Committed

by Sidney Bristol

Damien sprinted, the sounds of hot pursuit behind him. He’d had better days, by far.

  He hit the stairs and took them three at a time, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He’d be hearing “I told ya so” from Yamamoto, if he ever found out about this.

  Damien vaulted over the banister and hit the ground on the first floor running, shoved past the two men he’d seen earlier, and burst out onto the street. He didn’t stop for traffic, just kept running and weaving between people, but the enforcers had stopped chasing him.

  Emilio watched the cop run out of the building. He had recognized him from a drug bust he’d narrowly avoided a year or so past. He never forgot the face of someone he’d vowed to kill.

  The cop slid into a nondescript SUV and pulled into traffic, no doubt off to report on whatever scraps he’d found.

  Emilio had bigger things to worry about. He rolled his shoulder, testing the soreness in his arm. Two and a half weeks and he could still feel the bullet holes.

  He turned and strode down the street toward the abandoned property he’d confiscated for his own uses. The brick building didn’t look that bad from the outside, but the trashed interior spoke of previous squatters and other unsavory types who’d once trembled in fear at his name.

  Now, his crew had scattered, his wife and boss were in prison, and people laughed in his face.

  They’d regret it in days to come.

  Emilio would make them pay.

  Every last one of them.

  Chapter Ten

  Poppy sat across from Kyle, the paper plates in front of them strewn with crumbs from their snack. The regular Friday-night crowd clustered in groups, chatting and catching up. Sanctuary was a place that embodied its name, and had always made Poppy feel safe.

  “You here tonight?” Kyle waved her hand slowly back and forth.

  “Sorry, totally zoned out on you for a second.” Poppy shook her head and glanced at her pad of paper.

  “Dude, you got some serious attention-to-detail issues. I don’t think I’ve ever done negotiations with someone who comes with a color-coded list of kinks and a fill-in-the-blank survey for me.” Kyle laughed and pushed the sheet of paper back to her.

  “I just want to make sure I cover everything.” She grabbed the paper and glanced at it. Kyle’s answers were everything Poppy already knew about her friend, but in a more formalized format.

  “I know, and really, I should do something more like this when I play with people, but I never do. So, where and when do you want to do this?” Kyle shook her red plastic cup and the ice rattled. “And how crazy is it that we’ve never played together?”

  “It is strange, but you haven’t been bottoming much and I’ve been trying to top more lately.” Poppy shrugged and shuffled the papers into a neat stack. “Want to go in an hour?”

  The typical flow to the Friday-night events was an hour or more spent socializing over potluck finger foods, followed by several hours of open playtime in the dungeon. Kyle had met Poppy at the dungeon early so they could hash out their terms.

  “That works for me. I need to talk to a guy about some rope.” Kyle pounded the table with her fist and got to her feet.

  Poppy sighed and leaned back in her chair. She was grateful to Kyle for suggesting they play together as a way of getting her over Dom Cop and back in the groove. There wasn’t anything romantic, or even sexual, about their play. It was just harmless fun, and at this point, she was willing to try anything. She’d had one wet dream too many about a man with chocolate skin and a sultry voice.

  She pushed her shoulders back and shook her hair out.

  Tonight would be amazing.

  “Poppy, there you are, darling!”

  Poppy turned and grinned at Nikki in full, radiant glory. If Poppy didn’t like her friend so much, she’d be jealous. Nikki looked better dressing as a woman than Poppy did born as one. Besides, it was hard to compete with Nikki’s natural beauty.

  Nikki posed against a backdrop of gauze curtains with strings of Christmas lights hanging behind them. She seemed to glow in an outfit of white and gold, complete with a white latex bodysuit, gold leggings, a white-and-gold underbust corset, and a white wig woven with strands of gold. Even her eyelashes matched.

  “Oh. My. God.” Poppy stood, feeling very underdressed in comparison. “You look fantastic.”

  Nikki laughed and shook her hair. “Give me a hug.”

