Wicked Shots

by Katana Collins

  Cass dropped her cheek to her shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know me. You know when I’m lying.” The pit of her stomach gonged. He absolutely did know her well. And he did know when she was lying, which was why he was here now in front of her. But it was for his own good. If he knew what Cass knew, he would be a dead man. He was already walking around with a target on his back; she didn’t want another one on his head. One wrong step by him or Cass and Sam would be gone. Probably followed soon after by Jess.

  “I don’t know how you’re doing it. I’ve watched this house for several weeks now and once your lights go off, no one comes or goes from the front or the back doors. But somehow you’re getting the shit out there—”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking abou—”

  “You don’t want to mess with Portland Police, Ca—”

  Cass grabbed Sam behind the neck, pulling his ear to her lips. She grabbed his hand and swayed to the music. “I just love this song, don’t you?” They could barely hear the music from downstairs, but Cass swayed in rhythm as best she could. Then, whispering in his ear, she draped her hair so that it covered her lips. “Seriously, could you have picked a worse place to discuss this? I don’t know if this house is bugged.”

  His smirk twitched against her cheek and his hand splayed along her lower back. “I do. And it’s not. I have a reader in my pocket. In this room, at least, it’s safe to talk freely.”

  Cass sighed, relieved, pushing Sam to arm’s length. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. The opposite, actually. She loved Sam, like a brother. And the fact that he came to these parties was unnerving to her core. She didn’t want this life for Jessie. Not a single part of it. “Someone was outside my window, with a camera. I saw the glare off the streetlight.”

  “What?” Sam’s casual confidence slid off his face. “How long ago? Jesus, why didn’t you call me?”

  “It was, at most, five minutes ago. I didn’t have time to call you yet. I closed the curtains, finished dressing, and was going to—”

  “Bullshit,” Sam growled. “Cass, you’ve got to start trusting me.”

  Cass swallowed. Trust. People throw that word around so casually. Trust me, they say. When really, they should be asking themselves whether they should trust her. Because the answer to that one was a resounding no. “Just promise me something, Sam. No matter what happens to me—if I end up in jail, or-or dea—”

  “Don’t say that,” he cut in, clenching his eyes shut. “If you talk to me, I can keep you safe.”

  Cass snorted. He had no idea how deep this ran. Hell, she had no idea how deep it ran, but she knew more than he did, that was for damn sure. “If I end up dead,” she continued pointedly, “take care of Jess. Make sure she gets out of Portland as quickly as possible after my funeral. Because if I’m not around, they’ll come looking for her next.”

  “Who, Cass? Who will be looking for her? And why?”

  Cass chewed her lip. “I don’t know. I told you, I’ve never seen his face. I don’t know his name.” Crossing to the bookshelf by the window, she pulled out a book and flipped open the cover. Pulling several five by sevens out of it, she handed them to Sam. The images were voyeuristic; pictures of her sister going into her apartment building in Brooklyn. Images of her undressing, seen through a partially open window.

  He cursed, diving a hand into his dark hair. “Why didn’t you show these to me sooner?”

  “They only arrived last night. I couldn’t get word to you without them knowing.”

  “Shit,” he whispered, running a finger down Jessica’s face in the image. “I’ll call it in to the NYPD tonight; maybe we can get a quiet watch put on her. Nothing massive, just someone making sure that she makes it home safely and to work each night.”

  “You can do that without blowing the secrecy of this?”

  Sam pressed his lips together, his hands clenched on his hips. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. He tapped the images against his hand before holding them back out to Cass. “I can’t take these with me tonight.” He gestured to his tuxedo. “Nowhere to put them. Leave them in one of your medical books in a tote bag inside your car tomorrow. Go to Maine Mall and park outside the food court—I’ll stage a robbery and get them that way. Whoever’s watching you will have no clue that the police took the images. You’ll be safe. Covered.”

  Cass nodded and turned to put the images back in the book on the bookshelf.

