The Men of Elite Metal: Platinum, Zinc, & Francium

by Rebecca Royce

  What was he doing? Russell’s face was blank, hard to read. Every so often he seemed to say one word or another, eventually he disconnected the call. He walked over to her.

  “Have you changed your mind?” Why did his voice have to be so sexy?

  Calm down Lara. As if ordering herself to do so had ever worked. “Are you kidding? No.”

  “Here’s the deal. I can help you. I know some powerful people who do this kind of thing. They do it well. They’re willing to help, they’re even happy to. But I have to gather some information before they’ll give me the complete go ahead.”

  Her throat felt tight, and she found it hard to believe. As per usual, she ignored the sensation. “I suppose that is fair, but so help me, if this turns out to be some kind of joke, some kind of test you and my husband are playing on me, than I swear to God, I don’t know how, but I will burn you. I will get you in your sleep. You’ll never be able to rest because you’ll always know I’m coming, some day.”

  He raised his dark eyebrows, his face blank. “I know some people who would love you. Good thing you’re never meeting them. Start talking.”

  “He said if I leave him, if I ever even think of leaving him, he’ll tell the people who want to kill my sister where she is. He’ll have her killed.” Her voice broke, and she looked away. She would not cry, not in front of this stranger making her bare her story to him while he stood listening. “My sister and I used to do some things a lot of people—most people—would find illegal. It was to a cause we believed to be a greater good. We were both in the art world, and we decided we could help, um, families of Jews who lost their artwork in the Holocaust.”

  He rocked back on his feet. So far, she hadn’t shocked him, and he wasn’t running for the door. “Noble cause.”

  “Yes, well, there is a right way to do things and a wrong way. I tended to help the victims use the court system. Friends who were lawyers helped. There are tribunals. It’s complicated. Margot, that’s my sister, she stole the paintings and returned them. Pissed off a couple of families in Buenos Aires who are the sons and daughters or grandchildren of Nazis. They aren’t happy to have their Picassos disappear. I betrayed my sister when I confessed to my husband two years ago the real reason my sister spent her time in hiding. He’s going to…destroy her if I leave.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Why so much trouble? He cheats on you. You seem to know. Are you such a stupendous wife? No offense, but it seems to me Remington could get another wife, any number of arm candies.”

  “Ouch.” She rubbed the space over her heart. She’d been called worse—whore and sellout were rougher—but arm candy wasn’t her favorite. “Not sure why you dug at me like that. I hear what you’re saying. Yes, he could have any wife he wanted. But I saw some things he didn’t want me to see, about a business associate, and he’s terrified I might talk. He also thinks they might kill me if I were to ever come out. So, in some sick way, I think he truly believes he’s protecting me.”

  He put his hands on his hips. “Why continue to sleep with him?”

  “Is that a question for your people who can help me or for yourself?”

  Russell’s mouth twitched. “My own edification, I suppose.”

  “I don’t dare piss him off. What if he exposed Margot?”

  He was silent for a moment. “Alright, so we’ll take your case, so to speak. I suppose I should re-introduce myself. My name is Russell Burke. I’m not in finance. I’m here to destroy your husband’s career so I can get close to Red Wolf—the name I presume you are aware of, and the one that has gotten you into trouble. I work for a group that has sworn to bring him down. Although Russell is certainly one of my names, many people call me Francium. For the purposes of this, I think you should stick to calling me Russell.”

  “You want to stop him? Red Wolf? The man funding my husband who is doing…bad things with the money my husband makes for him?”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “And if I help you, you’ll help me.” She could hardly believe the words as she uttered them. Could this be happening? Could this be real?

  The man who said people called him Francium nodded one more time. “Has Margot been moved? She’s not still sitting where Remington could out her, right?”

  “No, but it wouldn’t be hard to find her once he gives over her picture. Photo recognition software. Her life would be over, and then she’d be killed. This is all my fault.”

