“Thanks, Staff Sergeant.”
The soldier nodded and left.
He entered an office and switched on the lights. The fluorescent glare cast an impersonal glow on his person and kind of exposed his emotions inside. He felt dead and drained as though those four shots succeeded in killing him. They probably did. He spent three years trying to get into Grigori Zorin’s inner circle and had been successful. Zorin treated him, well, almost like a son. The man was an arms-dealing bastard, getting rich by supplying the conflicts in South America with weapons. Why the fuck did Dmitry feel that he had betrayed him? He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Three years was too long to work a mark. There was a danger of attachment. He slipped out of his suit jacket. Dmitry gave a snort of mirthless laughter—just as he was getting attached to his thousand-dollar Italian suits.
His phone buzzed with the call he was expecting from his boss.
“Admiral.”
“Sting operation went as expected. Congratulations, Commander.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“We netted twenty billion dollars from the sale of the plutonium.”
“Are we going to keep the plutonium cache?” Dmitry asked.
“POTUS wants it destroyed. We were never meant to keep it. Just flush out the main players in black-market nukes. The risk of leaving the material out there is high. It could easily fall into the hands of terrorists who can build dirty bombs or simply drop 10-ounces of that shit into a city’s water supply. So, yes, it’s going to be destroyed.”
“I agree, Admiral. And the money?”
“We’re using it to fund ongoing operations,” Porter sighed. “Allocation is getting tighter. We need to take care of our own.”
“Understood, Sir.”
“You’ve been gone for too long, Gabriel. It’s time to come home.”
The admiral disconnected.
He couldn’t agree more.
After three long years, Gabriel Sullivan was going home.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Four months later
“Um, I can see the curve of my butt.”
“Well, if you bend a little, yes, but that’s the whole point.”
Caitlin was eyeing her tiny silver-champagne dress in the mirror. It was her second girls’ night out with Beatrice. The redhead told her not to bother dressing up at home for she had the perfect dress waiting for her.
“A little peek-a-boo?” Caitlin muttered. “Luckily, I wore a nice pair of panties and not my grandma undies.”
“From all the sun you’ve gotten from your honeymoon, you need to show off your long shapely legs,” Beatrice added.
“Says the woman who’s five-eight.”
“Seriously, Cat, wear these three-inch heels and you look like your legs could go on forever. I wish I had the shape of your gams.”
Caitlin turned around so she could see the right side of her body. The scar that ran the length of her leg from the top of her knee to the middle of her calf didn’t bother her any longer. She wore it proudly like the battle scar it was. The thin white line set against her tan did stand out, but she was so secure in Travis’s love that none of her blemishes mattered, including the new one on her back. They had gotten married again three weeks ago in a simple ceremony. She was officially Caitlin Blake. Two weeks in Fiji, wearing nothing but a tiny bikini almost the entire time with not a care in the world—it was liberating, exhilarating. And the best part was she had Travis. She sighed.
“Okay, quit daydreaming about your man,” Beatrice groused.
“I’m not,” Caitlin protested, heat creeping up her cheeks.
“Deny all you want. You’ve got that dreamy-eyed look on your face, and that sigh was a dead giveaway. Sheesh, it’s like you just didn’t see him this morning, not to mention having spent an entire two weeks with him on a deserted island.”
“It wasn’t deserted.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. Caitlin grinned. They had become great friends, especially after everything that went down with the plutonium cache. This was ironic, because Travis had not spoken to Admiral Porter in all that time, refusing to take his calls. Caitlin knew he was hurting, and this discord between him and the admiral was the only wrinkle in their happiness. Caitlin had tried to talk to her husband about it, but he’d always shut it down, saying he wasn’t ready to trust the man again.
“Where exactly are we going?”
“It’s an exclusive club, not that you need a membership, but you have to look good so you can get in.”
“A club for beautiful people?” Caitlin frowned. “Not sure I want to go to one of those dance clubs with skinny models and shallow people.”
Beatrice giggled, “No. People who exude power.”
This piqued Caitlin’s interest. She narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Are we going there for work or pleasure?”
The redhead smiled sheepishly. “Both. Most of the foreign dignitaries go there to relax, so it’s a very strange mix of people. There’s a back room where interesting stuff goes on that requires a password.” Her expression turned smug. “And I, my dear, have the password for tonight.”
“What kind of interesting things?” Caitlin asked dubiously. “If it’s having sex in public, you can forget about it. I’ll stick to the dance floor.”
Beatrice pouted at her. “Oh, come on, don’t you want to get riled up before you go home to your man? I’m sure Travis would love that.”
“You clearly don’t know Travis.” Caitlin tugged the hem of her dress as if doing so would make it longer. “He’ll strangle me if he finds out I’m wearing this dress.”
“Ooooh, I didn’t know you guys were into that kind of kink.”
Before Caitlin could retort, the doorbell buzzed.
“That’s Emily. Seriously, Travis is a slave driver; it’s almost ten p.m. It’s Friday night for heaven’s sake,” Beatrice said.
Caitlin held her tongue because the project they were working on was Beatrice’s client. So if they didn’t get the security detail squared tight, it was the redhead’s reputation on the line.