  Poppy wrapped her arms around Nikki and found her face in Nikki’s breasts.

  “Oh, no! Someone, don’t stop her from motorboating me.” Nikki wiggled and giggled.

  “Girl, what are you on?” Poppy pried herself from Nikki’s embrace, laughing at her friend’s absurdity.

  “Do you count?” Nikki batted her golden eyelashes at her, and Poppy couldn’t help but laugh again.

  Tonight was exactly what she needed.

  Damien scrawled his signature on the last line of the Sanctuary forms. He’d visited the club back when it had a different name, maybe three owners ago, before he’d even been DEA. There hadn’t been any paperwork, which was one of the reasons he’d allowed himself to go then. Now, well, he was willing to take a risk this one time. The club claimed that their records were secure on a remote server. He’d have to extend them the courtesy of trust.

  “Do you need a tour?” the woman working the desk asked. Her conservative, black business suit gave no hint as to what was behind the double door to their right.

  “No thanks.” He nodded and shouldered the small bag he’d brought with him, just in case.

  “Have a good evening and play safe.”

  Damien headed for the doors and rolled his shoulders. There was no guarantee he’d play at all, but he had a hunch Poppy would be there. He’d long since learned to trust his gut. He was well aware that what he was doing was a hair’s breadth from stalking behavior, but he had to try. One more time. He couldn’t give her up. Not yet.

  Damien stepped into the social area of the dungeon. Square, black, four-top tables took up almost half the seating area, and a bar against the wall served as a communal buffet. On the other side of the room were couches, armchairs, and other types of furniture for lounging.

  The evening was well underway, and judging by the size of the crowd, Sanctuary was doing quite well for itself.

  People from all walks of life mingled, in various stages of dress, undress, or costume. Some wore jeans and T-shirts, while others had on corsets, cat ears, or almost nothing at all. A few people glanced at him and gave him a once over, but none of them held his interest.

  Damien moved through the room, nodding at a few people he recognized from House Surrender events, but not well enough to know their names.

  The dungeon was separated by a single door off to the side. A sign requested that it be kept shut at all times. He opened it and stepped into a dark and sultry world.

  Music pulsed through the speakers and the lights were lowered to better feature the play areas. He stowed his bag on one of the shelves next to the door before beginning his exploration of the dungeon.

  The space was a long rectangle, with designated play areas partitioned off along the walls, each with a theme. The first on his right was a schoolroom, complete with a woman bent over the teacher’s desk with her plaid skirt flipped up, while her ass was slapped with a ruler by a man in a suit. Opposite, a bare concrete square featured a hanging hook a man was using to hoist a woman in a rope harness into the air. The available spaces ranged from run-of-the-mill kitchen fantasies to a medical-examination room, and there was even a jail cell. In front of each scene, a row of old theater seats provided voyeuristic appeal. Watching was nice and all, but he was more a doing kind of man.

  In the center of the dungeon, a few pieces of kink furniture hung from the ceiling or stood on their own, for extra play space. At the far end, couches were arranged in clusters, either for creative use, aftercare, or quiet congregation.

  The crowd in the dungeon was several times larger than the one in the soci
al area. Play was underway in many of the alcoves already, and he had to wonder if Rapunzel was already here.

  His hand curled into a fist at the thought of her playing with anyone else. It was an unreasonable reaction. Even when he’d been in exclusive, romantic relationships with women, they’d played with other people. In those circumstances, sex and sexual touch was off the table, so it was fine. Kink, BDSM and play were much more than orgasms, though they made it a hell of a lot more fun.

  He moved on, weaving in and out of onlookers, until he came to a scene area close to the end. A few people clustered together at one end of the theater seats while two women laid out their implements of pain and pleasure.

  One of them was Rapunzel.

  Poppy, he reminded himself. To him she’d always be his Rapunzel.

  The other was vaguely familiar, but not enough to capture his attention.

  God, she’s beautiful.

