by Marcia James
Keeping several cars between the Jeep and the Jag, Dalton followed Salvi across the 14th Street Bridge into Virginia. So the man wasn’t going to work. The club manager took the Arlington exit and Dalton got a real bad feeling. He hoped like hell he was wrong. But when Salvi turned onto Domino’s street, he knew his cop instincts were right on the mark. Damn.
Dalton swung into a spot behind a minivan a couple of houses down from Dom’s. Parking in her driveway, the club manager exited his car and took two boxes from the sedan’s back seat. Leaving the Doberman in the Jag, he walked to Domino’s front door. Dalton focused his binoculars through the minivan’s back window and windshield. Not the best vantage point for surveillance but it’d have to do.
Salvi punched the doorbell with his index finger and Domino answered the door five seconds later. Had she been expecting him? There was no welcoming smile on her face as she motioned her boss into her house but Dalton experienced a cold steel stab of jealousy. Was the asshole there for a nooner? And what the hell was in the boxes? With his mouth set in a grim line and his mind conjuring up gut-churning images of Salvi and Dom together, Dalton waited for his target to reemerge.
* * * * *
Domino closed the door and led the way into her small living room. Despite the club manager’s near silent footfalls, she felt the menacing chill as he followed close behind. She was glad she’d locked Smokey in her bedroom for his own safety. When she neared her sofa, Dom turned to face Salvi’s appraising stare. An electric shiver skittered down her spine.
“Why don’t you put the boxes on the coffee table,” she said, amazed her voice sounded so calm.
Salvi did as she asked then took a seat on the couch before speaking. “I’ve got a meeting in less than an hour. Sit. I’ll go over this quickly.”
Feeling like an obedient dog, Dom lowered herself to the sofa, putting as much distance between them as she could without being obvious. Salvi pulled a box cutter out of his pocket and slit open the cartons with a skill that had the hair on her arms standing. Had he opened a few carotid arteries with that blade?
He raised the carton’s top flaps and scooped out packing material, which he dumped on her floor. Dom bit back a sarcastic remark about his making himself at home. Clyde Salvi was like the proverbial two-hundred-pound gorilla—he could do pretty much anything he wanted.
“Our special guest insists on anonymity,” Salvi explained as he brushed Styrofoam peanuts off a black leather item. “Our staff addresses him by his initials—CC.”
Domino nodded, hoping the second C stood for Cabazone. If the VIP were part of the infamous crime family, it would be another tie between the Cabazones and the Xecutive Branch.
Salvi handed Dom the first item from the box. “As you can see, our guest insists on the very best equipment.”
Domino ran her hands over the smooth surface of the reins and admired the decorative silver trim. Thanks to some late-night research on the human pony fetish scene, Dom knew this leather bit and bridle were designed for a human mouth and head. Still, she had trouble believing the things people would do for sexual gratification. And where was the thrill in acting horsy? But if this guest wanted to dress like a pony and be put through his paces, she’d do it.
Salvi was busy opening the other cartons and removing more top-of-the-line objects. There was a small, black leather saddle—English style—minus the stirrups. Silver adorned the saddle, which probably cost half of Dom’s yearly salary. This saddle was the type to go on the back of a person who was on all fours. She’d seen a photo of a different saddle that allowed a rider to piggyback on a “pony” who was standing upright. Domino shook her head. Who came up with this stuff?
The next item to emerge from the boxes was a leather-fringed chest harness. Before she could ask, Salvi explained its use. “This will connect to a lightweight surrey we store in the club’s loading area. Just ask Benny to bring the thing to your room before CC arrives.”
Again, Dom nodded, biting back a nervous laugh. This harness would strap CC to the racing cart so he could stand up and pull it around. She’d be sitting in the surrey, holding the reins. Damn, if she were about to crack-up at the mental image that presented, how would she keep a straight face that evening?
“And this is the tail.” Salvi handed her a smooth plug with a long horse tail attached.
Oh my God. Domino looked askance at the object as she imagined how it would be “worn” by CC.
“Is there a problem, Ms. Petracelli?”
