SECRETS BOOK 1:
THE SECRET, THE SHIFTER, AND THE SEX-SLAVE SHANGHAI
by
Melanie Thompson
TORRID BOOKS
www.torridbooks.com
Published by
TORRID BOOKS
www.torridbooks.com
An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC
Copyright © 2015 by Melanie Thompson
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-63355-652-2
Credits
Cover Artist:Nancy Donahue
Editor: Fran Mathieson
Printed in the United States of America
Other Books by Author Available at Torrid Books:
www.torridbooks.com
Erotic Flights of Fantasy Books I and II
Cupcake Boys
The Cowboys and the Cupcakes
Saga of the Steampunk Witches
Book 1: Flight of the Zeppelin
Book 2: Flight of the Crow
Book 3: Flight of the Phoenix
Werewolf for Hire
Book 1: Pushing Up Daisies
To my writing partner and daughter Melanie Fraser, I couldn’t do this without you.
Chapter 1
Alexandra St. John parked her silver Maxima on the steep hill outside her tiny house, set on the side of a hill in a picturesque neighborhood on Mercer Island.
Her neighbor’s three Bullmastiffs thought she was a giant doggy biscuit, so she was thrilled to see the hounds from hell locked in their kennel. Every evening—sometimes trailing chains and leashes—they waited for her to pull up.
Safe from dog slobber and feeling good about the evening ahead, she grabbed her briefcase and climbed out of the car. The case contained information, contact numbers, sales figures, product descriptions, and other assorted necessary facts about the new account her firm, Seattle Advertising Solutions, was trying to acquire. She’d been assigned the research, and if she did well and her company snagged this lucrative new account, it was supposed to be hers.
While climbing her front steps, a flock of pigeons spotted her and swooped down, close to her head. She ran up the steps with the briefcase over her hair to provide shelter from random bird poop.
She was always ready for this. Animals loved her. All animals, even wild ones like pigeons, squirrels, song birds, and once while on a hike, a bear had followed her and her Girl Scout troop all the way to the parking lot in West Tiger Mountain State Park.
She’d almost reached the front door when the hounds apparently heard or smelled her and leaped the chain-link fence surrounding her neighbor’s house. She squealed, raced up the last steps, and dived into the front door just in time to avoid being covered with dog drool. The three mastiffs howled in frustration.
Alex flicked open her cell phone and hit the number two on speed dial. Her neighbor, Mrs. Ida Pulansky, a lonely widow who believed all men were rapists and murderers, answered. “Hello?”
“They’re sitting on my porch, howling and scratching the paint off the front door,” Alex snapped without a “hello” or “how are you.”
“I’m so sorry. I had them in the backyard. I can’t believe they jumped the fence.”
“Nice try, Ida,” Alex replied. “They’ve jumped it a hundred times. Get them off my steps. Ralph is on top of the fridge and won’t come down.”
Ralph was her cat. When he saw her, he meowed and leaped onto her shoulder. “Don’t worry, buddy,” she said. “They can’t get you in here.”
Her twelve-year old son, Oliver, wandered into the kitchen. “Hi Mom, I didn’t hear you come in. When’s Dad coming to pick me up?”
“He should be here any minute. I have to go out later.” She had plans. She’d been divorced from Oliver’s father for three years, but between taking care of Oliver, her job, and Jerry, the neediest, wimpiest wiener of an ex-husband ever, she never seemed to be able to find time for herself. So her friends at work had finally forced her to commit to an evening out at one of their favorite watering holes. She’d promised she would be there.
“Did you do your homework?”
“Of course.”
Alex grabbed his T-shirt and stared him in the eyes. “You’re lying.”
That was her second gift: besides being an animal magnet, she was a human lie detector, which was probably why she’d married Jerry. He was so weak and pathetic; he didn’t even have pickup lines. With him, what you saw was what you got. And that wasn’t much.
“Honest, Mom, I did it.”
“Oliver, you know I know.”
The boy turned and stormed up the stairs to his room. “Why can’t you be like other moms?”
“Don’t forget your trumpet. And pack some warm clothes. It’s raining.”
After knocking once, Jerry let himself into her living room.
“Why can’t you wait until I answer the door?”
“Hey, this used to be my house too.”
“It’s not anymore.”
“Do you mind if I stay here tonight? My roommate has a date.”
“Not again, Jerry. This will be the third time this month.”
“I’m sorry. It’s easier for me this way, especially since I have Oliver tonight.”
“Whatever. I have to get ready. I’m going out.”
“Where?” He followed her up the stairs. Once she reached her bedroom door, she shoved him in the chest and slammed it in his face.
* * * *
An hour later, she was headed downtown to the Capital Hill area of Seattle and the Backlight, a bar her friends said was lots of fun. It was rainy and dark as she hunted for a parking place. They’d told her the bar was on Broadway and Pine…or maybe it was Olive Street. She found a spot on 12th and climbed out, umbrella protecting her from the driving rain.
