by Becky McGraw
Grabbing the chain again, it rattled as the Dom jerked her upright. “Remember, you signed the contract, Kitty—you want this,” he reminded in a firm voice. “You’re mine to do with as I please, so I suggest you obey me if you know what’s good for you.”
“Yes, Sir,” Grace whimpered and a tremor rocked her as he led her to the door and pounded a fist there. It opened and he jerked her inside behind him.
Signed the contract? That meant she was here voluntarily—and had given him consent to do this to her. Anxiety tightened his chest as mental images of Grace strapped to the various pieces of bondage equipment he’d seen at the dungeon he visited with Chandra flashed through his mind like snapshots. The agonized moans he’d heard that night became her moans in his mind, and were accompanied by visions of the sensual torture techniques that caused them.
Fuck, knowing that, he just needed to leave and mind his own business. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Dex had to make sure the man she’d chosen as her sadistic teacher wasn’t too rough, and that he released her if she changed her mind.
Why, Grace—why?!?
Spinning on his heels, he ran back down the corridor then strode to the front desk. “What do I need to do to play tonight? Is something special going on in that first hall to the left?” Dex asked, and the clerk’s head snapped up.
“It’s an SC Club munch, but you can attend as a guest,” the man informed, studying him. “You’ll need to sign a waiver and it’ll be two hundred dollars.”
“Two hundred dollars?!?” Dex repeated, swallowing hard. Explaining that expense to Logan, sliding it through on his expense report, was not going to happen, so he pulled out his personal card.
The clerk shrugged. “Gotta pay to play, handsome.”
You’re mine to do with as I please. Not on my watch, buddy, Dex thought, snatching the paper from the clerk’s hand. He turned the paper over, quickly read the waiver and got even more afraid for Grace. He filled out the form, scrawled his signature on the line at the bottom, then handed it back with his credit card.
“You have a partner?” the clerk asked, looking entirely too interested as he gave Dex the credit card receipt to sign.
“No, I’m just going to watch,” Dex grumbled. For about sixty-seconds, the time it would take him to find Grace and get her the hell out of there.
“Oh that’s too bad...but voyeurism is allowed, so you’re good,” the square-jawed clerk replied, reading over his waiver. “I’d be happy to stand in, ah, Dex—if you change your mind and need a bottom.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dex growled, shoving his credit card back into his wallet. “Is that all you need from me?”
“Yep, you’re all set, except for your wristband.” Dex thrummed his fingers on the counter until the clerk reappeared from the back room with a bright green paper bracelet which he secured around his wrist. He reached under the counter then handed Dex a pamphlet. “This is a map of the resort, so you can check out all of the amenities. They’re not all listed on our website for obvious reasons.” The man’s wink made him cringe. “Have fun, handsome.”
Fun?!? Not likely, Dex thought, studying the map that very clearly outlined the amenities offered at this resort which catered to hardcore BDSM enthusiasts.
The cutesy names on the ballrooms, Delilah’s Dungeon, Hedonist Haven, Alice’s Wanderland, The Doctor’s Lounge and The Woodshed didn’t soften the severity of the activities being conducted in those rooms, all of which spelled pain. The fine print under those titles explained it all. Shibari rope play, water play, suspension, cages, fire cupping and candling, violet wand play, medical play, racks, spanking benches, wheels of misfortune.
A veritable carnival of carnal nightmares.
Caesar’s Quarters was the only room he was interested in at the moment. The room where the munch was being held. The room where Grace may be about to learn about the grave risks involved in indulging in this kind of activity firsthand. The risks that he’d learned about from researching on the web when Chandra suggested they try a little BDSM play.
He learned that if a Dom wasn’t well-trained, or concerned about the safety and well-being of his sub, if the rules of play weren’t firmly established, the sub could be injured badly. If the severity of the marks that man left on her ass were any indication, he definitely wasn’t concerned about her well-being, which meant she could be in trouble when he got even rougher.
Dex needed to get inside that room fast to save her from her stupidity. He took a step down the hall, but stopped to look down at his jeans and graphic t-shirt. If he strolled into that room dressed like he was, he’d stick out like a pig at a cotillion ball, as Lou Ellen would say. He turned back to the desk and felt dirty when he caught the clerk eyeing his ass.
“I need to find some fetish wear. Any suggestions?” Dex asked gruffly.
“The boutique is closed until nine in the morning. They have everything, but the resort gift shop in the west wing of the building has a limited selection. They’re open until ten.”
Dex glanced at the map, then at the clock over the man’s shoulder and took off toward the front door. It looked like the shortest route to the shop wasn’t down the hall, but running outside around the building to a side door. He needed to get there fast.
Grace’s life could depend on it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Limited selection? That had to be the understatement of the century, Dex thought, as he pushed through the door at the end of the side hall by the gift shop. He breathed in the cooler, moister night air as he walked out into the now dark parking lot.
He was thankful for the darkness, considering his new outfit which consisted of studded leather chaps a size too small for his hips and two sizes too small to fit over his jeans, a black leather G-string which came with the chaps and a beaked BDSM Batman mask, because he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror of the dressing room without it.
