Marcia turned her attention back to the man who’d suddenly become such a major presence in her life. He was a mystery to her, and the biggest part of that mystery was the fact that he attracted her. She’d never really felt this kind of belly-churning, pussy-softening attraction for any man in her life, until him. He was the first—but not the only. She tried to push away the reality that Ramón Estévez wasn’t the only man to get her feminine parts dancing recently.
A hell of a time for my libido to awaken for the first time, ever.
She brought herself back to the moment. “All right. I like them. Daisy is…she’s nice.”
“How do you feel about Christopher?”
It never occurred to her to filter her answer. She’d been lying to others and, she now knew, lying to herself for far too long. “One part intimidated and two parts safe.”
The corner of Ramón’s mouth lifted up in a half smile. “Yes. He’s a formidable man.”
“So are you.”
“Do I intimidate you, little one?”
It took every bit of nerve she had to meet his gaze. “Yes. But in a good way.”
She could see by the emotion in his eyes she’d surprised him. He looked at her a long moment, and Marcia wondered if he was gazing into her soul.
Then he nodded. “We’ll leave in ten minutes.”
He left the room, likely heading toward the small office he kept here in the apartment. She had just enough time to make herself a bit more presentable. Marcia would use the time she would have with Daisy to ask the other woman a few questions about her lifestyle. She needed information, and she needed to learn. Marcia had a feeling there was a lot more going on between her and Ramón than what appeared on the surface.
* * * *
He hadn’t told them she was staying with him, and now he would have to. Ramón took his seat in the conference room on the third floor of the Houston Carstairs Hotel.
Ramón Enrique Estévez walked a very fine line. He was in moderately deep cover—had been, in fact, for a few years. So, he used his real name, which in one way was perfect. That was why they were meeting at a hotel instead of the Houston headquarters of the FBI on Justice Park Drive. If he was being followed, going into a hotel in the middle of the day would bring zero suspicion, whereas the FBI building was out of the city center, a stand-alone building and the obvious destination for the person heading toward it.
Anyone checking into Ramón’s background would discover he had indeed been a resident of a group home at the same time as another young man—Christopher Lyons. Randy Q, real-life hacker turned government hacker had been able to bury any reference to his FBI career. In its place, he’d embedded a brief time with a local police agency, followed by his dismissal for suspicion of skimming money and drugs.
Randy looked up from his laptop briefly and nodded as Ramón took a seat at the conference table.
The other members of his team, Tim Plant, Brenda Freeman, and Craig Gilbert were seated, ready to get started. He’d worked with Brenda and Craig before. Both were seasoned FBI agents. Plant was the lone agent present he didn’t know well. He’d been sent to the Houston office from Quantico only recently. Ramón was still trying to get his measure.
Their former boss, Don Fraser, the Special Agent in Charge, had suffered a heart attack two weeks ago and was still recovering at home. Their new boss—a man Ramón had met not that long ago in a social setting—was due to arrive any minute.
Since the meeting hadn’t started yet, he took a moment to try and relax. He let his gaze travel down to Craig’s feet, unsurprised to see a pair of brown cowboy boots on him.
“I don’t understand why you don’t wear a cowboy hat, too,” Ramón said.
“I do if I’m in Dallas. Houston is far more urbane.”
“Do you even own a pair of shoes?”
Instead of answering, Craig picked up his coffee and thickened his drawl. “You know what they say, Ramón. You can take the boots off the cowboy, but you can’t get the cowboy outta dem boots.”
Ramón raised his right eyebrow. There was something about the constant ribbing between him and his fellow team member that felt like the proper kickoff to the morning. “Is that what they say? Sounds to me like they need to start reading and find some new sayings.”
Brenda chuckled, Randy smiled, and Tim just looked as if he didn’t understand anything in this wild state of Texas.
Then the door opened and the newest member of their team entered. Ramón had learned of the man’s appointment during a secure Skype conference late last night.
“Good morning, people. I’m Joe Grant, your new SAC.”
The tall, dark-haired man took his place at the table and met Ramón’s gaze. He’d been introduced to Special Agent in Charge Grant at an engagement party held in a restaurant in Lusty, Texas.
“Bring me up to speed, people. Have you made progress getting through Torres’s electronic security, Randy?”
“I’m nearly there, boss.” Randy was the only member of the team at the table not in appropriate business attire—well, with the exception of Craig’s boots. “I’m going to have to hack right into their system so that I can intercept the signal going from their surveillance equipment in the meeting room to their monitoring station, which is, incidentally, not in the same location.”
Joe nodded. Then he turned his attention to Ramón. “You’ve met Torres socially now. There’re rumblings he might be having a meet someplace soon. Any idea what it could be about?”
“Likely either another auction or a negotiation with his suppliers. I can tell you he’s still not sure of me. We know this because of the digging into my background after that one occasion.”
“So far there’s just been the one search conducted, and it wasn’t very deep or very well done.” Randy met Ramón’s gaze.
“We’re waiting for a second, more refined search,” Ramón said. “It stretches believability the man wouldn’t do a deeper one before coming to a decision whether or not he can trust me.”
