by Trisha Wolfe
It’s the first time I’ve ever been in this position—the shoe on the other foot, if you will—and I need to get a handle on whatever this is before it consumes my whole life.
“I’m not leaving my car here,” I say, asserting authority into my voice. I can’t take the chance anyone following me—anyone else—will spot it and investigate why I come here.
After a moment of consideration, Carson concedes. “Fine. I’ll follow you to wherever, then we can get to work. Stubborn…” He mutters this last part under his breath.
I ignore it and walk quickly toward my car. We’ve made enough of a scene.
After I’m parked in front of the grocery store near my apartment, I lock my car and open the door to the Crown Vic.
“Nice house,” Carson says, halting me before I climb inside the car.
I raise an eyebrow. This guy already has a clue about my mother—something no one except for Wexler and Quinn in the department know. I’ll be damned if I give away my residence, too. It’s not hard to figure out for a detective, but I’m not just handing over my information to him.
I seat myself in the passenger-seat. “We on the same page?” I ask.
He pulls out of the parking lot and takes a right into downtown. “That depends,” he says, keeping his gaze ahead, driving more cautiously and slowly than even Quinn drives. “Are we talking about what gets reported back to Quinn, or about where we begin on this assignment?”
Against my will, my lips tip up into a slight smile. “Both.”
I see him shrug from my peripheral. “Whoever you were visiting back there isn’t any of my business,” he says, sending a quick glance my way. “Don’t see how it’s anyone else’s, either.”
I nod. “All right. Thanks.”
“And”—Carson flips the blinker to make a turn, and the car crawls onto a familiar street. My heart picks up its pace—“I thought we might take a stab at a new approach on the victimology. Seeing that the lead the M.E. spun our way didn’t necessarily dead-end.”
We park in front of The Lair.
A loud whirring fills my ears. I brace my hand against the dash as if I can back us out of the parking spot by sheer will. “Why are we here, Carson? That lead led nowhere. I investigated it myself.”
He cracks the door, looks over at me. “I read your report. Not bad for a profiler, I might add.” He winks, causing my gut to twist uncomfortably. “But you speculated that the Viennese rope could’ve been purchased online.”
Forcing my jaw to relax, I say, “I have it on good authority that Vienna makes high quality rope. It’s not a shot in the dark assumption that the UNSUB buys his supplies online rather than attends a bondage event in another country.”
“And I’m not knocking that theory—but that’s exactly what it is; a theory. A speculation. Even though I'm young, I still like to do things by the book. Investigate and exhaust all avenues before I start on a new course.”
Great. Looks like Quinn hired on a clone to fill his shoes. “And even though I’m young, I’ve clocked thousands of field hours. Profiling isn’t all guesswork. I pored hours of research and analysis into every line of that profile.”
It doesn’t need to be voiced that I spent two days developing my own timeline away from the task force. Little black lines depicting times of death crosschecked against the hours I was with Colton. Outlining the possible connections he had to the victims, the potential interactions. None of which pointed to the club.
All circumstantial. Enough for a lawyer to get any case the department makes against him thrown out, but not enough for me. I need hard evidence. Evidence that either proves his innocence or his guilt. I haven’t thought far enough ahead should I prove the latter.
“Are you coming?”
The reality of the situation hits; I’m about to walk into The Lair. Where I can be recognized. I hold Carson’s stare and mentally curse Quinn. “Let’s go.”
Although it’s hours away from opening, my hope that the club will be empty is quashed when Carson bangs on the blacked-out window and a pretty girl dressed in a pink and black corset unlocks the door. “Can I help you?”
Carson flashes his shield. “We need to speak with the owner. Is he or she around?”
The girl rolls her heavily kohl-lined eyes, as if she’s dealt with police harassment before. “No, he’s busy today. And no, I’m not contacting him for you.” She purses her red lips, then adds, “But his brother just got here. He might be able to answer whatever for you.”