He was going to wear the chaps over his underwear, but noticed they had become more tighty-pinks than tighty-whities. He opted for the G-string and vowed from now on to check his underwear before he put them on, and to separate his wash instead of just shoving it into the machine. To make matters worse, he had to go shirtless, because he doubted the kinksters would appreciate his ‘I Heart PI’ t-shirt as much as he did.
In totality, his look screamed ‘Escapee from Mardi Gras on Bourbon Street’, not sexy kinkster. He not only felt like a fool, he knew he looked like one too.
Own it, Dex, or they’ll never believe you’re one of them and let you in.
He was just thankful for the mask, which meant there was zero chance in hell anyone would recognize him dressed like this, including Grace—especially her. That mask prevented him from wearing his glasses, however, so things were a little fuzzy, but he might be thankful for that haziness once he got inside Caesar’s Playroom. He just hoped he could see well enough to recognize her.
Bright light flashed to his left and he squinted, feeling a strange charge electrifying the night air before an ear-splitting BOOM followed to reverberate through him. Please don’t let it rain, he prayed picking up his pace to a jog, because he still had a long way to go before he reached the front of the resort. Another lightning bolt zigzagged through the purplish darkness, a quick boom followed and that was the only warning he got before the bottom fell out of the sky. Rain poured in sheets over his chest, sluiced into his eyes and stung his bare butt.
With each footfall, his leather chaps and boots grew heavier and the mask tighter. It became a herculean effort to make his legs move after getting soaked, but he trudged on. His boots splashed in the water which was quickly turning into a mini-river rushing past his feet.
The leather encasing his legs heated, the sharp edges at the top rubbed and chafed, until Dex had no choice but to slow down, take his punishment from Mother Nature for being so damned stupid. If he didn’t, the odds were his balls would be raw, or sawed off by the leather G-string, before he got to the front door.
He gritted his teeth and trudged through the blinding rainstorm, until he finally reached the corner of the building where he sprinted to get under the canopy. His heart pounded in his numb ears under the mask as he bent over to catch his breath and let some of the water wick off of his body. A powerful engine roared behind him, a horn honked and he dove for the curb, then rolled to see a sleek black limo pull up to the entrance.
The front door immediately opened, and a leather-clad bellman held it as a couple appeared in the entry. The man guided the woman to the doorway, where she put on the brakes, and they scuffled a second, before he finally dragged her outside.
“I said I changed my mind—I want to cancel it!” Grace growled, digging in her heels again.
The Dom’s harsh laugh as he pinched her chin between his fingers to tilt her face up raked over every one of Dex’s nerves
“You’re determined to test me, aren’t you? You begged me to give you this chance—do you still want the job? We have a contract, and this is the interview process. I don’t hire people I can’t trust to keep their word, Ms. Smith.”
“I, ah—well,” she stuttered, then went silent for a moment before her shoulders slumped and she huffed a breath. “Yes, I want the job, and I am…a woman of my word.”
Smith? Dex almost laughed at her lack of creativity in her alias. And this humiliating spectacle was the price of getting a job? She actually wanted to work for this asshole? Was she that fucking desperate? With her background and education, why was she so desperate?
If this was an interview, Dex didn’t think he’d ever seen or heard of a more extreme example of sexual harassment in his life. The women at the Deep Six office would not only tell this guy to go to hell, they’d probably kick his ass too.
“Good girl,” he praised with a tight smile, before he grabbed her hand and she stumbled behind him toward the car.
He waited for the tall, blonde chauffeur to walk around the car and open the door for him, then roughly pushed Grace toward the opened door, but she dug in her heels again. He pushed harder, and she grabbed the opening, stiffened her arms and stared inside the car like she was staring at the cavern to hell, which probably wasn’t far off the mark.
“I, ah, think we need to stay here instead. Maybe I could just learn from watching the others,” she said, her voice trembling.
“You don’t make those decisions,” the Dom barked, his eyes flashing angrily. “And that is not the way you ask me for what you want, is it?”
His tone, the coiled tension in his body and the grip he had on Grace’s arm told Dex this man’s anger wasn’t feigned. He really was extremely angry and Grace was in big trouble if she got inside that car.
“Please, Sir, can we stay here?” she asked in a small voice, looking down at her toes.
Surprisingly, Tim backed off a little and released her arm, then reached to stroke her cheek with his thumb. “I should have realized you weren’t ready for a scene, but you really embarrassed me tonight. You need more intense training before we try that again, and the lessons will happen at my dungeon at home, where we have more privacy.”
Where nobody can hear your screams. So you can get a job. Probably as a prostitute, or sex slave.
Not on his fucking watch.
Dex dropped his plastic bag on the curb, bent at the waist and gathered up both courage and strength. In a flash, he sprang forward in a fetish-wear-clad freight train of determination and creaking, wet leather. His body collided with the taller and heavier, but not nearly as muscled, man with a wet thwack, and then they landed on the sidewalk hard. Dex immediately shoved his forearm up under the man’s chin and dug his knee into his crotch.
“The lady said she changed her mind, buddy. No, means no—asshole.”
“Should I call the police, Master Tim?” the bellman asked, opening the front door again.