Salvi’s cold tone grabbed her attention. Dom adopted Mistress Bella’s cruel smile and stroked the horse tail as she answered. “No, I was just wondering if this was synthetic material or real horse hair.” She looked into the club manager’s eyes and managed not to flinch.
“I think, given our guest’s expensive tastes, we can assume it’s real horse hair.” His eyes gleamed as they dropped to her mouth.
The last thing Domino wanted was to stimulate Salvi’s libido so she changed the subject. “What’s in that last box?”
“Your clothes for this evening’s equestrian event.” He held up a surreal version of a foxhunting outfit.
The getup included black breech-style pants, a crimson riding jacket and a white top that was more of a bustier than a blouse. A pair of shiny, knee-high boots and a dressage-worthy top hat completed the ensemble, or so Domino thought. Salvi extracted two whips— a fancy riding crop and a buggy whip—and a felt pouch from the box. Dom took the proffered whips and watched as Salvi slid something from the pouch.
“The finishing touch.” He extended two silver spurs toward her.
Domino accepted the wicked-looking things and carefully tested the sharp edges with her fingertip. She doubted the multi-point wheels at the back of the Western-style spurs would break CC’s skin if she jabbed him too hard but they would definitely give him a jolt.
Salvi reached into his jacket pocket and handed Dom an envelope. “These are your instructions. The guest insists on scripting the sessions so don’t do any improvising.”
Domino forced Mistress Bella’s smirk. “I guess I should cancel the mock Kentucky Derby I scheduled with several of Angi’s pony clients.”
Salvi didn’t smile but there was another flash of interest in his eyes. Dom wondered if any of the club employees said more than “Yes, Mr. Salvi” to the menacing manager. She was playing with fire. The man wouldn’t allow much impertinence but she hated to kowtow to a criminal.
Glancing at his watch, he stood. “If after you’ve read the script, you have questions, call Angi or Ellen. As I said last night, they have a lot of experience with the pony kink.”
Dom nodded and followed him to the foyer. He opened the front door before she could and stepped out onto her porch. She thought he would leave without speaking but then he turned and stared unblinking into her eyes. “I expect you to provide our guest with a very good time, Ms. Petracelli.”
The words hung in the frosty February air as he continued down her sidewalk and climbed into his Jaguar. She shut the door but watched through the peephole as Salvi backed the car onto her street and drove away. Relief the cold bastard was gone warred with dread over the evening to come.
She looked at the envelope in her hand. You can do this. Too proactive to cower in the foyer, she headed to the kitchen for wine to drink while reading the session script. What went with a pony fantasy? Red or white wine? With a snort, she opened her refrigerator and took out a bottle of Chardonnay.
* * * * *
Grimacing, Dalton started his Jeep and swung out into traffic, three cars behind Salvi’s Jag. Though tempted, he resisted the impulse to run the jerk off the road. Salvi’d been in Dom’s house barely long enough for a quickie. Nothing had happened. Dalton still wanted to punch out his lights.
As he followed the club manager through traffic for several miles, he thought about the case. If Salvi was making deliveries to Domino’s house, she was probably in this mess up to her wide, mahogany eyes. The thought disappoin
ted Dalton, which in turn pissed him off. Why did he care if the woman was a criminal? But he did.
Dalton slowed as he watched Salvi swing his luxury car through the high gates of the exclusive Potomac Cliffs Golf Club—probably headed to a meeting with his boss. From Suzi’s notes, Dalton knew the Xecutive Branch’s owner Victor Xavier belonged to this club and that nonmembers, such as himself, wouldn’t get past the doorman. As the Jag drove up the winding lane to the clubhouse, Dalton headed to Jason’s.
His thoughts kept drifting to Domino. How involved was she? Did she know her bosses were killers? He should schedule another appointment at the club so he could snoop around some more. The familiar feeling of anticipation mixed with dread shot through him at the idea of seeing Mistress Bella again.
Dalton tried to squash the feeling as he turned into Jason’s driveway. Maybe if he could put visions of Domino consorting with the enemy out of his mind, he could catch a nap before his meeting with Weinberg. But as he pulled the Jeep into the garage, Dalton suspected any sleep he managed wouldn’t be restful—it would be filled with hot dreams of a sexy and intriguing dominatrix.