  “And Cass…” He grabbed her arm, spinning her back to face him. His eyes flashed with understanding. “If there’s anything else you need me to look over—study for fingerprints, DNA, anything—now would be the time. I can’t stage robberies all the time, so let’s make this one count. Think about it … and leave it in the tote bag.” He released her arm and Cass gulped. For the first time all day, she regretted burning that last note.

  6

  Cassandra, now Cece, in full costume and mask, descended the staircase as all eyes fell on her. She felt like a Grecian goddess as her gold mask curved over the bridge of her nose and up along her forehead. As the proprietor of the monthly gathering’s headquarters, she was the only person at this party whose identity could be easily detected—and likely already had been by most. For a group of individuals who prided themselves on anonymity, they were a nosy bunch of motherfuckers.

  “Cece!” A large gentleman who went by the title of Phantom waddled over to her, cradling her hand in his. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, flipping his cape behind him dramatically. “You must give me the recipe for these lobster puffs. They are divine.”

  Cass’s eyes drifted momentarily to the man’s belly, spilling over his tuxedo pants. Perhaps he’d already had a few too many lobster puffs, but she bit back the snarky retort as a couple bumped into her, falling into the wall behind them, bodies tangled.

  Cass cleared her throat, ignoring the passionate couple. “Oh, Phantom. You know I stay as far out of the kitchen as I can. Those lobster puffs would be blackened if I had anything to do with them!” A laugh chortled out of her lips. Who was this woman? This social, charming creature she always became when surrounded by these people? It certainly wasn’t Cass … and that’s why she loved it so much. While the masquerade went on, she lived a different life. A better one. The life that Master had promised her.

  Cass’s throat closed and she looked away quickly. No. She was the dominant tonight. Not him. Instead of donning Master’s red scarf within her outfit, she held a new scarf—a gold one that draped over the one-shouldered dress. For the first time since she’d entered the scene, she wouldn’t be recognized as someone else’s. The gold scarf perfectly matched her gold mask, signifying that it was hers to give out as she wished. Though, if you couldn’t tell the difference between a dom and a sub simply by talking to them for a second, you probably shouldn’t even be at the party.

  Even if Master didn’t show up, she could choose a partner for the night. A strong but obedient man to enjoy for the evening. That’s what these nights were about, right? Mingling. Drinking. Laughing. Fucking.

  “Cece,” Dane’s quiet voice came from the front door, and his heated gaze brushed over her from behind his mask, stopping at the scarf. A smile tilted his mouth. “That scarf suits you, I must admit.”

  Phantom nodded at Dane with a brief but friendly hello before melting back into the crowd. Cass rushed to her friend, happy for the familiar face. He cradled the scarf in his hand, letting the silk brush over his fingertips. Cass’s chin tilted, and she looked at Dane through half-lidded eyes. “Does it?”

  His gaze lingered on hers and she felt his desire for her all the way down to her toes. “It does. You wear the dominant role well, I hate to admit.” His smile grew, though she could see the melancholy deep within it. He leaned in closer, his stubble scraping against her jaw and his breath hot on her ear. “It almost makes me want to try my hand as a sub.” Then, pulling away, he stopped, his lips only a sigh away from hers. “Almost.” He chuckled, giving her
hand a squeeze. He adjusted his mask along the bridge of his nose like most people would adjust their glasses.

  Cass smiled back at him. “Well, the scarf is up for grabs—” she joked.

  “Not for grabs,” he interrupted, holding a finger up, not letting the opportunity for a lesson pass. The front door swung open and two women entered, the first in a floor-length royal blue dress with a peacock mask and the other in black with a leather cat mask. Dane lowered his voice, eying the women. “A dominant’s key is never ‘up for grabs.’ It is available to those who prove themselves worthy of it. But the choice to deliver is all yours.”

  “Right.” Cass nodded, making a mental note to remember the lesson.

  The two made their way into the dining area, where Cass grabbed a champagne flute. The first sip went down her throat in a bubbly stream and she sighed into it. Almost every drink made her cringe—except for champagne. It was decadent and sweet, and everything she loved in life could be summed up in a glass of champagne. It was the perfect metaphor for how she wished she could live each day. “You leave for Boston tomorrow, you said?”

