His Devil's Desire

by Linzi Basset

  The emphasis on the word ass was loud—meant to be heard. Samantha grimaced. He knew she was there, or—she hoped—only suspected. She flattened herself on the roof, following their light treads as they carefully made their way toward the gymnasium. She aimed the binoculars at the sniper on the performance arts building’s roof. He might know his mate had been eliminated. Snipers usually carried earpieces to communicate with each other.

  Her heart missed a beat when she didn’t see him. She searched the entire area. Nothing. He wasn’t on any of the roofs which meant he could have moved toward the trees bordering the road, waiting for Rhone to drive out.

  Samantha was in a quandary. Now that Rhone and Keon knew what they were facing, she wasn’t needed anymore. The perseverance of saving her ass weighed heavy on her mind as she climbed down from the roof. Should she stay and search for the sniper, or should she leave? He had no proof it had been her who had saved him and if he found her in bed, sleeping . . . but what if there were more of them? What if . . .

  “Enough with the ‘what ifs’!” she scoffed at herself, running low between the trees. She saw the white flash from her peripheral vision a second too late and swerved, but the searing burn behind her neck spurred her on to hit the ground. She didn’t move, forcing her breathing to slow down. She turned her head. A shape moved closer between the trees.

  Fucking amateur. You never approach a target, you asshole.

  Target? Samantha turned cold at the thought. Was she now a target too? Or did he act on instinct when he saw her running with a rifle in her hand?”

  He stopped next to her, poking the rifle into her ribs. She didn’t move.

  “This is how we deal with fucktards killing our mates, you bastard.”

  Samantha bit her lip when he kicked her in the side but used the opportunity to turn over. It was unexpected and so fast, he never saw it coming. The knife cleaved deep into his wrist, penetrating bone and sinew. The rifle fell to the ground in tune with the howl that shattered the silence.

  Tom Harding. She watched him stumble back, clasping his arm against his chest. They had done numerous jobs together. She’d never liked him but chose not to kill him. The beams of a car turning the corner illuminated him and came to a screeching halt moments later. By the time Keon and Rhone reached him, Samantha was running past a surprised guard toward the Range Rover.

  * * * * * * * *

  “Watch out!” Keon’s warning came simultaneously with Rhone slamming on the brakes, narrowly missing the masked man who stumbled backward onto the road. He was clutching his bleeding arm.

  “He’s been stabbed,” Keon observed the obvious. They got out of the Hummer and approached the groaning man, their weapons drawn.

  Rhone glanced around. His curse echoed loudly when he noticed the small figure dressed in black with a bag slung over her shoulder, running through the gate. The security guard gave chase and tried to grab the balaclava sporting person but was too slow.

  The injured man tried to run when he noticed them approaching. He mistakenly believed Keon would be the slower of the two because of his size and ended up on his back when Keon gave chase and with a hard tap on his shoulder, flattened him.

  “Need some help?” Jack asked from the limo which had followed behind Rhone’s Hummer.

  “No, just get the girls home safely. Jim and Sam will take over from you later. We’ve got this,” Rhone responded and waited for the limo, followed by Lance and Max in a SUV driving as backup, to pass.

  Rhone’s earpiece crackled.

  “Yes, Jim?”

  “You were right, Rhone. We found the dead sniper. Man, I’d love to meet the one who took him out. Such precision. Shit, he must’ve aimed in line with the laser. The shot entered just above his left eye. Dead as a daisy in winter.”

  Rhone didn’t appreciate the reminder. It was her. A quick check on the tracer app linked to the one in her collar, confirmed his suspicion.

  “Oh, and we found another one tied up in a hallway next to the gym.”

  How the devil did she manage to get out of those cuffs? The little hellcat. She could’ve been killed.

  That thought brought him to a halt; the possibility of a loss was so severe he could feel it darken his soul.

  Fuck, Greer. Get a grip. Now is not the time to be sentimental.

  “Get up,” Keon ordered and yanked up the sniper by the cuff of his neck.

