by A. J. Norris
Tripp picked up his phone and texted the bastard.
What do you want?
The reply came back almost instantly.
You.
Me? What would a blackmailer want with him? Tripp didn’t have as much money as the other marks, so maybe the hacker wanted a favor.
I can’t do anything for you.
Another order appeared on his screen.
Meet me.
When?
Tomorrow night.
Where?
Don’t play dumb. Wear a mask, lover. I’ll find you.
Lover? The thought that Supernova wanted him for sex zipped through Tripp’s mind faster than he could get rid of it. Most likely he was just fucking with him. The hacker held the reins, but Tripp refused to let anyone ride him.
A hundred years ago, Iniquity had been a warehouse for automobile parts. Later it became a garage where the city buses came to die. In recent decades, the cavernous building had been converted into a church. The membership eventually disbanded and the building sat vacant until an entrepreneur with a taste for kink ripped out the rotting pews and painted the remaining concrete block walls black, dividing the space into two gigantic rooms, one for dancing and the other for fucking.
The flashing lights and driving music irritated Chantal’s sleep-deprived brain. She’d struggled to take a nap after she went shopping. She’d had no idea what to wear to a sex club. Would she be required to strip at the front door? No, and in fact, the woman at the registration desk told her to keep her clothes on in the front part of the club until after eleven p.m. when the doors closed. At first glance, Iniquity looked like any other dance club, but upon closer inspection, Chantal noticed several significant differences. A bring-your-own-bottle bar served patrons their own liquor, skirting the city’s no alcohol sales in the presence of nudity rule. The women’s restroom contained a glass-walled shower visible from the dance floor.
In the back of the club, behind the red curtain, clothes and inhibitions hit the floor. Chantal stood beside the group bed, three king-sized mattresses pushed together, nursing a drink the host had offered from his private stash. She’d never seen so many naked white people in one place. Arms and legs tangling. Butts and boobs bouncing. An irrepressible urge to giggle seized her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
“Would you like to join us?” A beautiful blonde woman caressed Chantal’s bare shoulder, tracing her fingertips down to the swell of her breast. “Imagine how pretty your luscious chocolate skin would look among all that pale nakedness.”
“Uh…” Chantal trembled as an image of the blonde’s perfect pink fingernails pinching her stiff brown nipple fried several thousand brain cells. “Maybe another time.” The word no hadn’t come to mind. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Good luck.” The woman smiled as a naked brunette with too-perky-to-be-real breasts tugged her toward the mass of twisted nudity.
Chantal strolled toward the hot tub, giving her bodice a firm shove upward. Should never have gone strapless. Half a dozen women and two grinning guys filled the tub, naked and sprawled all over each other. Men and women flirted with her, but the detective she sought remained elusive.
Could he be in one of the tents? Four white canvas shelters offered privacy for those who desired it, although the fabric walls could be parted if the occupants wanted to indulge in exhibition. Plenty of voyeurs lurked to provide an audience.
But none of them wore a mask. A man wearing a black leather jacket, white t-shirt, and jeans that hugged his glorious package like an octopus on a crab stared boldly back at her. “That motherfucking bastard.”
Tripp had stowed his mask in his back pocket, a risky move, but he refused to let Supernova have the upper hand. He had no idea what his suspect looked like. Pale probably. Glasses? Somehow, he doubted this guy fit the typical geek stereotype. He might not even be a guy.
Living room furnishings decorated the open space between the tents. Tripp leaned against the back of a couch in the center, surveying the large room. He should’ve been searching for the hacker, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the beautiful African-American woman wandering among the naked crowd. She wore a ruby red satin dress that threatened to expose her breasts at any moment. A tangle of tiny black braids spilled over her bare shoulders and cascaded down her back, dangling almost to her curved hips. Dark eyes sparkled in the flashing lights. His cock throbbed as she turned and stared straight at him over the rim of her wine glass.
