Indiscreet (The Agency Dark Affairs Duet Book 1)

by Amélie S. Duncan

  The knocks came again, calling me away from my reminiscing. I climbed out of bed and put on my robe then padded out of the bedroom to the front door with my mask in hand. When I went to reach for the doorknob, I hesitated.

  Who would need to come to the suite right now?

  I decided to ask through the door. “Who is it? Is there something wrong?”

  There was silence at first, but then a deep male voice spoke from the other side. “Nothing to be alarmed about. We’re doing checks.” His tone was light, and under normal circumstances I’d have opened the door, but nothing about this trip was typical. With all the caution Dane and Elliott had taken by keeping me away from the rest of the people on board, it wouldn’t be right to not be careful. Then again, as one of the ‘kept’ women, would it be expected of me to follow instructions? While I pondered, the doorbell rang again, followed by a rapid knock.

  “I’ll open the door, but could you please tell me who’s doing the checks?” I asked. No answer came right away, and I thought perhaps the man left, but then came his answer: “Housekeeping.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck rose. Why would housekeeping need me to open the door? Wouldn’t they have their own key if there was some sort of scheduled checks? Whatever was happening, I wasn’t going to let this stranger in without Dane and Elliott being here.

  “I’m sorry, but Dane—I mean, Mr. Westbrook and Mr. Carmichael are not in. They’ll let you in when they return.” My voice wavered slightly.

  “Fine,” said the man, and I let go of the breath I’d been holding in.

  Jittery, I sat down on a couch to try to calm my nerves, which had jumped during the exchange. On the one hand, several staff members had come to deliver things during the time I’d been there, and all of them had asked before coming inside when they dropped off room service, or so I assumed. However, I couldn’t remember if they entered with their own key or if Elliott or Dane answered for them. After a few minutes of debating, I concluded the man could as easily have a staff member give him a key should he need to return to the room to complete his checks. Hopefully, Dane or Elliott would return by then.

  I tightened my robe. They both made me feel safe there. I waited a while then got up to see if they’d left a note.

  What I discovered draped across one of the dinette chairs was the jeans and shirt I’d had on when I went to Dane’s a few days before. Days—it seemed longer. I removed them from the hanger. If Dane had left them for me, it must’ve meant we were about to dock in San Francisco, which meant I would finally get to leave. Would Dane find Angel? Would they be safe?

  My heart constricted. I wanted to leave, but I also wanted Dane and Elliott safe.

  Returning to the bedroom, I decided to dress in my regular clothing. The bell sounded again while I was brushing my teeth, but I decided not to rush off to answer. The quiet when I turned off the water assured me they must have done whatever check they needed. Still, I put the mask back on, just in case they returned. I walked back into the bedroom, and then I stopped short.

  A man was standing there in a leather jacket and black jeans with his back to me. He hadn’t turned around, though my gasp was loud. Then he said, “About time you finished. You fucked up by making me go out and get someone to let me inside. I’ll punish you for that. Kneel.”

  I didn’t understand why he needed to be inside in the first place. Did Dane and Elliott know he was here?

  My legs wobbled as I tried to assume the kneeling position Elliott had shown me, but not before I saw what he’d been doing. The man had a suitcase I recognized as Dane’s out in front of him. The contents were scattered across the bedding.

  My pulse sped up. “I was waiting for Dane and Elliott,” I said in as calm a tone as I could manage. I wasn’t sure if I should continue to speak, so I remained quiet and still on the floor while he continued his rifling. I froze. I was certain Dane wouldn’t like him doing it, but I couldn’t decide what to do. Then dark leather shoes entered my field of vision right before the pointed toe dug into my knee cap.

  “Dane and Elliott? Not Mr. Westbrook and Mr. Carmichael?” he mocked, laughing at my mistake. “You don’t address them as sir either. It’s just like my uncle said: you all seem awfully familiar with each other and no one else here. I know everyone, and I don’t know you. That’s a problem we’ll fix right now.”

