His Lady (Boston Doms Book 5)

by Jane Henry

  “Good question,” Gretchen said ruefully. “My brain seems to have been on hiatus the past few weeks. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you came to me with this. The guy you asked me to look into is someone I’ve been hoping to nail for years. A friend of mine had dealings with him and, uh… it didn’t end well. My friend’s gotten in so deep, he can’t get out.”

  Blake wasn’t surprised. Boston was practically crawling with people who hated Chalo Salazar. Unfortunately, the number of people who feared him was even higher.

  “But next time you ask me to do you a favor, girl, remember I don’t want protection, okay? I can take care of myself, and I don’t need some… some… professional stalker… watching my every move and getting all up in my business.” Gretchen glowered at Lucas.

  Blake bit his cheek to stifle his grin. Professional stalker. That was a new one. He glanced across the table at Elena, and saw her eyes widen, no doubt reading the sexual tension that coiled in the air, heavy and potent.

  “Hell of a way to talk to the guy who saved your life two days ago,” Lucas growled.

  “Oh, please!” Gretchen retorted, balling her fists on the tabletop. “You didn’t save me, because I wasn’t ever in danger, and anyway, I…”

  Blake held out a hand, halting whatever else Gretchen planned to say. “How about you tell us what you needed to tell us, and you can sort your own shit later, hmm?”

  Fortunately, the waiter showed up at that exact moment to take their orders. Blake and Elena, who had barely had a chance to glance at their menus, ordered basic burgers.

  After the waiter departed, Gretchen took a deep breath, visibly forcing herself to calm down and adopt a professional mien.

  “I have good news and I have bad news,” she began, and Blake felt that knot of tension in his gut tighten once again.

  “Start with the bad,” Elena said grimly. Consciously or unconsciously, her hand snaked across the table to find his, and he twined their fingers together. Whatever came, they’d handle it together.

  “Well, according to my source, you were right on track with your assumption that Salazar is funding The Church of the Highest Prophet. Apparently, he’s bragged about it.”

  Blake nodded. No surprise.

  “The bad news is that my source can’t get us any concrete evidence. I have no proof of the link between Salazar and the church’s effort to discredit The Club. And I won’t write unsubstantiated rumors,” she said flatly. “Not even for this. I value my integrity too much.”

  “Fuck,” Blake said. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how badly he’d been hoping that Gretchen would have the magic bullet, the one piece of information that would clear up the whole mess for him—and maybe even put away the asshole who’d hurt Slay’s Allie, too.

  “Yeah,” Gretchen agreed with a sympathetic nod. “Let me be clear—it’s not that the proof doesn’t exist. Salazar is one hundred percent out for retribution, and he’s definitely diverted funds through his attorney to the church. He also coerced those women into making false accusations against The Club and filing a civil suit. It’s just that it’s too risky for my source to confirm this. Salazar would know who’d betrayed him in two seconds flat, and it wouldn’t just be my friend on the line, but his family, too.”

  “I understand,” Elena told her, meeting Blake’s eyes across the table and squeezing his hand. “We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  Blake nodded once, severely. Hell, no. Not on his watch.

  “I knew you wouldn’t.” Gretchen gave Elena a small smile. “There is a bright side, though… and it’s a pretty unexpected one.”

  “What’s that?” Blake demanded.

  “Well, it looks like Salazar has some big plans coming up. My source didn’t give me any details, and I sure as hell didn’t want to ask, but in my opinion, it sounded like Salazar’s tired of hiding in the shadows. He’s ready to become a major player in the Boston underground again. Like Voldemort, coming back from the dead.” She rolled her eyes.

  Blake couldn’t see any positive light to the news she’d relayed. “What the hell does that mean?” he snarled. “He’s gearing up to make a move, and meanwhile my girl got herself on his radar? How’s this good news?”

  Gretchen grinned, not put off in the slightest by his temper. “Whatever Salazar’s got planned, he’s pulling back all of his resources and gearing up for it. He’s all but stopped moving product over the past week, he’s had a couple of phone calls that even my source hasn’t been privy to, and he’s warned his guys not to get so much as a traffic ticket. He doesn’t want to be on law enforcement’s radar.”