  Rapunzel laughed at something the other woman said and rolled out a collection of small implements tucked into a chef’s knife roll. It was an ingenious way to organize, carry, and display a variety of toys. He’d have to remember that.

  The scene space they were utilizing was essentially a stainless-steel box. The walls and floor were covered in sheets of it. All of the furniture, from the rolling table to the X-shaped cross, was stainless steel.

  He could only imagine how cold that thing must be. A clever item, indeed.

  The other woman went to the corner by the end of the table and began stripping out of her clothing. He still didn’t like the idea of Rapunzel playing with anyone else. He hadn’t gotten bisexual vibes from her.

  Damien needed to start calling her Poppy.

  Poppy shed the simple black wrap dress she’d been wearing.

  Damien nearly swallowed his tongue.

  Under the demure black dress she might wear any day of the week to school, she was clothed in a purple-and-black merrywiddow. The halter neck plumped her breasts, while the deep plunge left plenty to be admired. She had cheeky black panties on with the ensemble, and stockings that attached to the garment by matching suspenders. She swept her hair up and rolled it into a bun, casting her partner in crime a sly smile as the other woman also pulled her hair up.

  They were light and dark, the two women, but all he could focus on was Poppy.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. There was no way he’d interrupt their scene. He didn’t have to like it, but he wasn’t going to be a jerk, either.

  The raven-haired woman approached the cross, eyeing it with either anticipation or dread. Damien couldn’t place her, but was sure he’d seen her before.

  He glanced back to his switch and stilled.

  Poppy had seen him.

  Their gazes locked and her eyes widened. Her mouth opened slightly. Clearly his presence affected her the same way, and knowing that now screwed with his brain. It was good to know that he wasn’t the only one holding on to the energy from their short time together.

  Way too fucking short.

  Poppy shook her head and whirled toward the toy table. She appeared to be selecting her first tool, but he recognized the move for what it really was.

  He’d knocked her off-balance.

  Well, good.

  Let her squirm.

  Tonight, they were going to come to an understanding, and she would learn that he didn’t give up.

  Poppy grabbed the edge of the table.

  Dom Cop was there.

  Her skin prickled, and gooseflesh rose on her arms and legs.

  How she wished the ground would open and swallow her up. The kick of adrenaline she’d had coming into the scene evaporated.

  I can’t do this.

  Poppy picked up one of the toys at random and clenched it in her hand.

  The music drummed out a heavy beat, while around her, the sweet song of laughter, screams, and the snap of a whip beckoned. But her mojo was toast. Her knees wobbled and she thought she might topple over.

  All because of one man who wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Poppy gritted her teeth and pushed her shoulders back. She unclenched her hand and selected a heart-shaped crop. It was one of her favorites, and felt good in her hand. A little more prepared, she turned around, determined to forget the man watching her with brooding eyes.

  Fuck him with a chainsaw.

  Kyle leaned against the cross, one brow raised. “Everything okay?”

  Poppy kept her back to their small audience. “Dom Cop’s here. Just surprised me.”

  Kyle’s gaze darted over Poppy’s shoulder.

  “Don’t look at him,” Poppy whispered through clenched teeth.

  “Look, if you aren’t feeling it, we can hold off until later. It’s not like we’ll never be able to play again. If anything, I’m fucking pissed at this joker. Come on, let’s get our shit together and go see what damage Nikki’s done.” Kyle flipped her hair over her shoulder, completely at ease having a serious discussion while wearing only panties.

  Poppy nodded and they began packing up their things, getting dressed, and wiping down the play area with a spray sanitizer. She didn’t know if Dom Cop was still watching. She couldn’t bring herself to look.

  God, I feel like such an idiot.

  “Hey, I’m going to run to the bathroom.” Kyle tugged her boots on. “You’ll be okay until I get back?”

  “Yeah.”

  A few moments alone would be a blessing.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Hey, Dom Cop.”

  Damien turned to find the raven-haired woman Poppy had begun to play with walking toward him.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d seen her somewhere. He stopped and waited for her.

  “What’s your deal?” the woman demanded, hands on her hips.

