “Genie,” she used the feminine name he dubbed for himself, playing along. “We’re not talking about this.” Feigning nonchalance, she shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell, anyway.”

  She had to give Alistair credit. Even after her freak out at Belle’s, Alistair didn’t appear disturbed. He’d continued to text her during the week, trying to make her laugh, and sent her Rajah videos almost daily. He didn’t mention their conversation. Neither did she.

  “Yeah, well, not according to him,” Gene commented, looking out the front window, as if he hadn’t just dropped a proverbial bomb.

  Turning back to her book, Jayla narrowed her eyes. He’s lying.

  She read a paragraph.

  But, what if he’s not?

  She read another paragraph.

  He’s goading me, that’s all.

  She read another paragraph. No, she’d read the same paragraph — three times.

  “Fine! I cave. What does that mean? What did he say?”

  “Hmm? What?” Gene asked, returning his gaze to her, voice suspiciously innocent.

  Pursing her lips, she gave a pointed look.

  Gene laughed. “He didn’t say anything. He’s all gentlemanly like that.” He winked.

  Unconvinced, she pushed. “If he were to say something, what do you think it would be?” she asked, hating how her voice gave away her nervousness.

  Gene must have sensed it, as his voice softened, a small smile upturning his lips. “Look, I’ve known Al for years — since we were kids. We’ve always had each other’s backs, have always been honest with each other.” He turned, sadness lacing his words. “Even when we had to tell each other some harsh truths.”

  Shaking his head from whatever the thought was, he turned back to her. “I’ve seen him with women before, know what he’s like when he’s just going through the motions.” Leaning back, hands meeting behind his head, elbows out, he finished, “He’s not going through the motions with you.”

  Jayla’s throat tightened. “Maybe he just likes the chase.”

  Gene’s laugh erupted from him, tilting back far enough she was certain he’d tip over. Between breaths, he spoke, “Trust me, he does not waste time on the ‘chase’. If anything, the women chase him. He’s in high demand at the club.”

  “Club?” she asked, heart having sped up at the idea of him being chased, of being in “high demand”. Her fingers dug into her palm, surprising her. Jealousy was a new emotion for her.

  At the jingling door, Gene’s features changed, returning immediately to “serious mode”. Two men in suits walked right to the back, determined.

  “How can you read this? There are no pictures!” the taller of the two spoke.

  Gene tensed, assessing them. “Sorry, guys. Doors shut about five minutes ago. Come back tomorrow.”

  The smaller one grimaced. “Fuck off. We’re late by two minutes. Let us down.”

  Standing, Gene towered over both. “Fuck off is right.”

  Looking at each other, the men’s gazes spoke volumes. Finally, the taller one grasped the other’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  Watching him dragging the other out the door, down the street, Jayla turned to Gene. “What was that? We still have ten minutes.”

  Instead of answering right away, he pushed a button on his side. “Heads up. Just denied two Barnies. Smelled fishy. Watch the back entrance.”

  Jayla laughed. “What are you talking about? They seemed fine.”

  Gene’s gaze returned to her. “No men are ‘fine’ when it comes to you girls. Besides, didn’t you catch his shifty eyes?”

  “’Shifty eyes’?”

  “Yeah. Shifty.” He snickered. “And those suits? I’m sorry, 1985 called and wants its clothes’ back. I’ve seen that kind before, probably hiding coke in his wallet.”

  Rolling her eyes at his assessment, the unanswered question burned in her mind. “Okay. They’re shifty coke-heads. Now … this club?”

  “Ah. ‘The club’. Proooobably shouldn’t have mentioned that.” He shrugged, smirking. “Oh well.” Holding his nose with two fingers, his voice mimicking a 1930s radio broadcast, he explained. “The Cave of Wonders is a BDSM dungeon, fully equipped with all the latest and greatest equipment. Got a fetish? We’ve got you covered — medical rooms, suspension areas, boudoirs and prisons, both private and public. Paddles, ropes, St. Andrew’s crosses, and more, all available. Come on down and see what you can uncover at The Cave.”

