by Sable Jordan
And you came…
Because you trust me.
His gaze bored into hers, and Kizzie had to inch back again. Mouth open, her brain worked quickly to spin the situation. “We had a deal. I help you get Harvey, you help me get 3-19. That was it, right? Simple. So let’s not complicate this anymore. There doesn’t—”
His strong hands on her—in her—was still a fresh memory, teeming over her skin, raw and electric…
Kizzie removed the tie dangling at her wrist and held it out to him. “There is no ‘personal,’ X. I don’t trust you, don’t know what you want. I’m sure you feel the same about me. But so far you’ve kept your word. If that’s your sole honorable quality, I’ll take it.”
Xander paused a long moment, glanced at the tie in her grip. “Nothing in it for me. I’m out a large chunk of change. If I help you get Harvey and 3-19, that’s no longer a trade, is it? That’s me doing you two favors.” He held up as many fingers to punctuate his point.
“I’ll figure out how to get your money back.”
“Didn’t invest in Harvey to break even. But maybe for the right price…”
“Name it.”
A slow grin spread over his face. Without even her soul to sell, Kizzie had just made a deal with the devil.
“I’ll think about what I want.” Xander stepped around her, abandoning the brief attempt at packing to go through the double-doors.
She grabbed his arm. “We do this right now. Terms. On the table.”
“Can’t think of a single thing I want at the moment, Kizzie, and we’ve already got enough on our plate with tracking the Mistress and stopping Harvey. I’ve got a sub to go break, so you’ll just have to be in my debt.”
“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “No. That gives a man too much control, and a man with control decides when the debt’s paid. Or if it’s ever paid.” Kizzie forced herself not to look away. Doing that would be the same as confessing for past sins.
His gaze dipped suggestively, lifted to her face. “You know how much I like being in control, though,” Xander said softly, cupping his hand behind her neck.
Kizzie jerked back. A slow, ragged chuckle bubbled up from somewhere deep inside, scraped from her throat. “Stupid dolphin…” she whispered, berating herself. “Sex? That’s all this was about?”
“That’s—”
“Nah, it’s cool. I prefer it that way. Just think you sold yourself short, chief, ‘cause 20 minutes ago I’da fucked you for free.”
Kizzie hooked her fingers in the hem of her torn shirt and lifted, yanking the top over her head in one angry pull. She tossed it and the tie on the bed, stood in just her bra and frilly tutu. Her chest thundered so hard bile rose in her throat. Completely off-balance, like the world had just been snatched from beneath her. “But hey, if being your whore means saving lives,” a shrug, “done.”
His eyes widened a hair and then a sharp V burrowed into Xander’s forehead. Arms crossed over his chest, he rocked back on his heels. “Would you, now? Be my whore, that is.”
Kizzie returned the expression, unballed her fists and slowly bobbed her head.
“And since you would be my…whore,” Xander said, voice low and slow, “I could do anything to you, couldn’t I? Pussy…ass…mouth….” His shoulders lifted and fell. “‘Cause that’s all you are to me, right? Just a handful of holes? I can take you any way I want to...” She hesitated; Xander licked his lips, added evenly, “I’m out 6 million, Kizzie, and you would owe me.”
A harsh breath. “Whatever gets the job done.”
One corner of Xander’s mouth ticked up, the look on his face enigmatic. “Business…”
“Business,” she echoed coolly.
He dipped his head toward the bed. “Go bend over the edge then.”
Kizzie didn’t move, registering what she was about to do. An immense anger settled on her shoulders and she let fly without concern for what she said. “Be easy with the ribs, slick. Still sore from the last son of a bitch.”
“Why would I care?” Xander asked. His eyes were hard, face a mask.
“Yeah,” Kizzie agreed, tone matching his. “Why would you?”
Teeth grit, she inched toward the large mattress, slow steps conveying her mood. Damn, she didn’t want to do this. Not like this. She thought Xander better than—
Stop thinking.
Her heart sank at the same time her knees did. Another glance in Xander’s direction and he shooed her on with a dismissive little sweep of his fingers. She bent forward, hot face meeting the cold comforter. It smelled like his cologne—beneath that, she picked out the faint scent of industrial cleanser.
