Remy's Release [Submissive Sirens] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Charlotte Smith

  Remy donned a pair of sheer stockings along with a matching garter belt and laced an open-topped corset beneath her breasts so they were supported on pillowy satin. She glanced around the room for the final touch and spied what she was looking for.

  She remembered the “duffel of hope,” as Knox had put it, and went to see what else was inside. She had a truly wicked idea and hoped she’d find what she needed to make in happen. She unzipped the duffel and pulled out a slender cone-shaped object, exactly what she wanted.

  Recalling when her friend Jessie had given her some extremely explicit advice regarding the seduction of the Grantham triplets, Remy pulled out a bottle of lube and poured some onto her fingers, which she then used to grease up the butt plug she was holding. Bending forward, she used one hand to open her cheeks, and with the other hand slipped the plug into place. She had to grit her teeth to keep from groaning at the fullness of the plug. No matter how many times the triplets took her ass the initial penetration always burned.

  Once the plug was settled and she was convinced she could walk comfortably with it tucked high in her asshole, Remy padded silently toward the bedroom where she could hear their voices. She paused outside the door to put on a pair of heels and was just about to open the door when a snippet of conversation caught her attention.

  “She has to see we can’t keep doing this.” Joss sounded tired, like he’d been repeating the words for some time.

  “I know, but we took that risk when we got involved with her. She might not want to stop.” Drake sounded annoyed.

  “Well, what’s the worst that could happen if we tell her we want out?” Knox sounded hopeful, but Joss was quick to squash it.

  “The worst that could happen is she could find another team.”

  “Dammit, that’s not what we want!” A crash sounded, as if Drake had slammed his fist into something solid. “Honestly, how much does this matter to her? We’ll just have to explain ourselves, make her see our point of view. It makes total sense for us to stop this insanity. It’s only a matter of time before it blows up in our face. We’ll just have to tell her we don’t want to do this anymore...”

  Drake’s words, and his brothers’ responses, became impossible to hear over the ringing in Remy’s ears. She stepped back from the door, almost stumbling in the heels she’d put on only moments before, and she moved as quickly and as stealthily as she could back to her bedroom.

  By the time she’d closed the door behind herself, her breath was coming in sharp pants that hurt her chest, and her eyes were welling up.

  Dammit, I will not cry.

  Remy angrily dashed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, drawing her pride around her like a cloak. She would not sit here and wait for whichever triplet was unlucky enough to lose the coin toss to come in and deliver the news. No, she couldn’t bear it.

  She stripped off the sexy lingerie, berating herself for having been so foolish. She should have known this would never work, and now she’d done everything she promised herself she wouldn’t do. She’d compromised herself professionally and personally, and there was no way she’d ever be able to repair the damage. She was going to lose her team no matter how she looked at it, and the thought made her feel sick. She wrenched the butt plug free, welcoming the pain it caused. She had done this to herself, so she had every right to hurt. She straightened up, mentally closing herself off from the pain, both emotional and physical, and moved quickly into action. She dressed hurriedly in cargo pants and a T-shirt, putting on a pair of running shoes and throwing her hair into a careless ponytail.

  Remy moved quickly around the room, knowing what she had to do. She dumped the contents of the duffel of hope on the bed, not bothering to glance at what other secrets it contained. She quickly filled the duffel with her necessaries—toothbrush, tampons, a change of clothes, and her passport and wallet. She tossed her cell phone onto the bed, deciding to leave it behind. Joss would use it to trace her location. She’d get a disposable one once she was a reasonable distance away.

  Looking around the room for anything of importance she might have missed, Remy allowed herself a moment to feel the heartache threatening to overwhelm her. Then she gathered herself, ghosted out of the room and to the door of the suite, opening it silently and slipping through without a sound. The tears started to fall as she made her way quickly to the elevators, and her vision was blurred as the chime sounded and the doors hissed open.

  Remy kept her eyes averted as she entered the elevator. There were three men already inside, and she didn’t want them to ask questions. As the doors hissed shut, Remy became aware of the strangeness of the situation. The men had totally ceased talking and were riveted on her, and two of them were edging closer to her. She looked up to tell them to back off, but her neck prickled warningly as she recognized one of the men. It was the security guard from Contois’s château who had walked in on the scene she and Drake had created in the study.

  “Bonjour, Mrs. Joyce.” His smile was ghastly.

  Remy dropped the duffel and prepared to fight, but it was too late. The last thing she felt was a blow to her head before she dropped to the floor, unconscious.

  Chapter 11

  Remy groaned as she came to. The pain in her head was immense. She squeezed her eyes closed and fought an almost overwhelming urge to throw up. She cracked an eye open, fought the bile that rose in the back of her throat, and looked around her to see what had happened.

  The first thing she became aware of was that she was lying on something cold. When she tried to sit up, however, she found her hands were bound behind her back, and she immediately began flexing her fingers to try and restore the feeling to them. She bent them this way and that, tensing and relaxing her hands so the numbness in them would go away. She knew she’d need her hands in order to escape, and she grimly flexed her bound wrists to ascertain how tight the binding was, wincing when whatever had been used to secure them together cut into her flesh. She couldn’t see it, but the way it pressed, she’d be willing to bet it was a plastic zip tie.

