Dirty Bad Secrets

by West, Jade

  Dirty Bad Secrets

  Jade West

  Dirty Bad Secrets copyright © 2016 Jade West

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  Cover design by Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs http://designs.romanticbookaffairs.com/

  Editing by John Hudspith http://www.johnhudspith.co.uk/

  All enquiries to jadewestauthor@gmail.com

  First published 2016

  **Warning**

  I hope you know the drill by now, but for those of you who need clarification, the Dirty Bad books are exactly as the title suggests. They contain hardcore sex (consensual) and fetishes some (ok, maybe quite a few) people may well find offensive. Very offensive.

  People have vomited in their mouths. Consider this your official warning.

  If you don’t like dirty bad sex, don’t read this book. However, if you do like dirty bad sex then buckle up and enjoy the ride

  For Alex,

  your input during our brainstorming sessions was wonderful and greatly appreciated.

  I’m thankful every single day to have you and Lisa in my life.

  I love you both very much.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Faye

  Club Explicit’s double wooden doors looked surprisingly innocent in the daylight. For me they were always in darkness, illuminated only by the sombre glow of dull street lighting and the seedy reflection of red neon. My fist hovered in mid-air. No. Knocking wouldn’t do. I ferreted around my handbag until my fingers closed around the jangle of keys. I remembered the one I needed, but the doors didn’t. They held firm. New locks.

  Shit.

  I took a step back to stare up at the unmarked facade. No signs of life, but that was to be expected on a Friday afternoon. I skirted the building, weaving through the wheeled bins and beer boxes until I found the staff entrance.

  Bingo. My staff key still worked. My nerves jangled louder than the keys. I took a breath. Just like old times. No big deal.

  The door opened with a familiar creak, and I was in the same old side hallway. Drinks signs and cleaning supplies, sex toys in boxes, and the same old kitchen with the same old kettle. Some things never change, but some things do.

  I didn’t recognise the girl with the green hair at the kitchen counter. She was scrubbing out a couple of mugs, a heavy thump of bass sounding from her plugged ears. Pierced brows rose high as she turned to grab a towel, and she jumped backwards, sending the coffee jar tumbling.

  “Jesus Christ!” She yanked the cords and her earplugs fell loose. I recognised the tune, one from Explicit’s regular playlist right back from when we opened. “You scared the jeebies out of me!” She swept up the coffee grains with a tut. “We’re closed. If you’re after membership you’ll have to apply online.”

  It really had been a long time. “I don’t need membership.” I smiled. “I’m Faye. Faye Devere.”

  The girl’s green eyes widened, and I admired the way they matched her hair. Her lip ring glinted as she struggled for words. “He’s upstairs. Through to the back, past the playrooms, third door on the...”

  “On the right. I know.” I gestured to the coffee pot. “I take mine black, two sugars.”

  Her hands skittered for another mug. “I’ll bring one up with Mr Morgan’s.”

  “Please do.” I held out a hand, and she shook it well. “What’s your name?”

  “Topaz. I work the bar.”

  “Thank you, Topaz.”

  I smirked as I made my way upstairs. Topaz. Crystal. Lady fucking Scarlet. So many made up names to so many faces. I’d be Faye from now on. Just Faye.

  Magpie, my pretty girl. One for sorrow, two for joy. Three for a girl, and four for a really hot fucking time, sweet bird of mine.

  Magpie no more. Only Faye.

  The staff door swung open at the side of the bar and the sight knocked my breath. He’d replaced the lights. They were now neon blue and violet, reflecting from the mirrored bar top. The floor was different, too. Black polished marble with flecks of silver. The seats were the original burgundy brocade in the swatches I’d picked out; the same tables, too.

  The main floor had been kitted out in posh lights. Spots and strobes from the looks, with a mechanised hoist system for the shackles. The St. Andrew’s bondage cross was the one I’d chosen, and so were the drapes behind it, the rest was alien. New.

  Three years suddenly seemed a bloody long time.

  I didn’t knock on Andy’s office door. After all, it was my office, too.

  His head was buried in paperwork, and he didn’t even look up.

  “Thanks, Topaz.” He gestured at the desk top. “Just drop it here.”

  “Andrew Morgan, the man with the insatiable organ. Still insatiable, I trust?”

  His eyes met mine, and they weren’t warm. His lips pursed, and he shrugged before shuffling his papers. “What do you want?”

  “I was in town. Wanted to check on my club.”

  “Club’s just fine, as your dividend payments will have told you.”

  “You stopped sending me updates...”

  His eyes were mean. So mean. “Long after you stopped replying.”

  “Things have been busy. I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy for a thanks very much, Andy, great fucking job every once in a blue moon?”

  A twirl of naked bodies in nothing but Venetian masks, crops and whips, and ripe bottoms spread wide. I forced the memory aside.

  “Like I said. I’ve been busy. I’m here now.”