  His hand suddenly closed on my head and tugged at my mask.

  I gripped it and reared back as it came apart in his hands. My eyes inadvertently lifted to his face, and my mouth fell open. He still looked confused, like he didn’t recognize me, but now that I could see his face fully, I instantly recognized him. It was Marco, Liz’s boyfriend.

  I went to lower my head again, but he grabbed my braid and yanked my head up toward him.

  “You know me? Tell me how and I won’t hurt you.”

  I wasn’t fool enough to believe him, nor was I willing to keep the charade up to remain alone with him. Dane and Elliott hadn’t ever left me alone for long. They had to be on their way back now. I thought about the knife that was still in my robe, but if he was already trying to hurt me, what would he do if I used a weapon? I decided to remain calm. “I thought I knew you, but I don’t. I’ll wait for Mr. Westbrook and Mr. Carmichael to return.”

  “No, you won’t.” He yanked hard on my hair again and I stifled a whimper. “You’re lying. Tell me the truth now, cunt.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but drew his hand back to hit me.

  Protocol be damned—I wasn’t going to sit there and take a beating.

  I punched his cock as hard as I could. He doubled over, but I didn’t wait to see if it was enough to keep him down. As quickly as I could, I pushed to my feet and rushed out of the suite. The direness of the situation pressed down on me with every footfall.

  I was in the hallway running down the deck in clothing but no mask—so much for not standing out again. Surprisingly, the deck was clear, and I stopped behind a door to try to figure out what to do. My eyes widened at what I saw in the sunrise: land. We had docked.

  Were Elliott and Dane getting things in order so I could safely leave?

  With Marco after me, I couldn’t wait around any longer.

  Turning a corner, I could see the exit sign ahead. If I could get off, I could tell someone to help me. I saw the sign for the stairs, but then I tumbled down and slammed hard on the deck, the wind completely knocked out of me.

  Marco. He jumped up and yanked me to my feet by my arms then twisted them up my back as I cried out in pain.

  “What’s going on?” a man’s voice yelled out. Marco didn’t let me go when the guard came fully into view. His eyes shifted between us then settled on Marco. “Who is she?”

  My breath staggered. “I’m with Mr. Westbrook and Mr. Carmichael. He came into their room and I caught him going through their things. He hurt me.”

  Marco twisted my arms harder and I yelped. “Shut up. She’s hysterical.”

  “I should probably call this in.” The guard took out his radio.

  Marco guffawed. “You’re taking the word of a lying bitch over me?” He scoffed. “She hit me.” He let go of my arm then slapped me across my face, and I shrieked as stars filled my vision.

  “Shit, man, you can’t hit them before the trade show. Vincent will be upset,” the guard said.

  “Her face isn’t what they want her for anyway,” Marco replied with a snicker. “Vincent is my uncle and he runs this show, and you and no one else will do a damn thing about it. I don’t know who she is, and she won’t tell me, which is a problem. Just put this cunt in the limo. Send someone to clean their room so I can find out who she is.”

  “If she’s with them, won’t they be looking for her?” the guard asked as he took control of my arms, which were now sore.

  “Dane disappointed my uncle, so he’s uninvited to the trade show,” he said dismissively. “If he comes looking, tell them she left.”

  “What about Elliott?” he a
sked. “He’ll want details.”

  “Just give him a pick of the women,” Marco told him. “He’ll drop it. Hell, my uncle said he was trying to get rid of her last night, but Dane was acting like an asshole. We already have a plan for them anyway if they fuss too much.”

  Marco left me with the guard, and I struggled in his arms. Something sharp bit into my skin and I swayed.

  “Now that should keep you quiet,” the guard said as he slung me over his shoulder.

  I could just make out drops of my blood on the deck as we moved away from the stairs then onto the boarding ramp before everything went dark.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  Hands shook my body. “You need to wake up.”

