Mine

by Stacey Kennedy

  Black glass covered the exterior of the office building, and on one side huge bold silver letters read Holt Enterprises. The last time Dmitri had come to San Francisco to visit the Dominants Council, or DC, was just after Charles had died. Micah Holt hadn’t been working out of this building at that time. He’d owned a small three-story building on Union Square. Apparently the last few years had been good to Holt Enterprises, which Dmitri knew was a real estate company.

  Charles had introduced Dmitri to Micah when they’d vacationed once in San Francisco—he wanted Dmitri to have good connections in the BDSM community. The friendship with Micah had stuck, and they’d also done some business together over the years. After Charles died Dmitri had gone to Micah for advice about opening Club Sin. That was when Micah had introduced Dmitri to the DC, the three other men who ruled the BDSM community in San Francisco.

  Dmitri entered the building and headed directly to the security desk. The high-ceilinged lobby rose all the way to the top of the building, with balconies on each floor. Dmitri snorted; perhaps he should’ve gotten into real estate.

  “Can I help you?” the security guard asked.

  Before Dmitri could reply, a young man in a black suit intervened. “I’ve got him, George. Please, Mr. Pratt, will you follow me? I’m Neil, Mr. Holt’s assistant, and he is expecting you.”

  “Thank you.” Dmitri fell into stride with the slender man.

  When they arrived at the elevator, the man tapped a card against the black box beside the door and the elevator opened. Dmitri joined the assistant inside and classical music filled the elevator as it sped to the top floor. Once the door chimed open, the assistant moved quickly, leading Dmitri past the receptionist down a long hall. He scanned the doors he passed, noticing that most people in this office appeared to be real estate agents.

  Dmitri had known Micah was a real estate mogul, buying multimillion-dollar buildings and flipping them. Now Dmitri realized he’d expanded his business to include high-end residential properties. Dmitri also knew from a magazine article he’d read recently that Micah was on the board of several other multimillion-dollar companies.

  Once they reached the end of the hallway, the assistant opened the door and waved Dmitri inside. The room was rectangular, with the skyline of San Francisco visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His attention briskly shifted to the four men sitting around the large, dark wood conference table. Most people would know them only as four of the richest men in their city. Dmitri knew they made up the DC.

  Micah rose from his chair and approached Dmitri with an imposing gait. At six foot three, Micah had a crooked nose, a square jaw, and enough muscles to show he spent quality time in the gym. He was dressed in a classic black suit, and his blue-green eyes regarded Dmitri as he offered his hand. “Good to see you, Dmitri. I hope your flight treated you well.”

  “It did.” Dmitri shook his hand with a firm grip. “Thank you for sending the car.”

  Micah inclined his head with a smile, then said to his assistant, “That will be all, Neil. Please hold all calls.”

  He accepted the order with a nod and shut the door.

  “Trouble in Vegas?”

  Dmitri turned to Gabe O’Keefe, the youngest of the men. When Gabe was only twenty-two years old, he had opened his first Irish pub, O’Keefe’s, in San Francisco. Now, at thirty-three, he owned a chain of bars all over the United States. Gabe’s sharp and intense hazel eyes, prominent chin, and square jawline gave him a chiseled look. With his well-styled dark brown hair, dark blue button-down, and tailored black slacks, he looked like he’d fit right in over in Hollywood.

  Dmitri replied, “Trouble is an understatement.”

  Gabe’s expression tightened. “Sorry to hear that, man.”

  Dmitri inclined his head in appreciation, taking a seat next to Micah, who was at the head of the table. “Thank you for making time for me.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Ryder Blackwood said. His chocolate-brown eyes, warm and rich, studied Dmitri carefully. Dmitri knew he was head of a well-regarded security company, so it didn’t surprise him that Ryder seemed to be on alert at all times. He was dressed in black cargo pants and a black shirt, which Dmitri had seen him in before and took to be his daily uniform. His sandy hair hung down just past his eyebrows, drawing attention to his warm brown eyes, sharp jaw, honed cheekbones, and deep dimples.