  He shrugged. “Is it your fault that you told your scumbag husband the secrets of your sister? Maybe. I’m not really concerned with you putting your faith in the wrong person. What I see is that you are a smart, beautiful woman who is being abused—held emotionally captive by her husband, a very bad man. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be here when your husband gets home. He’s not supposed to see me for a few days. You need a break, and since we have time to figure out how you can help me, I’m going to take you somewhere I think you’ll like.”

  She looked down at herself. He wanted to take her out at some time between nine and ten in the morning—she didn’t even know exactly—while she looked the way she did?

  “I’m going to need some time to get ready.”

  He shook his head. “You have ten minutes. Yoga pants. Tunic. You don’t need makeup, but if you insist, then fine.”

  She turned and ran back in the house. Even Remington didn’t give her orders like Russell did. Where were they going? She hadn’t even asked. But she wanted to do what he said, and not just because he was going to help her. Lara wanted to please Russell. She didn’t dare examine the need too closely.

  It had been two years since Lara experienced a shred of happiness. This very second she was, and she intended to go with it. If she could cause Remington and Red Wolf pain, then even better.

  Eight minutes later, she appeared back outside. Russell must have gone and gotten his car, because a sleek S-Class black Mercedes waited for her, and she got inside. Whoever this group was who employed Russell and would help, they were certainly not without their finances. He sped down the driveway and out the front gate, his attention on the road.

  “We’re a few hours from getting where I’m taking you. We’ll be in Manhattan, but don’t worry, no one will recognize you where we’re ending up. It’s private. Only a few individuals, carefully screened ladies and gentlemen, even know about its existence.”

  Her heart rate kicked up. “The club you talked about?”

  “One of them. I’m a particular kind of man, and I’m not going to lie about it, since I’ve gotten into the truth telling business, all of a sudden. I’m deeply attracted to you. I wouldn’t have told you to drop the robe otherwise. You’re hot as hell.” He gripped the steering wheel tightly. He wasn’t, in any way, as calm as he pretended. She wondered if anyone else would ever notice.

  “Thank you for the compliment.”

  He nodded. “I’m not a good person, per se. I’ve done tons of shit. A psychologist would probably have a field day with me. My father killed my mom. I don’t remember it. I was then put in a place where they tried to drive all the Apache out of me. I snuck out, managed by the age of ten to cross the border into the United States. At one point, I ended up in the CIA. They were training me to be an assassin. A friend of mine stopped that.”

  Well, he’d told her a lot she had to digest. Her training on saying nothing when there was nothing to say helped right then. “I see.”

  “I doubt it, and that’s fine. I’d rather you not see. The other part of me that you should understand is that I’m an equal opportunity lover. I’ve never been in a monogamous relationship. I don’t do love. I’ll have sex with whomever. Women. Men. Both at the same time. Whatever works. You may have already figured it out, but what I really want to do is watch two other people together.”

  The tick in the muscle in his cheek was back. Images flooded her head. Russell with other men, with women, with both. She wet her panties. Squirming, she tried to control her pulse. This
was a new development. She’d never been so…excited by hearing what someone else did before.

  “I’m sorry, I’m quiet. I’m a little…” She stroked her throat. “Overcome. Are you taking me to the club to be…with other people?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not really sure what to do with you, to tell the truth. You make me feel…protective.” For a second, he took his gaze off the road and looked out the side window. She’d almost have missed the tell, he did it so quickly. “I want to make sure you like it there. Then we’ll start out slow.”

  “I’m not a wilting flower. I mean, I have been, but before that, I wasn’t. I was the kind of woman who knew how to get things done.”

  She could almost see herself as she had been, as she’d been when she’d been introduced to Remington Reagan. He’d seemed so charming and interested in her in a way no one had ever been before. What she knew now was that Remington seemed that way to everyone. When anyone spent time with Remington, they felt like the most important person in the universe. He’d wanted a wife who could speak on many subjects: art, music, theater, fashion—all the topics he thought his wife should be able to speak about with the other wives.