  The voice sounded like someone was calling me from the other end of a tunnel. I drew air into my lungs and was hit by pain in my chest and ribs. My cheek hurt, and so did my arms. The memory of how I’d gotten hurt was fuzzy at first, but with every painful breath I took, it became clearer. I had been attacked by Liz’s boyfriend, Marco. He’d been upset that I recognized him and witnessed him going through Dane’s things. His violence was chilling. Poor Liz. She’d been in pain the last time I saw her, when I didn’t listen or insist on helping her.

  Pain and remorse ate away at me. She could be hurt badly by now, or worse.

  “Here’s an ice pack. I’ll be right back,” said a female voice. Someone pressed cool gel on my face. The drug haze was losing its effect, and now, without effort, I opened my eyes and glanced around. The brightness of the light pouring in through the three large windows in the room took a few seconds to get used to. When my eyes adjusted, I could see a stunning panoramic view of the Golden Gate Bridge and blue skies. I was in San Francisco, but where?

  I went to sit up on what I now saw was a four-poster bed and winced. My shirt and jeans were gone, leaving me in my underwear. Bruises stood out on my skin, but I was relieved that nothing had been broken. The band was still on my wrist. Dane and Elliott—they’d probably returned and realized I was gone. Were they looking? They must have thought I left.

  If Marco and the guards searched the room, they must’ve found my identification by now, so they know I’m the ex of the governor of Washington and a prominent business owner that was active in the community. They’ll have to let me go.

  That was what I kept telling myself as I took in my surroundings. The furnishings were a mixture of imported antiques, though more custom contemporary in styling. The bed I was on was near one of the two stone and marble fireplaces in the room. Each one had custom couches, tables, and lamps surrounding them, all perfectly set. The famous paintings and sculptures with authentications displayed throughout the room led me to believe this place didn’t belong to someone who was just rich, but someone of great wealth. The closing of a door in the far left corner had me turning my attention there. An older woman in an old-fashioned black and white bibbed maid’s uniform wheeled in a portable wardrobe that was twice as big as her. Her gray hair was platted closed to her scalp, making me think of pictures from the 1930s.

  “Like my hair? I’ll give yours some style too.” She sat on the bed. “Maybe cover the side of your face to hide the bruise. Honestly, you’re a bit of a mess. I don’t know what you did, but try not to do it again or you’ll attract the wrong man at the trade show.”

  “I don’t understand,” I asked. “What’s a trade show?”

  “You don’t even know?” she said, flabbergasted. Then she shook her head. “Of course you don’t. What were you promised? Cinderella stories?” She snickered. “You will find out there are no shortcuts in life. Everyone is paying, even those glamorous socialites you worship.”

  I opened my mouth and closed it. At one time, I had been one of those socialites she criticized, and in a way, she was right. I’d paid, and I’d built a new life, one I wanted to return to.

  “All I know is that I was supposed to leave,” I said after she helped to prop a pillow at my back. “I mean, I went to an Agency mixer and cruise…”

  She patted my leg. “Don’t worry, I know everything. Maybe it’ll all come back to you once the sedative wears off.”

  “It’s not the drug. I never got an answer on the trade show,” I replied before clearing my throat.

  “You were with a man who was taking care of you,” she said. “But if you’ve been put in the pool of women they decided it didn’t work out with them for whatever reason then you’ve been sent to the trade show. You’ll still get your sweet deal, but with another sponsor of sorts.” She spoke with unconcealed repulsion.

  “I never asked for a sweet deal or a sponsor,” I groused in frustration. “I’m not supposed to be here. I only went to one mixer—I’m not really a part of it. I had problems with my business and came to work on it with one of the people involved, but then I was forced into coming along. I don’t belong here. I need to get home. Will you please help me? Do you know Dane Westbrook and Elliott Carmichael—”

  She held up her hand for me to stop. Her eyes shifted from side to side, and I had to strain my ears to hear her. “Stop speaking. I have no power to help you here, at least not in the way you want.” She pointed to the door and she didn’t have to speak for me to understand that guards were outside.

  I mouthed, “Send a message?”

  She did a slow shake of her head and I deflated.