  Jayla’s mouth fell open, her breathing having stopped. Blinking, she processed the information. “That’s … for real?”

  “For real. Real club. Real people. Real pleasure. And lots of it. If you do it right, that is.” Leaning forward, he whispered to her, “Al’s great at doing it right, apparently.”

  “Gross,” she commented, unthinking.

  Lifting her chin in his fingers, he forced her gaze to him. “Al’s one of the best Doms the club has, that’s why he’s in demand. He reads people like a book — determines their wants, their needs, and gives them exactly what they don’t even know they’ve been looking for. If I were a jealous guy, I’d be green with envy at the way the women talk about him there.” He shook his head. “Like they’ve been fucking changed by him, or something.”

  His hand dropped to hers, holding it loosely. “Look, Jayla. I was a total douche bag the other night when I dropped the spank-bomb. The second I said it, I saw your entire body tighten. I made you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry. What’s worse, I didn’t let Al tell you what he needed to.”

  “It’s not your fault he didn’t tell me,” she responded softly.

  Gene’s lips parted — no doubt to refute the sentiment — yet she was quicker.

  “Why does he do it?”

  This caused Gene’s brows to furrow. “Dom?”

  Shrugging, she clarified. “Yeah. I mean — is it some mommy issue, or … or…?” Something worse? She didn’t know how to complete the thought without inadvertently letting Gene in about her past.

  “That’s not my story to tell, darlin’.”

  Her gaze shifted down as she nodded, wondering how bad the truth actually was. The squeeze against her palm returned her gaze back to Gene’s.

  “Alistair’s a good guy, Jayla. Like, one of the really good ones. Please don’t write him off before you give him a chance, especially because of my dumb ass, okay?”

  She couldn’t speak, her eyes wide. She nodded.

  Clearing his throat, he stood, moving his hands into his front pockets. “Okay, well … enough of the mushy shit.”

  She laughed. “That’s what happens when you’re one of the girls, Genie. We get all mushy.”

  Smiling at her joke, he looked at his watch. “Lock the front door, it’s time. Want me to grab your bag from downstairs?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” It was the same routine they had every night. She’d lock the door while he fetched her bag. Then he’d wait with her until her cab arrived. He was supposed to follow her home, yet she refused, and promised she’d never tell Alistair.

  Granted, she had a sneaking suspicion he followed anyway, from a distance.

  He moved his hand to his side, pushing the microphone button again, summoning one of the other guards closer to the club door, just in case.

  “Gene, it’ll take you a whole sixty seconds to get there and back up. I’m locking the door. I’ll be fine.”

  “Protocol is protocol.” He pointed a finger at her, “No trouble while I’m gone,” he remarked.

  Breathing a sigh of relief when he started down the stairs, she reveled in the moment alone. After his small soliloquy, she needed time to think.

  His sincerity about Alistair, his plea to give him a chance, nearly broke her.

  Her walls were crumbling, and all signs were pointing to Ali.

  She reached the front door and moved to turn the lock when the door pushed open, flinging her back. The smaller of the two “shifty-eye
d” men moved into the bookstore. Her heart skipped a beat when his gaze stopped on her, at his sneer. Luckily, he was alone.

  “Well, hello, beautiful,” he slurred, the pungent stench of stale beer hitting her.

  Ugh. “Still closed, sorry,” she commented, blocking him from entering further.

  “No fun then, huh?” he asked.

  “Not tonight. Come back tomorrow. Preferably before closing if you want to see the show.” Her tone steady, masking her pounding heart.

  “How ’bout you be the show then?”

  Gross. With her borrowed stilettos from Cynthia, she stood a few inches taller than him. Hands to her hips, she gave her best intimidating gaze. “How’s about I show you just how far I can shove my foot up your ass? Now, leave.”

