by Lila Dubois
San Francisco Lost
San Francisco Trilogy: Part Two
Lila Dubois
Copyright
Published by:
Farm Boy Press,
Sacramento, California, United States of America.
First electronic edition: January 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Lila Dubois, all rights reserved.
Cover design by Lila Dubois
Book formatted by Farm Boy Press
ISBN: 978-1-941641-35-4
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Publisher’s note:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Contents
Blurb
San Francisco Lost
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Explore the San Francisco Trilogy
Also by Lila Dubois
About the Author
San Francisco Lost
He’ll find her, no matter what it takes.
* * *
For three nights, collar in hand, James waits for the woman he's fallen madly in lust with.
She never arrives.
And when he asks, it’s revealed there is no member named Christiana.
* * *
Christiana knows it’s time to stop pining over James. By now he knows she wasn’t who she said she was and has probably moved on. She should too.
Maybe it’s time to try submitting to a different Dom.
* * *
James should let it go.
He should let her go.
But he can’t shake the feeling that she’s in danger. That she needs him.
If you haven’t read San Francisco Longing, part one of the San Francisco Trilogy…
GET YOUR FREE COPY HERE
San Francisco Lost
Chapter 1
“I will give you what you need,” the man who called himself Master Dino said softly.
What she needed was James, but she couldn’t have him. She’d lied to him, spent three stolen nights with him and even fooled herself into thinking she could be with him, before reality sank in. He was one of the world’s uber-wealthy, a member of a traveling BDSM secret society called the Orchid Club.
She was a quiet, maybe slightly odd civil engineer, who spent most of her income on rent so she could avoid having a roommate in the Bay Area’s insane housing market. She had no place in his world, nor he in hers. But maybe she could find that same intense connection with someone else. That was her hope. That was why she’d been at the BDSM mixer.
And that was where she’d met Dino, who five minutes after meeting her had invited her to leave with him. Now she was standing on the street corner, at both a physical and metaphorical crossroads—get in the car with Dino, or abandon any hope of finding a man, a Dom, to replace James, and go home.
More specifically, she would be getting in the car with a total stranger to go to an unknown location.
What are you doing? This is dangerous!
Christiana blocked out the increasingly shrill voice in her head. She felt oddly detached from what was happening. She slid into the car, ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She sat in silence in the back, a silence made easier by the slightly-too-loud volume of the driver’s music. The part of her that hadn’t gone numb was carefully tracking where they were in the city, and it wasn’t far to their destination—only a few miles, though it took fifteen minutes thanks to traffic.
Dino climbed out first, then came around and opened her door. While he was circling the car, Christiana craned her neck to see the driver’s phone screen, where the destination address—their current location—was displayed. She quickly typed it into her phone and sent a text to Ginger with the address and “met a guy, going back to his place.”
Dino opened her door and offered his hand to help her out. His hand seemed too large and was slightly sweaty when she took it, but it was the gesture of a gentleman.
Her phone, still in her other hand, chimed.
What? Get it, gurl! But also, be safe. If I don’t hear from you soon, I’m calling the cops.
Christiana smiled and tucked her phone into her bag.
“Letting someone know where you are?” Dino asked.
Christiana looked at him warily. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Of course not. You need to be safe. I need to be safe.” He grinned, showing too many teeth. “I’ll text a friend too, in case you turn out to be a nut.”
“Safety first,” Christiana replied. She forced her lips to curve, but the smile didn’t last.
Dino’s expression turned serious as the rideshare car pulled away. “This way.” He grabbed her elbow, tugging her along to the front gate of a narrow, three-story apartment complex, tucked tightly between the buildings on either side of it. The building was clearly new, with large, brightly colored panels mounted to the exterior of the U-shaped building. The gate opened into a long, narrow courtyard. Each front door that faced onto the courtyard was painted the same color as one of the large panels on the exterior of the building.
Dino led her to an orange door. Unlike many of the others they’d passed, there was no bike or potted plants on the small concrete stoop, just a black welcome mat that said go away.
I wonder if that makes it a go away mat instead of a welcome mat.
He released her arm to fish in his pocket and pull out a set of keys, which he used to unlock the door, pushing it open and ushering her inside.
Christiana hesitated, the rational voice in her mind screaming Do not enter this stranger’s apartment!
She stepped through the doorway.
