Renegade (Phoenix Rising)

by Blake, Brynley

  But then, I’ve never felt like I do with Gemma, like forever wouldn’t be enough time to be with her. It’s different with her. I want to make her moan with pleasure and shake with laughter. I like taking care of her, even though she doesn’t need it. Time with her is easy. I never find myself wanting to hang out with other people, or needing space. All I want is her. Every day. For the rest of my life.

  Fuck. I’m in love with her.

  She’s still talking like I haven’t just had the epiphany of a lifetime.

  “I already like this place. I love that the guys have to wear tuxes. Why shouldn’t the women get a little eye candy, too?” Her nails dig into my arm. “Maybe there’s even a female fantasy room, where guys in shirtless tuxedos vacuum and wash dishes.”

  “And put the toilet seat down and ask for directions?”

  “Exactly!”

  Her eyes are dancing, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to kiss her face off. But I’ve got to start getting used to the idea that Gemma isn’t mine. And she never will be.

  “I’m ready, if you can put my phone and lipstick in your pocket. I don’t have an evening bag.”

  “Sure. There’s just one thing your outfit is missing.” I dig through the bag filled with all the toys Cooper has told me I’m supposed to bring with me. I pull out the black collar and fasten it around her neck, noticing the way her breath catches while I buckle it.

  “Now you look perfect,” I say, taking a step back to admire her fully. Fuck. She looked beautiful before. Now she looks breathtakingly exquisite. The collar accentuates the exposed white column of her throat, and I have the overwhelming desire to bite it. Her lips are parted, her eyes are dilated, and her breathing has become a little more labored. I guide her to the elevator with my hand on the small of her back. I only have twelve more hours with her—hell yeah, I’m going to take every chance I get to touch her.

  “Want to grab something to eat on the way?” I ask as we take the elevator down to the lobby.

  She looks at me, a what-the-hell expression on her face. “I can’t eat!”

  I can’t help but chuckle. “Nervous?”

  “Yeah.” It comes out as an exhalation, and I know the effort it takes Gemma to admit that, even to me. I wrap my arm around her bare shoulder, hugging her to my side as I rub her arm reassuringly. “You’ve got no reason to be. You’ve been able to handle everything so far. You’re a natural. You’re going to do fine tonight. And you’re going to impress the hell out of Declan when you get back to Charleston.”

  She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah…”

  The Dominion is nicer than I expected—clean and sophisticated, with a fun, slightly edgy party vibe. The first level consists mostly of a dance club with a full bar, a DJ cranking out dance tunes, a huge dance floor, and go-go dancers in cages strategically placed around the room. In the back, there’s something they call the PG-13 play space—a large area with a stage where clothed couples are playing with floggers and other impact toys, and a guy is giving a presentation on rope work. I also see a large wooden cross that I recognize from my research as a St. Andrew’s cross. It looks much bigger in person. I take a deep breath. Gemma isn’t the only one who’s nervous.

  “How are we going to find this guy, Valor?” Gemma asks me as we take in the huge crowd on the dance floor.

  “I don’t know. I guess we’ll just ask around.”

  However, that doesn’t get us anywhere. We ask the bartender about him when we order a couple of courage-bolstering shots of whiskey, but he’s never heard of Valor. We move to the dance floor, and after a few dances, Gemma asks the DJ to play a song, casually asking him if he knows a guy named Valor who works at the club, but he just shakes his head. We try another bartender before heading back to the play area, hoping to somehow find the guy Liam seemed to be directing us to. It’s starting to look like we might be on another wild goose chase. I wonder if Valor even works here.

  “I was wondering where the kinky area was. Looks like we found it,” Gemma says as we watch a guy take a flogger to a girl’s jean-clad ass. She shudders slightly. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

  “You’ll have to let me know later,” I say wickedly, winking at her. “Unless you want to go up there now?”

  She shakes her head vehemently. “There are a ton of people here just watching. I don’t think I’m actually going to have to do anything tonight, after all.”

