And then they’d made it to bed, and he’d indulged her every want. He’d even let her use her mouth on him a little while he was flat on his back, but he still hadn’t let her give him a full-on blowjob, and he wouldn’t explain why. They were seriously going to have to talk about that, but not while celebrating Christmas.
And yet, despite how sore she was, she still wanted him. Or, perhaps it was in part because she was so sore.
She wished she could let the whorehouse thing go, but if her boyfriend was a pimp, she needed to understand. Because, while it broke her heart to consider life without him by her side, she couldn’t stay with him if he profited off the subjugation of women.
She was considering this again that evening, debating on whether to bring it up then or wait until the next day, when Danny asked, “So, your dad didn’t introduce you to a new stepmother, or anything so bizarre?”
She shook her head. “He hasn’t even dated since mom’s death. I’ve told him I’ll deal with it, when he’s ready, but he always tells me replacing her might not be possible.” And when she’d asked him if he was ready to start dating yet, he’d put her off to keep from having to talk about it again.
“I’ve debated on whether to tell you anything, but I don’t think I can have this knowledge and not tell you.” He took a breath. “The club is always proactive when it comes to potential threats and enemies. We didn’t know — and still aren’t sure — if your father might come after us, to try to get me to break up with you. If he wants to cause problems for us, he can. Easily. We can fight him and survive, but it’ll be expensive and time consuming, and won’t be good PR for us. So, it was important we find out everything we could about him. When possible, fighting blackmail with blackmail is the preferred method for dealing with threats.”
“And you found out something you think I should know?”
He handed her a small stack of paper. The top was a copy of a marriage certificate, dated five months prior, of her father to Reyna Andrada, of the Philippines. She recognized her father’s signature, and her heart fell into her stomach. This wasn’t a joke or a prank. It was real.
Under this was a Form I-129F, Petition for Alien Fiancé(e). There was also a health form filled out by a doctor, necessary for her to apply for a visa and citizenship. And at least a dozen other government forms, showing she’d applied for a K-1 nonimmigrant visa, and proof that she and Iris’s father were both free to marry each other. Reyna had never been married, and her father had to supply Iris’s mother’s death certificate.
Iris’s looked through everything again, hoping it would make sense the second time, but it didn’t. She looked again, and absorbed more details this time. Her new stepmother was a year younger than Iris.
“Why wouldn’t he tell me? Because she’s younger than me? I’ve told him I’m good with him dating again.”
“How much do you want me to tell you? My wolf picked some things up while I was there, but if I tell you, your binding won’t let you talk to your father about any of it. I don’t want you to be frustrated with knowledge you can’t talk about.”
“Tell me.”
“The other tower. The matching turret to yours?”
She nodded.
“I smelled…” He shook his head. “Fuck, Iris. I smelled sex. Your father and another woman. It’s like the tower was saturated with it.”
“You went up?” When? Why hadn’t he told her?
“No. I smelled it from the base, where the security guard stays. Also, the heartbeat of someone small. A ninety-pound woman’s heartbeat sounds different than a two hundred pound man’s heartbeat. And it wasn’t just sex, it was…” Another shake of his head. “Kinky. Power exchange stuff. I got the feeling she was a prisoner, but not that she wanted out. If it hadn’t felt consensual, I’d have stormed the castle and rescued her.”
Once Iris had discovered the BDSM scene, she’d wondered about her parents. Her mother did everything her father said, and Iris had gone into their bedroom once as a small child and thought she’d seen a leash and collar before she’d been ushered out, but had convinced herself that wasn’t possible.
Had her father bought a Filipino sex slave, and married her to keep her in the country?
Danny handed her a different stack, and it took a moment to figure out why she was looking at a K-1 nonimmigrant visa for a different person — Tala Navarro. But then she saw Knox’s name.
Her faux-brother was trying to arrange for his own mail-order bride. Or, was it an internet-order bride these days?
Her father had shown Knox how to get his very own wife without having to do all of that annoying dating and romance crap.
Iris stared at the papers and tried to sort through her thoughts.
She shouldn’t be surprised. Brock Wendel had found his first wife in a third-world country and brought her home to marry. Why not do the same with his second wife? Different country, same game plan. Only, his first wife had been a model, and he hadn’t hidden her from the world. He’d boosted her career and helped make her a supermodel.
“Please don’t be mad at me for telling you.”
Danny’s voice brought her back to the present. She took a breath and shook her head to try to clear it, but didn’t stop looking at the papers.
“If I were going to be mad at you, it’d be for not telling me when you found out — for not telling me he was keeping a sex slave prisoner in this castle turret when you first fucking smelled her.” She met his gaze. “But you’ve told me, and I understand why you waited until you had more facts. Perhaps you thought Daddy was waiting until he had time alone with me before he introduced me to his new wife. I get it. But, since he didn’t…” she stood and walked to the window. It was dark outside, but she could make out the trees in his backyard, and the forest beyond.
How in the hell was she supposed to ask Danny if he was a pimp, after he’d just told Iris how her father owned a Filipino sex slave he stored in his castle tower.
She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She’d have to figure out the whorehouse thing another way.