Flipping his leather-covered badge closed, Carson gives the girl a bright, panty-dropping smile. I match the girl’s sentiment with an eye roll of my own. “That would be very helpful, miss,” he says. “Thank you.”
Carson does do some things differently than Quinn, I note. I prefer Quinn’s charmless approach to interrogation—less bullshit—unless it’s directed toward me. I return my gaze to the girl. I don’t recognize her. And since she’s investing her full attention on Carson, she appears not to recognize me, either.
Small blessings.
We follow her into the main entrance. Black walls of a narrow hallway that usually make my adrenaline pump with anticipation now have my nails digging half-moons into my palms. As we push through to the main level, low classical music greets me instead of the bass-filled boom I’m accustomed to. It only just blocks out the city noise from outside.
The atmosphere inside the club during the day is considerably different versus the night. I wonder who selected Beethoven as the musical backdrop. Maybe the brother. I only met the owner once, during my initial application to join the club. I left out all the key details that might have gotten me declined at the time. Already being a member of another association—the ACPD—for one, and the fact that crime scenes arouse me and is what drove me to explore this side of myself.
Shame was prominent, but more so, privacy. Those intimate details…I could never share with a stranger. Which makes the rapid rate at which Colton drew me out of my shell all the more alarming. Just too intense; too uncontrollable.
Back then, I hadn’t planned to ever return to The Lair. I was feeding a craving, trying to assuage my beast by a different means…and it worked. For a time. It may have continued to quell my demons had I never met Colton.
Now, I don’t know where I stand amid the chaos. I’ve been thrown right into the middle of the storm and I’m grasping at the slippery edges. The earth eroding beneath my feet.
“You wait here while I get him,” Corset Girl tells Carson with a wink. Apparently, he’s met his match.
“I could get used to working in this city,” he whispers to me.
“Nice.” I shake my head. But really, I have zero room to talk. The Lair was the second place I scoped out after I made permanent arrangements for my mother at Resting Pines. Along with the non-existent crime rate and a secure placement for my ailing mother, Arlington held all the right attractions for me to settle down on a more permanent basis.
While Carson takes a look around the club, gaze shifting over glass-encased, inlaid shelves showcasing everything from whips and chains to Dom outfits and masks, I stealthily sneak out my phone to send a warning text to Colton. No need for him to make a surprise appearance while I’m here.
Before I hit send, the girl returns. “These are the two.” I look up and my heart jolts. That eroding ground beneath me completely gives way, sucking me under and burying me faster than quicksand.
“Detectives, this is the owner’s brother, Colton Reed.” She smiles sweetly. “I’ll just leave you to it, then.”
I don’t even see her leave the room. I don’t hear anything that comes out of Carson’s mouth. The whole world dissolves into the background, leaving just Colton and me. I thought that if I gave myself enough time away, that my feelings for him would lesson. That the complete and utter thrall he has over me would decrease by some minute fraction. Just enough so I could think rationally when I next saw him.
This is not the case. He’s dressed for the
club, wearing his signature black V-neck that highlights the leanly defined muscles of his arms and chest, and dark denim jeans. A serious scowl mars the normally smooth skin between his dark eyebrows, and his glacier blue gaze is focused hard on me.
Though it hasn’t been spoken, the word betrayal suffocates the small span of air between us.
“Mr. Reed,” Carson says, breaking his hypnotic connection over me as Colton finally acknowledges the detective. “I asked how long you’ve worked at The Lair. Should we do this in an office rather than here?”
Colton’s gaze flicks from Carson back to me. “No,” he says, his voice a thick boom. It travels straight through me, and every inch of me aches, raw and needy. “Here’s fine. I have nothing to hide.”
His words zing right to my gut. The unspoken insult: but I do.
Sinking his hands into his pockets, Colton lifts his chin and pins Carson with a severe glare. “I’ve worked here for about five months. My brother needed to find some help quickly, and after that, the gig just stuck.”