Sterile.
Soulless.
Just like Xander. He wasn’t one of the good guys—or even a good guy. High time Kizzie believed him.
Like a Master looking down on his obedient bitch, he watched her indifferently. She’d never felt so low. There was a time… No, this was worse. ‘Cause before Sumi showed, Kizzie wanted to sleep with Xander, even armed with the knowledge that he was married. Wanted him to make love to her like he’d said. Wanted what she felt from those kisses to be real.
Now she wished he’d find another way to torture her. At least grant her that mercy.
Suck it up, cadet.
Hands. Hot breath. Her cheek met the wall.
She squeezed here eyes shut, blinked back to the present.
If fucking Xander was the price of preventing a catastrophe, she’d do it.
It was just sex.
God, she couldn’t stop the nervous shaking in her belly. Had to get out of her angry haze long enough to hear what he was saying.
“Arms above your head, agent.”
His deep voice was far too soft for this humiliation. If it were rougher she might get through this, might be able to—
“Baldwin.”
A whispered order. She lifted her arms, stretching them over the comforter. Tears stung her eyes and her breath left her nose in harsh spurts. Kizzie couldn’t stand to look at him—couldn’t stand the thought that Xander Duquesne would be the man to break her.
And he’d know it.
She forced back the weakness and turned her head, focused on the fall of the curtains framing Tokyo’s neon glow.
“Reach a little farther up.” Through the thundering in her ears he sounded so far away.
She brushed the undershirt he’d flung there earlier; curled the material into her fists, her fingers the only part of her moving. The rest was numb. She worked to steady her breathing, think about something else. How had she gotten through the first time? The first time was—
No.
This was exactly the same.
Get out of your body. Out of your head. You don’t exist. You’re hollow.
Hollow.
It’ll be over soon.
Soft footsteps behind her.
Her stomach turned.
The shaking increased and fire danced across her skin. She inhaled a slow breath and waited.
Waiting made it worse.
Dead silence for a long moment and then, miles away, the door to the suite slammed shut.
* * * *
Xander stumbled from their room in a daze. What the hell just happened?
One minute things were going exactly as he intended—she’d get Harvey and 3-19, and in exchange he’d get what he wanted—the next everything was FUBAR.
“Out, huh?” Phil said. He stood in the hallway, leaving Xander no time to get his game face on. “Now why would you want Kizzie to think you’d walk away from Harvey?”
For her, he would.
Moving toward the stairwell, Xander grunted noncommittally, working to keep his expression neutral. A hard job, considering.
Business? Nothing personal between them? Both of those were like needles to the heart but paled in comparison to what Kizzie really thought. That he’d take something from her, that he’d whore her out for his help.
What kind of monster did she think he wa
s?
But then, what did he expect? A handful of spankings did not a relationship make and he didn’t help matters by drilling into her head at every turn that he was not a good man. Funny how that worked, people not trusting bad guys...
“Nikolay—”
“Is a loose-lipped S.O.B. who should thank whatever devil he’s bowing to that he’s no longer on this earth,” Xander ground out, still moving. He shook the errant thought away and exhaled.
Primo clusterfuck.
Kizzie made it perfectly clear that she trusted no one, and he didn’t blame her. But Xander had been so close to trusting her, so close to thinking Kizzie and Connolly couldn’t possibly be cut from the same cloth. That her connection to the old man could be severed. And why? Because she was playing at being submissive? Because it felt right disciplining her? Because he wanted to make love to her?
Because, for a minute, Kizzie stripped away everything else, leaving Xander with the only responsibility he wanted: Being her Dom.
Damn his head hurt, and it sounded like Charlie Brown’s mom was talking: “Womp womp mwomp womp mwooommp…”
Xander stopped short and grimaced. “What are you saying?”
Phil fronted him, brows raised high, and repeated himself. “The laptop. Akari worked logistics for Hanabi. Found a bunch of recent commercial orders, large enough to be going by cargo ship. Low emissions and coming from a fireworks company…? Good way to move a nuke.”