  While she worked her hands, she stilled, becoming aware of another presence close by. She took a deep breath and forced her eyes all the way open, tearing up almost immediately at the way the light seemed to lance directly into the wound on the side of her head, sending painful jabs up behind her eyes. She gritted her teeth and forced her eyes to remain open, blinking the tears away and looking around.

  She was in a room in some sort of barn or stable. At least, that’s where she thought she was, based on the hay strewn about and the smell. She cautiously rolled to one side, coming to a sitting position with her hands still flexing behind her, and continued to survey her surroundings. She tensed when she located the source of the other presence in the room. The security guard from Contois’s party sat not six feet away, lounging on a bench against the wall. A bare bulb illuminated the room, and light filtered through a dirty window, emphasizing the mold in the hay and the animal droppings scattered on the floor. Remy shuddered, realizing she was in serious shit, both literally and figuratively.

  The security guard smiled a lecherous smile as she sat up, putting down the apple he’d been eating. Remy noticed his other hand was heavily bandaged.

  “Oh good, you are awake.”

  His English was still heavily accented, and it took everything Remy had to understand what he was saying through the pain still lancing through her head. When she squinted and tried to focus on him, she became aware of a pulling sensation in her hair at her left temple, and when she turned her head, she saw blood on the floor. She winced, now sure she’d received a fairly serious head injury.

  “I thought zat per’aps you ’ad been ’eet too ’ard and ’ad been killed. I am very ’appy to see zat you are alive.”

  Remy gathered her wits, knowing she’d have to play this very carefully until she knew what was going on.

  “Now why y’all walkin’ around, hittin’ ladies on the head?” She pouted, remembering that he k
new her as Mrs. Joyce from the party. “Now my head aches somethin’ fierce. You best explain what in tarnation you mean by this, sir.”

  The security guard looked amused. “You are welcome to continue using zees...’orrible accent if you wish, but we know zee truth. You are an American operative.”

  The fact that she’d been made by the guard caused Remy’s blood to run cold. Something serious was happening, and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was.

  “Zachary!” The guard hollered in the direction of the door. “She eez awake!”

  Remy heard footsteps approaching the room, and she levered herself so that her back was against a wall. No way was she about to let anyone get behind her.

  Three more men entered the room, the first a wiry, thin-lipped man with the face of a weasel. His nervous eyes darted this way and that, and he moved with a kind of jittery energy that made him seem like a marionette.

  The second loped into the room, his dark hair buzzed close to his skull. He was thickly muscled and tattooed down his bulging arms and was wearing a bandage over his right eye.

  The third was the stuff nightmares were made of. He was enormous with jet-black hair, and his sunken eyes looked completely dead. He had a vicious scar running from the left corner of his mouth right to his ear, and the ugly purple swath of skin pulled the corner of his mouth out, puckering his cheek and giving him a permanent sneer. What really caught Remy’s attention, though, was the vicious-looking knife he carried. He twirled it in his hand so the big blade caught the light, and there could be no mistaking how comfortable he was with the ugly blade in his hand as he played with it menacingly.

  Remy felt her breathing stop for a moment while she looked at that ugly knife. She gave herself a mental shake—a hard one—and started to regroup. Survival was paramount to everything else, and she needed to try and understand the situation better before she could decide on a game plan. She tried to imagine what Drake would do since tactics were his specialty, and that thought gave her pause as a wild hope kindled in her breast. The triplets would have had to miss her presence by now and would be looking for her. She didn’t care that they’d probably be furious with her. Right now she just needed them to use their collective skills to find her.

  The thought, so relieving at first, quickly gave way to dismay. They had no reason to think she’d be here, wherever here was, and they certainly had no reason to think she’d be captive in a barn.

  Her stomach sank even further when she realized she couldn’t even depend on Joss to trace her cell signal to get to her. She remembered with painful clarity the moment she’d tossed the phone onto the bed in their suite. Just her luck, she thought, that the moment she didn’t want the triplets to be able to find her was the precise moment she needed them to.

  No dice. She was going to have to do this herself.

  With that thought firmly in mind, Remy drew a deep breath and prepared to do whatever it took to survive this. Whatever it took.

  The black-haired man, obviously the one named Zachary, appeared to be the leader. He stood against a wall, playing with that ugly knife and staring at Remy with seeming disinterest.

  “You were at Monsieur Contois’s party.” His voice was like broken glass, grating on Remy’s nerves. She didn’t respond, not knowing what to say.

  “Philippe here”—Zachary gestured to the security guard—“remembered you. Tough to forget a cunt spread out on a desk.” He pushed off the wall, beginning to pace slowly around the room, giving Remy the impression she was being stalked like prey. “You see, we were all very unhappy when our boss was arrested a few days ago.”

  He paused, stopping in his pacing to look directly at Remy. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t take the time to introduce us. I am Zachary, Monsieur Contois’s head of security.” He gestured at the tattooed man. “This is René. He acted as a liaison between Monsieur Contois and, ah, how shall I say...certain organizations. The thin man is Yves, Monsieur Contois’s accountant, and of course, you already know Philippe.