  “I’m so grateful, Faye.” His smile was bitter. “You can give your keys to Topaz on your way out. Club opens at ten-thirty, if you want to apply for membership.”

  I flashed him the same old smile I’d flashed him a million times before. The one that usually made him smile back. “Take the stick out of your arse, Andy, it doesn’t suit you. Explicit’s my baby, too.”

  “Explicit’s not a baby, Faye. It grew up. It’s now a fucking teenager who doesn’t remember who the hell you are. You bailed. We’re a one-parent family now.”

  “I was always coming back.”

  “Sure you were.” His tone was clipped but familiar. So familiar. “Three days, you said... a week, tops...”

  “I know what I said.” I dropped into the chair opposite him, and he pulled the paperwork away as I strained to look.

  “Then three weeks... a couple of fucking months.”

  “I know; it’s been a long time.”


  His eyes were like daggers. “You know how long you were here before you bailed? Eleven months. You didn’t even make a year. I toasted Explicit’s first birthday, alone.”

  “We’d done the hard bit...” My eyes scouted the office, the new cabinets, the swanky new desk. “You’ve done well. No harm done.”

  The years had been kind to Andy Morgan. His hair looked darker, more mahogany than chestnut. It brought out his eyes. Hazel danced with angry flecks of green.

  “Do you know what was harder than year one of a new club venture, Faye? Year two. Year two was a fucking nightmare. Stabilising the club, refurbishing the bathrooms, organising vetting procedures and membership practices, and insurance. Miles and miles of red fucking tape.”

  “You did great... the place looks great...”

  “What the fuck are you doing back here?”

  I’m running home. For fuck’s sake, Andy, let me hang tight here.

  “London calling. I just want back into the place I helped build. I’m allowed to be interested, aren’t I? We’re fifty-fifty, after all.”

  He reached in his desk drawer and took out a wedge of paperwork, then stood from the desk to go rooting for more. He was thicker set these days, rippling under a tailored suit. His ass looked firmer. The gym, maybe. He flicked through the filing cabinet, pulling out papers with an angry flourish. Then he slammed them down in front of me.

  Insurance renewal forms. Loads of them. Bureaucratic and complicated. In short, a nightmare.

  “You’d better start earning your fifty, then.” A tap at the door and Topaz joined us. She hovered like a fluffy green pigeon, eyes flicking from him to me. He pointed a finger in my direction. “That’s Faye. She’s come back to claim her piece of the pie. Any issues, problems, vomit to clean up, you go to her.”

  I managed a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll take over just as soon as I’ve finished this paperwork nightmare, shall I? How about next year?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Welcome to my world.” He threw me a pen. “You’d best get a move on, we open at ten.”

  ***

  He watched me struggle for well over an hour. His body was angled towards his laptop screen, but his eyes were on me. I pretended I didn’t notice, arranging the papers in neat little piles, as though I knew what the hell I was doing. I didn’t know what I was doing. Hadn’t a pissing clue, reading the same papers over and over like it would make it any clearer. Maybe Club Explicit had become a tougher beast to manage than I’d given it credit for.

  Like I’d really ever thought about it.

  Eventually he stopped pretending to type. “Finished yet, partner?”

  Pride answered for me. “Should be done in a jiffy.”

  “Sure you will.”

  I met his eyes, amassing words that should have been spoken a long time sooner. Maybe even the dregs of an explanation. Half an explanation. The phone ringing broke the tension before I could speak, the trill sounding right through the building.

  I waited for him to answer, but instead he shoved the handset in my direction. I rolled my eyes at him as I picked up.

  “Club Explicit, Faye speaking.”

  I floundered around for a pad, be damned if I was passing the call onto him. Saffron, food poisoning, won’t be in. I hung up with a thanks for letting us know. Us know.

  “That was Saffron, said she won’t be in this evening.”

  “Better get cover, then.”

  “You’re seriously going to be like this? It’s a bit pissing childish.” I folded my arms.

  “Filing cabinet in the corner. Top drawer. Find a replacement.”

  “Jesus Christ, Andy.” The file was full of names I didn’t recognise. My stomach churned as reality struck. As if I could just walk back in like nothing had happened. Tears pricked. Stupid tears. I coughed them back before I returned to my seat, poring over names and photos and job titles until I found a potential. I lifted the handset, began to dial, but he reached over for the call end button before it connected.

  “You can’t come back, Faye. Power share never works. I’m in charge here now.”

  I slapped his fingers away. “We’ll have to make it work. I’m back in. Co-owner, just like the director’s agreement states.”

  “I’ll buy you out. Give me a few weeks to get a valuation and the cash together.”

  I don’t know why the thought hurt so bad. “I don’t want out.”

  “It isn’t about what you want. You don’t even know this place anymore. You don’t belong here.”

  “I’ll get to know.”

  “So you can interfere like Lady fucking Wisdom? Trample over everything I’ve done?”

