Wishing we were staying at our apartment in the city instead of a hotel, I take the elevator down to the lobby. I get a few looks because of my appearance, especially in this conservative crowd. Lustful looks from men in business suits and either envious or disapproving looks from women. They probably think I’m some politician’s or foreign diplomat’s high-priced call girl. Well, I do cost a lot, just not for the job they think.
My black heeled leather boots are tapping along the marble floors. Coming up just over the knee, there are only a few bare inches between the top of them and the bottom of my black coat. I decided to keep my hair down, but curled it for a bouncy, more innocent look. Hopefully my target will be drawn to the conflicting image I’m portraying. My makeup is done up heavily on the eyes to make me look doe-eyed, but my lipstick is light pink and glossy.
There are taxis parked along the curb in front of the hotel. Getting into one, I give the cabbie an address in the Tribeca area of Manhattan. The club is called Rapture and a favorite of my target. We have information that he goes there regularly, every Saturday night.
There isn’t a line at this sort of place. Either you get in or you don’t. The doorman will let you know up front, by shooing you in or shooing you away. Un-belting my trench coat, I smile and walk right past the guy. Living in New York, having seen just about everything, the bouncer’s only reaction is to nod and open the heavy black door for me.
After walking down a long dark hallway, lit only by a few wall sconces made to look like candles are burning inside, I come to the main area of the club. Trance music is playing loudly and people are lounging around on leather couches, jewel-colored velvet armchairs, booths or at the bar.
A quick scan lets me know that my target is sitting alone in one of the semi-private booths. An aggressive approach could be a turnoff, so instead of venturing his way, I go over to the bar and order a drink. If all goes well, he’ll come to me.
Gabriel
When Annabelle came out the lobby doors of the hotel I almost fell off my motorcycle. The combination of the black belted coat and the black boots had me sweating even more than I already was under my helmet.
I discreetly followed her taxi to a club that I’d never heard of, or heard Max mention, even though I’ve lived in the city for a year now. Parking my bike around the corner from the club, I get off and lock my helmet onto it. Wearing dark blue jeans, a white t-shirt, motorcycle boots and a leather jacket, I wonder if I might be underdressed for the club.
When I get to the door, I slip a fifty into the hand of the big bouncer standing out front. He doesn’t say anything, but opens the door for me. So I guess I’m in. After going down a dimly lit hallway, I get to the club part. At first glance, I see the back of Anna’s head at the bar. Slipping into an empty spot near the entrance, I slide back into the darkest corner of the black and burgundy booth.
Once I feel hidden well enough, I take another look around the club and barely register that my jaw has dropped open. This is a freaking sex club! What the hell is Anna doing here? Taking it all in, the half-naked people, the collars, the whips currently being used, people disappearing into back rooms in twos and threes, even fours, I stare hard at Anna. Wishing I could drag her out by her curly hair, I reign in the possessive instinct. This had better be for a job. First sign that it isn’t and I’m outta here, taking her with me. Right at this moment, I’d be more than happy to spank her if that’s what she wants.
I see Anna stand up and slip the coat off her shoulders. Even having only a side view, her outfit has me clenching my fists. Along with the over-the-knee boots, she’s wearing tiny black satin shorts, practically underwear, and a black and pink corset. And she showed up at my place last night in jeans and a tank top with that outfit in her wardrobe arsenal?
When Jackson walks in a few minutes later it confirms that this spectacle is for a job. But still . . . .
Jackson sits down in a deep purple velvet armchair near the bar, ordering a drink from a passing waitress. The server is wearing a studded collar for Christ’s sake! And her dress looks like it’s made of transparent black plastic. When a couple near me starts doing it for everyone to see, I look at Anna to see her reaction. She looks at them with wide eyes and blushes, but something about her reaction seems off, almost fake.
I know she’s seen worse than a little exhibitionism, but I don’t like that she’s here anyways. I have to wonder how her brother can stand it. My eyes switch back to Jackson to see him staring right back at me. He casually stands up, taking his newly delivered drink with him, and starts sauntering my way. I’m not about to back down or apologize for being here, no matter how hard he tries to intimidate me.