* * * * *
“Whaddaya think?” Domino held out her arms and turned in a slow circle. She’d put up her hair and covered it with the dressage top hat, which was pinned in place.
Angi tilted her head to the side and considered Dom. “The riding outfit looks great on you, especially the red jacket. But you need more attitude. Pretend your spine’s a steel rod. No slumping. And don’t forget to glare.”
Domino glanced through her black mask at the petite redhead. “You’ve worked with CC before. Is he that different from other clients?”
“No, but he wants his script followed to the letter.” Angi leaned her hip on the surrey standing against the wall of S&M Room Five. “I think he pretends we’re domineering robots. I guess mentally CC wants to deny we’re flesh-and-blood girls who gossip about him afterward.”
Domino smiled. There was some justice to the thought that she, a DEA agent, might have a shot at whipping and spurring a crime boss. What a great story for the agency Christmas party.
“There’s one good thing about a visit from CC,” Angi said. “The club clears your schedule for him. You’ll get paid for the whole night, but after that appointment, you can go home.”
“CC must be a pretty important guy,” Dom fished.
Angi shrugged, her barbell-sporting pierced nipples barely keeping her breasts from spilling out of the top of her merry widow. The satin corset’s French-cut crotch revealed the redheaded dominatrix’s penchant for bikini waxes. The skimpiness of the outfit made her “charms” readily available if she chose to share them. Domino knew Angi allowed some of her submissives to pleasure her orally if they performed to her satisfaction.
“Do you know anything about CC?” Dom persisted.
“Just that he’s a friend of the club’s,” Angi said. “Some hotshot from New York who pays a lot for privacy. Guess he flies down here hoping none of his buddies in the Big Apple learn about his kinks.”
“Do we get many clients from out of town?” Domino asked.
Again Angi shrugged. “Some of the D.C. clients bring out-of-town guests to the club—usually to the mattress or hot tub parties. Speaking of out of town, that noise you heard earlier was the staff’s collective sigh of relief. The word is Salvi’s out of town for a day or so doing some errand for Mr. Xavier.”
“Salvi’s a pretty scary guy,” Dom observed, considering what this news meant to her investigation. If Salvi were away from the club tomorrow, she could bring in Smokey and do a sweep of the loading bay.
“Scary is an understatement.” Angi glanced at the pendant watch clipped to her corset and sighed. “Guess I better get lost. CC’s due any minute and he’s never late.”
“I appreciate your help,” Dom said with sincerity as Angi left through the employee door. Thanks to Angi’s suggestions, Dom had set out the pony equipment and arranged the room in the most efficient manner. She’d also attached the script for this session to a pillow she’d put next to her throne chair. She might need the cheat sheet if things veered off course.
Trying to get in character, she strutted over to the chair. Her black riding boots were butter soft and her shiny spurs jingled, a sound that made her giggle. She had to ignore the ridiculous side of this appointment and disappear into her Mistress Bella persona. If she messed up with this bigwig, she’d probably get fired.
Facing the room’s client entrance, Domino noticed the door handle turn. She grabbed the riding crop resting on her chair, snapped her spine straight and tried to ooze arrogance. A man, dressed in black from his Italian loafers to the mask covering his upper face, stepped into the room. Let the games begin.
“I’m Mistress Bella. Present yourself, slave,” she barked.
The man walked slowly toward her, his eyes flicking over her and then away. He was an inch or so taller than Dom but he hunched in a submissive slump.
She continued, sticking to the script. “You appear to be a prime piece of horseflesh. But I’ll need to examine you closer. Strip.”
CC’s breathing hitched at her command and he began to remove his clothes. As he undressed, Domino scanned through the faces of Cabazones she’d memorized the night before, hoping this man was one of the crime family relatives. Unfortunately, Papa Cabazone had sired six sons along with three daughters by his proper Catholic wife and several more sons by his mistresses. And they all resembled this olive-skinned, black-haired man.
