Wallbanger

by Sable Jordan

  “Additionally, I’ll need the specs before we can proceed. While I’m sure you’re simply having a difficult time recalling the figures at the moment, my clients need hard numbers. And lastly,” Xander said thoughtfully, leaning forward in his seat, “Akio Takata. Did he bite on that bullshit deal you just offered me?”

  Sacha’s eyes widened a hair, then he spoke with forced restraint. “Takata is just one of a few I have as potential distributors.”

  “Ah…. Having a product to sell means nothing without the right buyers, Sacha. You cater to a very specific clientele, and I already have connections with 90% of your target group. So, while Takata and your ‘others’ might be able to secure that other 10%, I think you’ll agree I have the market cornered.”

  Without giving the Russian a chance to respond, Xander stood. “Your father was a smart man, Sacha, not weak. That’s how you survive in this game. You may not have respected him, but you should never question his hustle. Not once did Nikolay treat an ally as a lackey, which is what you came dangerously close to doing with me. Perhaps it’s best we finish this meeting tomorrow when you’re of a clearer mind.” In spite of the anger he felt, he extended his hand. “No love lost.”

  Sacha took it and smiled lopsidedly.

  Xander checked his watch—two more hours. They’d have to locate info on Harvey in that time, if there was any info to locate. After the extended conversation, a feeling in his gut led him to believe Sacha’s inability to recall the facts could be credited to more than just his drug use. And there was no way he would leave Kizzie. With the man high as Jupiter and speeding toward Neptune, he’d beat her to death in a matter of days if only because she was Xander’s sub. Kizzie was strong, could probably endure a lot more than the average bear, but nothing was more dangerous than a Dom under the influence.

  “Nesting dolls,” Xander remarked, walking toward the door. He picked up the one representing Sacha and studied it closely. “Your father has this exact set at his house in St. Petersburg. Do you know one’s missing?” He replaced the little effigy and spun toward Sacha.

  “Hadn’t noticed,” the man grumbled. He stood on slightly shaky legs and joined Xander at the door, loping an arm over his shoulder as though they were friends. “Let’s forget this and finish the night of play. Tomorrow, we’ll talk business.”

  Xander wasn’t fooled, but he wasn’t a fool either. Unless he could confirm his suspicions, Sacha was the only link to Harvey. Then there was the little matter of still being in the man’s house, his only weapon a short knife concealed behind his belt buckle. There were a number of items in reach that would be handy if needed; he just wasn’t sure how they’d fare against bullets. If he wanted to get them out alive, he’d have to keep cool until the party ended.

  With his new best bud by his side, Xander swung the door open in time to see Sumi rush toward them with a tray of drinks, and the other puppet—whose name he didn’t know—slide to a stop at her spot on the floor. She bent forward to her proper position on her knees, forehead kissing the ground, arms extended. Kizzie brought up the rear, gracefully sank onto the settee across from the door. She struck a swanlike pose and froze.

  A pudgy man in a horrid brown shirt stalked toward them, hand alternating between his cheek and throat, angry eyes focused on Kizzie.

  Damn. What’d you do now?

  Sacha pushed past him, reached down and yanked the prostrate girl up by her hair, fist connecting hard with her face. Blood trickled from her nose. “You stay in your fucking place, syestra!”

  Xander blinked, so stunned he didn’t respond to the abuse. He couldn’t have heard that right, or his translation was wrong.

  Sacha tossed the girl aside. “I’ll deal with you later,” he threatened. “Move from this spot and I’ll kill you.”

  Pudgy walked up to Sacha, jabbing a finger toward Kizzie. “That bitch hit me.”

  Together, Sacha and Xander spun toward her. “Is that true?” Sacha barked.

  “Whoa,” Xander cut in. “She’s still not yours, Sacha.”

  “Then handle your bitch!”

  He fixed Sacha with a deadly glare, holding it until the other man backed down. Then he returned his attention to their situation. If she’d hit the guy, it would be a huge problem.

  “Gigi.” Head bowed, Kizzie approached. He frowned at the red welt on her face, and tilted her chin up to study it closer, a new wave of anger washing over him. His body tensed, prepared to beat the man where he stood. “Did you mark my sub?” It came out a low growl, and the complainant took a step back.

