by Calinda B
“Listen to her,” Liam said. “It’s too soon.”
“It’s nothing of the kind.” Ambrosia stepped next to Savannah and put her arm around her shoulders. “Naeva, dear, you’re to become a Chartier. Whether it happens in two weeks, or two decades, it’s going to happen. We may as well step things up a bit.” She squeezed Savannah’s shoulders. “Oh, this is going to be so wonderful,” she gushed. “Naeva, we have so much to do. Aren’t you thrilled?”
“Sure, Mother. Thrilled.” She glanced at Liam.
His face was yet again unreadable.
No doubt he was as resistant to the union as her for his own mysterious reasons.
Savannah wondered if her insides would split it two. Marrying him sooner than later gave her total access to his world. But, each day I linger makes it more complicated to leave. For me, and, if I’m not mistaken, maybe for Liam, too. She simply had to keep her emotions under control. Everything—this mission, her job, even her stupid heart—was at risk if she gave way to feelings.
And then, once I have to leave him—or he finds out who I truly am—what will the Diamond Club do to me? Escaping Mosul with her head intact only led her to a situation equally as bad. Her life was clearly in danger.
12
The dissent among the club focused on her and Liam’s s union, landed like a dirty Iraqi bomb in Savannah’s belly. And now I must push the wedding up to two weeks away? I need to contact Adam. She glanced at the place on the floor where Garron had pulverized her phone with his heel.
Lucy had quietly and efficiently whisked away the shattered glass and smashed device, leaving no trace.
I wonder who they use to clean up the evidence of other acts of violence? Savannah suspected the underbelly of the club loomed large, cloaked in secrets and innuendo.
Liam and Garron stood arguing about something in the corner, drinks in hand. She couldn’t make out what they were saying. Something about “timelines” and “keep her out of the way” and “we need to discuss this with Frank.” She assumed they were talking about the beefy man who’d “escorted” her to the club after she’d been pumped full of sedatives. And am I the her they want to keep out of the way?
Liam seemed to reserve a good portion of his attention for her. He made frequent side-eyed glances. He’d positioned himself so he could clock her every move.
He’s shrewder than I initially thought.
She stood next to a graciously styled bar cabinet, bearing classic arches, hefty turned columns, and framed moldings. The dark wood was polished to a sheen. An array of top shelf liquors sat along the top, next to crystal tumblers and a silver ice bucket.
Lucy must earn half her wages keeping the furniture polished. Savannah ran a finger along the cool silken surface.
The bar acted as their shrine. They made good use of it, filling their glasses when they emptied, standing around it reverently like they were taking communion.
They need more than communion to atone for their behavior.
A seven-foot-wide painting hung behind the cabinet, showing a beautiful woman in a red dress and red heels, on her back in a darkened room. Her blonde hair was in disarray, spread around her. One of her legs was bent. The hem of her gown fell down her thigh, hinting at a creamy, pale-skinned derriere, and lusty pleasure, a finger’s touch away.
Marcus and Ambrosia, apparently through with the more serious club business, leaned against the cabinet, chatting, and laughing about something to do with their sexcapades at the club.
Savannah tuned them out. I need to talk to Adam, she reminded herself again.
“Excuse me, but I need some rest,” she said to Ambrosia, planning to use the landline in her suite.
Liam’s attention swung to where she stood, then back to his conversation.
“The doctor needs to check you out.” Marcus stabbed his thumb over his shoulder toward Doucette, who sat on the sofa nursing a scotch. “You were scheduled for a full physical when we arrived. Blood work and such. I, uh, forgot about it.”
Her eyes grew wide. Bloodwork? Hell, no. “Now’s not the time for a physical. I was shot at. I’m fine. I wasn’t injured.”
He brightened and rose to his feet as if summoned from ignominy. “Yes, it will only take a moment.”
What a creep. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” Savannah set her wine glass down on a leather coaster. The red wine had already given her a buzz. She needed to keep her wits about her.
“Leave the poor girl alone.” Ambrosia waved her hand as if shooing him away.
