His Devil's Chains

by Linzi Basset

“If it’s the slimy Syndicate who used CI as a shell company, they could very well be trying to get their paws on the company. They just lost their biggest outlet.” Jordan tapped her nails against the glass. “Do you think there are some of their assets still in holding in CI?”

  “I sat with an Independent Financial Forensic Specialist this morning. We uncovered a twenty-million-dollar transaction with no traceability. The money is in a holding account.”

  “Oh, god! So that’s what the Syndicate is after. What more confirmation do we need, Gideon? The company is corrupt!”

  “I know but Jay, the company is … fuck it’s one of the top trading companies in the US. We’d be fools to let it slip through our fingers. We need to find out which syndicate is involved.”

  “Gideon …” Jordan blinked rapidly, “this has gone beyond what we can cope with. We need help. Do you have any idea what this means?”

  “Yes, sis, I do. If our identities and association to Crown International become known—”

  “We’re as good as dead!”

  “It’s good to see you, Ethan.”

  Ethan hugged the petite and heavily pregnant woman. He gave her a resounding kiss on the cheek.

  “It’s always lovely to see your cute little face, Popsicle.”

  “Oh, please,” she laughed and slapped Ethan playfully on the shoulder. “I haven’t been called that since I was twelve!”

  “Jack, meet my gorgeous cousin, Cynthia Seeger.” He placed his hand on her bulging stomach. “And of course, little Gareth, who’ll be joining us soon.”

  Jack smiled as Cynthia promptly hugged him. He winked at her. “Please tell me you’ve got some childhood dirt on this old man.”

  “You don’t wanna know,” she said with blooming cheeks as Jack gallantly kissed her hand.

  “Stop flirting with my cousin, mate.” He turned a frown at her. “And you, young lady, did you forget our secret oath?”

  “Oh, hell no, Ethan Brodie. You broke that oath when you were MC at our wedding!”

  “Moment of weakness,” he chuckled. “Thanks for meeting us. I don't want to get you into trouble, but we do need some information.”

  “If the information is available to the public, I can help, otherwise, I’m afraid my hands are tied.”

  “Of course, cuz, I don't expect anything more.”

  “Shoot, what do you need?”

  Ethan handed Cynthia a copy of the Wattley trust registration documents. She paged through them briefly.

  “Crown International’s ownership was transferred to this trust. We’re trying to find out who the beneficiaries are. The owner, Brad Flint, was involved—under an assumed identity, Paul Burgess—with a crime syndicate. We believe the company was used as a shell company for money laundering. If the Syndicate isn’t the beneficiary of this trust, it means whoever is, is in danger.”

  “That’s some serious allegations, cuz,” Cynthia said. Her brows drew together in a frown as she did a search on the computer.

  “I’m afraid it’s more than allegations,” Jack interceded with a gruff undertone to his voice.

  “I remember this file,” Cynthia muttered. “There was a problem with identity verification if I recall.” She glanced at the two men. “This trust was set up as a secret trust, which in itself is controversial because they’re not covered by the probate process. Trusts specific in relation to property are used to provide a safety bench for beneficiaries whose interests might be in danger of being opposed by others.” She shook her head as she looked up. “It’s ironclad, Ethan. I can’t get you the information—not if I want to keep my job and integrity intact. You’ll have to approach the attorneys who dealt with the will. Brad Flint personally filed the trust as an addendum to the property ownership, which means they are the only ones now with the authority to disclose such information.” She turned to close the file. “That’s strange.”

  “What?” Ethan and Jack looked over her shoulder at the screen.

  “Someone else just accessed the file.” She tapped on the keyboard. “Lillian Dunn. She’s in the business office. She shouldn’t have access to these files or any reason to look into them. Not to mention that she doesn’t have the password clearance to open it.”

  “And did she get as far as that?” Jack asked.

  “She’s had two failed attempts. The system automatically locks you out after three. At the same time, a warning is logged with the Department Head and the IT Department Head.”

  “Where’s her office, Cynthia,” Jack urged.

  “I’ll take you.” Cynthia got up and started toward the door. Ethan caught her arm.