“Reyna and Tala. Pretty names.” She turned back to face him. “The little black and white head shots were attractive. Do you have better pictures of them?”
“I do of Reyna.”
He’d had the picture ready on his phone, because he got to it with just a few touches. “There are five pictures. Swipe right to see the others.”
“She’s strikingly beautiful.” Like a Spanish goddess, but with some slight Asian features. It was hard to get a handle on how small she was in the first pictures, but Iris stopped on a shot of Reyna standing in a doorway. The woman was tiny. Iris’s mother had been tall and leggy, as supermodels tend to be. This woman was a petite, adorable, gorgeous little pixie.
“What are the odds he met her on a business trip, fell in love, and this isn’t as despicable as I’m thinking it is?”
“It’s possible.”
“But not probable. Do you know how they met?”
“The first time we can place him in the same city as her was four months before he brought her home. He flew there twice — once when I assume he met her, and then again when he brought her home with him. He flew first class on a commercial airline the first time. The second time, he took his own plane. It’s possible he went in his own plane another time and we didn’t find it, but the plane’s log is easily available online, and it only shows the one trip to that part of the world last year.”
Iris didn’t know what to say or do. Why had her father not introduced her? If Reyna was here of her own free will — and she’d been stamped through customs, so Iris assumed she was — then why not introduce her as his wife? No one would need to know she was his sex slave, too.
“Do you know if she speaks English?”
“Her first language is listed as Tagalog, second language is English.”
“Tala?”
“Same. We can’t find evidence that Reyna and Tala know each other, but they’re from the same c
ity, so it’s possible Knox met her through Reyna and didn’t go searching for a bride.”
Or, it might just mean her dad had put him in touch with the broker who introduced him to Reyna, and she worked in that city. Iris was assuming her father had used some sort of service to find his bride — he wouldn’t go looking, he’d hire the best.
“Even with Knox’s Asperger’s, he’s rich and successful and attractive enough, he shouldn’t have a problem finding an American wife. Neither should my father.”
“I can’t answer that question for you. I don’t understand their motivation.”
Chapter 32
Iris drove to the grocery store, parked, and didn’t get out. Usually, she let her security team drive her to the store, because they said it was easier to protect her when she rode with them.
But she hadn’t been one hundred percent sure of her destination when she’d left her apartment. The all-natural organic grocery store wasn’t terribly far from the RTMC’s ‘hotel’, which was actually a whorehouse. Or maybe brothel was a better word? She wouldn’t know unless she visited. Would she?
She put her car in reverse, backed out of the lot, and left. Her security guys were already out of their vehicle, ready to walk her in, and she could see they weren’t pleased. Her phone rang and she didn’t answer. The brothel was less than two miles away. She’d get there before them.
She floored the accelerator once to make a yellow light, raced through the tunnel like she was in a video game, and then made a too-fast left turn through the gate into the parking lot of the Rolling Thunder Motor Hotel. Her car was made for this kind of driving. It was fine.
The building was obviously from the previous century. Fifties, maybe. However, the paint was new, and it looked like the original doors and windows had been replaced. Probably to help soundproof the rooms. Or maybe she was being cynical. She parked and walked into the office, and stopped a few feet inside because Slick blocked her way.
“Get back in your car and go, Iris. Talk to Mac. I can’t answer your questions.”
Iris looked right and saw three women sitting on a clean sofa. It wasn’t a rundown, seedy room at all. The women were scantily dressed, however. Two were in miniskirts, the third in blue jean shorts that didn’t cover as much as Iris’s underwear. One was in an exercise bra, the others in crop tops that showed stomachs with chiseled abs.
She heard another vehicle pull in, and Slick looked up before meeting her gaze again. “You blew off your security? Damn, Iris. You’re smarter than this.”
“I needed to see for myself.”
“Have you seen?”
“No. You won’t let me in.”
He looked up again. “Kenny. Any chance you can convince your charge to leave?”
“I’m just here to keep her safe. Sorry.”
“Damn,” one of the women on the sofa leaned back in what Iris figured was a practiced pose, but it looked natural. “Girlfriend has a hot bodyguard.” The woman looked from Kenny to Iris and grinned. “I like girls and boys, and you are a tall piece of yumminess.”
Slick rolled his eyes. “She’s McGyver’s ol’lady. Off limits.”
Iris wanted to be insulted by the term ol’lady, but in reality, she found herself proud of the fact she was considered Danny’s property. She didn’t think she was actually his ol’lady yet, but Viper used the term, and now Slick had. She was pretty sure Danny had to give her the title for it to be real, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about making it official.
But she wanted to talk to one of the women, so she wasn’t going to argue over titles. She met Slick’s gaze again. “I’d like to hire one of them. How much for two hours?”
“They’re just housekeeping, taking a break because there aren’t any rooms to clean right now.”
She looked at them, looked back to Slick, and then looked back to the women. “I only have around four or maybe five hundred dollars cash on me, but there’s a sign that you take Visa if that isn’t enough.”
One of the other women told her, “Like Slick said, we’re waitin’ on someone to check out, so we can clean the room.”