Dr. Doucette stepped toward Savannah. “A simple blood test will suffice. You can stop by my office the next time you’re at the club to finish the exam.”
“No, thank you,” Savannah said, more forcefully. “I’d rather do it all at once.” She backed into the cabinet, feeling ambushed. Do they have records of the real Naeva?
“Come now.” The doctor’s eyes glittered. “Your health is important.”
“Sure it is. But you can’t just examine me wherever you feel like it.”
“You don’t have anything to hide, do you?” He leered at her.
She side-eyed Liam.
He studied her, his frown fixed in place.
“No. Why would I have anything to hide?” Her voice squeaked. She cleared it. “Can’t this wait?”
“Think of it as the first step in clearing you for your marriage to a Chartier.” He closed in on her, crowding her against the cabinet.
She placed her hands behind her, on top of the bar. “I really, really don’t want blood work now. I hate needles,” she added. She glared at Marcus. A little help would be nice. You know what’s at stake.
“Excuse me,” Marcus said. “I have to use the facilities.”
Oh, come on!
“I’m quite good at this, I assure you. I’ll get the blood, and get out of your hair in no time. Then, I can run a few tests and give you the results by tomorrow. I’ll have to run a few comparisons.”
“Comparisons to what?” Her heart flipped and flopped.
“Earlier records.”
Liam gawked at her, his forehead furrowed.
“Oh, Doucette, you’re so persistent. You’ll simply hound her until you get your way.” Ambrosia turned toward Savannah. “Give the good doctor his blood,” she said. “A prick in your arm, and he’ll bother you no more.” She giggled. “All they ever want is to give you their prick.”
“But…” Her hands pressed into the gleaming wood behind her.
“I can do it right here.” He grinned, a curious glint in his eye.
“I don’t…” Savannah wanted to bolt from the room.
“Go on. Get it over with, doctor.” Ambrosia turned toward the bar and fixed herself another drink.
As if this were the norm, Dr. Doucette retrieved a hypodermic needle from his pocket. He fished a stretchy band and several vials from his other pocket. “Give me your arm.”
Savannah glanced wildly around the room, hoping someone would take pity on her.
No one spared her a glance.
Dr. Doucette wrapped the band tightly around her biceps and stared at her bulging veins.
“Nice veins,” he said.
He seemed so pleased with her venous structure, Savannah hoped he wasn’t getting a hard-on. He popped one of the vials onto the end of the needle, removed the plastic cap, and jammed the sharp end into her arm.
Her dark blood streamed into the vial, along with her hopes of maintaining the ruse of being Naeva Weathersby.
When the vial had filled, he removed it, placed it on the cabinet next to a crystal tumbler, and popped the next one on the needle. When he had four glass containers of her warm blood in his clutches, he pocketed them, and then patted his pocket.
“There. That wasn’t so bad.” He waggled a finger at her. Then, he fished free a band aid from his pocket and tore it open. “Arm.”
She complied.
He pasted the band-aid in place. “There you go. You can take that off in about fifteen
minutes. I’ll be on my way, everyone,” he said, with a generous smile. “I’ll let myself out.”
No one so much as glanced at him.
Savannah’s heart raced. How can I stop him from testing my blood?
Ambrosia turned to Savannah. “I know what you need next,” she said. “Let’s head to the Diamond Strumpets club,” she exclaimed. “Master Steele has requested you.”
Savannah stiffened like someone jammed an iron bar up her spine. She glanced at Liam.
He looked at her with narrowed eyes. Then, he turned his attention back to Garron.
“Ambrosia, please. I need some rest. I’ve had such a day. How often does a girl get shot at?” she reasoned, certain Ambrosia would see her point.
“What you need,” Ambrosia said in a conspiratorial voice, “is something to forget your cares.”
“I’m tired. Overwhelmed. I’m sure I went into shock today.” She backed away from the cabinet.
“Nonsense. I insist.” Ambrosia took her hand.