  “She hit me. She said she wasn’t Sacha’s and—”

  Xander held up a hand, cutting the man’s sniveling short. “Did you strike this man?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Why?”

  “He grabbed me, Sir,” she said, eyes averted, voice docile enough to relay her submission. “I was coming back from the restroom and he blocked my path. He pulled my collar, Sir, and his hand touched your body.”

  Your body. Xander fought the chill that gave him. “Is that all?”

  “No, Sir. I told him I was returning to you, but he didn’t listen; said he would play with me first.”

  “You know they all lie,” Sacha spat. “The whole lot of them, worthless, disobedient cunts! Never trust a woman!”

  “You can plainly see she’s collared,” Xander said, turning on the man with the crop. “But I’m feeling nice, so we’ll do it the easy way. You forget she hit you; I let you keep your head on your shoulders.”

  Eyes wide, the man nodded with shaky jerks of his thick skull.

  “No,” Sacha rubbed his nose. “That’s not how we’ll do this.”

  Xander shrugged. “Guess that means you’ll be short a head.” He glared at Pudgy trying to ease away.

  “But this is my house, Xander. That means I’m the lead Dom and decisions like this fall to me.”

  Kizzie shifted behind him—probably ready to fight—but Sacha was right. If there was a disagreement, the hosting Dominant had the final word. Those were the rules, no matter the club. Xander had been there himself a couple of times, but knew at this moment Sacha was using the power to put him in his place. His hands were tied.

  Sacha looked to the other man. “Since Vadim is the one who has been injured, I’ll discuss the punishment with him.”

  The two men stepped a ways down the hall to talk over the situation, and Xander took Kizzie’s elbow, pushed her in the opposite direction out of earshot of the two puppets.

  “Did you have to hit him?” he mumbled.

  “Reflex?” She kept her eyes to the ground as though she was being punished, but her lips curved up in a smile. “You should probably know, I had a reflex with a guard, too.”

  He managed not to laugh, pressed closer to block her from any onlookers. “What were you really doing?”

  “Went to check Sacha’s bedroom. Locked. But Phil got there. Didn’t find anything. By the way, I could’ve sworn planting cameras was my idea. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I have my reasons. Just like I’m sure you have your reasons for disobeying me. I told you no touching.” He ignored her insolent grunt, hand firmly searching her belly. Feeling the metal lock picks, he shook his head and said, “Anything else?”

  “On my way back, the girl on the floor—Zlata—comes running from somewhere looking guilty as sin. Was gonna chase her down when this idiot jumps at me.”

  “And put his hand on my body,” Xander emphasized. He ran his fingertips along her shoulder blade. “I did like the sound of that, you know.”

  She pursed her lips. “Focus…. The meeting?”

  “Tried to change the terms—and threatened to kill me.”

  “I thought he was the bad guy.”

  “Words hurt, Kiz,” he deadpanned. “Change of plans, you’re not staying.”

  Her brow knit. “Why not?”

  “Don’t argue with me. I leave you here you’re good as dead.”

  “Didn’t kn
ow you cared, Sir.” A response sat on Xander’s lips, but she continued with an insistent edge to her voice, “I take care of me, Xander, regardless of this pretty golden noose. Now, were you lying, or is Sacha really the only one who knows about Harvey?”

  “Far as I know, just Sacha.”

  “So it’s here somewhere—on a computer or a jump drive. You want it; I’ll get it. But I need time to access it. This place is huge but I’ve mapped it out. There’s a chance—”

  “It’s not here at all,” he said, that suspicion niggling again.

  Kizzie’s voice stayed low but incredulous. “Why me?”

  “What?”

  “Why me? Why’d you drag me into this?”

  “You’re the perfect Trojan horse. I get you through the gate, you work your magic.”

  “Then drop the caring Dom act and let me do my job,” her gaze lifted, “Sir. This punishment, what am I lookin’ at?”

  Movement to his right.

  “On your knees.” She lowered without arguing, surprising him. He turned back to the approaching men. “Have you come to a decision?”