  “Fuck off,” he sneered, then screamed when Keon clamped his hand around his wrist next to the knife which was still buried in his arm.

  “What? Too much of a wuss to take the knife out? Yeah, I guess it’s easier to kill someone from a distance. Never fear, I’ll give you a hand with that.”

  Keon pulled out the knife with one hard yank. He watched in disgust as the man crumpled to his feet in a dead faint.

  “Useless. Can’t even manage a little pain.”

  Rhone returned from his search with a sniper rifle and chuckled at the disappointment in Keon’s voice. He was clearly looking for a good fight and expected to find it tonight.

  “Save your energy for the interrogation, Keon. Let’s get him to Ethan. He can patch him up for now. Let’s give him time to heal. Tomorrow is soon enough to have a little chat with him.”

  Keon grabbed his one foot and dragged him across the grass toward the Hummer. Rhone just shook his head, watching him manhandle the perp into the back of the vehicle. He wrapped a cloth around his bleeding wrist before he tied his hands and closed the hatch.

  “I hope you covered the floor with the plastic. I don’t want blood spatters all over my boot.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Stop moaning. It’s a fucking car.”

  “It’s not just a car, mate,” Rhone said. The vehicle was his pride and joy. He preferred it above his Bentley EXP and the sleek Porsche 918. “It’s a Hummer. A 2017 top of the range—”

  A disgusting glare from Keon stopped him from singing the vehicle’s praises. They’ve all heard it before.

  “Let’s just get this fucker out of the way. I have a serious amount of energy I need to get rid of. One sub isn’t going to do it tonight,” Keon said. He hunched down in his usual slouch.

  “Ah, planning for a six-course meal, are you?”

  “At the very least. And you?”

  “I have something planned. But, I daresay my sub might not appreciate what I have in store for her tonight.”

  “You seem very sure it was her who shot that sniper.”

  “It was her, Keon. I just checked her tracer movement on my phone. She’s been industrious.”

  “Fuck, Rhone. I really wanted to hate that woman,” Keon grated. He swiped the band holding his long hair in place loose and shook his head.

  “Yeah . . . I know the feeling.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Samantha didn’t bother to cuff herself when she got home. On the way home, she remembered the tracer. Rhone would’ve checked it by now to confirm his suspicion. Also, she had a small wound on the back of her neck, for all her troubles. But at least it had stopped bleeding.

  “Great. Now, he’s going to have a field day reprimanding me,” she muttered to herself while she ran a bubble bath. “Ah, this is heaven,” she sighed. She sank into the hot water and rested her head against the tub. “Well, at least now he’ll realize I have no intention of killing him.”

  Two hours later she began to worry. She’d noticed the members arriving via the separate entrance leading directly to Club Devil’s Cove but Rhone’s Hummer was conspicuously absent from the garage. She’d gone to check three times already, just in case she’d missed hearing him arrive.

  Samantha just finished brewing a cup of tea when her cell phone rang. She cringed when she saw his name flash on the small screen. She stood staring at it without moving.

  “Well, it’s no use ignoring him. I’m in deep shit, so let’s get it over with.” She sighed in self-pity.

  “Hi, Rhone, did everything go smoothly?” She opted for the clueless route. The heavy s
ilence that met her chirpy greeting warned her he didn’t appreciate her candor.

  “I’m waiting for you in the kitchen, at the club. You have ten minutes,” his voice rasped into her ear.

  “I can’t get dressed in ten minutes!”

  “Believe me, my dear, you won’t be needing clothes.”

  “I am not walking butt naked into the club, Master Razor. You can—”

  “And don’t bother with make-up either. Except if you don’t mind walking around with mascara streaks on your face for the rest of the evening.”

  That shut Samantha up. A vision of her chained in the middle of the whipping chamber and him behind her with a whip in his hand flashed through her mind.

  “Rhone—”

  “Ten minutes, Ace. You don’t want me to come and fetch you.”

  The emphasis on her club name warned her that he was in full Dom mode and expected his sub to walk through the door of the club, not the sassy woman he tolerated at home.