  The man reeled back, his lips curling to a sneer. Grabbing his crotch, he licked his lips. “I’ve got something to shove up that ass,” he remarked.

  A voice boomed from behind her. “What did you just say?”

  Within seconds, Alistair was beside her, his shoulder moving in front, blocking her from the man.

  Shifty-eyes didn’t back down. His sneer grew as he slowly repeated, “I said, I’ve got something I’d like to shove up her ass.”

  Half a second later, he landed on his back in the street.

  “Consider yourself blacklisted, jackass. Don’t bother trying to get in again.” Alistair pushed the door shut, locking it. The man struggling to lift his body off the street was almost comical.

  “Did he hurt you?” Alistair asked, stepping to her.

  “As if I’d let that little weasel lay a finger on me.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’ve heard worse,” she shrugged.

  A loud bang on the front window drew their attention as the drunk man slammed his fists against the glass, before giving them both the finger.

  Jayla rolled her eyes at the immaturity as Alistair pulled the curtains closed, shutting the man out.

  Pressing a similar button on his earpiece, Alistair spoke. “Get him out of here.”

  “Yeah, and soon,” Jayla agreed. “I have to come out this way to catch a cab.”

  “You’re not taking a cab,” he replied, voice serious.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, arms crossing. “How am I supposed to get home?”

  Alistair looked at her a moment, challenging her. “I’m taking you home, Princess.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Outside the back entrance, belongings in tow, their argument from the bookstore picked right back up. Glaring at him, arms crossed, he watched her with a mild amusement. Which pissed her off even more.

  “I can take a cab. That guy isn’t back here, see? Perfectly safe.”

  Sighing, his tone softer than earlier, yet the words unchanging, he continued to press the issue. “I’m taking you home.”

  His tone left no room for discussion, but Jayla wasn’t done.

  “What? Want to go through my underwear drawer, too?”

  Who knows why she said it. Frustration? Wanting to push his buttons? Whatever it was, she saw him stiffen.

  Walking into her personal space, his gaze bored into hers as she moved back against the stone wall of the building.

  Defiantly, she refused to give in, glaring back at him. “Why are you even here?” she asked, giving voice to her earlier question. “You haven’t been here all night, and you just randomly show up to take me home?”

  The corner of his lip lifted. “My timing is impeccable.”

  She wasn’t amused. “That’s not an answer.”

  Instead of a response, his forearm lifted onto the wall over her head, boxing her in.

  After a few moments, she needed reprieve from the intensity of his stare, and looked down in momentary retreat for the briefest of seconds. So brief, there was no way he could’ve recognized it.

  Except, he did.

  The small smile returned to his lips, his features softening. His fingers brushed under her chin, tilting her head up higher. Gently, he explained, “I was in the video room the whole night with Peter. You were never out of my sight. You’ve never been out of my sight here. I’m going to make sure you get home all right. You can either allow me to drive you, or walk you home. Or, you can hail a cab, and I’ll follow it. Either way, I’m going to keep watch over you until you’re safely inside your door.”

  “Why?” She needed to know — was this control, or something else.

  His gaze shifted to her lips, lingering just a second, before returning. “I want you to feel safe, Jayla. Whomever it is you’re running from, I need you to know you’re not alone anymore. I’m here with you.”

  Her breath caught in her throat at the combination of his tender touch, domineering stare, and heartfelt words. In this moment, he could have talked her into anything he wanted. This power-exchange game they were playing was dangerous. She would exert her control, only to have him take it.

  No, Ali doesn’t take control — I give it to him. I’m in control … of him.

  The realization sent fire through her veins. Letting out a long breath, she gave in, nodding, and allowing him to lead her down the alleyway behind the club.

  “Your car is back here?” she asked, uncertain how anyone could park in such a small space.

  “Who said anything about a car?” he responded.

  “How do you expect us to get home?”

  The elation on his face caused her heart to skip a beat. Which turned into a full-blown drum line when she saw what she’d be riding in.