One glance told her there was only one bar on the street. It had to be the one. When she got closer, she saw the name in purple neon: Backstreet Bar. Her friends must have gotten the name wrong. This had to be it. Right location, and the name seemed close enough—she was going in.
Spanish guitar music filled the air inside the bar, along with the strange smell of wet fur. This was a smell she was familiar with, having been molested and drooled on by large dogs most of her life.
As she turned her back to close her umbrella, she was grabbed from behind by something tall and furry. “You smell absolutely delicious,” she heard a strange voice say in her ear.
Struggling, she stomped on a big orange foot and threw herself away from her attacker. When she regained her feet, her balance, and her composure, she was stunned to see someone—she assumed it was a guy—wearing a huge, Garfield-like cat costume covered with damp, orange fur. Its eternally smiling face leered at her.
“I’m Hank, Hank Mew Mew from Sedro Woolley. What’s your name, delicious one?”
“What are you?”
“I’m a plushie. We
like yiffing. Let me show you.” He grabbed her in his orange, furry embrace and began rubbing his crotch area all over her knit dress.
Alex was dizzy, grossed out, and confused. Where were her friends?
Before she could rebuff the stranger, she was grabbed from behind by another large furry creature that began rubbing itself all over her butt. The two of them were making her the filling in a smelly fuzz sandwich when Mew Mew was rudely grabbed from behind and dragged away.
Her savior was a gorgeous man she easily recognized as the US Marshal who’d arrested Jerry for dealing ecstasy the year before they were divorced. As he led her to a corner table, she wondered if he was here on an assignment or for fun.
“You’re Baine Tenbrook,” she said as she straightened her bun and pushed stray black hair out of her eyes.
“Yes, I am. And you’re Alexandra, married to some pathetic weasel named…uh, Jerry, I believe. I’m here on official business, so I’d appreciate your keeping my occupation to yourself.”
“No problem, and Jerry and I are no longer married.”
Baine’s eyes lit up. “Congratulations. You can do much better.”
“Yes, I can, if I ever find the time.”
Baine was at least six-foot-three, had thick golden hair he wore short, and golden almond-shaped eyes. He was heavily muscled and looked like he lifted weights for a living. She knew better. He was a cop and he’d just saved her from a terminal yiffing.
“What are those weirdoes in the animal suits?”
“Plushies. This is fetish night at the Backstreet. What’s your thing?” He growled low in his throat and moved closer.
She leaned back in her chair and examined the bar. Though it was poorly lit, she could see the place was overrun with people wearing leather, fur, or very little. In a corner booth a man tenderly stroked, sniffed, and licked his partner’s high-heeled foot, which rested on the table. More shoes sat in boxes on the floor, waiting their turn to be ravished. A tall woman wearing black leather led a man with a dog collar and a leash to a back table. He wore a mask with a zipper where his mouth should be.
As Alex examined one weirdo after another, she felt like she’d stumbled into some alternate reality. Her friends were not here and probably weren’t coming. She was in the wrong bar.
She got up, and Baine grabbed her hand. His grip was strong and warm, and the look he gave her sent shivers up her spine and heat into regions she’d neglected for three years. When he squeezed her fingers, her nipples actually hardened into aching points inside her Victoria’s Secret BioFit bra.
“Stay, have a drink with me.”
“Hey, you’re working, and I’m supposed to meet some friends at the Backlight. I’m guessing I got the wrong bar. They’re probably waiting for me. I’d better go.”
He held onto the hand. “I just got off duty.”
She hesitated, and then the Spanish guitar music she’d noticed when she walked in suddenly escalated into the throbbing, staccato rhythm of flamenco. The most beautiful man Alex had ever seen leaped over the bar in one fluid movement and into the middle of the floor. Plushies, sadists, masochists, gimps, Goths, vampire-wannabes, fake priests, and fake Catholic schoolgirls moved toward the walls to make room for him.
The gorgeous man began dancing, his movements graceful, powerful, and quick. Alex stared. He had pale white skin, long dark hair swept back from a high forehead with a widow’s peak, a black goatee and mustache, huge warm brown eyes, and a rock-hard body. There was something unearthly about his appearance and his fluid movements. As he danced, his hair flew around his head, and he held his white hands high, clapping in time to the music. He wore tight black and red leather bullfighter pants, a short, black-velvet bolero jacket, and a red cape. He tapped his boot heels, whipped off the cape, and swirled it around the floor. Alex was mesmerized. She sat back down.
A drink appeared on the table in front of her. Without asking what was in it, she sipped and watched the dancer. “Who is he?”
“He owns the bar. His name’s Antonio Salazar. Why? You like him?”
“He certainly can dance.”
The drink tasted like almonds, hazelnuts, and cream, and it went down smooth as silk. When she was finished, another magically appeared. By the time Antonio ended his dance, she’d polished off three drinks, and Baine was sitting a lot closer. She didn’t complain when he draped a thick arm over her shoulder.
