Ceci had put the finishing touches to her makeup when her front doorbell rang. She inhaled and rushed to answer it. When she pulled open the door, her two handsome men stood there grinning.
“Come on in.”
She didn’t need any of the neighbors seeing her costume.
Gabe reached her first and twirled her around. “Holy shit, baby. You look hot.”
“The point is to blend in, not look hot,” she countered, but secretly she was pleased.
Dylan stepped in front of her. “Gabe, I’m not sure this is our woman.”
“What should we do to find out?”
Now the men were being totally ridiculous, which was one of the things she adored about them. “You are not stripping me naked to check.”
Dylan guffawed. “I was thinking more on the line of a kiss. If this wasn’t our chance to get dirt on this guy, I’d do a more thorough body cavity search.”
“Ew.” Then she cracked up.
The kiss that followed sobered her. When her honey dripped, she pulled back. “If I get too turned on, I’ll have to strip right here and make you miss your meet and greet.”
“You’re right, but maybe we can have a rain check.”
She smiled. “Rain checks are good.”
They piled into Dylan’s van. She sat in the passenger seat, with Gabe in back. She twisted toward him. “You should have driven your truck.”
“Why’s that?”
“I like being squished between you two.”
Gabe tapped Dylan’s shoulder as he pulled out of the drive. “Hear that? She likes to have our bodies pressed up against her.” Gabe had a case next to him that he opened. He pulled out a few photos and handed them to her. “I have no idea if any of these women will be there or not, but according to Sean Norris, the dungeon monitor, these three love what Carl French does to them.”
“I thought you said he was married.”
Gabe rubbed her arm. “According to Shelby Whitaker, Carl’s wife doesn’t like knife play or whip play.”
How horrible. “Women want to be cut and whipped?”
“Both knife and whip play, if done right, can be rather sensuous and don’t involve bleeding. The scrape of a knife over a woman’s skin can be quite erotic.”
He said it as if he liked that stuff. “Do you do that?”
“Only if a woman begs me.”
She wasn’t sure she liked that answer. Did he have a lot of women who wanted him to be their Dom?
Gabe stroked her cheek. “You have nothing to worry about, baby.”
She stared out the window. She’d driven by Striker’s Lounge on her way out of town a few times, but she’d never had any desire to go inside. The place was downright seedy. From the large number of vehicles outside, it was packed. If she hadn’t been with her men, she would have turned tail and run.
Dylan had to park in a field next door as every nearby spot was taken. As soon as they got out, the music from inside reached them. “Will we even be able to talk to people with all that noise?”
Dylan wrapped an arm around her waist. “That’s for bar patrons. Once we’re in back, you’ll see it’s a lot nicer.”
As soon as they stepped inside and the large contingent of men glanced her way, Ceci wondered if maybe she’d made a serious mistake.
Chapter Seventeen
Both Gabe and Dylan huddled close as they walked her up to the bar. Dylan waved the bartender over.
The tall, dark-haired man slung a cloth over his shoulder, smiled, and strode over. “Hey, guys.” The bartender might have been addressing the men but he focused on her for a moment. “Haven’t seen you around.”
Dylan glanced to the ceiling. “Nice try, Travis.”
She wondered why he tossed out the come-on line since Dylan had assured her Travis, the bartender, and both dungeon monitors would keep an eye out for her. She had to assume Gabe or Dylan had told all three men that she was taken.
Gabe leaned closer. “You want a drink, baby? It might help you relax.”
Having a glass in her hand would be nice. “A chardonnay?”
“You got it. Drafts for you two?”
They both nodded. While Travis filled their drink order, she looked around. No one was dressed in anything remotely sexy or wearing what she imagined someone would be dressed in at a BDSM club. Maybe this was just an excuse for them to see her in a skimpy outfit. Way to go, guys.
Once they had their drinks, Dylan led her to a corridor in back. There was a broad-shouldered cowboy at a table with a stack of papers and a hand stamp. He didn’t look like he’d shaved today, but on him it looked good.
The man glanced up. “Dylan, Gabe.” He looked at her and stood. “You must be Ceci. I’ve heard all about you.” He held out his hand. “I’m Cade Mueller, the owner of Striker’s Lounge.”
She really hadn’t thought about what the owner of a bar and BDSM lounge would look like, but she hadn’t pictured someone so handsome in a rough sort of way.
She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
He sat down and pushed a piece of paper toward her. “I’ll need you to sign this waiver.”
“Waiver?”
“Merely a formality. It just says that if you’re offended by anything you see, you won’t sue me.”
She couldn’t believe something like that was needed. She picked up the paper and the pen and read every word. The men acted like they’d never seen anyone read a document before. Oh, well. When everything looked good, she gazed up at the men. “Should I use my real name?”
Dylan glanced at Gabe whose raised brows indicated he was thinking about it. “Sure. We don’t need you to get tripped up.”
She signed and passed it back to Cade who nodded to the men. “For your information, both Shelby Whitaker and Tonya Denison are in the main event room.”