  “I’ve never heard of those men you mentioned, and you haven’t either,” she cautioned before sighing heavily. “Now, let me help you in a way I can.” She went over to the wardrobe and pulled out a high-collared, long-sleeved evening gown. The front was all lace and the flowing silk of the bottom half was long enough to cover my feet. “This will cover any bruises from what happened to your arm. The sheer material on your breasts will be attractive.”

  “I don’t want to attract any of them,” I grumbled.

  “I understand, but Mr. Santiago is picking you up in the next hour. You must be ready.” She pulled out a thong and silk stockings for me to wear with the heels that were set out. “You need to get dressed. It’s the only way out without getting hurt. Choose your battles.”

  She helped me stand up, but I was conscious and coherent now. I went to change into the lace lingerie and the gown. She entered the bathroom and turned on the faucet.

  “I have some e-comply,” she whispered, showing me a tablet in her hand. “It’ll help you to not remember all that they do to you.”

  They? My insides crumbled, but I refused, comforting myself by thinking I’d find a way out without her help by getting the information she would share. “What do they do?”

  “Mostly sex, maybe try out some toys, spanks, clamps, whips,” she said. “Some even more, but we’ll try to get you to someone kind.” I doubted she’d have any control over who I went to. Besides, her speech seemed practiced, something she probably told many before me to get them to behave, but I wouldn’t, nor would I get past the idea of pain.

  “Are some of the men…sadists?” I asked.

  “You wish,” she said sadly. “Sadists play with those that are masochists. They play by rules and have limits. Most want to keep playing, not damaging their submissive beyond repair. These men have too much money and power to play around with. They like to raise the stakes for their own enjoyment.”

  I gasped and clutched my stomach. I wasn’t leaving with any of them. I will get out, I kept repeating in my head.

  “Keep your head down and don’t cry. Tear streaks are an aphrodisiac for some here. Defiance is a challenge that some will work to break.” She stared down at her hands. “The more you comply, the more freedom you’ll get and the more options you’ll have. The easier some of them have it, the less they will want to keep you.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I whispered, fumbling as I struggled to put the silk stockings in place.

  She met my eyes. “I’m not telling you anything, understand?”

  I clasped her hand. “Thank you…?”

  She shook h
er head. “No names.”

  She had said all she had for me. The second she was done styling my hair, the door opened to reveal the man I remembered was the guard who took me off the ship. My skin crawled as his gaze shifted up and down my body. I looked around for a mask, but there wasn’t one. My identity would be revealed. Once it was, with all I’d witnessed, I doubted I’d be let go.

  The guard let out a whistle. I grimaced, and the woman cleared her throat, reminding me what she had warned me about. I allowed him to take my arm. For now, until I find my escape.

  “You’re beautiful, baby girl,” he said. “Maybe the host will let the guards play with you before he has to turn you over.”

  “She’s for the host?” the woman asked, the alarm in her voice evident.

  The only host I knew was Vincent, but that didn’t surprise me. It had become personal between him and Dane during the evening we were together. What was making my pulse ramp up to a frantic pace was the news that I was to be turned over to someone else. They hadn’t removed my wristband. Could it be that they would give me back to Dane? The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  “Turn me over to who?” I demanded.

  The guard looked straight through me. “Whoever they please.” He took my arm and my hope.

  ***

  Outside the room was an elevator that took us down to a private underground garage where a limousine was waiting. The guard let go of my arm and opened the back door, where Marco appeared and climbed out.

  “Gia Walsh,” Marco said, grinning. He used my married name—did he not know I was divorced? I didn’t seek to correct him, but it gave me an idea.

  I shrugged. “If you know my name, you also know I’m the wife of Washington’s governor, Patrick Walsh Jr. You need to let me go now.”

  He chuckled. “That’s the very reason you can’t go, stupid,” he said in a mocking tone. “But don’t you worry, once you adjust to your new life, you’ll be fine, just like your friend Liz. She said she knows you, told me everything about you.”