The plushies had all gathered in the corner with several non-plushie women. They took over three booths. Alex saw a bunny, a Bassett Hound, two cats, plus Mew Mew, a raccoon, a bear, and what looked like Barney the Dinosaur. The plushies had the three women between them and were all rubbing against each other. The rubbing seemed sexual in nature, although they were all completely covered in fur.
“Frankly, I find that very weird,” she said, tasting a fresh drink. “What are these?”
“Russian Quaaludes.”
“Good,” she smiled. She felt terrific.
* * * *
Baine Tenbrook couldn’t believe his luck. Alexandra St. John, one of the most aloof and frigid women he’d ever met, had just dropped into his lap. Memories of seeing her in her underwear when they busted her idiot of a husband for selling drugs flashed through his head. In the days following the arrest, he’d spent a lot of time interviewing her. He found her to be a beautiful, hot, desirable ice queen, and for weeks she was featured in every one of his erotic fantasies.
Stretching, Baine flexed his muscles. He felt his inner animal stir. He ran his tongue over lengthened canines.
Antonio finished his dance and strolled over to their table. “Tenbrook, who is this lovely creature?”
The pale man held out his hand, and Baine fought to control the desire to bite it off. “Alex, I’d like to introduce you to Antonio Salazar. This, my friend, is Alexandra St. John.”
Salazar bent over Alex’s offered hand and closed his eyes. He smelled her flesh. She had an appealing aroma, which he noticed immediately. Her scent was masked by damp plushie fur and spilled beer, but he could still smell her. He wanted to rub against her right now.
“You must visit my establishment again someday,” he purred as he dropped a soft kiss on Alex’s hand.
Alex stared up at him, her eyes a startling blue. “You want me to come back?”
“Of course, my dear, very much so. Mi casa es su casa.”
“The lady is with me,” Baine snarled.
Salazar backed away, letting Alex’s hand slowly slide out of his.
“She came in alone. But have it your way, my friend. Buenos noches.”
After Salazar left, Baine tightened his arm around Alex. She was tiny compared to him, and when she looked at him with those sky-blue eyes and smiled, he found her beautiful features to be a perfect blend of Asian and European ancestry.
She lifted her hand and touched his face. “I know you. You hate me.”
“No, no, I arrested your husband. It had nothing to do with you. I think you’re beautiful.”
“I think you’re beautiful.”
“Want to get some air?” Baine’s voice dropped an octave. His desire for Alex suddenly felt hot and urgent and more important than tracking down a gang of white slavers operating in Seattle. It felt more important than anything.
She blinked her beautiful eyes, and he noticed her long, thick black lashes, her alabaster skin, ripe cherry lips he longed to taste.
“Walk?”
“We could ride in my car, out to the beach, or maybe my cabin.”
He helped her slip her black leather coat over her gray knit dress. She wobbled, and he took her in his arms. She felt warm and soft and smelled incredible. Her odor had an earthy, spicy tang that tickled his nose and went straight to his crotch.
* * * *
Alex felt like she was in a dream. The liquor had made her mellow. What could possibly be wrong with a one-night fling? She hadn’t been with a man for a very long time, so long she couldn’t remember. She’d been divorced for
three years, and Jerry had turned her switch off a long time before that.
Hormones raced through her like an aphrodisiac. Between the alcohol and her own body, her resistance to Baine’s powerful attractions was zero.
“Go for a ride? Sounds like a great idea.” She managed to get this entire statement out clearly, no slurring.
Baine ushered her past Hank Mew Mew, who bowed as she left the bar. It looked like one of his big, wide-opened Garfield eyes winked. But that was impossible.
Baine led her to a black Hummer parked right outside. He opened the door and stopped her when she tried to climb in.
“Hey,” he said, only it was more like a low growl. He pulled her against his huge body and then lifted her so she was eye level. His golden eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared. The smoldering look sent heat straight to her neglected sex. Then he kissed her.
His lips were hard and insistent on her mouth. His tongue tickled her lips until she opened and let him in. He squeezed his grip over her ass, and she moaned against his mouth. He used his hands to grind her sex against what could not possibly be his erection. It was just too big.
When he came up for air, she tilted her head back, and he went for her throat, sucking and kissing up and down her neck. She grabbed the back of his head, threading her hands through his hair, breathing hard.
He gently set her feet on the ground, and her knees shook.
“Let’s go to my house.”
Her throat was too constricted with desire to speak. She just nodded.
Chapter 2
Baine took her north on I-5, got off the highway at Marysville, and headed toward the beach. Alex began sobering up on the drive, but Baine didn’t allow her to forget why they were there. His physical presence was enormous. He radiated masculinity and power.
“Where do you work?” he asked as they drove down the dark road to Tulalip Bay.
“I’m in advertising. I work downtown.” Alex leaned back against the soft black leather seats, enjoying the feel of luxury.
Baine turned on the radio, and Barry White’s deep, sexy voice added to the tension in the cab of the big vehicle.
The Secret, the Shifter and the Sex- Slave Shanghai Page 1