He ached to whisk her off to a private tent, yank that dress to her ankles, and bite the fat nipples straining underneath.
A woman wearing a black lace bustier with a matching thong walked by and smiled at the bulge in his jeans. “Have we met?”
He eyed her and smiled. Deny everything. “No.” Actually, he’d fucked her in the bondage tent last summer. He’d tied her to the bed and shredded her pink lace panties. Tripp had worn his mask the entire time.
“We should.” She reached down and fondled his crotch.
“Not tonight.” But he allowed her to stroke his ego a while longer before stepping back. “I’m meeting someone.”
“Too bad.” She fluttered her fingers goodbye as she sauntered away on dangerously high heels.
Her perfect peach ass tempted him, but he stuck to his inflexible rule. Never the same woman twice. He couldn’t risk someone remembering him.
Ruby Red Dress glared at him as she marched across the room. Naked people parted before her, scrambling to get out of her way. Tripp’s already eager cock swelled, anticipating clothes-ripping angry sex. Damn it, why am I working?
She halted an inch away and jammed a finger in his chest. “You don’t like following orders.”
What orders am I supposed to be following? “I’d rather give them.” But he could make an exception for her. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
She rolled her eyes so hard her braids rustled. “Lame. I expected better from you.”
“You seem to know me.” A fact that made his stomach twist. “But I have no idea who you are.”
“Chantal Leveque.” She held out her hand for him to shake.
A whim seized him and he ran with it. “Martin Riggs.” He clasped her fingers in his and pressed them to his lips.
She seemed swayed by his charm, but after a swoony moment, her eyebrow arched. “Seriously?” Her eyes sparkled and she laughed. “All right, Martin. Why aren’t you naked?”
Bold. Direct. Exactly the kind of woman he should avoid. “We can fix that as soon as one of those tents opens up.” An image of her in the bondage tent with her ankles tied apart and that dress pushed up to her chin sent hot tingles to his aching boner.
She set her glass on an end table then dragged her fingernails down his chest, tweaking his nipple through his thin cotton shirt. “Or I could strip you right here in the middle of the room.”
“There’s an empty spot on the couch.” He patted the space behind him. “I could fuck you on my lap.” With that dress on the floor.
“I’m sure this crowd would appreciate the show.” She pushed into him, pinning him against the couch as she dragged her breasts up his chest and nearly dislodged her top in the process. “But something tells me you don’t like to be exposed.”
Prickling dread crawled up his spine. This woman knew far too much about him. Or pretended to. But how? A wild hunch tore up his head. Can’t be.
A tight nipple peeked from under the ruby satin, and a soft moan escaped her as he dragged his fingertip over it. “And you crave attention, validation, a reason for being. You’re the pale dwarf star in a universe swarming with brighter attractions. No one notices you until you create chaos.” He’d taken the profiler’s report on the hacker and put a prettier spin on it. His hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You’re a supernova.”
Silence enveloped them for a frozen moment. Her fingers curled into his chest and her lips parted as if to p
rotest. Then her eyes hardened, confirming his suspicions. A sneer curled her upper lip and she shattered his quiet illusion with a taunting threat. “Not. Safe.”
Tripp chose to kiss her, mashing his mouth against hers—to shut her up—but her invading tongue swept away the lie and dragged him further down the dark path he’d charged onto.
She reached up with both hands and threaded her fingers into his hair. Her dress slipped down, and he held her close, concealing her bare breasts against his shirt. His hands tangled in her braids as he pulled one free to slide down the escaping satin and cup her ass.
What am I doing to her? He was supposed to arrest the hacker, not grope her. Maybe the sexually free atmosphere messed with his head. Would he have kissed her like this if they’d met at a library? Deep among the stacks, crushed up against a bookshelf with that damn dress pooled around her ankles. Fucking hell, what is she doing to me?
