Clint raised an eyebrow because he’d pretty much dismissed the man as a threat when none of their fake information surfaced. But maybe the information had been given to only one person—the wrong person—who held that information close and decided to act on it in an unexpected way.
“I can tell you that he’s been a member here for about a year and I’ve had no complaints on him. He’s played some—as you know we do have a few uncollared submissives on staff—but he doesn’t have his own submissive. Doesn’t, in fact, seem to be even looking for one.”
“‘Played some’ sounds like you’re condemning him with faint praise,” Ramón said.
Chris chuckled. “That could be true.” He exhaled. “I don’t actively dislike the man. But I can tell you I feel no urge to make him a close personal friend.”
The women emerged from the change room, chatting as usual. But they stopped short of joining them. Clint realized this wasn’t the first time they’d done that. Even when they were in their street clothes and protocols were done for the night, they held back because the three of them—three Doms—were in a discussion.
Daniel Welsh, a former marine and one of Chris’s Dungeon monitors, came through the closed clubroom door and approached.
“Before you go, Master Christopher, I was wondering if the sanctions on Rob Conrad were still in place?”
Clint had heard about Conrad. The Dom had failed to honor one of the house sub’s uses of her safe word. Because he’d shown remorse, he was still allowed admittance to the club but had been disciplined with only being allowed observer status.
“There’s the car,” Daisy said. “We’ll head out.”
They all three looked to the glass door. Christopher’s limo, easily recognizable thanks to the small leonine crest, stood idling at the curb. The women walked out, their conversation animated.
Chris turned back to Welsh. “For the next two days, yes. Is he hassling you about it?”
“No, I just saw him and wanted to be certain of the situation is all. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”
Daniel turned to leave and was nearly bowled over when the door to the stairs to the parking garage practically burst open and Rory Phelps, looking a little worse for wear with a bloody nose and split lip, stumbled toward them. “The car! Someone jumped me and took the car!”
Clint and Ramón followed Chris, who moved like the wind as they spun on their heels and raced for the outside door—and stepped onto the sidewalk just in time to see the vehicle half a block away, speeding east, with Marcia and Daisy nowhere in sight.
Chapter 18
“I’m not sure about that new girl, Cheryl,” Marcia said as she slid across the back seat of the limo. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the guys because it’s just my gut feeling and I don’t have any proof.”
“You think she’s a mean girl?” Daisy asked.
The slight nip in the air was likely the reason she shut the car door behind her. The men would be out any second, and—the car lurched forward, tossing them both back against the seat before either of them had gotten their seat belts on.
“Rory! Stop! What the hell do you have the glass up for? The guys aren’t in here yet!”
The window partition lowered, and Marcia felt her heart sink. Someone who wasn’t Rory was driving, and someone else—a man wearing a black hood—was facing them, holding a gun.
Daisy gasped and grabbed hold of Marcia’s hand. “Who are you? What do you want? What have you done with Rory?”
“Your friend is bloodied and likely still on the floor of the garage. And you don’t have to worry about what we want because we already have it. Now, hand up your purses, one at a time, and carefully. I don’t want to have to put a bullet in either of you, but I will if I have to.”
“We don’t have any money or credit cards you can use,” Daisy said.
Marcia had frozen in sheer terror the instant the car had accelerated. She’d known somehow, even before the window had lowered, what was happening. Daisy’s bravado brought Marcia back to reality. She swallowed hard, the trembling within her nearly enough to make her puke. She squeezed Daisy’s hand. “They don’t want money. They want me.” She didn’t know if she’d ever forgive herself if her friend were hurt during this…this abduction.
“You’re smarter than you look. Now…the purses.”
Marcia handed her small clutch bag over, not surprised her hand shook. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she knew where they were being taken or, at the least, who had ordered this abduction. She swallowed hard again, this time pushing the bile back. My Doms will find me. They will rescue me. I just have to survive until they do.
A part of her—the part that her men had begun to heal—had sworn to take her own life if she ever found herself in a position of being abused again. While that was a decision made when she’d been drug-hazed and in a cage and at her very lowest point, it was a decision she’d known she would follow through with. Then.
But now, she knew she belonged to Clint and Ramón. She was only theirs, and they had forbidden her to harm herself. They expected her to get through this, no matter what. If you find yourself near that point again, kill the one tormenting you instead. Ramón’s words came back to her. That he would say them in the first place, that he had said them in a way that let her know he had no doubt she could strike back, bolstered her.
She knew it was only a matter of time before one or both of her Doms came for her. All she had to do was ensure that she and Daisy weren’t separated—and she had to do whatever it took to make sure that bastard, Torres, didn’t touch her friend.
It worried her that they didn’t bother to blindfold either of them. Yes, one bastard’s face was masked, but they could clearly see the driver. Marcia didn’t know the city very well, but she knew Daisy did, and she could tell her friend was paying attention. Knowing where they were might be an asset if they could get away. The driver maneuvered the car, driving decorously because he likely didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
“Let Daisy go. You don’t need her.”
The man behind the steering wheel laughed. “She’s a sweet surprise. The boss will give me a bonus for her.”