Once inside, it was clear this wasn’t an apartment, but rather a multi-story townhouse. Dino probably had money. Not like the members of the yacht-and-fifty-super-cars-owning-members-of-the-Orchid-Club, but enough to afford space in San Francisco, which was wealthy by most people’s standards.
“Subs aren’t allowed to wear shoes in my house. Unless they’re stilettos.”
Dino’s voice had changed, becoming harder, with a bit of a sneer in it.
That broke through some of the detachment that had carried Christiana this far. She turned to face him. “Shouldn’t that be part of the contract we negotiate?”
He reached out, grabbed her by the shoulder, and then forced her to her knees. Christiana’s purse fell to the floor and she yelped in pain. She grabbed his wrist, trying to force his hand off her. In that moment she was more shocked than scared, and a bit annoyed by how hard his fingers were digging into her.
> Dino grabbed her by the throat, squeezing just enough that fear—real, mortal fear—lanced through her.
Oh god oh god oh god. Ginger is going to call the cops, but not for hours. She had to get out of this on her own.
“You and I don’t need a contract, do we, slave? You want what I will give you.”
Christiana tried to pry his fingers from her throat, her mouth opening and closing. She managed to let out a strangled scream.
Dino blinked behind his glasses and let go. “Oh, was that too much?”
Christiana was shaking from adrenaline, kneeling there on the floor of the small entrance hall. His abrupt change from almost strangling her to looking baffled barely registered. This was a mistake, one of many she’d made recently.
Keeping her movements slow and controlled, she grabbed her purse and stood. Her heart was pounding in her chest. “I should go.” The words were shaky, but hopefully casual enough that he wouldn’t know how scared she was.
“Ah, damn. Listen, that was too much, too fast.” He sounded worried and contrite.
Christiana looked at him through her lashes, her racing heart calming. Dino took off the glasses, setting them and his keys down on a small table that was covered in mail. It was such a normal gesture that her fear faded. She’d seen things when she was with James that were even more dangerous and aggressive than what Dino had just done.
Miscommunication. That was what this was.
If she wanted this, she needed to take a risk, the way she had at the warehouse. She needed to be Alice once more.
“You scared me a little,” she said softly.
He looked at her, his gaze traveling down her, his lips curling up. “Come on, let me show you something.”
He went first, up two flights of stairs to the third floor. She followed him, telling herself with each step that she could turn around. With him in front of her, her escape path was clear, and she felt calmer.
As they climbed higher, she kept up an internal monologue, using it to force down the fight-or-flight reaction that had left her fingers trembling. What had happened in the foyer was a misunderstanding—he’d tried to come on too strong, jump right into a scene. Now that he knew she didn’t want that, he’d backed off.
There was a small landing on the third floor, with three doors off of it. The first was a glass door that led out onto a ten-by-ten rooftop garden. He opened the door across from that one, ushering her in.
The far wall of the room had nearly floor-to-ceiling windows. The outdoor garden was on the interior side of the building, but this room looked out onto the street below, and had a rather impressive view of the city. A small wedge of ocean was just barely visible. The lights of the city spilled in, casting a pretty, multi-colored glow over the floor.
The door closed and Dino turned on the lights.
It was a dungeon.
The walls were painted dark blue, and the floor was hardwood so dark it was almost black. The lighting was elegant, a series of directional spotlights that illuminated a St. Andrew’s Cross, spanking bench, and what looked like a medical exam table.
Chains hung from one wall, beside a set of artistically displayed implements, most of which she recognized. She knew more now about BDSM than she had when she left James, having spent the weeks between then and now researching and reading everything from blogs to instructional manuals to fiction. There was a paddle, flogger, long whip, something that might have been a tawse, and a three-foot cane.
“What do you think?” Dino asked.
Christiana curled her fingers into her palms so he wouldn’t see them shaking. “It’s very nice. But the window…” There was a building across the street that would have a rather scandalous view of this kink-focused space.
“It’s cool, right? State of the art. Specially treated so it’s either opaque or transparent. All I do is flip a switch.” He stood in front of her, not touching her, but close enough that all he had to do was reach out a hand. “Sometimes as punishment, my slaves stand naked in front of the window. Of course, that doesn’t work if they’re exhibitionists. Are you?”
Christiana had a vivid flashback of standing on that stage, naked and on display for no other reason than James wanted her there.