“I can see how that could happen. Much better working environment than at the department.” Carson sends me a smirk, but my attention is on the man before me, the one who I know so little about that I didn’t even realize he had a brother, let alone that his brother ran the club.
Julian. That’s his name, though last names were never exchanged. The cool brush of betrayal skitters up my spine. Did Colton keep this information from me on purpose? Ours was not a typical start to a relationship; we never divulged intimate specifics about each other’s lives…but I still feel this one detail was not an oversight.
“I know it looks like this business is all fun and games,” Colton says. “But I do have actual work to do before the club opens. Can we move this along—quickly?”
“Right. Of course.” Carson waves a hand through the air, dismissing his last comment. “We’re actually here about your merchandise, Mr. Reed.”
“Colton’s fine.”
With a smile, Carson continues. “I assume the club sells toys and…bondage equipment.”
Colton simply nods his confirmation.
“Would it be possible to take a look at some of the equipment?” Carson asks, his firm tone indicating that he’s not really seeking permission. “And the shipping details, more specifically. Who your suppliers are, where your merchandise is shipped from.”
Removing his hands from his pockets, Colton crosses his arms over his chest. “I believe you need a warrant for that, detective.”
This is true. What the hell is Carson doing? I know exactly where he’s going with this, I just don’t understand what connection he’s trying to link in the victimology, or who he’s targeting.
I open my mouth to interrupt, but Carson jumps ahead. “You’re right, and it will take a load of paperwork and begging judges and a lot of wasted time on my part to get that warrant. And in the end, I probably won’t succeed.” He cocks his head, eyeing Colton seriously. “So I was hoping you could do the department a favor and skip over the bureaucracy part. Maybe a favor might come in handy down the road for you, Colton.”
I can make a pretty accurate guess based on Colton’s demeanor that he’s not giving anything up to Carson. His jaw locks tight, his chest rises with a heavy inhale, and his features settle into a resolute hardness.
I step between them to deflect an oncoming confrontation when Colton says, “Fine. Lilly Anne—” he beckons the corset girl from across the room “—show Detective Carson the shipping labels and sales receipts for the ‘merchandise’.” At Carson’s pleased expression, Colton adds, “I trust that this information will be kept confidential within the department.”
“Absolutely. We appreciate your cooperation.”
Lilly Anne only hesitates a moment before nodding her head in the direction she takes off in. “Come on. My office is upstairs.”
Carson starts to follow after her, then stops to look back at me. “You coming?”
The look Colton is giving me says otherwise. Besides, I think I’ve taken enough orders from egotistical rookie detectives for one day. “You go ahead. I have some questions of my own for Mr. Reed.”
With a shrug that says Carson doesn’t mind being alone with Lilly Anne one bit, he leaves the ground level to pursue her up the spiraling staircase.
My body is suddenly very aware of Colton’s appraising gaze, and I touch the table behind me as I meet his eyes, keeping myself steady. The melodic swell of cellos and violins crescendos, thickening the already dense tension. “I didn’t know you were a classical music lover,” I say, deciding to be the first to break the silence.
He’s in no mood for trivial talk of music, however. He turns and starts down a darkened hallway, where I assume I’m to follow.
My insides twist as I do, and before I’m two steps behind him, he pivots and grabs my waist, hauling me against him. His clear blue irises sear into me as the hard press of his muscled chest tightens my nipples painfully against the fabric of my bra.
He dips his head, lowering his mouth close to my ear. “What are you playing at, goddess?”
“I’m not playing at anything,” I hiss. He pulls back to look into my eyes, and the rapid knock of his heart drums against my breasts. “This wasn’t my idea, Colton. This club or your name has never passed my lips to anyone. I came to you alone, remember?”
Frustration contorts his features. “I remember. I remember so well that I’ve ached for you every second since.”