Sliding in across from me, he calls out to a server, “He’ll have a Smith & Wesson.” As if ordering me a drink named after a gun company is going to scare me. Try again, Jackson.
I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Just because you buy me a drink doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you, Jackson.”
He lifts one eyebrow condescendingly. “I’m surprised you’re not still licking your wounds.” I don’t appreciate his reference to last night, to the tape recording. What happens between me and Anna is none of his business.
Instead of giving in to my anger, like he wants, I give him the same smartass smirk and matching remark, “Pimping out your sister now?”
The twitch of his jaw lets me know that I’ve pissed him off. “It’s none of your concern.”
“And what if I make it my concern?”
Giving me the coldest look I’ve ever received, he reminds me of why I’m lucky to be alive, “She stopped being your concern the day you tried to kill her.”
“I didn’t really want her dead,” I defend myself once again. I know how stupid it sounds, but it’s true. Temporary insanity is what I call it. Pure stupidity is what it was.
Jackson ignores my defensive comment and leans forward. “Don’t mess this up for her tonight. She has a job to do. You showing up at the restaurant yesterday already screwed it up once.”
I flick my gaze back over to Anna to see her watching us. Yeah, she looks kind of mad. My view of her is cut off as the waitress brings my drink. When I see her again, she’s no longer looking our way, but instead talking to some smooth-looking guy in a suit who’s approached her. When the douche fingers a strand of Anna’s hair, I start to slide out of the booth. Jackson’s foot coming up between me and the end of the burgundy leather seat stops me. “I’m warning you, Gabriel. Leave her be. That’s the target.”
His threat doesn’t stop me, but Anna’s potential anger does. Plus, causing a scene could be dangerous to her. I can’t risk her getting hurt. I have no idea who this guy is, but he could be carrying a weapon.
Sliding back against the wall, I pick up my drink and take a big gulp, watching the candle on the table flicker. When Jackson says, “Good boy,” I contemplate whether or not to throw the rest of the drink in his face. I decide not to when, for just a brief moment, I can see in his eyes how much this is bothering him too. However, I refuse to feel any sort of sympathy for him. This is much harder for me than it is for him. He may love Annabelle, but his brotherly concern doesn’t compare to my agony.
“Why can’t you just kill him?” I ask Jackson.
“It’s not that simple this time,” he says cryptically.
“If he’s so bad, I’ll do it,” I offer, totally meaning it.
His eyes narrow. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
I flash him a dirty look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs one shoulder, leaning back into the cushion. “Well, you try to act all high and mighty, but underneath that false sense of conservative morality, you’re just as capable of killing as me or Annabelle. I was a witness to it in Australia and again in Sweden.” Then he adds, “Like father like son.” As if the same couldn’t be said of him. His dad wasn’t exactly a saint before meeting his mom.
The urge to punch him is strong, but I brush of
f his insult by saying, “Okay, it’s settled. I’ll do it.”
Almost indifferently, he responds with, “We need information from him first.”
Seeing the yuppie pervert now kissing her neck, I spit out, “Then why don’t you torture him for it?”
Jackson isn’t looking at me, but instead at the bar, when he answers, “Already thought of that, but if the guy’s innocent, it’d suck if he went running to the police with crazy stories about me torturing him.” He finally turns back to me, spreading his arms wide. “This is who we are, Gabriel. This is who Annabelle is.”
“And I accept her the way she is,” I say decisively.
His laugh has a hard edge to it. “I would say that you’re about two years and two months too late for that.”
“It’s not too late if she still loves me.” With a patronizing expression, I tell him, “You know, Jackson, someday you’ll fall in love too. What then? What if you fall in love with someone who’s not from your world?”
Shaking his head, he laughs. “Never gonna happen, buddy. I don’t have that kind of idiocy in me.”