  “Where was I?” Zachary continued to pace, distracting Remy from his words as he played with that awful knife again. “Ah yes. As I was saying, we were all very upset when Monsieur Contois was arrested. We all spent a very great deal of time trying to figure out who on earth could have sold him out, when Philippe here…” Zachary gripped the security guard by the back of the neck so hard it had to hurt. “Philippe recalled an awful American couple who couldn’t seem to stop wandering into rooms where they had no business being.

  “Of course,” Zachary said, sounding almost apologetic, “even though Philippe solved the mystery, I had to speak sharply with him for allowing it to happen in the first place.”

  With that, Zachary reached down to Philippe’s bandaged hand, squeezing it in his meaty fist and causing Philippe’s face to whiten and him to scream in agony.

  “He learned his lesson.” Zachary patted Philippe’s shoulder as the man whimpered, cradling his injured fist in his good hand.

  “And besides! What a surprise!” Zachary whirled around, coming to stand directly in front of Remy and gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his cold eyes. “How shocked we all were to discover your Mr. Joyce was Mr. Joyce squared!”

  Remy held her breath, hardly daring to believe what she heard. She stayed quiet, hoping Zachary would be more specific.

  “Twins!” Zachary pinched her chin hard, causing her eyes to well up. “What an ingenious plan you had that night. Tell me, where was the other one when you were getting fucked on Monsieur Contois’s desk? Nothing would make me happier than knowing he had to hide underneath, watching while his brother fucked you.”

  Remy’s hope soared. These assholes didn’t know there were three Grantham brothers. She had to buy time, figure out a way to make this work in her favor.

  “He did have to hide underneath.” The admission cost her nothing, and Zachary threw his head back and laughed. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his laugh was hollow.

  “What are you going to do with me?” Remy abandoned the grating accent of Mrs. Joyce and allowed fear to creep into her voice. Let them think she was helpless, that getting fucked on Contois’s desk was her only part in their op.

  “Well, as loyal as we are to Monsieur Contois, we’re loyal to ourselves first. So we think”—Zachary played with her hair—“we’re going to see exactly how much your twins will pay to get you back. We’re thinking a million apiece, then we’ll wish Monsieur Contois the best of luck and go to Switzerland.” He smiled a cold smile. “I’ve always wanted to go to Switzerland.”

  Remy could have kicked her heels for joy. Ransom? That’s what this was all about? She’d be out of here in no time.

  “Mind you…” Zachary had started to move away from her but paused, turning with slow deliberation and tapping the blade of his hideous knife against his lips. “We really do owe you. It would be a shame not to get to know each other better before we go, no?”

  Remy stared at him, her eyes widening in horror.

  “Oh come, dear, after the hell you put Philippe through, he deserves a bit of comfort.” Zachary gestured expansively, the sweep of his arm taking in all the men in the room, himself included. “Honestly, I think we all deserve a bit of comfort, especially from the whore who spreads her legs in a public place as part of a ploy.”

  Zachary strode back to where Remy sat, hauling her up and slamming her body against the wall behind her, causing her to cry out as her bound wrists were pressed painfully behind her.

  “We were going to kill the three of you. You and your twins.” Zachary’s scarred face twisted, flecks of saliva dotting his lips as he snarled at her. “This will be the next best thing. We’ll give you back to your precious twins, but not before we’ve all sampled what you seem to give away so freely.”

  With that, Zachary dropped Remy back to the floor where she lay on her side panting, trying to stretch her hands and arms and wincing as she did so. Remy squeaked as Zachary brought his dreadful
knife toward her, struggling like mad as he kicked her casually in the ribs, causing her to roll to her stomach. She went totally still as she felt him kneel above her and breathed a prayer of thanks as the knife slid through the bindings at her wrists instead of her clothes or skin.

  Zachary pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and thrust it at her, commanding her harshly to phone one of her partners.

  Remy drew her aching arms in front of her slowly, the muscles screaming at having to respond so quickly after having been restrained for so long. She fumbled with the phone, having to dial three times before she managed to make her tingling fingers cooperate.

  Drake answered on the first ring.

  “Remington, this had better be you.”

  “Drake?” She thought fast, working out what she would say to communicate what she needed to. “I...I have a problem.” She could feel him go absolutely still on the other end of the phone, and she knew he was going to listen to everything she said, and more importantly, everything she didn’t say. “Listen, there’s someone who’s going to talk to you in a minute, and he’s going to ask you for money. Please give it to him. And Drake…” Remy looked up at Zachary as she delivered her next line, praying it would be enough. “Drake, nothing funny. They know about both of you, and I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you or your brother.”

  There, Remy thought as Zachary took the phone from her. That should do it. She listened as Zachary gave Drake directions to wherever they were and started planning her next course of action. Indignation rose hot in her chest as she looked at Zachary, and even more as she looked at the other men in the room. Like hell was she going to let these assholes rape her. She smiled to herself, mentally thanking Zachary for making her life easier by cutting the binding on her wrists, vowing to herself she wouldn’t waste such a precious gift. She stayed very still, not wanting to draw attention to herself.