  “Still not seeing the good news,” Elena told her friend.

  Gretchen wrinkled her nose. “Well, everyone knows Chalo happens to be allergic to publicity. He never wants to draw attention to himself, and after Elena’s little speech the other night, he’s realized that people are starting to connect the dots between him and the protests at The Club. He’s decided to cut off cash flow to the church. He’s told his guys he’s already won—he’s succeeded in discrediting The Club, so he can pull his funding from the protests without losing face.” She rolled her eyes.

  Blake exchanged a glance with Elena, whose jaw was wide with shock… and excitement. He hated to do anything to make her more worried, but the whole thing still wasn’t adding up for him.

  “Who’s your source?” Blake demanded. He couldn’t trust the opinion of one of Salazar’s cokehead henchmen, not with something as important as Elena’s safety.

  Gretchen laughed and shot him a disparaging look. “You know how this works. I can’t tell you my sources. Once a source believes he or she has been compromised, they generally cease to be a source, either because they choose not to risk themselves, or because someone chooses to silence them in a permanent way.” She hooked a thumb at Lucas angrily. “A piece of information I tried to convey to this guy before my last meet, not that it did any good.”

  Blake looked to Lucas, who merely shrugged. “Not gonna let her meet alone with some fucker who works for Salazar,” he explained, his thoughts eerily similar to Blake’s own.

  “And I told you I don’t need your permission!” Gretchen all but shouted, drawing the stares of several people at nearby tables.

  “You have your job, I have mine,” Lucas said stonily. Then he turned to Blake. “But anyway, guy’s trustworthy,” he confirmed.

  Blake blinked. Trustworthy? “Trustworthy” and “works for Chalo Salazar” tended to be mutually exclusive, unless…

  “Do I know this guy?” Blake demanded.

  Lucas nodded slowly.

  Damn. There was only one trustworthy person Blake knew who was affiliated with Salazar. And yeah, he’d believe Diego Santiago’s word any day.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Gretchen demanded of them. “You think you know D… I mean, my source? How?”

  “I run a BDSM club. I know a lot of people, Ms. Liu,” Blake said with a shrug and a smile. “So… Your source is sure Salazar will be calling off the dogs? Leaving The Club alone?”

  He could see the hesitation on Gretchen’s face, and knew she didn’t want to be distracted from her original question. He saw her dart a glare at Lucas and didn’t envy the man. He was going to be grilled the second he and Gretchen left this place.

  Lucas, however, seemed unperturbed.

  Finally, Gretchen caved and answered Blake’s question. “Well, that’s the other piece of bad news,” she told him. “Salazar’s no longer going to be funding the church, which means more than likely they’ll be taking whatever donations they have left, locking their doors, and high-tailing it out of town in the dead of night.”

  She rolled her eyes again and Elena laughed.

  “Good riddance,” Elena said, and Blake squeezed her hand. No shit.

  “And he won’t be paying his attorney to handle a civil suit against The Club, so that threat will go away, also,” Gretchen continued. “But unfortunately, that doesn’t solve
your PR problem.”

  Elena frowned. “Why not?”

  “Well… The church started the mess, no doubt, but this thing has taken on a life of its own now. You’ve got online petitions and people setting up protests—”

  Blake nodded. “Pandora’s box has been opened.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Gretchen agreed. “Unless you really wanted to push the whole Salazar-church connection beyond the veiled reference you made the other night. You might find another reporter who wouldn’t mind publishing rumors like that, but…” Her eyes were troubled.

  “Absolutely not,” Blake declared flatly.

  “Right,” Gretchen nodded, relieved. “Good. Because if Salazar thought you were going to the media, he would come after you then. Elena, too.”

  Blake heard Elena suck in a deep breath and ran his thumb over her knuckles. “That’s not gonna happen,” he soothed.

  Her eyes came to his, caught and held. She nodded, but bit her lip in a way that said she was still thinking about this shit.