Those were the women who said Carl French was the perfect service top. Ceci wasn’t sure she could have an intelligent conversation with these ladies, but she wanted to remain open-minded. Thinking that Carl could be out to harm these women sent chills up her body. Warning them would probably do no good and might jeopardize the case, so she’d play along.
Dylan swiped his key card to get into another area. Excitement laced with curiosity raced through her at what she might find. There was a long hallway with four curtained rooms, two on the right and two on the left, with a doorway at the end.
She leaned close to Dylan. “What’s in there?” She probably didn’t have to ask as strange sounds were emanating from two of the rooms. Slapping sounds and moans came from one and what sounded like a whip emanated from the other. Goose bumps raced up her arms as her imagination ran wild.
“They’re private rooms. There are curtains instead of doors so that the dungeon monitors can make sure the women are safe.”
“Sean and the other fellow you mentioned can just walk in?” How embarrassing was that? Dylan nodded. “What if they’re having sex?”
“Sex is not allowed in this club.”
She then recalled what Elle said about Striker’s not allowing the exchange of bodily fluids. “I forgot. Then what is going on in there? Just paddling?”
Gabe wrapped an arm around her waist. “Let’s go to the event room and you can see the set up for yourself.”
He led her down a long staircase. Chatter reached her before she spotted the people. The large room had lounges along two walls. On another side, about five small tables and chairs clustered together. But it was what took up the rest of the place that forced her to close her mouth. It was a dungeon all right, replete with a spanking bench, a cross thingy, something that looked like a tiny mechanical bull with a peg jutting up from the middle, and chains from the ceiling and side walls that had cuffs attached.
Half the people in the room were dressed in jeans and a shirt. However, the rest seemed to have come straight from Elle’s shop. One woman had black spiked hair, a tight spandex suit and carried a whip. The most unusual costume was the man dressed up
as a pony. Oh, my. He even had a saddle on his back. From the kneepads it looked like he was willing to get on his hands and knees and be ridden.
“Close your mouth, baby.”
She did. She truly believed every person had a right to their kink, but she hadn’t known people were so open about it. Then again this was Pleasure, Montana.
Dylan nudged her. “See the short man with the protruding belly taking to the skinny redhead?”
“Yes.”
“That’s Shelby Whitaker. Oh, look, she’s going over to the food table. You’re up.”
She rubbed her right arm. To keep it even, she moved her wine glass to the other hand and rubbed her left arm. You can do this.
If she was to play the role of a sub, she needed to keep her gaze down as she walked over the table with the finger foods. She recognized the stuffed mushrooms. It seemed as if Chelsea Caulfield was one busy baker.
Shelby was trying one thing after another. How did she stay so thin?
“What’s good?” Ceci asked, moving next to her.
Shelby looked up, smiled, then held up a finger to indicate she needed to finish chewing. “All of it.”
Ceci inhaled. When she lived in Philadelphia she met with clients and had to act the role of the highly knowledgeable financial expert. She’d perfected the art of acting. You can do this. “Are you one of the members here?”
Shelby swallowed. “Yes, but I don’t come very often.”
“Why is that?”
She looked around. “When I was married, Sir didn’t like clubs. When he left me for a better woman, I started coming here.”
The poor woman really seemed to believe she was inferior. How sad was that? “Oh, yeah? How is that working out? I don’t want to come if it’s just a dating site.” As soon as she said that, she realized that if she had on a collar, some person or persons must be attached to the other end. She wouldn’t be looking for a date.
“People don’t come to date. I’m so through with that scene. I’m never marrying again, but I really love the Lifestyle. I have fibromyalgia and some of the scenes arouse my endorphins so that I’m pain free for a while. I come here to satisfy my masochistic tendencies, too.”
Now that caught Ceci’s attention, though she had to think about a response. She was out of her league. “Really? That’s so cool—about the help with your fibro.” She couldn’t picture anyone wanting pain, but then again, she never thought she’d liked being spanked. “I’ve noticed that when I’m engaging in adrenaline pumping events, my anxieties seem to disappear.” Maybe there was something to BDSM.
Shelby stepped closer. “I know. Me, too.”
“Is there one thing that works the best?”
“Knife play.” She grabbed Ceci’s wrist, squeezed, then let go. “I have the best service top. We don’t see each other outside of the club, but what he can do with a knife.” She slapped her other hand to her chest. “It’s short of a miracle.”
Ceci checked out the woman’s body. Other than some bruises on her arms, she didn’t detect any scars. “I guess it’s like going to an acupuncturist.” Though an acupuncturist’s needle didn’t hurt.
Shelby smiled. “Something like that.”
“Does your top have a name?” She held up a hand. “I’m wondering if he’d consider taking on another person.” She could see it now. If she ever followed through Gabe and Dylan would lock her in her house again and never let her leave.
“His name is Carl French.” She looked up. “Oh, there he is now.”
Ceci had to turn around or it might look suspicious. She just hoped her pounding heart didn’t show through her chest. She pretended to scan the room. From his photo, she spotted him immediately. “Which one is he?” She twirled the worry ring on her finger then counted to ten to reduce her anxiety.