  “So, tell us, what’s going on?”

  Dmitri shifted in his seat and slid his glance to the final man in the room, Darius Bennett, the CEO of Bennett Inc., a financial services and management company.

  “There is trouble in my house,” Dmitri admitted.

  Darius ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair. His clear blue eyes held depth and wisdom. “What kind of trouble?”

  Dmitri let out a long exhalation. “Long story short, an ex-boyfriend of my submissive took pictures of the club’s members, intending to out them.”

  Gabe’s eyebrows rose. “And he planned to do what with them?”

  “Sell them to a tabloid.” Before anyone could comment, Dmitri added, “Earlier today I bought the pictures and had a copyright agreement signed. On that end, things are squared up.”

  Ryder cocked his head. “I take it that you’re still worried about the club being exposed?”

  Dmitri nodded. To most of the world, these four men appeared to be eligible bachelors, living a grand life. Each of them had been the subject of numerous magazine articles. Yet they had managed to keep their secret—each of them owned a public BDSM club. If anyone could help him, he believed, these men could. “My club is no longer safe. Even if the threat has been removed, I can’t imagine anyone feeling secure enough to play there any longer.”

  “That’s understandable.” Darius adjusted his gray suit jacket.

  “There will be some negativity. Though you don’t want that, that’s something you can’t help,” Micah said with a firm nod. “So, what is it exactly that you wish to do?”

  “I need advice on the next steps to take. What my options are.” Dmitri swiped a hand across his eyes again, rubbing the sleepiness away. “I’d appreciate your advice.”

  Ryder leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his thick chest, his defined biceps straining against his sleeves. “When we talked about Club Sin…what was it, nearly six years ago now?” At Dmitri’s nod, Ryder went on. “I figured keeping the dungeon at your house would be enough to keep it under wraps.”

  Micah agreed. “I did as well.”

  “Though you can never stop someone who is out for vengeance,” Gabe interjected, voice dry. “It changes the game.”

  “It couldn’t be avoided.” Dmitri placed his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I do not wish any of the blame for this to land on my submissive’s shoulders.”

  “That would be a pity,” Ryder acknowledged.

  “So,” Dmitri said, glancing from face to face, “I’m unsure how to move Club Sin without my name being on the title, and how to keep my members safe and out of the public eye.”

  “Well…” Micah studied Dmitri, tapping his fingers against the cherrywood table. “We have all gone about it differently, of course. But there is a similar thread in our stories that I’m sure you could use yourself.”

  Dmitri inclined his head in gratitude. “I would appreciate the help.”

  “For my club, Impulse, I bought an art gallery,” Darius explained. “It’s understandable that people would be coming there in the evenings and on weekends. The BDSM club is in the basement, but it’s not advertised. Only those in the lifestyle know of it, and new invites are thoroughly vetted.”

  “Yet your name is still on the title?” Dmitri inquired.

  “On the art gallery it is,” Darius continued. “But the club itself is registered as a cocktail lounge. The owner is a Dominant whom I’ve known for many years and whom I trust.”

  Dmitri pondered that for a moment. “So you’ve fronted the money, but on paper he o
wns it?”

  “Exactly.” Darius nodded.

  Micah put in, “I set up Lace in a similar manner, with the cover being a photography studio.” He leaned back in his chair, continuing to tap his fingers on the desk. “It’s rather well known that the photographer does some fetish photography, but it gives me a way to create distance. Just because I own the building doesn’t mean I have any responsibility for what happens there.”

  Dmitri considered again, thinking that’s exactly what he needed. A place from which he could distance himself but which could still be his Club Sin. “And you know the photographer well?”

  “I’ve known the Dominant since my twenties,” Micah explained. “That is the most important factor, I believe. You need to make sure whoever is running things does so in the way that you would, since you are giving them control over your club.”

  Gabe nodded at Micah and then addressed Dmitri. “I set up Afterglow a little differently. I went the Swiss account route and dropped money into it. Then I used that money to buy the club. The profits go back into that account. If it’s traced, my name is nowhere near the title.”