  “No. I’m not taking the risk that you or the baby get hurt.”

  She blinked. “You’re right. Allan,” she called her assistant who looked up when they appeared in the doorway, “please take these gentlemen to Lillian Dunn.” She snapped her fingers. “And make it snappy, young man.”

  He jumped up and rushed toward the hallway.

  “Hang tight, little momma, we’ll be right back,” Jack winked at Cynthia over his shoulder.

  The trio weaving their way along the hallways drew a lot of attention. Allan, a medium-height, thin youngster, was almost running with the two big men following at what appeared to be a leisurely pace.

  “It’s the office that man just exited,” Allan pointed to a door on the right as they rounded the next corner. They hadn’t seen the man’s face but he looked out of place with a dark suit and shiny leather shoes. From behind they could only make out his stocky frame with longish, dark hair as he walked away with a confident swagger.

  Jack looked at Ethan. “I think I’ll follow the suit. He looks a tad suspicious.”

  “Agreed.”

  Jack didn’t hesitate but lengthened his stride and walked away.

  “Oh, my god!” The shocked cry echoed from within the office. Ethan rushed past Allan and skidded to a halt.

  “Fuck!”

  The middle-aged woman was slumped low in the chair; her eyes were fixed and vacant. Ethan pressed his fingers against her carotid to check her pulse. Her head canted to the side with her mouth lolling open, exposing her neck that was compressed with visible ligature marks. Her face, lips, and tongue were swollen and red.

  “She’s dead. Strangled.” Ethan’s voice sounded dull and hollow in the room filled with playful sunrays—a total contradiction to the violent crime that had just been committed.

  “Allan, go get security. Allan!”

  “Wh-at?” he stammered. His terrified gaze was glued on the woman’s face. Ethan gently closed her eyes that stared unseeing out the window.

  “Go! Get security,” Ethan urged again.

  “Security … yes … go, now,” he mumbled as he retreated step by step and bumped into the wall.

  “Allan, look at me,” Ethan snapped. His voice deepened with authority.

  The young man finally managed to tear his shocked eyes from the corpse.

  “I know it’s a shock, Allan. Come on, buddy, take a deep breath. Good, now turn around and go find security.”

  This time Allan managed to act. The clatter of his running feet echoed down the hallway. Ethan examined the victim’s throat and detected purple bruising and an ecchymosis mark circling her neck. He leaned closer. There were signs of fibers on the ligature mark, which, by the shape of the bruising, indicated that the murderer had used a thin rope to strangle her. It had been a brutal death but based on the extent of the bruising, a quick one.

  “Fucker disappeared on me by the time I got to the lobby.” Jack walked into the office. “Jesus! Is that Lillian Dunn?”

  “Yes. It’s evident she didn’t see her death coming. She died quickly, if that’s any consolation.” Ethan looked at the computer. A swirl of fluorescent screensaver lines filled the screen. “He must’ve realized she’d been flagged at the third failed attempt.”

  “He knew she’d be able to identify him. Fucking bastard.” Jack tapped a key on the keyboard. “She didn’t ha
ve a lock on her screensaver. Fuck, Ethan.” Jack’s voice deepened.

  “What?”

  “It seems Lillian got lucky; she’d not been locked out. He got what he came for, mate. That changes everything.”

  “It sure as hell does. Let’s get back to Cynthia.” Ethan led the way back to her office. They found her trying to console a crying Allan.

  “I think you should go home, Allan, but get something to make you sleep,” she cajoled softly. They waited patiently until she found someone to accompany the fragile, young man home.

  “It’s not something you easily forget—the sight of a dead body,” Ethan said. “Are you okay, Cynthia?”

  “I’m fine. Is it true? Is she really dead?”

  “Yes, she was strangled, after the bastard got what he came for. She managed to unlock the file.”

  Cynthia went pale. “I suppose that means whoever the beneficiary is—”

  “Yes. Their life is in danger too. Look, cuz, I know this is against policy but it’s now a case of life and death.”

  “How do you know she got into the file?” Cynthia asked as she searched for the file again.