  “So I can contribute.” I sighed. “Please stop, Andy. Just stop.”

  He tapped a pen on the desk, over and over. That wasn’t new. He’d always done that when he was thinking, or twitchy. “You’ve got some fucking nerve waltzing back in here. Real fucking nerve.”

  I was losing him and I knew it. “I just want to help, whatever it takes until we find our feet again.” I tried another smile. “I’ll work the bar, check in coats, whatever you want...”

  “Whatever I fucking want?!” His pen bounced between my hands as he launched it. “I want you to fuck off. I want you to leave my fucking office and piss off back to whatever seedy fucking pussy den you crawled out of.” He took out his wallet as I stared, flicked through credit cards. “I’ll book you a fucking flight right now. My fucking treat, Faye, have it on me. Go fuck yourself.”

  I grabbed the pen from the floor, slid it back in his direction as he clacked the keyboard with venom. “Don’t do this, Andy.”

  “Tomorrow at nine. Destination Venice fucking Treviso, right?”

  “Stop it...” Even the thought gave me the shivers.

  “How many bags?”

  Tears pricked again. I took a breath. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

  “Like what, exactly?” His eyes blazed so cold I had to look away. “You thought I’d be pleased to see you? After three fucking years? What kind of sappy fucking twat do you take me for?”

  “I wanted it to be amicable, without lawyers…”

  “Lawyers?! What the fuck do you think they’re going to do?!”

  “They’ll confirm I’m a legal fucking partner. Co-owner. They’ll say I don’t need your fucking permission to work my own fucking bar, and you know it!” My breath was shallow, knuckles clenched to stop my hands shaking. “Just let me help out. Give me a chance. I’ll work the bar, for one week, nothing else, I promise.”

  “Piss off.”

  “Or we could try something else to resolve our differences… I guess the playrooms will be empty…”

  The disgust on his face cut deep. “I’m really not that fucking cheap.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that…”

  “Leave, please. Just fucking leave before we both say things we regret.”

  “No. You can bitch-whine all you fucking like, Andy, but I’m fucking staying!”

  “Suit your-fucking-self, but I’ve just about seen enough of you.” He was at the door in a heartbeat, swinging it so wide it banged off the wall. “You can stay the fuck out of my office. Piss off, Faye, I mean it.”

  I sighed. “I’ll be in the bar when you calm down, planning my show.”

  “What fucking show?”

  “I have ideas, Andy, things I learned in Venice. New things…You’ll see.”

  He shot me a smile that didn’t even come close to reaching his eyes. “Just stay out of my fucking way.”

  ***

  Chapter Two

  Andy

  Topaz’s ditzy little heels clacked into my office as soon as Faye was clear.

  “Miss Devere’s in charge. All problems land at her feet.”

  “But Mr Morgan...”

  “The woman’s flighty and whimsical. Nothing more than a fucking nuisance. She’d never hack any actual responsibility. She’ll be bored within the week.”

  She nodded. “So, I
ask her for instruction on tonight’s set up?”

  The prospect of Faye taking charge brought a bitter twang to the back of my throat. My resolve crumbled. “Put a couple of cocktails on offer. Garnet Crows and Screaming Orgasms. Two for one before midnight.”

  Topaz smiled. “And what about the main stage? Just shackles?”

  “Flogging bench from playroom three. Put it in the middle of the dancefloor.”

  “Anything else? Or should I ask boss lady?”

  Boss lady? I cringed at that. “Tell the DJs to keep the tempo up, try and keep the action going on the main stage. We’ll show Miss Devere just how big a beast she’s wrestling.”

  “Yes, Mr Morgan.” She smiled.

  “Make it a great night, Topaz.”

  Faye Devere, larger than bastard life in my fucking office. Anger twitched in my temples. She’d break and leave again, back to Italy for Prosecco on the terrace where she’d regale people with tales of her London adventure. Fantastic, darling, wonderful!

  A flutter of eyelashes might bowl over those brownnosers in Venice, flouncing about at some writing retreat or whatever the fuck they go there for, but her charm would cut short shrift back here on home turf. It would cut short shrift with me. I wondered if she was sitting comfortable at my bar, kicking her stilettos up with a smile on her perfect little mouth. How nice to play the big I am without any of the real graft that goes along with it. That’s all it was to her. A stupid game.

  I’ll work the bar. As if the woman had any backbone for a real shift. I should’ve done what should’ve been done years ago; put her over my fucking knee and tanned her tight little ass until she learnt some manners.

  And then do it again for the hell of it.

  I should’ve done it when she announced she was leaving for Italy in the first place, told her the club didn’t have time for her frivolous fucking jollies and shone a little light on her priorities. Maybe then she’d have stayed home where she belongs. Belonged.

  I pulled the vintage whisky from my desk drawer, complete with tumbler, and poured myself a triple.