  Dane shrugged, sipping a beer. “Tonight, actually. I only came by to see you before I left. Figure I’ll stay for a few hours and pick up the—”

  “I’ll have it downstairs by one,” she responded quickly and quietly, glancing around the crowded room.

  The string quartet changed tunes into Chopin, one of Cass’s favorites, and she swayed, moving to the music. “They really went the extra mile for tonight, didn’t they?”

  Dane grinned, and the smile wrinkled around his blue eyes. “They did. Must be a special night.”

  Cass narrowed her eyes, her gaze falling on the violinist. Even the musicians wore masks this evening. “Is it?” She cleared her throat, her voice suddenly hollow and empty, like her glass of champagne. “They didn’t say anything to you, then?”

  “The main guys?” He snorted, his eyebrows tightened together, and he shook his head. “No, never … should they have?” A woman in a large hoop skirt brushed by, bumping into Cass and sending her into Dane’s chest. He caught her, his grip on her elbow tightening as she slowly looked up into his eyes. “Cass,” he sighed as he blinked back the tiniest bit of moisture. “You know I’m here for you,” he whispered. “I don’t have many people I can call friend. And I don’t want to lose you because of—” He gulped, his words fading away. “I just don’t want to lose you. You don’t have feelings for me. I can accept that. But I need a little separation to allow my mind, my body, to adjust to the change. Does that make sense?”

  Cass nodded. “We’re still friends … but you need time to figure out just what that means to you.” She didn’t love the idea of it … but if that was what Dane needed, then as his friend, she had to respect it. “I understand. I won’t call—you come find me when you’re ready.”

  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you.”

  “And when you are ready—could you fix that S pipe upstairs? It’s leaky again.” She smiled and winked.

  Dane’s face split into a heart-melting grin—well, heart-melting for someone. He nudged her with an elbow. “I can do it sooner, you know—”

  Cass dismissed him with a wave. “No, seriously. Whenever you can get to it is fine. It’s the third-floor bathroom and hardly anyone ever uses it.”

  Dane held her hand, squeezing it once more. He threw his head back finishing his beer, and set the empty bottle onto a passing tray. “I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself, C.”

  She nodded, and a lump caught in her throat. His eyes glistened as though he knew something foreboding was coming. Like he wasn’t coming back, or he knew the whole friendship thing would never work. Damn, she hoped she was reading him wrong. But with Dane, she rarely ever was.

  Before she could give Dane any more thought, pins and needles coursed through her veins and Cass’s legs went numb, as though someone had injected her with a paralytic. She could feel him—feel his eyes on her the second he entered the room. She darted a glance over each shoulder and there, standing in the back doorway, was Master, his masked eyes cold and fixed on her.

  7

  He stalked toward her, and even as the guests at the party stopped to speak to him, he didn’t take his eyes off her. All the chatter, the music, the laughing faded into the recesses of her mind. But his breath was amplified in her ears. Cass shifted her weight back and forth, any sense of dominance she held went out the window. Damn him. Damn him for being so sexy and commanding and absolutely fuckworthy.

  She gulped. Her e-mail had worked. The prospect of ending their relationship—whatever this relationship was—had gotten him here.

  Whispers encompassed the room as he engaged, walking from the back door to the front of the house where Dane had left Cass swaying to the music. “Cece,” he drawled, taking her hand and dropping a kiss on her knuckles. “You look stunning.”

  Sand had taken up residency in her mouth, and how she managed a squeaky reply was beyond her. “Master,” she whispered. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  He chuckled with a quick glance around the room. “I guarantee you, you are not the only one.” His gaze dropped to her gold scarf and his chest rose and fell more heavily with each passing breath. He lifted his eyes to hers, and despite all that Cass had learned in biology, an electric current surged through her body. “You are a dominant,” he said quietly, and an unreadable twitch passed across his lips.