  “She wasn’t locked out of her computer. For now, is there a way you can verify whether she did get the info?” Jack interjected.

  “I’m checking … yes, she did. The system logs everyone who accesses locked files.” Cynthia stared at Ethan for a long time.

  “I’ll understand if you don’t want to do this. If it helps, we’ll get an affidavit from Governor White that he’s the one who required the information. That will keep you out of trouble.”

  “Okay.” Cynthia quickly typed in her password and immediately printed out the trust registration documents.

  “Well, slap me with a wet fish,” Ethan said. He looked at Jack. “Isn’t that—”

  “Yes,” Jack said slowly. “It is.” He looked at Cynthia. “You said something about problems with verifying the beneficiaries?”

  “Oh, yes. The Wattley Trust was set up for Brad Flint’s children. Wattley was his wife’s maiden name and yet the only confirmation we could find of her children was of a Gideon and Peyton Clark.” She searched the computer file. “Ah, here it is. It was finally confirmed that Grace Flint changed their names to her mother’s maiden name twenty years ago.”

  “That coincides with the time he first became a Senator,” Jack mused, still staring at the picture of a younger Peyton Clark who he had come to know as Jordan Clark, his very bratty trial sub. His suspicion had just been confirmed. She had been using him. Now, he had to figure out why.

  Before she ended up dead.

  Chapter Eight

  “Where have you been all day?”

  The growl echoed toward Jordan the moment she closed the front door behind her. It sounded ominous and irritated which was probably the reason she stumbled to a halt. She wearily glanced toward the family room from where his voice had thundered. Her gaze got sidetracked by the breathtaking and expansive two-story foyer she was standing in. It boasted a soaring arched ceiling to create an infinite entryway. It’d been a week and she was still awestruck by the French-style grandeur and elegance of the two-story mansion embedded in two acres of trees next to the Potomac River. In her mind, she imagined the jubilant laughter and voices of children enjoying the contiguous living space and the unique floor plan that made the house ideal for a big family.

  “Jordan!”

  “Keep your pants on, big guy, I’m comin’!” she shouted. “Oh, lord, give me strength,” she muttered sotto voce, squared her shoulders and took the few steps leading to the arch into the combined kitchen and family great room. She’d been dreading the day he finally cornered her and insisted to know all about her. She’d been clever to avoid his questions till now, but a sixth sense warned her that she’d run out of time.

  Jordan was by nature an honest person. Lying to everyone since she’d arrived in the US was weighing her down. She didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to keep it up, notwithstanding the fact that Jack had the inept ability to read her mind. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had doubted her story from day one. She’d caught him watching her intently from time to time, his gaze speculating, like he was measuring every word she uttered for authenticity.

  She paused under the arch, caught by his dark ruminating eyes, underscored by a perfunctory smile, while quietly studying her face. He was obviously not amused by her impertinent behavior. A shudder rippled through her. She clasped her hands behind her back but returned his stare defiantly. Her chin tilted back as a sign that she wasn’t intimidated. Jordan couldn’t explain why she loved being the object of his scrutiny, whether it was in anger or lust. When his eyes touched her skin, it was like a conduit to light the fire inside her body, not to mention what it did to her poor heart.

  She kicked off her shoes and leaned her hip against the wall. Her gaze scored over his long legs stretched out on top of the coffee table and his strong body which slumped in the large, comfortable leather chair.

  “Do you ever just sit in a chair?”

  For what seemed like an eternity neither moved, and then Jack’s eyes flashed as they lingered on her heaving breasts. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He tossed the iPad onto the small table next to the chair without taking his eyes from her. The dulcet tones of his voice sent a shiver up her spine.

  “It seems there is a necessity to define some house rules.” The flick of his gaze to her shoes and back to her face spoke volumes.

  The little devil on her shoulder stretched lazily, poking Jordan with its sharp tail. She blinked slowly, a seductive flick of her long eyelashes, aimed to entice. She pulled the tight, knee-length skirt to mid-thigh. A long, shapely leg stretched in an elegant swan-like sweep to prod the black Louboutin pumps with her big toe.