  “And you hired the employees yourself at the club?” Dmitri asked.

  Gabe shook his head. “The CEO is a past submissive of mine. She worked in management for a long time, so stepping into the position was perfect for her. She handles the club in its entirety. I’ve given her complete control, from design to payroll and everything in between.” His brow arched haughtily. “The rules of the club remain with me, however.”

  Darius smiled at Gabe’s tone, then turned to Dmitri. “I run Masquerade much the way Gabe runs his club. I believe that is what keeps us safe. Yes, we own these clubs, but there is not enough proof that we have any involvement in them. Some of us own the buildings and some of us don’t have our names anywhere near them. But either way, we can’t be held responsible for what is done by another company in the building.”

  “Besides,” Micah added, folding his arms, “if it did get out, we could play the press, answering with amusement that we didn’t know what was happening there, but we wish we had.” His mouth curved into a small smile. “The press enjoys a good story. Give them something and you’ll be fine.”

  Dmitri considered what he’d heard and the men around him. He respected this group. While none of them played at their own clubs, they owned them for one very good reason—to control the BDSM community in San Francisco. More important, it helped establish a positive tone for those who live the BDSM lifestyle.

  Their clubs were upscale, and members were treated well. The money they spent to maintain their clubs was in the millions. No one wanted to open a competing club, because they couldn’t possibly live up to the standards these clubs had set. And Dmitri had also learned when first meeting the DC that they owned these clubs to scout out submissives for personal play—which happened at hotels, under tight security and confidentiality agreements that would keep all parties involved silent.

  These men had found a way to play safely and discreetly. Dmitri respected that and wanted it for himself.

  “Seems pretty simple,” he finally said.

  “Because it is,” Ryder agreed with a bob of his head. “Just front the money for another business that’s in the same location as the club. To run it, pick someone from your club whom you trust, someone who doesn’t care if their lifestyle was revealed to the world. Then go from there.” He paused, clearly thinking hard, before continuing, “Hire good security for the club, especially any entrance to the dungeon, and use thermal fingerprint readers to ensure that only vetted members gain entrance into the club.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table and added, “Lastly, keep the dungeon’s door private—have the members enter through the main business, but then they’ll need to access a private area to enter the club. That way no one can capture pictures of them.” Amusement lightened his eyes. “I’d recommend hiring security known to work for politicians.”

  “Why?” Dmitri asked.

  Ryder grinned, displaying his deep dimples. “Because they will know how to ensure that dirty little secrets don’t get out. I have a team in Vegas that you could hire, if you’d like help getting started.”

  “I would appreciate that,” Dmitri replied. “Thank you.”

  Ryder gave a nod of acknowledgment.

  Dmitri started running through a list of individuals who might be interested in such a venture with him. An idea began to form, one that made his smile feel more honest than it had in days. “I think I might know how to make this work.”

  “Good. Keep us updated on how things go,” Micah said, rising from his seat. “You know we will help in any way we can.”

  That was why Dmitri respected these men. They were top-notch Dominants who didn’t rule with intimidation, but dominated through respect and admiration. Much like Dmitri did at Club Sin.

  Micah glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly dinner. How about we grab something before you fly back to Vegas?”

  Darius grinned. “And to see if there are any business opportunities available with that casino of yours. It’s doing well, I hear.”

  “This last quarter was exceptional.” Dmitri fought back his desire to get back to Presley as quickly as possible; he couldn’t insult these men. He owed them some of his time. “Dinner sounds great.”

  Ryder’s smile turned devilish. “You mentioned a submissive of yours. Have you gone official?”

  Dmitri nodded. “I have. Her name is Presley Flynn.”

  “Wouldn’t have expected you to become locked down.” Darius came around the table to give Dmitri a manly smack on the back. “Good for you.”

  Dmitri glanced around at the hands of the men, then mused, “Since I don’t see any rings on your fingers, I take it that you’re all still the famous four bachelors of San Francisco?”