“To?”
Phil mwomp womped and Xander bobbed his head, only half listening anyway, his attention back in the room with Kizzie.
Where had it even come from, the notion that she was a whore? The way her expression changed—that brief flicker of pain followed by a resolute stoicism—made him think somebody put the idea there.
He should have handled it better. But sitting and talking like a proper D/s couple wasn’t a luxury he and Kizzie shared. Too many secrets that neither could budge on. So, while walking away wasn’t his first choice, it was definitely his best bet.
Kizzie was wrong—Doms weren’t Mary Poppins. Not perfect in any way. Especially when they let their guard down and got hurt…
Xander dragged his hand over his mouth, catching the intoxicating scent of her sweetness on his fingers. Only thing sweeter was her decision to go through with submitting. He’d seen the struggle in her eyes when he made her crawl, but she set it aside to please him, to challenge herself. One small step forward and then bedlam.
He had to go back, clear things up—
“Wobbling on that tightrope, X?”
Xander snapped to attention. “Tell Sumi… never mind.” Spinning on his heel, he stalked back toward the rooms, spared a glance at the one he shared with Kizzie as he passed. “What do we have on hand?”
“Not what you need.”
“Then call Stix and get it.”
“Stix is in Thailand.”
Xander stopped again. “Why the fuck is Stix in Thailand?”
Phil shrugged. “Because we pay him too much?”
Xander was dangerously close to cracking Phil’s skull, and the skull of anyone else who happened to wander into the hallway at this moment. He grit back his anger.
“Call Stix and tell him to get his ass back to Tokyo yesterday. Then restock. Sedatives, benzos, barbs. Get whatever the hell else you need. If that man tells you he’s got two shaved monkey nuts for sale, you buy ‘em, okay? ‘Cause I don’t ever want to be unprepared like this again.” Phil snorted at the joke and Xander narrowed his gaze. “I want this shit over with, Phil.”
“Then end it.”
He walked away, a move Phil must have understood meant shut the hell up because he stopped talking.
Xander wasn’t sure exactly when he’d made up his mind to bring her to the “dark” side—at CosKink? Watching her crawl? Helsinki?—but it had been hovering there. Not without considering all the outcomes, though, and there were many variables he couldn’t control. As melodramatic as it sounded, it was a dangerous move. Xander had people he was responsible for and exposing them wasn’t something he took lightly. But to bring Kizzie on she had to trust him completely, and before she trusted him she’d have to believe him. And to believe him she’d have to be willing to listen. After what just happened? Yeah. Any chance of that went skydiving sans parachute.
The security latch extended into the door frame of Phil’s room, keeping the door ajar. Xander moved it when he shoved his way inside, let the door swing shut, leaving Phil on the outs.
This room wasn’t a suite. Just a king-size bed and a chaise in the main area. Neither of which had Sumi on them. Xander checked the bathroom—no Sumi—went back into the main room and approached the window.
Sumi was on the floor, wedged in the space between the bed and the lounge. Stripped naked and curled into an obedience bow—knees and forehead touching the floor, arms stretched out in front of her, palms facing the ceiling.
“Get up.”
She lifted her torso, a smile on her face. She immediately parted her knees and clasped her hands behind her neck. Presenting herself to him, as though he were her Master.
Xander felt sick.
“Get up. Put your clothes on.”
Sumi looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes Xander didn’t trust for one minute. “I-Is Master not pleased with me?” She cocked her head, but otherwise maintained position. Submissive.
Exactly what he was looking for.
Just not from her.
Xander went to the bathroom, snatched a towel from the rack and stalked back to her, tossed it over her body. “I’m not your Master. Cover up, go in the bathroom and get dressed. When you’re done, come out.”
She let the towel slide off, exposing herself once more. “Will…will you punish me?”
Fifteen minutes ago he was a heartbeat from taking her life, and now she wanted him to punish her? Xander took two steps closer. Her skin was pale and thin, breasts were small, thighs and belly slim but loose, as though she’d recently lost weight. When was the last time she’d eaten a decent meal?