  His own scarlet red scarf dangled from his lapel pocket and he followed Cass’s gaze to it. He flipped the scarf out of the lapel and shoved it deep into his pants pockets. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “Force of habit putting mine on with the tux.”

  Cass tilted her head. “I followed your instructions. As I thought I had a sub ready and willing for the night.”

  In the most uncharacteristic way, he dipped his chin. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to earn your offer then, won’t I?” He grabbed a passing glass of champagne from a tray and handed it to Cass while taking his own glass of red wine. “What should we toast to?”

  Cass gaped, unable to tear her eyes from his stunning face beneath his scarlet and black mask. Was this man truly interested in giving up his own control simply to be with her? She was nothing, no one. “To … to new beginnings.”

  He nodded and touched the rim of his glass to hers. Though the clink was quiet, it rang deafeningly loud in her ears. “A lovely toast, if I do say so.” He brought the glass to his full lips, sipping the crimson liquid.

  Cass took the gold scarf, running the soft material through her fingers. “Master…” In a rare moment of courage—one that no doubt had plenty to do with that second glass of bubbly—Cass moved into his personal space. She flanked his strong thigh between her legs, and the sheer power he had in one leg sent vibrations pulsing through her body. “If you are available tonight, I would like to offer you an evening neither of us will ever forget.”

  A smile touched his lips and his fingers brushed hers as he took the scarf from Cass’s hands. He tucked it into his lapel pocket and lowered his chin, so that even though he was a whole head taller than her, he managed to look up at her through a web of thick lashes. “It would be my honor, Mistress Cece.”

  Pressure clamped onto Cass’s chest. He had just referred to her as the dominant. “Wh-what do I call you?” She of course knew his name by now, but at one of these parties? The first cardinal rule was not to reveal anyone’s identity.

  “A simple El will do for tonight,” he answered quietly and offered Cass his elbow.

  She slipped her hand through the crook in his arm. His tuxedo jacket wrinkled beneath her palm and the thick wool scratched at her tender skin. As she lifted her gaze, remembering the rest of the party, the rest of the room, she caught Dane’s stare from the foyer. His normal boyish smile had been replaced with dark lines, and in the corner shadows she could barely make out a hard scowl on his thin lips.

  8

  Cass was on a cloud. Wi
th Master—oops, El, on her arm, she was the belle of the ball. Or maybe he was. She couldn’t be too sure just yet. Leaning into his ear, she whispered, “Is it me, or do there seem to be a lot more eyes on us tonight than in the past?” He had her on the dance floor and they waltzed in a circle.

  From behind his mask, an eyebrow raised. “It’s not just you.” He squeezed her arm with a gentle pull, guiding her steps into rhythm. “I have a feeling it has something to do with this.” Putting two fingers together, he flicked the gold scarf from within his pocket and winked so subtly that for a moment Cass thought she had imagined it.

  “Is it that big a deal? Someone switching from dom to sub?”

  He shrugged. “In some communities, yes. I think it has more to do with who has done the switching here. They never thought they would ever see me that way—and yet, here we are.”

  Cass scoped the room with a wandering gaze. “Will that lessen your power in the community?”

  “I don’t give a damn about the community.” His normally quiet but commanding voice hardened, and though he was still just barely above a whisper, there was venom in the words. He cleared his throat, continuing. “I don’t owe them anything,” he added, more softly.

  “I see,” she said. Though, she didn’t see at all. He spoke so highly of having a group—a community of people you could trust. But he had no one. Or so it appeared. Cass’s eyes fell on Dane, leaning against a wall at the back of the room. As he tipped back his bottle of beer, his darkened gaze was steeled on Cass. How long had he been staring at her? At them?

  Master twirled her out, bringing her back into his arms. She didn’t want to think about it; couldn’t think about it. She had been waiting for Master to come around since they first met. And she wasn’t about to let a jealous friend come between happiness. Passion. She’d spent her life putting her own desires on the back burner. Well, it was time to get cooking.