  Add that to the list of things they’d need to talk about later.

  The lunch had been pleasant, but it had been fucking long. Blake found his mind turning over the issue of Salazar the entire time. He wanted to believe that Diego’s information was accurate, and that the danger was past, but knowing Salazar’s MO… it just didn’t add up. He kept replaying Gretchen’s words, sure he’d missed something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  Once she’d conveyed the information she needed to convey, Gretchen had seemed to relax, and Blake had found her to be sweet and funny… except when it came to Lucas.

  Lucas had predictably been quiet, except for the occasional intelligent, wiseass remark, at least until Blake had paid the bill and they’d adjourned to the lobby to say their goodbyes.

  Gretchen had shocked the shit out of him by raising up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek and whisper in his ear, “I’m so glad she’s found you.” And Elena, in turn, had given Gretchen a big hug and promised to make their lunches a regular monthly thing, at minimum.

  But then Gretchen had turned to Lucas and held out her hand. “Well, thanks for your help. It’s been nice knowing you,” she’d said, trying to be smart, but any idiot could see the genuine regret in her eyes.

  Lucas had grasped her hand and lifted one eyebrow. “Appreciate it. But until I’m sure you’re safe, doll, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Gretchen had frowned, completely bewildered, and tried to extricate her hand from his grasp. “Uhhh, no. Your job is done, my investigation is closed, and Blake isn’t paying you anymore. You have no reason to stick around.”

  Lucas had simply smiled and pulled the woman closer to his side to say softly, “I think you and I both know that’s not true.”

  Gretchen had stared at him for a long moment before turning to Blake. “You can… call him off, can’t you? Make him go!”

  Blake had simply shrugged, amused at the conflicting emotions that flitted across Gretchen’s pretty face—joy, wonder, panic. “Sorry, honey. You heard him earlier. He doesn’t follow my orders. He’s his own boss.”

  Lucas had snickered. “Come on, babe. Let’s discuss this in the car.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” Gretchen had declared staunchly, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m going home.”

  “You can try,” Lucas had agreed. “But remember, I’ve got your keys.”

  He’d twirled the keyring around his finger, smiling at the outraged noise Gretchen had made.

  “And on that note,” Blake had whispered to Elena. “I think we should be heading home. We have unfinished business to discuss, too.”

  Elena had nodded distractedly and allowed him to guide her to the elevator and out to his SUV. But now, twenty minutes later, as they neared the turnoff to his house, she was still lost in thought. It was time to get her refocused.

  “Babe, what’s up?” he said, reaching over to grab her hand.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Elena,” he said sharply. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Oh… nothing,” she said, shaking her head as if coming out of a trance. An obvious lie if he’d ever heard one.

  “Young lady,” he growled as he flicked his blinker on. “It’s time we go over some rules.”

  “Rules?” she repeated dubiously. “Like what?”

  “Like, for a start, you don’t lie to me. Not ever. Not in the smallest way. If I ask you a question, I want a true and complete answer. Not a half-truth, not whatever bullshit you think I wanna hear. Understood?”

  He glanced at her, saw her face creased in a grimace.

  “Yes, of course. I wouldn’t lie to you,” she denied.

  “Good. Then, baby, I’m gonna ask you one more time. What’s got you so distracted?”

  She sucked in a deep breath then blew it out before she replied. “It’s not a big deal, just… thinking about Chalo Salazar. About how you have to choose between going after him and implicating him in the protests, or sitting back and letting the protests continue, maybe for months.”

  Blake frowned. “Baby, you heard Gretchen. We go after Salazar in the media, he comes after you.”

  “And the protests continue,” she mumbled.

  “So what?” he demanded, pulling into his garage and letting go of her hand so that he could set the car in park and turn off the engine.

  “So what? Blake, if we exposed him… if the protesters knew they’d been manipulated from the beginning…” He turned to find her enormous, dark eyes trained up at him. “Then they’d have to leave The Club alone,” she whispered.

  What the hell? Did she understand what she was suggesting?