  “Deal with what?”

  “Why are you following my friend around? Seems kind of stalkerish for a cop.” She had attitude in spades, tilting her head and regarding him with a fierceness he could respect.

  “I didn’t know it was stalking to go to a public gathering.” He shrugged, but he knew he was right on the line.

  “Yeah, whatever. Cut the crap. I know who you are.” She crossed her arms.

  “And how do we know each other?” He could solve at least one puzzle. And where was Poppy if they weren’t playing?

  “We met at a private party at House Surrender, last year at Halloween.”

  Damien snapped his fingers. “Poison Ivy. Hot damn, that was a good costume. I totally didn’t recognize you.”

  “That’s nice.” The fierceness was still in her gaze. “Now, about you harassing my friend, I’m pretty sure she wants you to leave her alone.”

  Damien studied the woman. The Halloween party had been a small affair, invitations handed out by Yamamoto and a few of the House Surrender slaves as staff. Maybe sixty people total. Anyone who attended would have been vetted. It wasn’t a foolproof barometer by which to measure people, but it was all Damien had.

  A whip cracked nearby, and then another. Two men circled a third with his hands strung up to a hard point.

  Damien gestured toward the sofas. “Can we talk?”

  She studied him for a moment, and he honestly couldn’t tell what her answer would be.

  “Fine.” She turned on her heel and stalked through the crowd to the lounging area. She didn’t sit, but she did find a semiprivate spot. “Talk quick, Dom Cop.”

  “Okay.” He gritted his teeth at the name, but he’d been called worse. “I understand why Poppy is angry with me, and I would like to make it up to her. That’s it.”

  “Bullshit. You want more from her than that.” She glared at him.

  “Sure, yeah. Would I like a second chance? Yes, but if she says no, she says no.”

  “This is crazy.” She shook her head. “Whatever. Poppy can do what she wants to do, but if you fuck her over, I won’t forget this.”

  “I never wanted to hurt her. I made a bad decision in a tight spot. I just want to make
it right.” What did she want from him? To pop a vein and bleed for her?

  “Fine. Give her a few minutes to finish getting her shit together, at least.”

  “Cool. What’s your name?”

  “Kyle.”

  Damien extended his hand and shook hers. “Kyle, I’m Damien.”

  “That’s nice, Dom Cop. Don’t screw up.” She shook his hand brusquely and stalked off toward the play space, and was quickly swallowed up by the crowd meandering between scenes.

  Damien watched her go, and had to admit he respected the woman for being so direct and protective of Poppy. But he still didn’t take kindly to threats.

  He pushed off the wall and followed Kyle. Why they had stopped playing, he couldn’t guess, but he’d come here with a mission. He’d find Poppy and … then what?

  In his head, what came next swung from physical to mental, showing her how strong their chemistry was, or appealing to her with words.

  Damien stepped through the press of people and paused.

  Fuck, she’s beautiful.

  Kyle and Poppy stood with their heads together, play bags packed up on the table. A few onlookers glared or shuffled their feet in annoyance, clearly wanting the space next.

  Well, they would have to wait.

  Damien stepped over the imaginary line into the play space and both women turned to face him. Kyle continued to glare, but Poppy appeared ready to run. That wasn’t the response he wanted from her.

  Kyle knelt and grabbed a small duffel from the floor. She didn’t need to speak; her gaze said it all.

  He ignored Kyle’s departure, completely focused on Poppy. The need to touch her, to wipe that panicked expression from her face, was overwhelming. Though he didn’t have permission to touch, he cupped her face and stepped in so close their bodies brushed when they breathed.

  She didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  Damien bent and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.

  The same zing of chemistry and attraction shot between them. Couldn’t she feel it? Didn’t she know it was special? He’d played with a lot of women and had never experienced something so potent, so raw it threatened to derail the sensible side of his brain completely. She was the flame, and he was the moth that couldn’t leave well enough alone. Maybe she would burn him, but it might be worth it to feel her heat.