Joe sat back. “That deeper search would indicate that he wants to bring you in as a possible partner, to meet some of his contacts?”
“Yes. That’s what we’re waiting for. In the meantime, there’s bound to be another auction. I haven’t been invited to one, but we have a couple of men under surveillance who have been. Hopefully the occasion will lend itself to giving us more than we have on the man to date.”
“If he does invite you, will you be bidding again?” Grant asked.
Fuck. He hadn’t actually mentioned that to anyone, that he’d actually negotiated with Torres and purchased Marcia at the man’s immoral auction. But Joe, being a part of Lusty, likely knew everything, including the fact that Marcia Crane was still under his personal protection.
He’d come to understand that the Lusty Town Trust had some of the most impressive contacts and security creds in the world.
He ignored the quizzical looks from everyone else at the table and just answered his new SAC. “No, sir. The purpose of that first move was to cement my cover as a man Torres could use.” He looked at the rest of his team. Since Joe didn’t seem pissed he’d technically gone beyond his operational instructions, he decided now would be the time.
“Miss Crane is currently staying at my apartment. We can’t let her roam the streets because Torres has informants everywhere, and if he learns of her going about her business, he might just kidnap her again—if for no other reason than the fact she can testify against him and is, therefore, a threat to him. The woman has recovered from her experience and offered to help with our investigation. I told her I would discuss it with my team and let her know.”
Tim frowned. “Who is this woman, really? How do we know she wasn’t involved with Torres to begin with? Oldest gambit in the world is for some woman to play damsel in distress and then stab her rescuer in the back.”
It was all Ramón could do not to punch Plant in the face. Who the hell was this guy? He had a mind to ask Randy to
look into his background. All Ramón knew about the man was he’d been transferred to the Houston office from Virginia and then sent out when they’d sat down to plan this operation. That, and he had a northern accent. Up until now, he’d been neither impressed nor repulsed by the man. His operational attitude was, in Ramón’s estimation, barely adequate. He’d excused that, of course, because he understood he himself was the only member of this team who had a soul-deep passion to see justice served in this particular case.
“It’s good to know your biases right up front, Mr. Plant.” Brenda’s gaze never left the man. “We’ve done a background check, which included opening sealed court documents. Those, of course, relate to the charges brought against one Roger Baker from Biloxi, Mississippi, for the sexual assault on Marcia Crane when she was a twelve-year-old minor. We’ve matched the DNA evidence gathered at the time with a new sample, and there’s no doubt she’s the same woman.” Then she turned to look at Grant. “There are bits and pieces of minutia that tie her to Mississippi until she met with Victor Swift and accepted a scholarship offer to attend the Claymore College and moved to Texas. I don’t believe she’s anything except what she appears to be—a woman who’s finally had enough of asshole men in her life and needs to fight back.”
Brenda’s words held weight, as she had a degree in psychology and often worked on profiles when the need arose. Ramón really wanted to see if her last sentence struck Plant or bounced off him. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on Joe Grant.
He spoke to the man who was now his superior on this op. “I don’t want her in danger, but I understand her need to do something.”
“To what degree have you shorn up your cover at the Lyon’s Den?” Joe Grant asked.
His boss knew that Christopher Lyons was an old friend and had offered to allow him membership to aid in his cover. Posing as a Dom would be a cred Torres would respect. There was no question that activities at the Lyon’s Den were completely above board. The membership was well vetted. But some of those members were also known to frequent other, less respectable clubs. Gossip happened, and when it did, anyone interested would know that Ramón was a member at the downtown Houston club.
“I’ve been there several evenings, now. I’ve also assisted Mr. Lyons in a few scenes.”
“You’ve been there alone?”
“Sir?” Ramón wasn’t ashamed to admit he had no idea what the man expected him to say.
“I think it’s time you showed up with your own personal submissive.” Grant looked around the table. “Marcia will be under scrutiny there, possibly by those who would get word back to Torres, but definitely by our own. Craig and Brenda have been working to gain membership to the club for the last month. They’ve been accepted. They’ll be there on Friday night.” He turned to the other agents. “That gives you a few days to get into the roles.” Grant turned back to Ramón. “Seems to me it would be a good time to grant Miss Crane’s request. She’ll be out of the line of fire, and safe, but instrumental in cementing your cover. If she’s agreeable to posing as your sub, of course. You have to admit, that would be a surefire way to impress Torres—when word gets back to him that you have enough confidence in yourself to allow a purchased slave to appear in a relatively public venue.”
“Yes, sir.”
Those were the hardest two words Ramón had ever spoken—not because he didn’t agree with them but because he did. He took a moment to remind himself that not only would his team keep Marcia safe, so, too, would Christopher Lyons’s own security staff.
He had only two concerns about playing the role of Marcia Crane’s Dom. Who was going to show him the ropes, and who the hell was going to keep him safe?
Chapter 2
“But how did you know, Daisy? How did you know submitting was the right thing to do? How did you know you were a submissive?” Marcia kept her gaze focused on the other woman. In the two weeks she’d known Daisy Lyons, the slightly older woman had somehow become her best friend.