  They’d discussed children. She was pretty sure she didn’t want them, and he was fine with that. They’d be on charity boards together and help fund hospitals.

  All of it had sounded like heaven…she’d fallen, face first, into Remington and stayed that way up until she found the file he kept on Red Wolf. Was he planning on blackmailing the terrorist? She didn’t know, but suddenly, it all felt like blood money, and she wanted nothing to do with it.

  Hypocritical? To quote Russell, maybe. But she had changed, and if she wasn’t stuck between a rock and a hard place, she’d already be gone.

  “I’m looking forward to knowing who you are.”

  So was she.

  3

  Francium led Lara through the door of Erin Harden’s private club in the East Village. He’d been to all the clubs in New York City catering to his particular tastes. Some of them were small, intimate, like this one, and some were a romping good time. A woman who could be a grandmother ran a dungeon out of her small apartment on the Upper East Side. That had been a strange, but memorable night.

  This particular place was in the back of a tattoo parlor. Or maybe it was more appropriate to say that the tattoo parlor was at the front of the club. Either way, he was comfortable here, and despite an occasional moment where she rubbed the back of her neck, Lara seemed pretty comfortable too. Russell never drank alcohol when he came to play. Hell, he only drank when he was in character. Left to his own devices, he hated the stuff.

  “Lara, do you want a drink?”

  She shook her head, leaning on the couch next to him. “No, I’m okay. Are we going to be sitting here all night?”

  “It’s still day, so I should hope we’re not going to be sitting here all night.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “You know what I meant.”

  He did, but he was glad to see the spunk in her gaze. “I do. No, we’ll not be sitting here all day. Come on.”

  They’d been waiting in what basically amounted to the lounge, but now they would move on. There were plenty of spots in the club to indulge in whatever kink the member liked. Dr. Kenneth Kent, ophthalmologist and Master extraordinaire, kept the place clean and running smoothly. Ken knew Francium as well as anyone did, which meant—with the exception of Wen—not very well.

  Lara would be safe here. No one would recognize her, and if they did, no one would say a word about her presence.

  He brought her into the viewing room. Like the rest of the club, Ken seemed to like to decorate his rooms in burgundy. Maybe it made people feel safer. He didn’t know.

  The viewing room was on the other side of a two-way mirror. Whoever sat in the room could see the other side, but the participants couldn’t do the same.

  “If you decided you wanted to participate in this, then we would play a little game. I would need your consent. And we’d come up with a safe word so you could tell me if you got uncomfortable. Then you would perform, and I would watch. Afterwards, maybe we’d have sex. Right here on this couch, or somewhere else.”

  Her breath hitched. She liked the idea. But which part? The bit where she did as he instructed her so he could watch, or the sex on the couch? Because he knew which he preferred. If she was going to pretend she got off being watched, this wasn’t going to work. She had to mean it.

  “What would you want me to do?”

  He leaned against the glass. “Not much for now. You’re married.” Something he was going to change at his earliest chance. Plans were going to have to change and fast. Lara was more than a distraction. She could easily become an obsession.

  She reached out and gently placed a finger on his chin. “If I wasn’t married?”

  He raised an eyebrow. God, this woman was so sexy. “More.” He knocked on the window. “Let’s start slowly. Shall we? You want to try this with me? You want to let me watch you?”

  “I do.” She looked down at the floor. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been allowed to really want anything. It’s hard for me to admit to it, to tell you what I want.”

  He stroked the side of her face. Her skin was ridiculously soft. How did she get it that way? How much product did it take? Or was she naturally the equivalent to silk?

  “You’re going to have to do better than that, honey. This only works when you tell me the truth. Pick a word. Tell me what it is. You say it, I know you don’t want to go any further with the scene.”