  “There are … rules for shoes?”

  “Yeah.” Jack stretched out the word. He watched as her body turned stiff and became distracted by her lithe and curvaceous form that arched sensually; his cock twitched pleasantly. “And clothes.”

  The wicked gleam turned his eyes into a devil’s snare as his dominant persona rose to her challenge. A small tremor of excitement shimmied through Jordan to tear at the sexual frustration that had been growling like a hungry beast inside her for the past couple of weeks.

  Jordan loved the act of sex; the sensation of first penetration followed by the rhythmic thrusts of a cock deep inside her was the ultimate pleasure. She’d been craving to feel Jack’s cock hammering inside her since the first time she’d watched him fuck a sub in the dungeon.

  I’ve been here a week and he’s still keeping me at a distance. Well, mighty Master Black, no more. It was time to bring out the big guns and unleash the full torrent of her seductive prowess onto him. Tonight, Jack Blackmore is going to keep to his promise and fuck me—come hell or high water!

  The hem of her skirt inched up higher. She arched her back in a sensual bow, offering him an enticing view of her slim hips, small waist and bountiful breasts. She ran her hands over the swell of her buttocks.

  “You don’t like my clothes?” she cooed in a sultry whisper.

  His eyes traveled with thorough appraisal of her.

  “I like them fine. Just not hiding what’s mine from my view.” His voice deepened. “Take them off.”

  The atmosphere suddenly became charged with sexual tension. Jordan didn’t hesitate. She’d seen the same predatory look in his eyes at the club before. She yanked down the side zipper of the skirt and pushed it over her hips.

  “Slowly, my pet.” His eyes trailed over her long legs. “Uncover your gorgeous body like you would like me to make love to it. It’s time for the reward you’ve been after.” His gaze caught hers. “Make it worth my while.”

  Jordan’s hands stilled; the surprise evident on her face.

  “Reward?” It sounded too good to be true and she waited with bated breath for the shoe to drop.

  “Yes,” he murmured, almost thoughtfully. His deep chuckle sounde
d dark and promising. “You’ve been a good sub the past week.”

  Her eyelids fluttered as she gave him a smile that oozed with sensuality but with a touch of shyness that sent an unexpected rush of warmth through his heart. Cock! He meant cock.

  Jordan wasn’t a natural tease, but she had the urgent desire to make him sweat—just a little. She’d love to be the one to loosen the hold he seemed to have over his emotions. She wiggled her hips and slid the material down her legs with a sensual swaying movement of her hips. Her eyes never left his face, watching as she sent him a message of blatant hunger with every alluring twist of her body and every piece of clothing that fluttered to the floor.

  Jack was spellbound. She was breathtaking, spinning a web of sexual entrapment, yet with such beauty and grace he found it hard to keep his emotions in check. His gaze traveled upward, committing every scrumptious inch of her graceful form to memory. Her lean legs tapered into perfectly rounded calves. He salivated at the succulent perfection of her clean-shaven pussy between her legs, before his eyes traced her toned stomach, small waist, and gorgeous full breasts, to her delicate jaw. He suspected the memory of the sweet taste of her skin and the velvet softness under his tongue would forever be ingrained in his mind.

  Jordan felt his eyes scorch over her naked body. A shiver of anticipation tingled in her neck as her nipples became erect under his stare. She pressed her thighs together in an unsuccessful attempt to force the tremor in her loins to subside.

  “Come here.”

  Her feet moved before she gave the directive to her brain.

  “Stop.”

  “But you said—”

  “On all fours, kitten.”

  Jack bit the inside of his lips to keep from smiling as he impassively returned the glare she shot at him. He had always preferred sassy women, and Jordan wasn’t afraid to be candidly cheeky.

  “Do you need me to repeat what I said, Jordan?”

  She shook her head. The quivering in her belly increased, which she was sure he could see. She had to give it to Jack. He had patience. He waited without batting an eye until she slowly knelt on the floor. She brazenly locked her eyes with his as she began to crawl toward him with a generous sway of her hips and breasts.