  My heart sinks a little with disappointment. I was looking forward to at least seeing her sweet little ass squirm for me one more time, even if it was in public and I couldn’t do anything to relieve the need it would no doubt create. She starts talking to the woman standing next to her, who sounds like she’s something of a regular. After a few minutes, Gemma asks if she knows a guy who works here named Valor.

  “No,” the woman says, almost shouting to be heard above the music. “Maybe he’s upstairs. Does he work the bottom floor or the top?”

  “Um, what’s the difference?” Gemma asks.

  “This level is open to the public. Upstairs is where all the fun, private stuff happens.” She pouts. “But tonight, they’re having some sort of members-only event—a casino party, I think—so no one is allowed in unless they’re on the list. But you could ask the guy working the door when it opens if he knows him. Should only be another fifteen minutes or so.”

  We’ve been here for an hour, and we’ve only been to the part that’s open to the public? Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t know better and started here, because a couple of drinks and thirty minutes of dancing has erased the tentative look in Gemma’s eyes. Now she looks like the Gemma I love—ready to kick ass and take on the world.

  I decide it’s definitely a good thing when we’re finally allowed upstairs. This is the real deal…and I see why clubs like this are casually referred to as dungeons. All kinds of equipment—some of it looking like it belonged in the Spanish Inquisition—fills the room, and most of the women are wearing wrist cuffs and collars. More than a few are topless. But it still somehow maintains an air of classy sophistication. I quickly find Bruce, aka Iron Crow, my contact who got us on the list, and he introduces us around to many of the partygoers, who seem like regular, genuinely nice people once you get past the leather and whips.

  “What brings you to San Francisco?” The question is posed by an attractive guy a few years older than me with dark blond hair. While it sounds innocent enough, he’s staring at me with an intensity that belies his casual tone.

  “This is Logan Stanford,” says Bruce. “He owns the Dominion.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking his hand. “Thank you for letting me and my girlfriend come.” Gemma smiles engagingly, and I wish like hell my lie about her being my girlfriend was true. I mentally shake my head. We’re here for Liam. I look at Logan and make a snap decision. Sometimes, like with Connie Morris yesterday, you just have to go with your gut and lay it on the line.

  “Gemma and I are trying to finish our friend Liam’s bucket list. He was a Navy SEAL, and he was killed in Pakistan a few months ago. The Dominion was on his list.”

  That sparks a plethora of questions and condolences from the dozen or so people we’ve been talking to, and after a few minutes I add casually, “I think there’s a guy who works here that he knew. Name’s Valor. Is he here tonight?”

  Logan’s hazel eyes are piercing, but he just smiles easily. “Not yet. We’ll see if he turns up later. We’re glad you’re here. Bruce says you’re in the lifestyle?” He cocks one perfectly arched eyebrow at me. The challenge in them is clear.

  “Yes,” I lie smoothly. “So that makes this check mark an easy and pleasurable one.”

  He nods toward Gemma. “Cuffs are mandatory for submissives tonight.”

  “Right.” I open my bag and pull out the wrist and ankle cuffs, which I put on Gemma while Logan watches, that faint smile never leaving his mouth.

  “Excellent,” he says. “And what is your bet tonight?”
/>
  “Excuse me?”

  “Your bet. With your submissive.” He turns to Bruce. “You told him it was casino night?”

  Bruce nods. “I didn’t get a chance to tell him about the side bets.”

  Logan turns back to me. “We’re playing Texas Hold’em. There’s a two-hundred-fifty-dollar buy-in per couple, and we play for money in the usual way, but for most couples, the side bet between the dom and submissive is the fun part. Many utilize the rooms and equipment here after the game to…shall we say…collect their debt.” He smiles. “So what’s yours?”

  It’s obvious that while the owner of the Dominion is guardedly cordial, he wants to make sure we’re who we say we are—an experienced couple who are here to play. It’s time to go all in. My eyes find Gemma’s. Holding her gaze, I say, “If I win, I can use any toy on her—for as long as I want.” Turning back to Logan, I say conversationally, “She’s not a big fan of the flogger.”