Chantal reached down and clapped one hand on his butt, groaning into his mouth while she fiddled around in his back pocket and pulled his mask free. She smiled on his lips. “I found your secret.”
Damn it. He jerked the black cloth from her fingers and dropped it on the floor. He had plenty of others.
She nibbled his neck and nipped under his chin while her other hand slipped between them, seeking the bulge below his belt. “Armed and dangerous.” Her fingers circled his erection, and his weapon nearly emptied its chamber.
White-hot waves crashed over him and he sat back against the couch to keep from being pulled under. He slipped his hand beneath her skirt and traced her supple curves. She moaned and dropped her head back, lifting her breasts and brushing a fat nipple on his lips. He’d squashed the impulse to bite her the first time he saw her, so he seized the opportunity, trapping the sweet bud between his teeth and bearing down.
“Yes!” She hissed and raked her nails across his ass while grinding her hips against his straining cock.
He grabbed her clawing hands and held them behind her back, driving her dress further down. “I could fuck you right here on the floor.” A crowd had gathered around them, casual onlookers with nothing better to do than watch someone else get off while they sipped their drinks. He tightened his grip, holding her wrists with both hands.
“I’m not good enough for the couch?” She struggled in his grasp, but when she failed to break free, she rubbed her half-naked body against him.
Fireworks exploded in his brain, destroying any rational thoughts. “Hell no, a criminal like you needs to be punished.” He shifted, hoping to relieve his pounding erection between her thighs.
“God, yes! Lock me up and throw away the key. I’m a bad, bad girl. Punish me to the fullest extent of the law.”
Worst dirty talk ever. Especially for a detective shirking his duty. One coherent idea had survived the demolition. Do your job. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” She leaned in and dragged her tongue up his neck. “I felt that task force in your pants. Probe me with it.”
“No, I mean…” He reached into his jacket pocket then grabbed her again. “Supernova, you’re under arrest.”
Cold steel circled Chantal’s wrists as a distinctive click echoed in her ears. A collective moan swept through their audience. “Are you serious?” The man had been a stroke and a poke away from making them a freak show at this sex circus, and now he wanted to arrest her? An icy chill tamped down the fire raging between her thighs.
Tripp stepped back, blushed, and jerked her dress up to cover her pointed nipples. He ran a hand through his hair then adjusted his crotch. “Yes.”
“You son-of-a-ow!”
He yanked her close and growled in her ear. “Act like this is a sex game.” His eyes blazed and he mashed his lips together as if struggling to resist kissing her again. He shook his head, but the stiff bulge in his jeans betrayed him.
“I read the club rules. No means no.” She snarled back at him. “If I say no in front of these witnesses, you’ll have to release me.” She tempted him further, brushing her lips on his clenched jaw while she ground her chest against his in an effort to push her dress down again. The friction turned her dress into a static magnet and fused it to her breasts, defying her.
Tripp groaned while she gyrated, clamping his hands on her bare shoulders. “Then say no.” His eyes danced as he absently rubbed her covered nipple.
Bastard knows I can’t. She should never have lured him to the club. She never met any of her marks in person, keeping communication between them strictly anonymous and untraceable. But she’d abandoned her security protocols to climb all over the very detective assigned to track her down. And why? Because he looked hot? Because she wanted to get laid? She’d even given him her real name! He didn’t need to fuck her. She’d done it to herself. Damn it! “I surrender.”
A smirk cracked his law enforcer mask. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Fuck you!” She jerked against the cuffs.
“Not here, darlin’.” Tripp cradled her elbow and escorted her toward the red curtain. Before they passed through it, he stopped and draped his jacket over her shoulders, hiding her handcuffed wrists and rumpled bodice.
They slipped out of the club and into the dark wee hours. A single car drove by with its headlights off, grey and stealthy. Tripp slid his arm around her waist, holding her close while they crossed the street.