“Who the fuck are you?” the Dom hissed, baring his teeth and glaring at Dex.
“A man you don’t want to fuck with, trust me. Now, I’m leaving here with her, and you are going to be a good boy and watch us go. Comprende?”
He nodded and Dex pushed up, grinding his forearm deeper into the man’s throat for leverage. Dex stepped back and Tim sat up rubbing his throat.
“Are you leaving with him, Kitty?” the man demanded, casting her an intense glare.
“No, I, um—” she stuttered, glancing at Dex. “We just had a misunderstanding. I’m fine, so m—mi—mind your own business.” Grace took a step toward him, and the man cast Dex a smug grin.
Mind his own business? After he’d lowered himself to wear chaps that let his ass hang out and a thong to save her? After he’d run through a monsoon and assaulted a man for her? His tongue found life before his stunned brain engaged.
“What the fuck happened to you, Grace?” he asked, and her shocked gaze flew to him. Dex tensed as her eyes bored in as if she were trying to melt his mask.
His mind screamed run when the Dom leapt to his feet, but he looked over her shoulder at the man’s face. The evil mask of satisfaction and violent intent he wore kept Dex rooted. This man was furious at Grace for embarrassing him tonight, probably livid because he blamed her for Dex’s interference too. If he got her in restraints, there was no telling what he would do to her.
Mind your own business. She doesn’t want your help.
The best thing he could do was get out of here before he wound up in jail tonight. With a huffed breath, Dex stepped back and bent to grab his bag from the sidewalk. He fully intended to walk away, but his legs just wouldn’t move. Clenching his teeth, he whipped back around, grabbed Grace’s arm then pulled her behind him.
“Thomas, call the police now, and get me some help out here!” the Dom shouted, lunging toward Dex.
“Yes, Sir,” the bellman replied, darting back into the building.
Taking the offense, Dex cocked his arm back, and lunged forward. He stomped on the Dom’s instep as he drove the heel of his palm up under the man’s nose. The sickening crunch pleased Dex and would surely have made Susan proud. The man flew back into the front of the building holding his nose, then slid down the window to the ground and sat there moaning.
Grabbing his bag and Grace’s wrist, Dex dragged her around the car to the driver’s door. He flung open the front door then ordered Blonde Sonya out of the front seat. She only looked mildly surprised, and being the good submissive she obviously was, she unfurled her long legs and stepped out.
Dex shoved Grace into the front seat, then pushed her over to get inside and was pleased to find the car was already idling. The front door of the resort flew open, dark-suited men filed out and he mashed the accelerator hard. The tires spun, the huge car launched from under the canopy and the men chased after the car with guns drawn.
Adrenaline pumped through his body so hard he felt dizzy as he zoomed across the lot toward the exit. He glanced in the side mirror and saw the security guards scatter, most likely to find cars to chase after them. At the main road, he turned toward downtown Vegas on two wheels, and Grace squealed as she slid across the seat toward him.
“Who the hell are you? How do I know you?” Grace demanded, frowning when he regained control of the car. “I don’t even know your name, but you seem to know mine. If you’re going to kidnap someone, don’t you think you should at least tell them your name?”
Oh, you know my name, Gracie. But not by the familial nickname, Dexter, and his mother’s maiden name Buchanan, which he’d legally adopted when he left Washington as a safety precaution. His family didn’t know and neither did Logan.
He’d also failed to include his time at Sheridan on his resume, and could because he was only twenty-three, which fit with normal timing to obtain his master’s degree. He believed if he’d have told the truth to his prospective boss, he might have to explain himself right out of a job. Besides, the fewer people who knew what he’d done, the safer they all were.
“Dex,” he replied gruffly.
“Well, Dex, I think y
our crime spree is about to come to a premature end, Sir,” Grace said haughtily, as she sat back in the seat to cross her arms over her almost bare chest.
Dex swung his eyes back to the road and squinted to see a long line of blurry red and blue lights coming toward them. He hit the brakes hard, throwing her forward in the seat and himself toward the wheel, then pulled to the shoulder to consider his options.
He could turn the land yacht around, but he knew there wasn’t time. Zooming past them wasn’t an option either considering the size of this monstrosity, they would catch him fast. He drew several ragged gasps, because his throat felt like a hand was closing around it. Was he having a panic attack? He’d never had one before, and he’d had ample reason to have one if he was prone to them. If not that, why did his throat feel like it was closing up?
His eyes went to the darkened field to his right, and he dragged in several more ragged breaths as he reached for the door handle. He stopped because from what he remembered from the taxi ride to the resort, the only thing beyond that rickety fence was sand and scrubby desert.
In wet leather, with his ass exposed like it was, and as many cactuses as were in that field, all that would get him was a bloody, cactus-thorn encrusted rear, and probably castration by leather G-string. By the time they caught up with him, he’d be begging them to arrest him.
The first police cruiser in the line pulled up into the headlights of the limo and ended his time for contemplation. An officer scrambled out to point his pistol at the blacked out driver’s window of the limo over the roof of his car. Another pulled up beside the limo door and a third angled his car behind the limo, so there would be no escape.