“I’ll introduce you.”
Her stomach churned. She hoped that neither Dylan nor Gabe would step in—or maybe she did wish they would, but then Carl would spot the men and perhaps freak. Her shoulders stiff, she let Shelby lead her over to a man who could just as easily snatch her to his chest and cut her throat before her men could reach her than shake her hand.
You don’t know he’s guilty.
Just be cool. She inhaled, drawing on her professional demeanor. The desire to look over at Gabe and Dylan was strong, but she resisted.
“Carl, this is—” The woman glance downward then slanted her gaze at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
Acting like a good little submissive, she lowered her gaze, too, as she held out her hand. “My name’s Ceci.”
“Carl. So what are you into, pet?” His voice was a combination of gruff and smooth. She bet he could fool a lot of women.
She shivered at the nickname. Coming from him it made her stomach churn. She couldn’t fake this. “I’m not really sure. I wanted to check out the club but”—Oh, God, she’d almost said Shelby’s name but they hadn’t been introduced—“this nice lady said she gets great relief for her aches and pains from knife play. I have anxiety really bad and thought I might consider it.”
She lifted her gaze slightly to catch his reaction. He smiled, and almost looked charming in a creepy kind of way. “If you are interested, stop on by. We’re very friendly here at Striker’s.”
I’ll bet.
“Well, I’ll let you two talk. I want to check out the rest of the equipment.”
He nodded in a dismissive way. Normally, she would have gone right back to Dylan and Gabe, but not only was Carl French probably watching her, both men were speaking to others. She hadn’t lied when she said she wanted to check out the gear. She was rather curious. On a table along the far side sat a ton of different floggers and whips. There was also an array of dildos, plugs, cuffs, chains, and paddles. Price tags were attached to each. She’d have to tell Elle about the competition.
She’d been fingering the soft leather when two hands clasped her waist. She jumped.
“Easy, sugar. French and Shelby are gone.”
She turned around and let out a really long breath. “Do you think he suspected anything?”
“Not from you. I’d questioned him about his sister-in-law’s murder and when he saw me, he gave me the evil eye.” Then Dylan winked.
“Did you learn anything?”
“Yes, but I think it’s time we make our exit. The party is winding down, and it’s about to become members-only time.”
Too bad. She might have liked to stay around and see BDSM in action. Watching knife play, however, would scare her too much. “Okay.”
All three of them exited, along with half the crowd. If Shelby had been around, Ceci would have thanked her. Knowing that endorphins and adrenaline helped Shelby with her fibromyalgia confirmed why Ceci’s OCD calmed during times of sex and when playing paintball or shooting a gun.
Gabe slid open the back door. “How about sitting with me, baby?”
“I’d love to.” She jumped in the backseat next to Gabe.
Dylan crawled into his seat and turned around. “Where to, sir and madam?”
She laughed when he lifted his nose.
Gabe looked at her. “I think we should take our woman to the Grill House in celebration.”
She sucked in a breath. “That place is fancy. I can’t go like this.”
He grinned and reached behind him. “I took the liberty of purchasing a few things in case you ever became dirty and needed to change. I went to JP Nesters.”
Her breath caught. It was where she bought her good clothes. He pulled out a delicate pink cowgirl shirt and a beautiful necklace with a pink and turquoise stone on a silver chain. “I can’t accept this.”
His face fell. “Why not?”
Because when you learn I’m not a good person, you won’t want me. “It’s too expensive.”
“We’re not poor, baby.”
Now she’d insulted him. “I didn’t mean I thought you were poor. It’s just—” She hugged the shirt. “I love it.”
He was so good for her ego. She slipped it over the bustier and it fit perfectly.
He leaned over. “Let me take off this collar and replace it with the pretty necklace—unless you want to be our pretty little submissive?”
She laughed. “I’ll take a rain check on that decision.”
He dropped his head back and laughed. “You are the best.”
He removed her collar and put on the beautiful necklace. She fondled the smooth stone. “This looks like something Tammy Stanton-Harrison would make.”
“Don’t know. Didn’t ask. I just knew it would look pretty on you.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you.”
“Oorah. I’m thinking we’re going to have a good time tonight.”
There was no doubt in her mind about it. Did being in the club make them think of tying her down? She could only hope.
Chapter Eighteen
Ceci and the men were nearly home from the restaurant when Gabe’s phone rang. He looked up at her. “Sorry, baby. It’s Bozeman PD. I gotta take it.”
“Sure.”
Their job depended on them being able to mobilize at any time of the day. That was the beauty of day trading. At 4:00 p.m., the active part of her day ended.
“When? Was it the same bullet? Okay. I’ll be right there.”
He disconnected and eyes were a little unfocused. Dylan glanced in the rearview mirror. “What gives?”
“That was Ed Grimes. Seems a man was killed an hour ago. The bullet hit the carotid artery.”
“Just like Martha Dobbins and Ronald Fletcher.”
“So they’re thinking the same person killed all three?”
Dirty Pleasures [Pleasure, Montana 10] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 15