  “Vadim believes she should be punished by the whip,” Sacha said, “and I agree.”

  Xander nodded. He could work with the whip. Give her a couple licks and that’d be that. “I didn’t plan on this tonight. I’ll have to borrow—”

  “Her punishment,” Sacha interrupted, bland face split with a sickening smile, “is to be at my hand.”

  10

  Kizzie glared at the ball of human waste that had caused this trouble. Had he kept his grubby little hands to himself, she wouldn’t be standing on her toes with her legs separated wide by a spreader bar, arms cinched behind her and yanked up in the air. A position Xander called the strappado. Hips tilted downward, her ass was exposed even more than it had been in just the thong, her shoulders uncomfortable.

  She’d deal.

  The pudgy Dom licked his fleshy lips in a move she was sure he thought attractive. Kizzie committed his face to memory and added him to her ever-expanding shit list.

  Across the room, the anger was plain on Xander’s face. She wasn’t sure how much was an act for Sacha’s benefit, but it was nice to know she wasn’t the only one pissed at the moment. Now if he could just take this lashing for me.

  Wall-to-wall, strangers stood around in a wide circle, watching eagerly like a bloodthirsty mob at a beheading. Sacha waltzed in, long whip in one hand, his other preoccupied with rubbing at his nose. Sumi was just behind, and Zlata was absent, no doubt manning her post at the office door. Kizzie wondered what the girl had been up to when she was running down the hallway. Zlata was a sneaky one.

  The angle of her raised arms made holding her head up too much to handle, and Kizzie let it fall forward, view forced to the ground. Xander had warned her Sacha’s intent was to harm. She expected nothing less. And while she’d never been whipped, she figured it couldn’t be worse than a bare-knuckle brawl with a Ranger. She’d gotten her ass kicked, but survived that. How bad could this be?

  Her mind raced with possibilities.

  In her training as an agent, she’d learned a variety of rules about dealing with torture, the first being don’t panic. Panic made things ten times worse than they were. Unless you were having your toes removed by an insensitive brute with a bone cutter. Then you could panic all you wanted. Hell, you could even scream for your mommy.

  The other useful technique was to disassociate from the pain and go to a happy place, and in rare moments like these, that technique usually worked. She slowed her breathing, steeling her body for the blows she knew would soon come, and started singing in her head: Asante sana, squash banana….

  The crack of the whip and a laugh energized the crowd. “This bitch raised her hand to a Master,” Sacha slurred. “Do you think that’s acceptable?” A few “no’s” flitted through the group and he continued. “For that, she’ll be punished. Fifty lashes.”

  Fifty? You muthaf—

  The curse was cut off as a hiss broke the air. The leather cord landed over Kizzie’s back, wrapped around her middle and caught, the very end snapping hard and fast over her left kidney. She wanted to scream, squeezed her eyes tight.

  Muthaf—

  It happened again. Just as painful. Same spot. For a functioning coke addict Sacha sure was accurate.

  Asante sana…

  “Enough.”

  There was so much authority behind that single word the murmurs stopped. Her gaze lifted to find Xander coming into the circle, long-legged, navy blue stride purposeful. He continued past her and out of her small field of vision, leaving her to wonder what he was doing.

  “You agreed—”

  “Because I thought you could handle a whip,” Xander said. The handful of individuals who risked a chuckle made poor attempts at disguising them as coughs. “With a stroke like that she’ll be done in seconds.

  “Technically, she was punished as you ordered—by your hand. And out of respect for you, I allowed it even though Master Vadim touched my collared sub. Something I’m sure he’ll never do again.” The threat was clear. “Now, you wanted to see her dance at a tail, I’ll do that for you. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

  Footfalls approached from behind and the warm touch she’d come to recognize lightly rubbed the spot where the hit had landed. With her head forced down she could see a bit behind her, eyes picking up the whip Xander held so comfortably. His jacket was off, a detail she discerned from the rolled sleeve revealing his strong, milky brown forearm. Her gaze fell to the watch she hadn’t noticed before, and she frowned.