  Or, more appropriately, on.

  Parked in front of her was a sleek black and chrome motorcycle. The lines angular and sharp. While immobile, the shape reminded her of a panther chasing its prey.

  It looked fast. And deadly.

  “Hell, no!” Shaking her head, she backed away from the — admittedly sexy — motorcycle in front of her.

  Chuckling, he flung one leg around the back of the bike and settled himself on its seat. Leaning forward toward her, he held out his hand. “Get on, Jayla.”

  “On your bike?” she asked, still disbelieving what was right in front of her.

  “No, on my magic carpet,” he deadpanned, holding out the helmet for her. When she didn’t move a muscle forward, he sighed.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice low, almost pleading.

  “What?” She wasn’t sure she heard him correctly over the blood pounding in her ear. She’d never been on a motorcycle before, the thought of not having the protection of a chassis around her creating anxiety.

  “Do you trust me?” he repeated.

  Something over the past few weeks made her want to trust him, and that was more than she’d felt for anyone since…

  Stop letting Jeffrey control your life, Jayla.

  Determined, she took a breath.

  “Y-yes.”

  Taking her hand, he helped her settle behind him, her legs separated by the leather and machine.

  Turning to face her, faces only inches apart, her breath caught as he placed his helmet over her head.

  “It’s too big,” Jayla remarked, the weight of it feeling more than strange.

  He laughed. “First time I’ve ever apologized for that.”

  Tilting her head, narrowing her eyes, her anxiety responded with sarcasm. “Trust me, I have no doubt you’ve never had to apologize for it being too big before.”

  His smile turned to a wicked smirk. “You’re right. They’re rendered speechless.”

  Before she could respond, he tightened the strap under her chin, commenting, “I’ll get you your own tomorrow.”

  Your own. The words sent a thrill through her.

  “Wait. What about you?” she asked, realizing he’d be without a helmet.

  “I like you worrying about me, Princess. Means I’m making progress.” Turning forward, he revved the engine.

  Jayla gasped with the vibration between her legs.

  “Hold onto my waist,” he commanded, inching the bik
e forward.

  Jayla’s hands gripped his sides as instructed.

  “If you don’t want to fall off, you’ll need to hold me tighter than that.” Taking her hands, he wrapped them around his front, pulling her entire upper body against his. With her breasts pressed against his back, her legs practically wrapped around his hips, and the vibrations of the bike beneath her, her arousal was growing. Quickly.

  “Jayla it’s really important you hold on tight and follow my movement. If I lean into a turn, lean with me, not against me.” His tone was serious.

  “Okay,” she responded, voice muffled by the helmet.

  “If you need me to slow down, tap my stomach.” Inching forward, he continued, “And if you want me to go faster, tap my leg.” Pausing, she heard the smirk in his voice. “The higher, the better.” With that, they were off and into the street.

  Wind whipping around her, for the first few minutes she held her head against his back, scared to open her eyes. As if reading her mind, when they paused at the next stoplight, he tried to reassure her. “Jayla, look up. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Nodding, she did as she was told, and as they rode through the streets, she found herself relaxing. At some point, the momentum had pressed her forward even further, her legs splayed wide. The motions of the bike all but grinding her pussy against him. With the friction of her jeans against her, and the added vibrations of each rev of the engine, her dampness grew.

  Holding herself against him, watching the buildings and light whizzing by, she realized she was actually enjoying herself. She felt safe. And free. No one had made her feel this way in years.

  Determination coursed through her veins, steeling her battered mind. She was tired of letting fear dictate her life.

  Smiling, she tapped his leg.

  “You sure?” he yelled back to her, his stomach muscles tightening under her arms.

  Hoping he could understand her through the helmet, and wind, she admitted, “I trust you.”

  Three small words, and yet, Alistair felt them as if a weight lifted. Knowing how difficult it was for her to let her guard down, he wanted to reward her.