“Ya’ll know I don’t believe that.”
She shrugged. “Can’t control what you believe.”
A phone rang, and the girl in the exercise bra pulled it from the bra and answered. She listened, said, “Sure thing,” and hung up.
“Mac says he wants me to take you into the office and answer your questions honestly.” She looked to Slick. “Says he’ll pay me for my time. Regular MC rates.”
“I’ll pay you,” Iris told her. “Any chance we can go into one of the rooms ya’ll use, instead of the office?”
She looked at Slick, who walked behind the desk, looked at a computer screen, and told her, “Four.”
“Got it.” She turned to Iris. “I’m Candy. Slick called you Iris?”
“Yeah. You ever fucked my boyfriend?” She realized how it sounded, and added, “Forget I asked. His past isn’t important.”
“I haven’t. I know him because he’s come to install security equipment a couple of times, and he and Brain teach us about security protocols.”
“Would you tell me if you had?”
“Ordinarily, not on my life, but he told me to answer all your questions honestly, so… yeah. I would.”
Kenny sighed and told Slick, “I’ll park near the room and watch the front from the car. I trust you have the back covered?”
“Rooms three and four are our most secure rooms. Bathroom has the tiny window for fire codes, but no one’ll get in without a sledgehammer. Five’s occupied, so no one’s gonna sneak in through an inside wall.”
“Good to know.”
He walked back to his car, and Iris followed Candy out the door and down the sidewalk.
The room was sparse but clean. A single wooden chair without arms. Nice and solid. Not cheap. A nightstand. A king-sized bed perfectly made with sheets and a thin blanket, but no spread. The bathroom was small but spotless.
“Who cleans in here, for real?”
“We have people who come in and clean between times. Once the customer leaves, usually they’re mopping and changing sheets while I shower, and then they wipe the shower down when I get out. The prospects get stuck doing it if one of the maids calls in sick. The maids who do an extra good job, I share a little of my tips with, but Slick says we can’t do that with the prospects.”
“You always shower in between?”
“Depends. Some guys just want to talk, or maybe cuddle and talk. Everyone wears a condom, so I can get away with not showering, but I…” She hesitated. “He said you know what he is?”
Iris nodded, and Candy gave a shrug, like that was supposed to explain why she’d shower between. “If Slick says to shower, I figure they’re something special.”
Ah. Okay. That made sense. A werewolf would still smell all the other men, but a shower would probably help tone it down.
“I don’t really know what to ask. I mean, on the one hand, I don’t think I can date a pimp, so maybe questions aren’t necessary, and yet, I guess I want to grasp at straws and find a way to justify it.”
“None of the brothers are our pimp. They take care of us. They give us a safe place to work. We’re scheduled to come in, like a regular job. We let them know how much we want to work, and when we need off, and they put us on the schedule.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “I’ve had an actual pimp, who sends you out and don’t let you quit until you bring him a thousand dollars, and then he only gives you three hundred of it back — and if you take a break before you get your thousand, you’re in danger of him either beating you up or giving you to someone who’ll do it for him. He says work? You work or you get beat up. Even if you’re sick, or your mom’s in the hospital. Doesn’t matter — you get him his money before you can do anything else. If no one’s buying, you stand out on the street until someone is. This is different. They aren’t pimps.”
“How much do you charge an hour?”
>
“Five hundred for regular sex. Extra stuff costs more.”
“So, I’ll need to pay you on my card, which is fine.”
“No, you get a discount. Twenty-five percent, which makes it three seventy-five. You can use your cash.”
“No, if you make five hundred an hour, I’m not going to make you lose money because you had to talk to me.”
Candy shook her head. “The MC schedules our appointments, provides a clean room, and gives us kick-ass security. They get twenty-five percent of our take. When I do a brother, he pays what I make, not what the MC gets. I charge five hundred, I make three-seventy-five.”
Iris wanted to be indignant about the twenty-five percent, but Candy had just told her that pimps take seventy percent. Plus, she could see that the MC wasn’t just taking their percentage — they were offering a lot for it. The clean room, having someone else handle the scheduling, and knowing they were safe was probably worth every penny.
“You do girls?”
“I do. Usually when a couple comes in.”
“So, you’d do me, if I asked?”
“Sorry. You’re McGyver’s ol’lady. He’d have to say it’s okay.”
“I want to be indignant, except you’re right about needing to check in with him. Besides, I couldn’t subjugate someone like that.”
“Oh honey, it ain’t subjugation. It’s a business transaction. We have a girl who specializes in the rough stuff, and she charges fourteen hundred an hour because she makes a thousand an hour. The fourteen hundred is the MC’s cut and a brother sitting in a tiny little closet in the back of the room, watching in a two-way mirror, so he can intercede fast if the girl’s in trouble. She lets ’em choke her and slap her and all kinds of shit. She likes it, but she also likes the money. I prefer the nice guys, so that’s who Slick gives me.”
“How often do you, ummm, service the brothers?”
“Not often, but...” she shrugged. “I get the feelin’ the men have the sweetbutts if they just wanna fuck, but when they need more, they pay one of the girls who can handle it rough.”
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