God, he didn’t want this right now, this new responsibility. Lord knows he had enough to last seven lifetimes. Couldn’t she go away, give him a second to think?
“Why would I punish you, Sumi? Were you bad?”
“Yes, Sir. Very bad. A very bad pet.”
He ignored the title, ignored the thoughts in his head and focused on getting her to talk. “What did you do?”
Sumi made a little mewling noise in her throat, and then chewed her lip. “I didn’t listen,” she whispered. “I failed her. I’m not a good sub.”
“How’d you fail?”
“With…” she shook her head, “Sacha. I was to kill Sacha but I didn’t.”
“What happened when you failed, Sumi?”
“Please, Sir.” Tears crowded her eyes, her voice became a whisper. “I…please, hit me. I need the pain—”
He stood right in front of her, tone darkening. “Answer.”
“She took my collar, cut my leash—the first death. ‘Die twice’ she said. Four years in Her service, and She let me go like I was nothing. No money, nowhere decent to live. No food…”
Sumi was rightfully out of sorts. The physical and emotional aspects of a D/s relationship were intrinsically linked. To abruptly sever a connection with a submissive could leave the sub spiraling out of control.
Xander knew what she needed; knew, in order to get his nuke, he’d have to diffuse the bomb ticking at his feet. But his mind was still with Kizzie.
The weight of ten worlds on his shoulders, he sat on the edge of the bed.
Kizzie’s moans sounded in his ears. Should be a crime for lips so soft to taste like sin, and he hadn’t had nearly enough. Would’ve kissed her until she flew apart from that alone and then kissed her some more. His cock jerked, body aching for her, palms scalded from her delicious punishment.
And then, the steely hard look in her eyes.
The wall.
; “If being your whore means saving the world, done.”
Sumi whimpered, rubbing her cheek against his knee.
Temples pounding and chest tight, Xander stroked his hand over her head.
August 3rd
Eagleville, Missouri
News of the pileup on IA-1 forced Harold Maddigan to point his rig southeast, dropping into Missouri instead of going from Nebraska through Iowa, as he’d originally planned. It added an hour to his trip—not much of a change on this long haul, but in the cross-country trucking business, time really did mean money. The faster you moved cargo from point A to point B, the more green you earned. And with his cab Green Lightning being the fastest on the road, he was sitting on a pretty penny.
Cocaine Carolina filtered through the speakers and he whistled along, truck bouncing as he slowed in preparation for the exit. Up ahead the beam of his headlights caught the rectangular sign hiding out there in the dark, the reflecting tape indicating he’d reached mile-marker 121. No other vehicles on this stretch of road at this late hour, just flat grass peppered with trees. Since he was three minutes shy of the daily maximum allowable driving hours, Harold decided to call it a day.
Switching from CD to radio, he turned the dial to a local news station, hoping to catch the morning forecast so he could be prepared in the event he had to change course again.
“…just ahead of the arrival of Orochi Hisakawa in a few days,” the disembodied, feminine voice intoned. “This is the first visit between the two leaders since relations crumbled a couple years ago over Japan’s very public criticism of US military activity in the region. Apart from the current state of the economy, other topics to be covered on this diplomatic visit include renewable energy and STEM education, the latter punctuated by a trip to a very lucky group of boys and girls showcasing their hard work at a competition hosted by the Smithsonian. The President and the Prime Minister are scheduled to speak to reporters in the Rose Garden, however, a slight chance of rain may force the pair inside.
“In sports news, the Royals play the Sox in…”
Accompanied by talk radio, Harold whistled Take me out to the ballgame, downshifting as he took the exit for the rest stop. It was little more than a slab of concrete and a small building with bathrooms. Four lampposts surrounded it, the light only strong enough to attract bugs. No matter. He’d sprung for a customized sleeper complete with all the trimmings. With some strategic placement, the raised roof and extended body allowed for a bed, kitchenette, sitting area and modern electronics. Cabinets held clothes and foodstuffs and other storage items. Even had an onboard shower and toilet. Only time he had to leave was to connect a hose to the water intake valve or empty the sewage tanks. Other than that, he could stay on his rig until chow or gas ran low.