Travis’s diminutive assistant walked in, dressed to the nines in a little black dress, and come-fuck-me spiked heels.
Emily eyed Caitlin’s dress and grinned. “Travis will love your dress.”
The sarcasm was not lost on her.
*****
Travis summoned all his willpower to concentrate on the building schematics laid out in front of him as Ed Shephard outlined his strategy for protecting the senatorial contingent planning a visit to the countries of Eastern Europe.
“We have the suites on the top floor reserved for the senators so we won’t have to worry about other hotel guests on that level,” Ed said. “We’ll have a team go in and do a sweep right before the senators check in.”
“Senators Kennedy and Spencer are bringing their families. I just got that bit of information tonight,” Travis informed them.
“Shit.” This from Nate. His friend checked his tablet for team rotations. “We’ve got a team coming off detail in the next week that should be fit for nanny duty.”
Travis chuckled, “I’ll have you inform Danielle yourself. You have a way with the ladies.”
Nate groaned, “I guess. Hell, I don’t know why she’d complain. She gets to go sightseeing with the senators’ wives.”
“We know she doesn’t give a damn about sightseeing, which makes her the best agent for this job. She blends well. I swear that woman has eyes on the back of her head,” Ed said.
Nate grinned. “You know I’m just kidding, right, guys? I recruited Dani.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost midnight. Should we pick this up on Monday? We’ve pretty much gone through every hotel and venue on their itinerary.” He got up and made for the door.
Travis and Ed exchanged glances. Travis gave his team lead the chin lift. Nate had the door halfway open when Ed stepped in front of him, laid his palm on the door, and pushed it closed.
“Not so fast, Reece,” Sheph
ard said smoothly. “You know where our women are tonight, right? Now is the time to ‘fess up.”
Nate rolled his eyes. “After the fiasco of the last girls’ night out, I’m keeping my mouth shut.”
Nate was referring to the night Caitlin had first gone out with Beatrice and Emily. Nate went along with Travis and Ed after the two men promised to remain at a discreet table in the crowded dance club/bar. However, when a couple of men started harassing the women, they stepped in. Travis smacked a guy down right in the middle of the dance floor, and they were all thrown out and banned from returning for a year. Beatrice was royally pissed because the place was one of her favorite haunts and maintained that the girls had everything under control. Nate concurred, however Ed and Travis thought otherwise. He and Caitlin got into a big fight that night as well with no one clearly getting their point across because they ended up having angry sex and then by morning, the whole incident was ignored. And here they were again.
“Her phone is showing to be at Beatrice’s condo,” Travis said. “And we know at this time of the night, or rather . . . morning, that’s not likely.” His wife was going to get a spanking. She knew better than to leave her phone behind even if it was to avoid him tracking her.
“Em’s phone is at Beatrice’s as well,” Ed said.
“Why can’t you guys chill?” Nate mumbled. “We can have our own night out. After all the work we’ve done this week, we could go to Rooster Bar and raid their top-shelf Scotch. My treat?” Nate eyed them hopefully. “How about a strip club? You know the girls won’t mind as long as it’s hands off, right?” Nate met Travis’s eyes, which were unwavering. His friend’s shoulders slumped. “You guys are going to get me into trouble.”
Travis and Ed crossed their arms on their chest. Ed was leaning heavily on the door.
Nate sighed, “I’m not going to get outta here alive unless I spill, am I?”
Both men nodded.
*****
Caitlin was getting dizzy; she couldn’t even finish the one drink she’d been nursing all night. The music was too loud and the club was getting too packed. Packed with all kinds of people. Some were just too beautiful to look at. Some were too scary—like they were right out of a gangster movie. This evening’s theme was “Speakeasy,” which explained why Beatrice dressed her in a vintage flapper dress that skimmed her butt and the abundance of Al Capone-attired male clientele.
It was already half past midnight; the three of them were in line to this room Beatrice couldn’t wait to enter.
“So what exactly is in there?” Emily asked, words slurring. Travis’s assistant just finished her third drink.
“BDSM-lite,” Beatrice quipped.
“Tell me you’re joking.” Caitlin made a move to get out of the line, but Beatrice yanked her back to the front. “I don’t think I’m up for watching someone flogged in front of an audience. Are you?”
“I could be a domme,” Beatrice whispered to both of them. “I’m just trying to see if it works for me.”
“So all this talk about foreign dignitaries was all you blowing smoke up our asses so we’d come with you?” Emily asked.
The smug smile that Beatrice flashed them affirmed her deception. Damn, she may not have fallen far from the apple tree after all.
“Password,” The big bouncer guarding the door asked Beatrice. The redhead whispered into the bouncer’s ear. He nodded and let the three of them through.
A welcome blast of cold air hit Caitlin’s overheated skin. The room was dark, and all she could see were dark silhouettes at first until she moved further into the room where tiny pin lights cast a mysterious purple glow over the audience. The spotlight was on the stage. She couldn’t see anything at this point, but she heard the crack of a whip and someone shouting.
“Three!”
There was a low voice; Caitlin couldn’t understand the words.