“CC” could be the initials of Carlo “Cubby” Cabazone. This special guest appeared the same age as that youngest Cabazone son, but how would she prove it? Domino couldn’t exactly walk up to the guy and say, “Excuse me, sir. Before you put this bit in your mouth, could you tell me your first name?”
When CC stood before her in all his fleshy glory, Dom continued with the script. She walked closer and made a great show of considering his suitability as her pony. Running the tip of her riding crop across his lips, Domino smirked and tried not to laugh as she spoke her next lines.
“You have the look of a thoroughbred,” she said. “But I don’t buy a pony, no matter the breeding, until I see his teeth and put him through his paces. Open up.”
CC opened his mouth wide so she could see his teeth. Dom tried to ignore the garlic fumes from the man’s last meal. She nodded as though satisfied and pointed the crop to the floor.
“Kneel. Prepare to be saddled,” she ordered.
CC’s eyes peeked up at hers before he followed her instructions. He shivered as the cold concrete floor touched his hands and knees. They’d warm up quickly after she rode him around the room. Domino picked up the lightweight saddle and placed it on his back. As she started to buckle the cinch, she spied a tattoo on his right shoulder blade—three bears tumbling together…three bear cubs.
Damn. It was Cubby Cabazone. Rumor had it, the youngest Cabazone had a bear tattoo for every man he’d killed. Dom wondered about the three hits. Had they been shot in the back of the head and dumped in a landfill? Did they have wives? Kids? And Cubby didn’t stop at murder. He’d beaten two rape charges simply because the victims had disappeared.
And what about all the people whose lives were ruined or lost through the Cabazone drug and prostitution businesses? Well, she had the opportunity here and now to dish out a little retribution for Cubby’s crimes. With grim pleasure, she tightened the saddle cinch until the crook gasped. Retrieving the bridle, Dom held it in front of his face.
“I understand you’re new to the bit,” Domino stated, feeling a cruel delight in what was to come. She might not be able to arrest this man tonight but she could make the session as painful as possible. “Don’t worry. I’ll break in that tender mouth in no time.”
With a gulp, Cubby opened his mouth and allowed Dom to slide the rubber bit far back between his molars. She buckled the harness snugly around his head, making it impossible to spit out the bit or talk.
As the youngest Cabazone stayed on all fours, Dom walked to the cabinet and picked up the tail plug. Instead of coating it with a lubricating gel, she used the Ben Gay deep heat creme she’d bought to rub on her Achilles tendons after a night in stiletto heels. Okay, so she was deviating from the script a little. She’d always wondered what those mechanical bulls in country-western bars were like. Once Cubby inserted his tail, she’d hop on the saddle and enjoy the bucking ride. This was one bronco who deserved to be busted.
* * * * *
Dom arrived home after Cubby’s session and Smokey hopped off her couch to greet her. With a happy yip and a furious wagging of his feathery tail, he clamored to be picked up and she obliged. Smiling, she carried the wiggling pooch into her living room and looked at the television. Smokey had abandoned a documentary on arctic wolves to run to her side. She could get used to being the center of someone’s life.
Sighing, Domino sat on the couch and cuddled the spindly animal. What a night. Her rash actions with the Ben Gay could have cost her the job. But ironically, Cubby had considered it a wonderful addition to the session’s pain and humiliation. After several hours of riding and surrey pulling, Cubby had happily slipped his clothes over his bruised, spurred and whipped body. He’d thanked her, swore he’d request her the next time he was in town and said he’d inform Salvi he was very pleased with her talents.
Dom snorted. If she ever lost her DEA job, she could always fall back on her previously unsuspected skills as a dominatrix. She could travel the country, infiltrating crime families and gangs through their submissive weakest links. Agent Domino Petracelli, Super Dominatrix.
She leaned her head against the back of the sofa while she petted Smokey. Tomorrow she’d inform Meyers that Salvi and Cubby Cabazone were in bed together, figuratively speaking. And the DEA would target the pony-impersonating mobster for some serious surveillance. It was another step toward closing down the Xecutive Branch’s drug operation.