Chantal searched for his vehicle, probably a black SUV, bulletproof and inescapable. Had he brought backup? If he’d come alone, she might be able to seduce him and get away. Or she could try to knock him unconscious somehow, but that idea didn’t have the same appeal as fucking him senseless.
Bright lights stunned her momentarily, and after she blinked her sight back, she realized they’d entered a hotel lobby. Tripp pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket and paid for a room. Cash. He doesn’t want this on his expense report.
He grabbed the keycard and led her to the elevator, avoiding her glare until he unlocked the hotel room door and shoved her inside. “Sit down.”
Her seating options consisted of a functional desk, a plush chair, and a king-sized bed. Chantal chose the bed. She plunked her butt down on the firm mattress and smiled when he cringed. “Is this standard procedure?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and paced the short distance between the desk and the TV armoire. “Not exactly.”
Her bindings chafed her wrists and her bent shoulders ached. “Will you take the cuffs off?”
The detective snorted. “Hell no.”
“Then at least get your jacket off me. It’s getting hot under here.”
Tripp rolled his eyes and unzipped the heavy leather, bending down as he pushed it off her shoulders.
She tilted her nose up against his cheek and inhaled deeply. Shaving cream and soap. Practical and forgettable. She’d remember that.
He stood and tossed his jacket on the chair, then staggered back a step as she returned to his line of sight.
Her gaze drifted to the rigid bulge in his jeans. He’s still buzzing. “Are you going to search me?”
“What do you think I was doing at the club?”
She didn’t buy that, and judging by the torment in his eyes, neither did he. But he shook it off, and launched into an official interrogation.
“Chantal Leveque, is that your real name?”
She resolved to play it cool, giving evasive answers, not volunteering information. “You just never know.”
He failed to react. “Are you the hacker known as Supernova?”
“No! My name is Nova. You people have gotten it wrong from the start.” Real cool, dork.
“What’s the difference?”
She rolled her eyes, knowing he was baiting her, but the man needed an education. “A supernova is death, a star’s last exhale. A nova is a cataclysmic explosion that makes something dull and insignificant into the brightest star in the heavens.”
He leaned down on the bed, bracing his hands on either side of her. “Is that what you
want? Fame? Attention?”
“Don’t forget money.” She sneered in his face. Bastard thought he had her all figured out. Hell yes she wanted the spotlight, but she’d worked hard to get it. And she fucking deserved it. “That’s what I’ve achieved. I earned my name.”
He stood and crossed his arms over his chest, looming over her in dark judgement. “By blackmailing people and attacking servers.”
“I keep secrets!” Jagged pain ripped through Chantal’s skull.
“For a price!”
The cuffs bit into her wrists, binding her as she attempted to rub her throbbing temples. “These people can afford it.”
“What happens if they don’t pay?”
The white dwarf star exploded, obliterating the pain in a brilliant flash of vengeance. “Then they deserve to be humiliated. They’re all spoiled little rich brats just like the girl who stole my tampons from my gym bag.” Don’t volunteer information! But the event horizon swept over her, leaving her powerless to stop the shock waves. “I bled in front of the entire swim team. My father.” Her braids spilled over her face as memories rolled down. “They had to call off the meet to disinfect the pool.” She twisted her neck and tried to wipe a tear off her cheek with her shoulder, but the rattling handcuffs stopped her.
Tripp knelt in front of her and laid his hand on her knee.
His warm touch soothed her. I don’t want comfort. She jerked free and scooted aside, refueling the rage her confession had unleashed. “But I fucked her over. I hacked her medical records and threatened to tell the world she had herpes. She paid me to keep quiet.” Chantal pressed her lips together, struggling to hold back a giggle. It escaped with a snort, and a harsh cackle erupted. “But I told her secret anyway.” She laughed until her ribs hurt and then she let out a deep, shuddering sigh. “I had to give back the money, and I went to juvenile court. But I learned from my mistake. Cash seals these lips. After that, I became an entrepreneur.” Damn it, my head’s pounding again.