“Here,” Beatrice dragged her to whatever space was available near the stage. A couple, dressed in nothing but leather, courteously moved aside to make room for the three of them. Caitlin gasped at the sight of the woman who had her wrists bound by manacles against a wooden X-shaped structure. Her back was bare, red welts marking her skin. Her tight skirt was bunched up around her waist, revealing a tiny scrap of underwear.
“Four!”
The man with the whip walked forward, ducked his head and whispered something in the woman’s ear while his hand went to her pussy. He took a step back and that was when Caitlin saw the erection bulging on his crotch.
“Oh, my,” Caitlin whispered to Beatrice, who looked like she was focused on the scene. “You think you can whip a guy like that, check how hard he is, and then whip him again?”
“Shut up,” Beatrice retorted, but there was a tone of anxiety in her voice.
Caitlin snickered as she continued watching the scene. The man finally dropped the whip and spun the woman around. “Oh, my God, are those really . . .” Caitlin glanced over to Emily.
The brunette nodded and grinned. “Uh . . . huh . . . nipple clamps.” Just then, Emily’s smile died on her lips, and her expression turned to one of deep consternation—Caitlin wasn’t too certain because of the dim lighting. She was startled when warm hands gripped her hips and she was yanked against a solid chest.
Before she could panic, a voice in her ear said, “Enjoying yourself, sunshine?”
Caitlin, for some reason, got turned on and apprehensive at the same time. Travis’s voice was laced with retribution, which didn’t bode well for her short-term. She tried to twist her head to look at Beatrice, but Travis had gripped her jaw. “Don’t take your eyes from the scene. He’s going to make her come.” His hips hit her ass and pushed her against the barrier that separated the stage from the audience. A familiar hard ridge ground between her butt cheeks.
“Travis,” Caitlin hissed. “Bee . . .”
“Nate took her somewhere else. Same with Emily, Ed’s with her. Just you and me, babe.”
Yeah, right, plus fifty other people who were in one state of arousal or another including her.
“You’re in big trouble.” His breath fanned her face; one hand went under her skirt and cupped the heat between her thighs. “First, for wearing a dress like this.” His fingers slid inside her and he groaned. “Fuck. Is this wetness for me?” His fingers scooped up some of the moisture and began to circle her clit. A moan escaped her. “Is it?”
“Yes,” Caitlin gasped.
“Good. Because if I find out you’re getting wet without me to fill you with cock, that’s number three.”
Two fingers slid in and out of her in a punishing rhythm.
“Wait, what’s the second?” Caitlin squeaked, getting breathless as she arched desperately against him.
“Leaving your phone at Beatrice’s so I can’t track you.”
Oops, there is that.
The hand on her jaw lowered to her breast and began to tease her nipple through the thin fabric. They were already hard as pebbles. The pulsing below her belly escalated to a fevered pitch. “Watch, Caitlin. He’s fucking her with his fingers.”
Caitlin’s eyes flew back to the stage, and sure enough, the man was pounding away at the woman’s pussy. Travis was gripping her tighter now, and another groan rumbled through his chest. She was ready to come, and when his thumb rubbed her clit hard, she shot off in waves. His hand went back to her jaw. “Shh . . . you have to be quiet, Cat.” He withdrew his fingers and pressed down on her pubis as she pulsed against his hand. Pleasure innervated her body in jolting tremors; the danger that someone might see them must have added to the intensity of her orgasm. She was shocked at her wanton behavior, but she knew it was because she trusted Travis implicitly, so she could let go of her inhibitions.
The woman on stage screamed. Her release coming as the man unclasped the nipple clamps.
When Caitlin finally came down from her high, the hand disappeared from under her skirt to close around her wrist. She was dragged away from the scene.
Travis’s expression was unreadable when he said, “Finding some place private to fuck the living daylights out of you.”
“Travis, I—”
He pulled her against him and growled, “In what universe did you think I would be okay with you wearing a dress like this?”
“I—”
“You did it behind my back, too. I’m not with you to protect you against those jackasses who want to cop a feel.”
“I was careful—”
He continued dragging her, not even bothering to listen to her any longer. He was clearly enraged. They seemed to have gotten further into the BDSM room toward a secluded hallway. She heard Travis curse and turn around, whipping her along with him, but not before she saw a woman being nailed against the wall by a man whose pants were hanging down, baring his ass.
It might have been the sudden about face, or it might have been everything that happened tonight, but her dizziness returned with a wave of nausea.
“Travis …” she squeaked.
He continued walking ahead of her, her shorter legs in high heels having to run to catch up.
“Travis . . .”
And then her world turned black.
*****
“Travis . . .”
Caitlin’s husky whimper drifted up to him. He ignored her. He was pissed and so fucking turned on right now, he had trouble thinking. She was not going to sweet-talk herself out of a major ass-whooping followed by a hard-pounding fuck. He might as well take her home because she wasn’t going to come up for air until morning.
His right shoulder suddenly got jarred by a dead weight, his hand almost losing its grip on hers. At first, he thought she had stumbled, but he turned in time to drop to the floor to catch her falling body.
It's Always Been You Page 29