The men in the front chatted in low voices she strained to hear, but she realized the radio was on just a tad, and she couldn’t distinguish their words.
“If we slow or come to a stoplight, you should make a break for it.” Marcia kept her words to a whisper. “Run like hell and get help. I’ll stop asshole from shooting you.”
“And who’s going to stop asshole from shooting you? I’m not leaving you, Marcia.”
“Torres wants me to use against Ramón. He might use you—the threat of hurting you—against me.” She couldn’t help the shiver. “Or he might do other things to you. You don’t know what he can do, Daisy. I’ll do anything to keep you safe. You don’t deserve to be in this mess.”
“And you do? Our Doms will save us. We just have to make sure we survive until then.”
Since that had been Marcia’s thought, she couldn’t dispute it. “Survival could get very messy.” She couldn’t risk saying more since the assholes upfront could really be listening in.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m tougher than I look. I can handle messy.”
So could Marcia. She wasn’t worried about herself. She was only worried about Daisy—and Ramón. She’d promised him at every turn that she would do whatever he wanted her to do, just to ease his mind that she was safe, even giving in the day before to his need to protect her at a possible cost to himself. It churned her guts just thinking what he must be going through right now. He had to know she’d been taken. Was he back in that same dark place he’d been when his sister had been kidnapped? Oh God, please don’t let him be back there.
Marcia had never been what anyone could ever call a kick-ass woman. At least, she hadn’t been until two Dominants had decided that they would be perfect for her, and she for them.
The car pulled
to the curb in a less busy part of town. The door beside Marcia was pulled open, and a third asshole with a gun appeared. Behind him, double-parked, an SUV idled with the side door open.
“Out of this car and into the SUV.”
She kept hold of Daisy’s hand as she moved to obey. She knew why they were changing vehicles. Christopher likely had some sort of GPS chip in his car. The thought nearly made her smile. They had no idea.
She and Daisy just had to survive until help came. Marcia was no longer the affection-starved creature she’d been, no longer willing to do anything for a little comfort or for the sense of belonging.
“Not you.” The driver’s words as she neared the truck made her skin crawl. She turned just in time to see him raise his gun. He shot the hooded man who’d been in the front seat of the limo. Her ears rang from the blast.
She finished getting into the SUV and held tight to Daisy’s hand. They were both near tears. This had turned deadly. Any doubts she might have had about the situation not being dire were gone. She was no longer the woman she’d been just a few short weeks before, and Sérgio Torres was about to find out the truth of that old saying about hell having no fury like that of a woman thoroughly pissed off.
* * * *
Ramón held it together, grateful for the ice that began spreading through his bloodstream. He’d pulled his weapon, aimed, but couldn’t risk a shot at the car speeding away. There were too many people, too many other vehicles between him and his target. He’d clamped down on the scream of rage that clawed inside him to escape. He couldn’t let his emotions come into play. He had to be a professional. It was the only way he knew to be if he wanted to save his woman.
Ramón had no doubt who’d ordered her taken.
“Daniel, you’re in charge down here. We’re going to the apartment.” Chris said. The Dom nodded and headed back into the club. Ramón followed Chris and Rory, his own phone in his hand just as Clint’s was.
The ring against his ear stopped after two.
“This is Grant.”
“I’m at Christopher’s. Torres has taken Marcia, and he’s got Daisy Lyons, as well.” He didn’t need any evidence. He knew who’d taken the women.
“I’m on my way.”
He put his phone in his pocket. “Upstairs,” was all Chris said. He handed his hankie to Rory for him to use on his abused nose, and put his hand on the man’s shoulder.
“DPS and HPD are on their way,” Clint said, “and I asked for an EMT to check Rory out. Your car has a tracking device?”
“Yes.” Chris bit off the word then pushed the door to his apartment open. He turned to Rory. “Let’s get you into the kitchen and put some ice on that face.”
“I’ll get it, Sir. Please, just find Daisy and Marcia.”
Chris nodded then headed into the living room. Before he could pull out his phone, a forceful knock echoed in the room. Rory opened the door and then headed, as ordered, toward the kitchen. Ramón had no idea who the tall, suited man was, but Chris obviously did. “Hooper, what the hell happened to my damned building security?”
“The cameras blacked out about two minutes before your limo left its slot. Honest to God, boss, we only thought it was a technical glitch with the system until Rory stumbled past the office on the way to warn you. So, I went ahead and checked our outlying cameras mounted on the buildings across the street.” Hooper looked toward Ramón and Clint. “We have a separate security system on that building’s exterior, with separate power and computer controls.” He held up a jump drive. “One of those cameras is directed pretty deep into the parking area. We got one of the fuckers coming in and then leaving with the car. But there were two of them in the front of the limo. One of the bastards was already inside the garage. I don’t know how he got in. I left it queued just a few seconds before.”
Chris grabbed the device and then plugged it into his laptop. “Get the tracking started on the limo, Hoop.”
“We’re already on it, boss.”