The two of them were alone in the living room of the Lyonses’ enormous penthouse apartment. Rory had served them coffee and some very tasty cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven and then had left them to their girl talk.
This was a new experience for Marcia. She’d never had any real friends growing up. She’d shied away from other girls. Of course, she understood why. The two most prominent women in her life—her mother and then her aunt—had both failed to keep her safe. Then, when she was on her own at the tender age of sixteen, she was just too damn tired trying to survive to make friendships. There weren’t that many young women her own age interested in being a friend to a girl who more or less lived on the street. A lot of the girls she did meet had been mean girls, girls who somehow always saw Marcia as competition with a capital C. By the time she started going to the Claymore College she’d pretty much ruled out having any friends at all, even though one or two of the young women there had reached out to her.
Marcia was ashamed to admit she’d been too afraid to respond to those overtures.
Then everything changed the night Torres assaulted her. She recalled the cage he’d thrown her into and the knowledge she was to be sold to the highest bidder. The next thing she knew, she’d awoken in a bed in a place she hadn’t recognized, with three big men surrounding her. Well, three big men and Daisy.
In her personal nadir of fear and vulnerability, which had resulted in a horrendous promise she’d made herself, she and Daisy Lyons had connected. Marcia focused back on her friend.
Daisy’s smile was gentle. “You’re looking at it the wrong way, Marcia. I didn’t one day say to myself, ‘hey, I think I’ll submit to the next sexy Dom who comes my way.’” She paused for a moment and seemed to be searching for the right words. “It was more that I discovered that I was a submissive by nature. I’ve always been a submissive, and I’d never known it—not until I met Christopher and Rory. Not until I met my Master and my Sir.”
Daisy didn’t ask Marcia why she was asking. Neither did she say a single word more. No, she just kept that sweet smile on her face and waited patiently for Marcia to process the response she’d received and to pose her next question.
Marcia needed to understand her new friend’s lifestyle, but only because she had a sense—one that was deep and growing more certain by the hour—that Daisy’s answers could have an impact on her own life. They could help her understand her own emotions, especially the way she reacted to Ramón Estévez. She’d become adept at holding herself back from others and keeping her personal emotions and thoughts buried inside. She couldn’t do that any longer.
“What is it about, then, really? I’m totally confused. For most of my life I’ve been made to assume the role of a servant. After my mother died, I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle. My aunt looked at me as free child labor—they didn’t have any kids of their own. And when Aunt Ellen took off and left me with Uncle Howard…let’s just say I entered an entirely new world of servitude.” Marcia couldn’t stop her cheeks from growing warm any more than she could keep the bitterness from her tone. She knew in her head that her uncle’s sexual abuse of her was on him, not her. She knew it wasn’t her fault. But evening knowing, guilt and embarrassment still haunted her. “When I finally took the step of running away from him, every job I managed to get, because I was so young, paid peanuts and damn near took every bit of strength and any remaining dignity I had left.”
Daisy’s expression softened. “I think the main confusion most people have comes from the lingo. I’m not sure where the Master/slave references come from. Everyone who lives this lifestyle does it differently, so it could have originated from something less respectful than what I know. What I have with Christopher and Rory is an exchange of power. Yes, they’re my Dominants. But they’re also my caretakers. They both treat me like a queen. The secret is finding what works for you and your Dom. Communication is key, as is the single most important rule—that all activities in that power exchange be safe, sane, and consensual.”
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“I can accept that it’s different for everyone. But you’re the only one I know who’s in this lifestyle. Can you tell me what it means to you?”
“Christopher takes care of me. He handles the tough decisions, and when I’m stressed, he relaxes me. He’s a man who needs to be in control of his life, his environment…well, of everything, really. I’m a person who needs to be loved and who needs to be cared for because, for a lot of years, I wasn’t. I was just a tool, something to be used for the benefit of others.” She reached out and touched Marcia’s hand. “Not in the way I suspect you were used, Marcia. I was able to function in that world, and I could do the tough stuff when I had to, but it cost me in ways I didn’t understand at the time. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you at all.”
It did. She, too, had been forced to function in a world where there was no place—and no one—to rest in. The concept of turning some of that, as Daisy called it, “tough stuff,” over to a man who would care for her, who would care about her, was seductive. But that seduction also raised alarm bells.
She didn’t know if she could trust anyone to take care of her without hurting her. But maybe…just maybe, she could try to trust Ramón.
If not for him, she would be a real slave, and she doubted she’d have lived for very long in any event. The first moment she laid eyes on the man had been just a couple of minutes after she’d understood what was about to happen to her.
That realization had been the moment she’d given up and made herself that desperate promise.
She’d been saved, from her captor and from herself, by Ramón Estévez.
Marcia had never been a woman to believe, overmuch, in fate. She didn’t even necessarily believe that right actions would be rewarded. That cynicism came from her childhood, from what had happened to her. She and her mother had done everything right in the aftermath of Baker’s rape of her, and still, her mother had been murdered and Marcia’s own life had been torn apart.
Avenging Angel [Tales from the Lyon's Den 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 2