  “I know what a safe word is. I’m not living entirely in a bubble.” She smelled great too. He took a deep breath to take her deeper inside of him. What was that? Vanilla? “How about turtle? If I say turtle, I’m safe-wording.”

  “Turtle.” People picked what they picked. “That works.”

  “Tell me something, Russell.” The way she said his name—or at least, the closest thing he’d ever had to one—made heat travel to his groin. Oh yes, he was in so much trouble with this woman. “While you are getting to know me, while we are learning what I like, will I get to know you? Or are you hidden away?”

  The room felt uncomfortably small. “I am not a man who shares myself easily.”

  “Then maybe this could be good for both of us. There’s something about you, something that keeps me coming back. I can’t imagine how this happened. I’m taking a huge risk, and yet with you, it doesn’t feel that way.”

  His heart beat fast against his ribs, the rate kicked up way higher than it should have been. “I almost never tell the truth. Lying comes more easily to me than the truth ever could. You should never believe a word I say.”

  She lifted her eyebrows in what seemed like a challenge. Was she? “Duly noted.”

  “Remember your safe word. The door to the room is right there. We have two choices. I can instruct you over a microphone, or you can listen to me now and then go in there and perform. Let’s start with the second way.”

  She pointed at the window. “Can anyone see me but you?”

  “No.” And so help him, no one would be seeing her except him for a long time to come. He could see himself becoming downright proprietorial over her.

  “Unless someone comes in here while I’m in there.”

  Smart girl. But then again, she’d have to be. She’d been living with a man who abused her trust and threatened her family. “You’re going to have to trust me to protect you. I would never let someone in here without your permission. That’s a contract between you and me. The same way you won’t tell anyone about my kinks and interests.”

  This seemed to satisfy something with her. Her spine unstiffened a smudge. “In there?” She pointed at the glass. “Will I always be alone? Or will you want to watch me with others?”

  “Eventually. Unless you safe word it. Not today.” He tapped on the glass. “Head on in there. Orient yourself. I’ll be here on the couch, watching you. You make me hard doing
nothing at all. Drop your clothes, and I want to watch you get yourself off with your fingers.”

  She started to move, and then she stopped. “If I said no? If I said ‘turtle’ right now, what happens?”

  “Is that what you want to say?” He had to give her the chance to get out of this, she couldn’t walk this road with him unless it was entirely consensual. “Say it, and this stops here with no ramifications. We head back to your home. I’ll still help you with your husband problem. You don’t owe me this. You can say no.”

  She nodded once and continued into the room. Francium quickly locked the door and dimmed the lights a bit in her room. Trying to get comfortable, he sat down on the couch to watch what she would do. He wasn’t expecting much. There was a difference between this and the game they’d played from their porches.

  Alone in the room with just herself and his instructions, she might not get through this the first time, even if she continued to be interested.

  It was one thing to get off on being watched in the privacy of her living room, and another in a private viewing room. But they wouldn’t always be porch-to-porch, and the public voyeurism was part of what got him off.

  His day couldn’t have been any stranger. He didn’t do this. Francium had never played with anyone who wasn’t already a part of this life. And he had a job to take care of. And…

  Lara pulled her shirt over her head, her gaze fixed on the glass where he knew she couldn’t see him. Yet, her gaze seemed to find his, zooming in on him on the other side. She knew where he sat, and yet he couldn’t help but dive into the feeling she could see through the glass right to his soul on the other side.

  “Get a hold of yourself, man,” he whispered to the room. She was a woman, just a woman. Exactly the same as any other girl in the world. Married, to boot. Women were fickle. They didn’t stick around when the going got hard. They left their children…they left their…

  She unhooked her bra, and the everlasting replay of his issues with women fled his mind. His mouth watered. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to touch, not only watch. He shifted in his seat, his cock straining. This was okay—they’d get to it. Once she didn’t wear the bastard’s ring, legally or otherwise.