  “You all right?” he breathed.

  His warm scent invaded her nose, scrambling her brain and momentarily deflecting from the fire on her back. “Yes, Sir,” she said just as softly. “Hurt like a bi—. It hurt a bit.”

  Xander chuckled. “I’m much better, sweetheart.” His free hand smoothed up between her retracted shoulder blades and she shivered. “Anything I should know about?”

  One time…at band—She had no idea what he meant but answered, “No, Sir.” Why was he making this a project? Just whip me and be done with it.

  “Remember what I told you about safewords?”

  “Yes.” Bless her detail-oriented brain.

  “Good, use the standards. I want you to relax. Breathe. Focus on my voice and the sensations…. Trust me.”

  Any other circumstance she would have laughed. This was their very problem—she didn’t trust him, and he didn’t trust her. They couldn’t. They were approaching the same cut of steak from opposite ends of the cow, yet he said the last like he meant it.

  The people were still watching, she could feel their eyes while Xander continued murmuring to her. Busy fingers grazed over her spread cheeks, trailed along her inner thigh. Her body responded to the caresses, nipples tightening to peaks. The stimulation made keeping focused on the mission a secondary objective.

  Xander moved in front of her, teased her full breasts with the rigid handle of the whip, pussy clenching with every flick over the points. He was doing that thing again, where he spoke in a voice so calm, so low, she was almost in a trance. One hot hand lifted her chin and he asked, “Are you afraid of me, Princess?”

  That chocolate gaze was too intense, shrinking the room to just the two of them. Xander had a knack for bringing the truth out of her where he was concerned. Of course she was usually bound to something when he worked that minor miracle, but still, it was unnerving. And yet, regardless of their real situation, the stark truth of the matter was that she did trust him—in this precise moment only—not to hurt her.

  Kizzie licked her lips. “I’m not afraid of you, Sir.” He stroked his hand over her head and her eyes drifted closed. Those hands of his were dangerous, indeed.

  Cool air filled the space when he moved away; chilled her. She grounded herself by inhaling a breath.

  The whip cracked once, twice, landing so close on either side of her but not connecting. She flinched at the who
osh rushing by, expecting a pain that didn’t come.

  “The key,” Xander said, addressing the crowd, “is to start off slowly. Warm up the flesh.”

  This time the leather met her skin; a soft brush with just a mild bite. It repeated on the other cheek, returned to the first, slow and steady, rhythmic, like the swing of a pendulum. The stings made her shift her feet. Not so much uncomfortable, just…different. As soon as one slap melted in another connected, and her body heated to a low burn.

  Focus on his voice.

  “Vary the points of contact,” Xander instructed, “And the intensity.”

  The fall landed on her upper thigh, and Kizzie pushed back, adding to the stress on her shoulders. She registered the pain, but the sharp licks on her legs overrode the sensation. They weren’t feather-light, but they weren’t hard either. Just enough for her to know they were there, striking with the steady pulse of a sultry blues song. She followed that thread, hearing the up beat just before the whip played the downbeat on her skin. It connected high on her rounded ass and she gasped at the bite.

  “The tail is just an extension of your body. Think of it like that when placing your fall and it’ll strike where you want it to every time. That’s my hand on her thigh,” he said, dropping the snap in the precise spot on her leg.

  His hand. She could feel it—the long, thick fingers with the squared nail beds. The huge palm. The tip hit again and she moaned.

  “And don’t forget to check in.” Xander said. “Gigi, what’s your color?”

  She heard his voice in her head—an earlier recording—felt herself lying on the bed listening to his soothing words: “Green is ‘go’, yellow is ‘slow’, red is ‘stop’”.

  “Green.” Then she heard the music again, felt the lash on her skin a little harder, the tempo increase.

  Her toes ached. She’d been standing on the balls of her feet for a while now to decrease the pull on her arms. But if she focused on that, she couldn’t hear the song the whip sang. Giving up on the position, Kizzie dropped her heels to the floor. That it tipped her torso forward further wasn’t even a concern. Time seemed to still, nothing but the crack and Xander’s dark voice in her head. Are you afraid of me, Princess…?