  “Indeed,” Logan says, his smile warmer now. “And if the lady wins?”

  “Then she can pick what can and can’t be used.”

  Gemma props one hand on her hip and narrows her eyes at me. “And on who! And I fully intend to win,” she adds cockily.

  “You’ve got a feisty one on your hands,” Logan says with a grin. Leaning in so only I can hear, he adds, “They’re the best kind.”

  I taught Gemma how to play poker the summer after graduation—when she’d often spend the night at my place to avoid the sleazebag who’d just moved in with her mom—and two hours later, we’re both still in the game. Gemma is the last woman left at the table. Many of the women who have lost are now kneeling next to their doms, one actually under the table, and the doms who have lost all their chips have already wandered off with their submissives to claim the spoils of their victory.

  “How did you get so good at poker?” I tease Gemma.

  She flashes me that smile that squeezes my heart like a vise. “I learned from the best. And remember, I was just in Vegas a month ago with McKenzie, honing my skills.”

  The table takes a break, and I go to the bar for another drink while Gemma uses the ladies’ room.

  “That was a sad story you told.” The guy who’s been sitting across from us at the poker table takes a seat next to me at the bar, a glass of whiskey in front of him. “Were you friends with the guy who died?”

  “Yes. We served on the same SEAL team together. He was like a brother to me.”

  The guy raises his eyebrows. “You’re a SEAL?”

  I nod.

  “Impressive.” He unbuttons the top two buttons of his tuxedo shirt. “It’s hot in here.”

  “It is,” I agree. “The monkey suit doesn’t help.”

  He laughs. “You’ve got that right.” He rolls up his sleeves, revealing the most unique tattoo I’ve ever seen on his right forearm. It looks like some sort of symbol.

  “Cool tattoo,” I say.

  “Thanks. You know what it is?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. What is it?”

  He flashes me a grin as he takes a long pull of his drink. “Hell if I know. I was drunk when I got it. But it looks cool, doesn’t it?”

  I nod.

  “Pretty girl you’re with,” he continues, taking a drink. “I bet that pale skin of hers marks beautifully.”

  I smile coolly. As far as I can tell, he’s not here with anyone. “It does. But just to be clear, she’s mine.”

  He holds his hands up, still smiling good-naturedly. “Just looking at the menu, bro. I’m not going to order.” He glances over at the poker table. “We’d better get back. Looks like they’re ready to start again.”

  Gemma’s already at the table when we sit down, and she catches my eye, looks over at the guy I was talking to, then back at me with a pointed look I can’t quite decipher. If she’s interested in playing with him, she’s sorely mistaken. She can do whatever the hell she wants with Declan or anyone else after today, but tonight she’s still mine.

  Two hands later, she goes all in on a flush, only to be beaten by a full house.

  “Damn!” She slumps back in her chair, a pout on those gorgeous, full lips of hers. I can’t resist kissing her, my fingers threading in her hair to pull her head back so I have access to her creamy white throat.

  I snap my teeth teasingly a couple of times and growl before releasing her. “Mmm…the things I want to do to you. Why don’t you take my bag and find a room where you can wait for me?” For some reason, I don’t like the idea of her kneeling here next to me. It seems demeaning, somehow. The thought of her waiting for me in a private room, her anticipation building as she looks through my bag and weighs the flogger in her hands—and I know that’s exactly what she’ll do—now that’s another story.

  The guy I talked to at the bar goes all in on a pair of eights the next hand and loses, so now it’s down to me and two other men. Another twenty minutes later, I’ve won the entire pot. It looks like tonight is my lucky night, and it’s still early enough to claim my spoils. If we aren’t going to find Valor tonight, at least I can enjoy one more night of playing with Gemma, even if it’s just here and I can’t make love to her.

  I find Gemma in one of the last private rooms at the back of the second floor. Although “private” is a bit of a misnomer. There’s a small window with a blind that’s open, and I can see that Gemma’s not alone. Tattoo guy is with her, and she’s strapped to a St. Andrew’s cross. His face is just inches from hers, and she’s staring at him, wide-eyed.