“I hardly think it’s appropriate. I’m about to be married.” Her eyes sought Liam’s. She hoped he’d offer some support or a way out. He told me earlier he didn’t like to share. Surely, he doesn’t want me to go.
“Don’t be silly. Liam requested it.” Ambrosia let out a light-hearted laugh.
“Oh, he did, did he?” She stared at his handsome profile, launching daggers at him, daring him to look her way. What is wrong with this guy? One minute he won’t share, the next he wants me to train with a sadist?
He stayed glued to his conversation, but his jaw appeared stiff and unyielding.
“You don’t think the club leaves anything to chance, do you? Everything, from your time in France to your arrival at the club has been planned since you were a baby.” She chucked Savannah’s chin as if she were still a child.
“Yes. I understand.” Savannah forced a smile. “Does my fiancé also engage in extra-curricular activities?”
“Men do what men do.” Ambrosia sipped her drink.
An atomic bomb of jealous rage exploded in Savannah’s insides. Not only am I marrying him, not only does he despise me, but he also fucks his way through the club? She smoothed the front of her jumpsuit, reining herself in. Of course, he freely fucks. He’s hot. Reel it in, Summers and remember the mission. Get in, get the info, get out. “I suppose they do. I’m happy to share him with the club. Who wants to be worn out by her horny husband, am I right?” She forced a smile, noting Liam’s glare from the corner of her eye.
Ambrosia tittered. “You’ll want to sample the wares, too, dear. I know Master Steele gets you hot.”
Liam’s hands curled into fists.
Ambrosia strode to her side. “Besides, you need to show Monique what it’s like to truly submit. That girl is so defiant. She’ll never learn the ropes unless you teach her.”
“She certainly responded to me differently last night,” Marcus said, followed by a chuckle.
So, they’re okay with me teaching my father’s plaything how to be a better sexual partner? A sick sensation churned in her belly. Savannah’s heart sank to her ankles. The last thing she wanted to do was submit to Master Steele.
“Can’t I watch him teach her? Offer tips? Do I have to participate?”
“But you’re so good,” Ambrosia gushed. “You’ve been trained by the finest courtesans in the world. Liam insisted we hire the creme de la creme. Come. Let’s slip away. We won’t even tell the boys. What do you say?”
Her eyes twinkled like they were about to play a naughty prank.
What did Adam say? He wanted to shove Liam’s balls into his throat? I’ll help.
Savannah sighed. “Fine.”
“Let’s head up to your room and pick out some lingerie, shall we?” Ambrosia linked her arm into Savannah’s elbow.
She wanted to throw back her head and howl. Worse than submitting to Master Steele, she couldn’t bear the thought of choosing lingerie with this woman. Her legs refused to budge.
“Please?” Ambrosia made a pout with her lips. “I’ve always wanted a daughter.”
The thought of being wanted at all by any parental figure made weird feelings tug at her resolve.
“Fine,” she said again. She strode from the room without sparing Liam a glance. Rounding the corner, she trekked upstairs, eager to get this over with and be on her way.
Ambrosia tottered behind her.
“I do need to contact Adam. He’ll be worried sick about me.”
“You can use my phone. But first, let’s choose something to wow Master Steele.”
An hour later, she and Ambrosia headed toward the club in the back of the limo.
Ambrosia consumed champagne like it was club soda.
Wanting to stay sharp, Savannah merely sipped hers. On the way, she called Adam using Ambrosia’s phone.
“Where are you?” Adam hissed. “I’ve been calling every ten minutes.”
Savannah’s gaze slide toward Ambrosia. “Yes, I’m fine. Something happened to my phone.”
“What? What happened?”
“It got stepped on.”
“What the hell is going on?” He sounded like he might teleport through the phone.
“We’re heading to the club. We’ll be in the ladies’ lounge area. You know—the Diamond Strumpet’s club.” She leaned back into her seat, pretending to be relaxed. Her insides vibrated with jangled nerves.
“I’m coming.”
“Fantastic! And, good news, Adam.” She forced brightness into her voice.
“What now?”