Ramón moved to stand behind Christopher and watch over his shoulder. Clint was there, too, all three of them focused on the scene that came up on the screen. On the video shot from across the street, they could see into the first level of the parking garage. They saw a man slip into the garage, and though he didn’t look familiar to Ramón, he seemed familiar with the layout of the garage. He headed toward where he assumed the limo had been parked. They briefly saw Rory come out of the elevator and head in the same direction. Less than a minute later, the limo emerged, and they could all clearly see two men in the front seat. Ramón was pretty sure the man who’d slunk into the structure was the one behind the wheel—because the other man had a hood over his face, which screamed something important.
He would only cover himself if the women or anyone watching the security feed would recognize him.
“Can we see earlier, before the queue?” He looked at Chris. “If the other guy was already in the garage, he might have come out of the elevator, ahead of Rory.”
Chris went back a half-hour and then slowed the feed every time someone emerged from the conveyance. There were several members of the Lyon’s Den, members on their way home, because this garage was where they would have parked.
One man emerged, with a ball cap pulled low on his head and with his head down. Chris didn’t recognize him, and his very posture said he was hiding himself from the cameras. But there was something about the way he moved that made the hair on Ramón’s neck stand on end. A sick feeling hit his stomach as he realized he knew this man.
“Let’s look at him again.”
He leaned forward, just as another knock sounded. Ramón heard familiar voices but didn’t look up from the screen.
“Can you focus in closer…focus on his feet?”
“Yeah, just give me a moment.” Christopher was clearly talented when it came to using his technology. It didn’t take him long to give Ramón the picture he wanted.
“What do you see?” Joe Grant came over, his expression a scowl of concern.
Clint explained to his boss what they were looking at. Ramón kept his attention on the screen.
Then Chris replayed that segment, and it took Ramón only a moment to understand what had caught his attention.
“I see a familiar pair of cowboy boots. Craig was here earlier tonight. He came with Brenda and should have left with her. Where is he now?”
Grant pulled out his phone and hit a number on his speed dial. It became clear to everyone that the phone rang a long time.
Finally, he disconnected the call and initiated a second. It was answered almost immediately. He put the call on speaker. “Brenda, where’s Craig?”
There was the barest pause. “I don’t know, sir. He went into the locker room at the Lyon’s Den to change, but I didn’t see him come out. He’s not answering his cell, either. I’m ready to go home, but we came in his car.”
“You’re still at the club?”
“Yes, sir, I’m in the lounge. I was about to call a cab.”
“Head to the entrance and wait for instructions.” He shut down the call and looked at Ramón. Hooper pulled his cell phone away from his ear. “We have the limo. It’s been stationary for five minutes.”
“Do you know where?” Chris was already shoving back his chair and getting to his feet.
“Yes, sir. I also have an SUV at the curb, waiting for us.”
Chris raced for the door, Hoop behind him. At Joe’s nod, Ramón and Clint followed. It seemed to take forever for the elevator to return them to the ground floor. Brenda was there when the door opened. At his signal, she followed.
“What’s going on?”
“Torres has Marcia and Daisy,” Clint said.
True to Hoop’s word, an SUV waited at the curb, engine idling. They were all barely inside the vehicle when the truck took off, breaking speed laws, as it headed east. Less than five minutes later, Hooper turned around from the front.
“It’s just up ahead. There are emergency light
s flashing, too.”
Ramón prayed as he’d never prayed before. The cops had the street closed off, so they got out of the truck a half a block away. Even from here, he could see there was a body on the ground with EMTs working on it. Clint was the one who flashed his badge, allowing all of them into the crime scene.
Steps away, Ramón felt the strength leave his knees and wondered why he didn’t fall to the ground. There were scuffed cowboy boots poking out from under the blanket that covered the person on the pavement.
He pulled out his cell phone and called his boss. “We’ve found Craig. He’s wounded. I don’t know how badly.” Craig, but not the women.
The women were long gone.
“Get back here. Let the HPD process the scene. I’ve commandeered Mr. Lyons’s apartment as our base. I have a team spread out over the city, already moving. By the time you arrive, we should have something.”
“What is he talking about?” Chris ran his hand through his hair. “We have to look for Daisy and Marcia. We’re closer here than we would be at our place.”
“They changed vehicles,” Clint said. “They could have headed back toward the Lyon’s Den for all we know. There’s no way to know where they are.”
“Actually, there is a way to know, and now I understand why I did what I did yesterday.” That sense of unease had finally settled, and Ramón understood its source.
“What way?” Chris had grabbed his arm, and Ramón completely sympathized. “The tracker that Robert Jessop was supposed to plant in me? I had him put it in Marcia, instead. I didn’t tell Joe, but he must have realized what I’d do. Sounds like he’s already got people looking for her. You can bet Torres will keep Daisy with Marcia, likely as coercion. This is our best chance to find them.”
“All right, then let’s go. I’ve a mind to give that sub of mine the spanking of her life for putting me through this.”
Ramón shook his head. He knew that was Chris’s way to blow off a little steam. Ramón didn’t have that capacity. He wouldn’t be able to thaw out until he had Marcia in his arms—and Torres either dead or behind bars.
Avenging Angel [Tales from the Lyon's Den 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 17