  White-hot rage sears through me. If that asshole has laid so much as a finger on her, he’s going to regret the day he was born. I kick open the door and I’m next to him in two seconds, yanking him away from her at the same time my fist connects with his stomach. He drops to his knees, doubled over in pain.

  “What part of mine don’t you understand, motherfucker?”

  I grab him by the hair, hauling him upright so I can punch him again in the nose. “It’s a good thing you have that unique tattoo,” I say. “It will make identifying you at the morgue easier.”

  “Walker, stop it!” Gemma’s voice sounds far away over the roaring in my ears.

  “You’re safe, sweetheart,” I say. “Just give me a second to take care of this scumbag and then I’ll get you down from there.”

  Soft but insistent hands grab my shoulder as I pull my arm back to punch him again. “Walker! Stop! I was just standing against it so it would look like we were in the middle of a scene and wouldn’t get interrupted. He didn’t even touch me. This is Valor.”

  I turn and stare into Gemma’s green eyes. Gemma, who isn’t strapped to the St. Andrew’s cross but is standing next to me, still looking sexy as fuck in that dress. “What?” I’m having trouble processing what she’s saying. “Tattoo guy from the bar is Valor?” I don’t buy it. I push her behind me. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. I made no secret of the fact we were looking for him. This guy had a conversation with me at the bar and never said a word about him being Valor. He’s just trying to get into your panties.”

  “That would be hard, since I’m not wearing any,” Gemma says impudently.

  “Not the time, Gem,” I say tightly, but my lips are twitching. So is my cock. I turn back to tattoo guy. He’s holding up his hands and eying me warily. “I swear, I didn’t touch her. We were just talking.” His gaze moves to Gemma. “Is he trustworthy?”

  “For fuck’s sake,” I say, ready to take a swing at him again. “Of course I’m trustworthy. I put my ass on the line every day for people like you. Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?”

  Gemma moves from behind me to step in between us. “This is Valor. I knew it was him the second I saw his tattoo when we sat back down at the poker table after the break. It’s the same design as the one on the necklace Liam gave Dr. Morris to give to McKenzie.” Turning to tattoo guy, she says, “Walker is Liam’s best friend, and mine, and he’s like an older brother to McKenzie. I swea
r you can trust him. He didn’t recognize your tattoo because he hasn’t seen the necklace. Our friend Charlotte borrowed it, and now she can’t find it.”

  “How do you know Liam?” I lower my arm but I keep Gemma close to my side. I still don’t trust him.

  “We were fraternity brothers in college. We stayed in touch over the years. We didn’t talk much, but we’d meet up to dive every once in a while. We had the kind of friendship that you just pick up wherever you left off, no matter how much time has passed. Liam always said I had so many secrets, I was the one he’d trust if he ever had any of his own.” He smiles at the memory.

  “That sounds like Liam,” I say drily. But what kind of secrets could this guy possibly have? He looks like the quintessential all-American guy, the kind I used to equally hate and envy, who had everything going for them—looks, brains, athletic ability, and a family that loved and encouraged them.

  “He knew about this one.” His gesture encompasses the equipment in the kinky playroom. He pulls out his phone, taps a few times, and hands it to me. “This is one of my favorite pictures.” I stare at nineteen-year-old Liam’s face, his arm slung around the shoulder of a younger version of the guy standing in front of me. On the other side of him is another guy. At first glance, they look like three buddies hamming it up for the camera, but on closer look I can see both Valor and the other guy are wearing headbands with the gay pride rainbow. I look back at Valor questioningly. He nods.

  “He knew about that one, too, long before I was brave enough to tell anyone else. I was the golden boy, the starting quarterback at USC, the guy whose dad was a conservative minister in Iowa who preached that the only relationship that wasn’t a sin was the one between a man and a woman. I wasn’t supposed to be gay. But Liam never judged me. Never treated me differently. Never told me a badass, SEAL-bound, man’s man like him couldn’t be friends with a guy like me. He always said, ‘You do you, man. Who cares what other people think. Don’t ever underestimate the power of fuck it.’”