“The wedding is pushed up. It’s going to be in two weeks. Isn’t that wonderful?” She smiled at Ambrosia.
Ambrosia reached out and took her free hand, squeezing it.
“Fuck!”
“Oh, it’s awesome, Adam. I’m quite excited.” Savannah pressed the phone into her cheek, hoping Ambrosia didn’t hear his angry exclamation. “I knew you’d be pleased.”
Adam grew silent. Then, he said, “I’m sorry for the outburst. I’ve been worried sick about you. Weathersby insisted I leave, and they said they were taking you somewhere but they didn’t say where. And, I miss my kids and my girlfriend. I talked to them when I got back to the manor. It made me wish I was back home.”
Her heart turned to ice hearing his sentiments. She had no one to miss and nothing to look forward to once this sting ended—except maybe unemployment.
“That’s nice,” she said. “But I’m fine.”
He paused. When he spoke again his words rushed out. “Okay, let’s make this work. It’s faster than I would like but we can deal. See if you can arrange to meet Liam over on Lexington and 79th. There’s a hip cafe over there called Charlie’s Place. They stay open all night. Tell him you insist. You need to talk with him.”
“What’s your plan?” She glanced at Ambrosia.
Her future mother-in-law stared out the window.
“I’m going to coach you.”
“I’ll see what I can do. You know how the Diamond Strumpet’s club can get.” She faked a giggle.
“Christ. I hope you don’t have to do that obedience thing again.” His voice became low, laced with concern.
“That’s the plan,” she said, twirling a lock of hair.
“Goddamnit, girl.” He blew his breath through the phone. “Okay, do you think you can arrange the meeting? At say, eleven tonight?”
“I’ll do my best,” she said, sweetly.
“I’ll be waiting. Meet me around the corner first. I’m going to stay connected. We’ll be wired. I’m going to tell you what to say. Trust me. I’ve got a fantastic relationship. My girl has taught me well. Let me teach you.”
“I do know a good move or two,” she said brightly.
“This isn’t merely about sex,” Adam said.
Ouch.
“You’re trying to form a relationship here.”
Her heart shrank. She didn’t want to be taught to have something she’d never attain. Her longest r
elationship to date had been about six months, and it ended when the sex turned sour. She strained to add gaiety to her words. “Okay. Where can I find you?”
“I told you, I’ll be around the corner at the intersection of 80th and Millrose.”
“Ta, Adam. See you at the club.” She disconnected. “He is such a good man,” she gushed to Ambrosia.
“What?” She turned and blinked as if lost in thought. “I’m sorry, dear, what did you say?”
Savannah pointed to her phone. “Adam. He’s a good bodyguard. Always looking after me.”
“That’s nice, dear,” Ambrosia said, absentmindedly.
Savannah couldn’t help but wonder what had her so distracted. Is she worried about the dissent? Something else? Me?
Ambrosia turned her attention out the window as the limo slowed. “Wonderful. We’re here!”
Their driver let them out at the entrance.
Ambrosia clutched Savannah’s arm as they made their way through the lobby. When she approached the bodyguards at the secret entrance, they nodded and opened an elegant door to the left of the one they’d used to leave—after being scanned.
“Mrs. Chartier. Ms. Weathersby.” The guard nodded. “Enjoy.”
She and Ambrosia trekked along the hall and entered an open elevator.
Ambrosia slid her gold key from her cleavage and fit it into the slot.
“A girl can’t be too careful with this key,” she said, pulling it free. “They told you we each have our own code, right?”
“Yes, Mother.” Savannah smiled.
“I always carry mine close.”
She tucked it back into her brassiere and clasped her hands. Then, she keyed in a code in a keypad next to the elevator, shielding it from Savannah’s gaze with her body.
They rode up to the hundredth floor.
Savannah made a mental note of everything. She’d been so overwhelmed by the way she’d arrived, she hadn’t done her usual observe, catalog, and file mental strategy. That stops now. The stakes are too high. She exited, passing the host standing next to the black pedestal. They trekked through the bump and grind lounge to the other side of the room.