  “Well, Master Razor, if you for one second think I’ll submit to a whipping willingly, I have a surprise in store for you. You will not fucking punish me for saving your life!”

  She continued to mutter while she got dressed—with defiance, in a completely un-club like outfit—skin tight jean jeggings, a white t-shirt and sneakers. And of course, white lace panties and bra.

  “Fully armored! Let’s see how he gets these off my ass.”

  She brushed her hair but didn’t bother with makeup, especially after what he had said. Her stomach roiled as she walked into the reception area.

  “Hi, Ace. You . . . ehm, I don’t think Master Razor is gonna appreciate your outfit, lovey. Especially not in here,” Daphne, the sub manning the reception desk warned her.

  Rhone had made a point of publicly announcing their D/s relationship after the treasure hunt the previous weekend. Daphne was one of the subs who had been upset about the news but when he didn’t commit to an exclusive D/s agreement, they had all relaxed and continued to flirt with him. Especially the two contestants who’d finished the hunt after her.

  Samantha had been furious when he eventually took them to one of the private rooms in the dungeon, cuffing her to the bar and said with a chilled look, “Behave while I’m gone. And, Ace . . . no one touches you. Is that understood?”

  Her response had been a searing glare. The words, ‘fuck you’, had been on the tip of her tongue but she bit them back when Ruark warned in her ear, “I wouldn’t poke an angry mamba if I were you, Ace. Let it go. I daresay from his relaxed demeanor that you might already have taken the edge off his lusts. They’ll have to be happy with what he offers.”

  His words had given her some consolation but not much. It grated on her nerves that no one was allowed to touch her but he was free to do what he wanted.

  “Master Razor isn’t in charge of my wardrobe, Daphne.”

  Her gaze sharpened and Samantha could see her mental cogs turning, believing that there was already trouble in paradise, so to speak.

  Fat chance of that. He’s mine and it’s about time you all realize that. Him too, for that matter.

  “Especially as he intends to get me out of these, pronto,” she cooed with a saucy smile and walked into the entertainment room with long, easy strides—appearing more confident than she felt.

  “You might as well give it up, Daphne. Master Rhone hasn’t noticed any of us since the club opened and she walked into his life,” Shay, the second receptionist’s reprimand, who had also been the redhead finalist in the hunt, commented. “He wasn’t really interested to scene with us last week after the hunt either. We had to be satisfied with cunnilingus but I have to say, he knows how to use his tongue,” she continued in a swooning voice.

  Samantha closed her mind to that piece of information. She didn’t hesitate or loiter. Rhone had sounded angry enough and it wouldn’t do to poke him further by making him wait.

  Keon blocked her way. He stared at her with a brooding and forbidding look in his eyes. “I liked you that first day I met you at Alpha Cove, Ace, but until I have proof of your innocence as you claim, I don’t trust you—no matter what you did tonight or what you said the other day. It could be nothing but a scam to foil all of us into becoming complacent. Let me warn you. Hurt Rhone and there’s nowhere on this planet you can hide that I won’t find you.”

  “I am being honest, Keon and for the record, I haven’t accepted that fucking job. I’m trying my damndest to get out of it but . . .” She swallowed her words. She was doomed and he knew it. Unless they managed to find a way to fake Rhone’s death, Bulldog expected results.

  “But your sister’s life is at stake and by default, my daughter’s.”

  His voice thickened when he mentioned her. Samantha could see how hard it was for him to accept the fact that his daughter was alive and his hands were tied. Like hers were with Lauren.

  “I wish—”

  “Don’t. Wishing upon a star isn’t going to change the past or the road it led us, up to this moment. For your sake, Samantha, I hope what you claim is the truth because if not . . .”

  She nodded but he still didn’t move out of the way.

  “I want his name and so does Rhone. Tonight,” he growled with his face pressed into hers, “we’re going to get it out of you.”

  “No! You don’t know—”

  “No, Samantha, you don’t realize in how much danger you are placing us, your sister and Beckie, in with your continued denial to give us his name,” Rhone grated from behind her. “If we knew who he is, we’d know how to deal with this situation.”