With mock pity, I say, “Even the biggest cynic has the ability to fall in love. And you know what? They’re the ones who fall hardest.”
With a skeptical look, Jackson drawls out, “Yeah, ‘cause you’re such an expert in love.”
Watching Anna play another guy right in front of me, I’m soon becoming one. Today’s lesson of love is Restraint: Holding back from kicking another guy’s ass when he’s pawing your woman.
Annabelle
This guy smells like expensive cologne and cigarettes. He slowly draws his right thumb along the line of bare skin on my stomach between my corset and shorts. I pretend that my shiver is one of desire. He finally moves his lips from my neck to ask, “Are you looking for a master?” Figures I get a job where the guy is a wannabe Dom. Why are most murderers also sexual perverts?
Biting my lip, I blush, which isn’t hard considering the fact that my brother and my ex-boyfriend are watching this play out. I’d really like to know how Gabriel found me. Then, I’d really like to get rid of him. At first, I was royally pissed that he was here, but seeing that Jackson has him under control, I’m ready to get on with the assignment.
William runs his fingers over my cheek in an affectionate gesture. “How adorable, you’re blushing. Are you new at this sweetheart?”
Making sure my facial expression conveys embarrassment, I look down at the ground while saying, “Is it that easy to tell?” As he runs his fingers through my hair, palming my scalp, I think creep, but I say, “Do you think you could teach me?”
His excitement at my ignorant question is palpable. “Hmmm, I’m going to have so much fun breaking you in.”
Freaking creep!
I glance around the club nervously, biting my bottom lip. “Do you think we could maybe go someplace more private? I don’t know if I’m ready for all this yet.” Gesturing around the club, he follows my eyes to where people are engaging in all sorts of depravity.
William looks thoughtful for a moment. “We could use a backroom, but I think I’d rather take you someplace special.”
Putting a whole lot of naiveté into my fake blue eyes, I smile shyly. “Do you think I’m special?”
The hand against the back of my head moves down my spine to settle over my butt. He pulls me forward so that our hips meet. “Very special, sweetheart.” He proceeds to so romantically grind his hips against mine and I can feel the hardness of him. “Come on, honey, we’re leaving now.”
Grabbing my coat to cover myself back up, we pass Jackson and Gabriel on our way out. I can practically feel the tension emanating off of Gabriel. Jackson doesn’t look happy, but I know he trusts me to be able to handle myself. How the hell did Gabriel find me here? Is this a favorite place of his? That thought makes me very unhappy. It can’t be a coincidence. The odds of accidentally running into Gabriel two days in a row couldn’t be that high. He had to have come here knowing I would be here.
After walking a block down the street, William ushers me into the back of a Bentley and tells his driver, “The East Village place.” Yeah, I’m oh-so-special. Don’t take me to your nice home in the Upper East Side, but instead take me to whatever place you have in a less flashy part of the city.
The entire ride his hands are all over me, but at least over the clothes and not under. I’m hoping that the place he’s taking me to is where I’ll be able to find out the information for the client. After a long drive, the driver parks in front of a run-down apartment building. William takes my hand and pulls me out of the car. Going up the several concrete steps after him, when he unlocks the door and holds it open for me I walk inside ahead of him.
We climb the stairs to his apartment on the second floor. Guessing the answer, but not being able to help myself, I ask, “Is this your place?”
He laughs obnoxiously. “I’d never live in this dump. This is just where I like to have fun.”
Having more fun with the role than I should, I pretend ignorance, “Your real home isn’t fun?” His thinking I’m a retard couldn’t hurt, either. Being a Dom, he likes his women helpless compared to him, probably even mentally.
His answer and smile are both sly, “You’ll see.”
Oh, and don’t I see as soon as I step through the door. This guy would probably think that the Spanish Inquisition was fun. William’s East Village apartment is really a torture chamber. Instead of a living room, there’s a dungeon. The walls are painted black with shelves lining them, filled with toys and whips. Spread throughout the room are all sorts of sadistic devices designed in the name of ‘pleasure’.