“I’m… not really sure,” she said.
“We’ll find out.” Dino’s face had taken on that hard look once more. “I told you once, slaves aren’t allowed to wear shoes in my house.”
Just turn around and walk out. Leave. Now.
She had to try, had to give this a chance. It was either that or spend her life pining for James.
Christiana slipped off her flats, then bent to pick them up, sliding them into her large, messenger-style purse. She held the bag, hesitating.
Dino reached out and took it from her, hanging it on a hook on the back of the door.
“Jacket,” he demanded.
Christiana squeezed her eyes closed, then took off her jacket, handing it to the stranger she was about to submit to.
He found Lillian on the first floor of the manor, talking to one of the servers in what James thought might have been Thai. Lillian herself was Indian, and the manager of the Orchid Club, though she referred to herself as the “owner’s assistant.” James had no idea who the owner was and didn’t particularly care, though there were plenty of rumors that went around, his favorite of which was that the owner was a member of Spain’s royal family who had set up the club as a way of indulging himself safely.
In practice, Lillian was the face of the organization. When James had signed his membership papers at a solicitor’s office in London, Lillian had been there to witness it and then welcome him before providing him with the secure, encrypted e-mail the club used to communicate with members and talk him through what to expect at his first event.
He hadn’t interacted with her much since then, as he had yet to host one of the gatherings. Each member was expected to host, though in practice there were a few members who enjoyed doing so and ended up hosting every year, sometimes twice a year. If he had hosted, he would know Lillian much better, as she took care of all the details of the event, helping the hosts execute their vision and providing the on-site staff, who were often the same people event after event.
As he approached, she glanced once at his face and then dismissed the young woman she was speaking to.
Lillian wore a strapless gold gown and a multi-strand gold necklace. She looked regal and calm, her hair woven into a crown of braids on top of her head.
“Mr. Nolen, how may I help you?” she asked in a lovely accent.
He looked around. There was no one near. “I want to ask you about one of the members.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nolen, but as you know, we take our members’ privacy very seriously.”
“I know that, but I think… I think something has happened to her. We were supposed to meet.”
“Again, as you know, we don’t require members to RSVP, as plans change, and again, it’s a matter of—”
“Privacy,” James finished for her. He reached into his pockets, then held out his hands. He uncurled his fingers, revealing the two collars, one functional, one beautiful.
Lillian’s mouth rounded into an “O” shape. “They’re… they’re exquisite.”
“I had them custom-made for her.”
“You were planning to collar her permanently and she never arrived?” Now Lillian looked concerned.
“Not permanently. Not yet,” he amended.
“You have custom collars made to use for a single gathering?”
James raised his chin. “Yes, I did.”
Lillian’s professional air shifted, and she seemed more human and approachable. “You must really love her.”
No. He didn’t love her. He barely knew her. James didn’t say that, as Lillian thinking he loved her might help his case.
“I’m very sorry, but still I can’t reveal information about a member.”
James bit down on a curse, shoving the collars b
ack into his pocket. His stomach was knotted and he couldn’t shake this feeling that Christiana needed him. Right now.
“Then can you… can you check on her?” he asked desperately. “You don’t have to tell me what you find. I just need to know she’s okay. Do an internet search, make sure she wasn’t hurt or in an accident, or—”
Lillian held up her hands. “That I can do.” She turned away, and he followed her. She stopped. “Mr. Nolen, I’m going to a non-guest area.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Mr. Nolen.”
James stepped into her personal space, lowering his voice. “I’m coming with you.”
Lillian lowered her gaze, and a little shiver worked its way down her spine. The rumors were true—she wasn’t just the owner’s assistant, she was also a submissive. It would be terrible of him to use that information to get what he wanted, but James found that he was willing to do terrible things for the sake of Christiana.
Luckily, he wasn’t forced to push the issue any further. Lillian nodded stiffly. “Very well, Mr. Nolen, but please understand that this is not something I would do except under the most extreme circumstances.”
“I do understand, Lillian, and I won’t tell anyone.”
He followed her down a hall and through a set of pocket doors. The room beyond looked like the interior of a well-organized garage. There were neatly labeled boxes stacked four high and five across, a folding table set up with a printer and laptop, and a rolling garment rack bearing a few dozen empty hangers and two lone garments, which he recognized as the uniform the servers and bartenders were wearing at this event.