  “Not gonna happen,” he repeated more forcefully, reaching over to unbuckle her belt. “Ever. Now get in the house.”

  “But…The Club!”

  “Get in the house, Elena. Now!” he roared.

  “But, Blake…”

  Enough of this bullshit. He threw open his own door, and shut it with a resounding slam before stalking to the passenger’s side and yanking Elena’s door open.

  “Blake, if you’d just listen,” she said again, holding out her hands as if to placate him, as if he’d ever listen to a suggestion like the one she was making.

  He grabbed her around the waist with both hands and hauled her to the edge of the seat, then dipped and slung her over his shoulder.

  “Blake!” she screeched. “Omigod!”

  He carried her squirming and writhing, to the door that led to his kitchen, unlocked the doors, and carted her through, before delivering a sharp swat right where her ass met her thighs.

  “Not another word,” he growled as he stalked through the kitchen and down the hall to his bedroom.

  He set her on her feet beside the bed and turned to sit on the edge.

  “Strip.”

  She swallowed. And then she obeyed.

  Off came the sweater, inch by tantalizing inch, until the garment floated to the floor. She unhooked the skirt, which dropped quickly, puddling at her feet. And then she hesitated.

  “Everything, Elena. There’s going to be nothing between us when I punish you,” he told her. “When I take you.”

  She reached behind her and unhooked her lacy blue bra, then slowly drew the straps down her arms and tossed it to the floor, as well.

  Shit. The sight of her naked breasts in the afternoon sunlight that seeped through the window was enough to have him momentarily forgetting his purpose. He watched as her nipples furled in the chilly air, saw her hesitate.

  “Keep going,” he told her, his voice husky with arousal.

  She swallowed again, then hooked her thumb into her panties and drew them down her legs.

  “Come here,” he told her, when she was completely bare, pointing at the floor between his legs.

  Without further instruction, she knelt on the floor between his feet and gazed up at him, nervous and eager.

  “Usually, when I want to spank th
at ass, I will want to be the one to bare it,” he told her, threading his fingers into the hair above her ear. “Because I own it, and I like to remind both of us of that.” Her eyes burned with arousal at his words, and the sight made his fingers tighten in her hair, the need to claim her riding him hard.

  “But today, Elena,” he continued, voice tight. “Today, I need you to remember that I own it because you gave it to me. Your love is a gift that came out of nowhere during the darkest time of my life, and brought me joy that I never dreamed I’d experience again.”

  She bit her lip and her eyes flooded with tears that he brushed away with his thumbs. He forced himself to finish.

  “You will not risk that. You will not risk yourself. You won’t even suggest it. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Then get over my knee,” he demanded.

  He guided her up and over his left leg, holding her steady with his left hand on her hip, so that her torso rested on the bed and her beautiful ass was bared to him. He ran his hand over her smooth skin, making her shiver, feeling the corresponding twitch of arousal in his cock.

  His girl. His woman. His Elena.

  His to protect, to discipline, to pleasure.

  Then he lifted his broad palm and brought it down with a resounding crack that echoed through the empty room. Elena’s answering cry, a muffled sound that spoke of both sorrow and submission, filled something inside of him that defied explanation.

  He delivered a dozen more measured smacks in the same fashion, slap slap slap, until her entire ass was a delicious, rosy pink, and Elena was writhing against him, her breath coming in short gasps.

  “I will never smother you, I will never take away your fire,” he told her fervently, punctuating his words with more stinging blows. “But you will never jeopardize your safety. That is your first and most important rule.”

  “Yes, sir,” she cried. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  So much enthusiasm while she was over his knee. But he needed to make sure this was a lesson she wouldn’t forget the minute this session was over.

  “You listen to me, Elena, hear me now,” he said, while his palm turned its attention lower, to the tender junction of her seat and thighs. Her back bowed, her torso lifting off the bed in protest with each hard slap, but he would be sure she understood. “The Club can go to hell. Your brother can go to hell. You are my priority. Nothing and no one else is worth risking one hair on your head. Do you understand?”