  “Stupid fucking magazines,” Ryder bit out, pushing in his chair under the table. “You think they would have something better to print.”

  Gabe gave a brazen grin. “I enjoy the fan mail.”

  “Of course you do.” Darius moved to the door with a steady gait and turned to Gabe when he reached the door. “You spend a half an hour in the mirror every morning.”

  “And never go home to an empty bed.” Gabe smirked.

  Masculine laughter filled the room as Micah opened the door. “Believe me, Dmitri, committed relationships aren’t our thing.”

  “Right. What did I read in that magazine…?” Dmitri paused for dramatic effect. “San Francisco’s four eligible bachelors are nothing more than playboys who leave broken hearts in their wake.”

  “Please,” Gabe said with a snort. “I’ve never left a woman unsatisfied.”

  Darius rolled his eyes, striding toward Dmitri. “It’s amazing when those trashy magazines actually get something right.”

  “They are a pain in my ass,” Ryder put in, exiting into the hallway. “It’s my job to stay under the radar.”

  Dmitri gave a nod of understanding. He’d rather hate that exposure himself. As he followed Ryder out of the conference room, he recalled a time when he had been like these men, living on the edge and playing with as many women as he could. Now there was only one woman on his mind and in his heart.

  He missed Presley. Deeply.

  The sound of someone clearing his throat drew Dmitri back from his thoughts. He realized that all the Dominants’ eyes were on him.

  Micah chortled. “Now, that looks like a man in love.”

  Dmitri smacked Micah’s back. “You think you’ve got it good now. Just wait until a woman drops you onto your knees.”

  “Not in this lifetime.” Micah arched a defiant brow. “Locked down is not for me.”

  Dmitri could only smile in return, thinking there would come a time when Micah would eat those words.

  Chapter 7

  The plane touched down in Vegas at nine o’clock at night. Stomach full, and pleased by the meeting with the DC, Dmitri headed down the stairs of the private jet
. Once on the tarmac, he drew the dry air into his lungs and fired off a text to Miles: Need to meet. My office? Now?

  Waiting for a response from Miles, he walked over to where he’d left his car in the small airport’s parking lot. Steps away from his sports car, a beep drew his attention back to the phone’s screen.

  Miles responded: Be there in fifteen.

  With next steps taken care of, Dmitri scrolled through his contacts until he reached the security department of Aces. Tension rode his shoulders as he hit call and pressed the phone to his ear. The night guard answered on the second ring. “Craig, it’s Dmitri. Miles Sanchez will be arriving at Aces in fifteen minutes. Please allow him access to my office.”

  “Of course, sir,” Craig replied.

  “Thank you.” Dmitri ended the call and shoved his phone into his pocket.

  Not wasting any time, he got into his car and booked it across the city. Though the night was clear, the city’s lights stole the view of the stars. Strain, hope, and concern made him drive faster than he had in some time. The car purred in pleasure.

  Once he reached the casino, which featured a facade reminiscent of ancient Roman architecture, he took a hard left, pulling into the front. Urgency swirled inside him as he drove along the right side of the building and entered the underground parking area. The sounds from the muffler echoed throughout the parking garage until he pulled into the last spot on the right.

  In no time, he was in the elevator and on his way to the offices on the third floor of Aces. When the door chimed open, Dmitri spotted Miles, leaning against the empty receptionist desk, folded arms emphasizing his thick, six-foot-five body.

  “Thank you for meeting me so quickly,” Dmitri said, suddenly feeling like this day had been one of the longest of his life. Hell, the past couple of days seemed like a lifetime—not anything he ever wanted repeated.

  “Not a problem.” Miles regarded Dmitri with his stern dark eyes. “What’s up?”

  Dmitri motioned Miles forward, and the other man followed Dmitri into the office at the end of the hallway. Low lights remained on throughout the offices, even though the business day was long over. When Dmitri entered his office the motion sensors kicked in, turning on the lights, and Dmitri moved to his desk, taking a seat.