Not. My. Thing.
Reaching into my purse, I grip the syringe then spin around and give him a delighted smile. “I can’t believe this place.”
He slams the door closed and gives me a stern look. “On your knees, slave!” He’s already unbuckling his belt, stalking towards me. I drop down to my knees like a good little submissive. Then, as I’m face to face with his crotch and his pants start slipping down over his hips, I pull the needle out of my bag, bring my arm up around to his backside and poke him right in the ass with it.
William tenses up, mumbles some gibberish and collapses to his side onto the dirty floor. I can’t help it, I start laughing. Pulling out my phone, I call Jackson. “Okay, you can come up.” Getting off my knees would be a good idea and I make sure to do it without touching my hands to the ground. Not so easy with the heels on these boots.
One rap on the door lets me know that Jackson’s arrived. I open it for him and he steps in. As I’m closing it, a hand shoots out to stop me, pushing the door open again. Gabriel, of course.
Gabriel
Slipping through the door and quickly closing it, I turn around to face Anna. Since she looks pissed, I decide to play dumb, “Need any help?”
With an annoyed look, she points to the guy on the floor. “Yeah, this guy wanted me to go down on him. Will you do it for me?”
“Ha, ha, ha. So funny.” I glance back down at the guy. “Is he dead?”
“Not yet. Get lost Gabriel. Go play video games with Max or study something.” She’s definitely unsettled by my presence. Good.
I nudge him with my boot, near where a needle is sticking out. “So, what’d he do?”
Anna’s pulling a pair of gloves out of her small bag. Jackson’s pulling a pair out of his pant pocket. I’m guessing it’s a good thing I still have my motorcycle gloves on. Anna ignores me, but while she and Jackson rifle through this guy’s assortment of Kinky-R-Us toys, Jackson starts filling me in. “Two weeks ago, a debutante with a wild side by the name of Therese Sealy was found dead in a dumpster over in the Chelsea area.”
Jackson’s quiet for a moment as he inspects an object hanging from a hook on the wall, then continues, “The injuries to her body indicated that she may have gotten involved in this kind of scene. It was rumored that this guy was with her that night, but nothing could be confirme
d as fact.” I stand in the middle of the room watching him work as he goes on, “Her family was embarrassed by the circumstances and chose to hush it up as soon as possible, not wanting their daughter to be known as some sort of sex addict or freak.”
Anna leaves the ‘living room’ and goes into the bedroom. This isn’t the place for a confrontation, so I don’t bother approaching her. Later, perhaps I’ll tie her up as she did me. The fantasy is intriguing.
With a sour face, Jackson picks up an object that I don’t want to know the purpose of, then starts speaking again after setting it down, “Anyways, this place of his was rumored to exist, but no one knew where it was, since he obviously doesn’t have it in his own name. The girl’s family, being high-profile and all, didn’t want it resolved in the justice system, where every sordid detail would become public record. That’s where we come in. Instead of the usual get in, kill and get out, the family requested that we first find evidence of William Coster’s guilt, notify them and then make the kill at their direction.”
“It all sounds so simple,” I say in a cynical tone, wishing for this entire situation to go away so I can deal with the Anna one.
“Found something!” Anna shouts out from the bedroom. Jackson beats me there and, as I go in behind him, I notice that he has a studded black baton in one hand. Souvenir?
Anna’s looking down at objects spread out over the bed. I notice she’s holding an empty leather purse in her right hand. “Jackson, I found her purse, id, credit cards.”
Jackson holds up the baton. “The star-shaped studs on this match the marks that were found on her back.”
Anna walks around the bed to her own small black purse, also on the dark red bedspread, and pulls out her phone. After a moment, “Simon?” Anna goes on to report their findings to ‘Uncle Simon’. I know most of it already, but she catches my attention when she opens another wallet and tells him, “I also found the wallet of a woman named Stacia Gunther. Will you have someone look into it?”
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