  “It’s not your situation to deal with. It’s mine,” Samantha said, looking at him when he went to stand next to Keon. “And, no, I am not giving you permission to take me to subspace and get the information out of me.” She had been in the lifestyle long enough to realize what Keon had been referring to. “If you do, you will destroy the trust I have in you as my Dom.”

  “That’s a laughable statement, coming from you,” Rhone almost smirked.

  “That’s not fair,” Samantha said in a small voice. Suddenly, she was tired of all the tension and insecurity.

  Why was it so difficult for them to understand that she was trying to protect them? To keep them safe as well as her sister and Beckie. Sometimes ignorance was the only way to be safe.

  “For as long as he believes you are ignorant of what’s happening, you’re safe. Don’t look at me like that, damn you! I’m telling the truth. The moment he realizes you’re onto him and that you know you’re a target, he’s going to pull the noose tight and then you won’t stand a chance.”

  Samantha took a step closer and pressed her palms against his chest. She looked at him beseechingly. “Please, Rhone, you have to believe me. I’m only trying to do what’s best for all of you.” She glanced toward Keon. “And for Lauren and Beckie. If he got wind of the fact that you know she’s alive . . . god, I don’t even want to consider what he might do then.”

  Rhone searched her gaze for any hidden agendas or untruths but try as he might, all he saw was concern. He refused to put words to his own fears and chose to bury them deep in his heart until the time was right to hash them out.

  “We’re not idiots, Samantha. It’s our job to know how to deal with people like him. Do you really think we’d let him know we’re onto him?” Keon snapped, feeling somewhat insulted.

  She sighed and looked at them with quivering lips that sported a trembling smile of resignation. “I know neither of you trust me and I can accept why but I have never lied to you, Rhone. Not once.”

  Samantha acknowledged that her fear sprang from insecurities. The fear for his life consumed her, making her dread the decision she’d have to make soon. One that might destroy any chance of happiness for them in the future.

  Forcing back those thoughts, she glanced at Rhone and cleared her throat. She wished she knew how to make him see reason. She had come to understand that Rhone had demons of his own. She did too. Lord knows, every
one did, but he sometimes got lost in his, like he was thrown back into the center of what had happened in the past. She’d seen the faraway look in his eyes often, especially when he woke up at night from a nightmare.

  “Lying comes in many forms, Samantha. Should I point out a couple of yours?”

  “Oh, for fucks sake! I’m never going to get through to you, am I? Well, fine! Go to hell, Master Razor! See if I care,” she snapped loudly, finally reaching the end of her tether.

  His gaze turned glacial. The expression on his face warned her that she’d just committed the cardinal sin in a BDSM club. Publicly defying and insulting her Dom. She didn’t wait for him to act. She sprinted past him and ran toward the kitchen, heading for her savior against Rhone—Enzo.

  “Well, that didn’t take long,” Keon chuckled as they watched her disappear into the kitchen. He caught Rhone’s questioning look. “Getting her riffed up so she’d do something to elicit punishment.”

  “Well deserved punishment and I didn’t need extra enticement, Keon, she’d already sealed her fate when she defied my order to stay home.”

  “But that’s outside of the club, Rhone. Need I remind you of that?”

  “Not based on the agreement we signed the night of the hunt.”

  Keon’s eyebrows did a hitch upward but he didn’t pry. He nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “I assume Enzo has become her ally?”

  “Yeah, they seemed to have formed some kind of a bond. Now I have his disapproving glares to deal with at home too.”

  Keon’s laughter followed him as he made his way toward the kitchen . . . and his sassy sub; who was in for some serious punishment.

  He pondered his options. He wanted to push her boundaries tonight; test just how far her willingness to please him and prove her trust in him stretched. Especially in light of the dark cloud that hung over their heads. The smile on his face bode ill for the woman peeking at him over Enzo’s shoulder; who turned to face his employer with two chef’s knives held aggressively in his hands.