My eyes close at his admission. Hot desire thrums through my veins, and a pleasurable shiver caresses my skin as his deep voice envelops me. “Why didn’t you tell me your brother owns the club?” I ask, forcing my eyes to open and the haze-inducing lust into a pocket of my brain.
His full lips kick up into a grin. “Always work.”
“There’s a killer out there mutilating women. Yes, I’m focused on my job right now, Colton.”
His eyes slit. “And yet again, you wind up in my presence during your investigation.” As his hands purposely roam up my back, my breathing shallows. He clasps one hand around the nape of my neck. “The simple answer is it never came up.”
“And the not so simple answer?”
His smile fades. “It’s complicated.” He angles my head back farther, his face closing in toward mine. “As exciting as this is, it isn’t a cat and mouse game, goddess. I’m not the man you’re looking for. At least, not in regards to your case.”
With deft movements that take me off-guard, he pushes me up against the hallway wall, his body caging me in. “Do you know how hard it’s been to stay away?” His whispered confession steals over my skin, then his lips are on my neck, my jaw, trailing a blistering path across my flesh. I tip my head back, unable to deny my body what it wants.
Blinking hard, I regain my bearings and press my palms to his chest, inserting necessary distance between us. “Carson’s not investigating you. But if you know anyone associated with the club who might be involved—”
“I don’t.” His movements still. “You and your detective are looking in the wrong place.”
Releasing a pent-up breath, I sigh. “You’re not worried what he might find up there?” Colton lifts his head, and the sudden absence of his mouth leaves my skin cold and missing his touch.
A slow smile curves his lips, meeting the gleam in his eyes. “Thanks to a leak in the department,” he says, sliding a hand between my thighs and eliciting a soft gasp from me, “I know exactly what information he’s looking for, and I know that he won’t find it.” The toe of his boot kicks one of my feet aside, parting my legs, giving him unhindered access to touch me where I ache. “I don’t get shipments from Vienna through the club.”
His thumb applies just enough pressure to my clit to make me writhe against him as his fingers indelicately knead my sensitive flesh. I bite down on my lip, the onslaught of trembles taking hold of my body as a hot, achy throb ignites within my core.
Fighting against the need pulling me under, I
say, “Just tell me that your brother has nothing to hide in this club.” My hand goes to Colton’s hair, my back arching to press my body closer to his. At any second, Carson could come around the corner. Could witness me in a compromising situation with a person of interest. That is, as soon as he realizes Colton was also one of the victim’s neighbors.
My body doesn’t care, though. I don’t care—the tender ache pouring through me, yearning for Colton to bind me and take every part of me, screams louder than my integrity or even common sense.
Colton grabs my wrist and anchors my arm to the wall above my head. His palm slides my sleeve back, exposing the link of rope tied there. His eyes snag the ivory material as his thumb dips beneath the coarse rope to rub my sensitized skin.
“This, right here, says you’re mine,” he bites out. He pushes the neck of my shirt off my shoulder, pinning my other arm to my side with the strap of my gun harness. His face close to mine, breath grazing my lips, he says, “You want me to ease your conscience so this is easy for you. I won’t. I told you before that this…between us…is all about trust. You either surrender to it, or you walk away.” But even as he says this, pain flashes in his eyes, mocking his assertion. He can’t walk away any more than I can.
I twist my forearm beneath his hold and force his grip to tighten the rope around my wrist. He looses a low, guttural sound as I physically submit to him.
“Fuck…” he breathes out, pressing his hard want against the seam of my jeans, provoking a throaty moan past my lips. “Your sweet torture is divine, goddess. But my patience is running thin—don’t make me wait any longer. I need to be inside you.” Then his head drops to my bared shoulder. His teeth sink into my skin, and I seal my lips together to stifle a scream.
The pain awakens all my senses, stirring carnal desire in my belly. My craving for him travels to every limb, piquing every nerve. My hips buck, and I wrap a leg around him, forcing his rock-hard erection against my clit.