Diablo Blanco Club: Unfair Advantage (30 page)

Mattie recalled the comment she’d made to the drunken model. “I didn’t mean it,” she began, but the other woman’s laughter filled the room, warming the chill Frieda’s vindictive speech had left behind.

“God, I was hoping you did. The way that tramp tries to steal men from other women, not to mention masters from subs, she’d deserve everything she got and more.” Leaning forward, she settled her hand over Mattie’s and gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. She reached up and removed the necklace from around her throat. “Listen, this means nothing to Bryce.” Holding it in her hand, she stared at it a moment before tucking it into the tiny purse dangling from a gold chain over her shoulder. “None of the women he gave these trinkets to meant anything to him. As for Frieda’s comments about not being claimed”—she motioned to the rings on Mattie’s fingers—“those are a truer sign of Bryce’s ownership than any bit of glitter he may have handed out before.”

Watching carefully, Mattie tried to believe what the woman was telling her, but even she could see a hint of doubt in the beautiful blonde woman’s eyes. Knowing how she’d tried to alleviate her doubts, Mattie couldn’t begrudge her the attempt. “Thank you.”

“LaTreace.” She offered her elegant hand in response to Mattie’s outstretched one.

“Thank you, LaTreace.”

With a smile, LaTreace glanced over at Lyssa. “I know she’s already taken, so if you head out to the Club tonight, make sure you keep your hands off a certain blond bartender. I’ve been trying to tempt him for a month now, but with no luck.”

Mattie had to smile at the blush filling her sister’s cheeks. Even as she tried to convince herself LaTreace was right, the temptation to cover her bare neck had Mattie clenching her fists to keep them in her lap.
Maybe she’s right, maybe I should be satisfied with being his wife. It’s the same thing Lyssa told me a few days ago
.

* * *

“Please,” she cried, her body quivering, desperate for release as Bryce stroked her breasts in time with each thrust. The full feeling of the plug, coupled with his cock sliding in and out, had left her teetering on the edge for nearly an hour. Each time climax came too close, she’d find some way to hold it off, but now control was too shaky. The wet clasp of his lips over her nipple overwhelmed her senses and left her gripping the restraints binding her to the bed until her knuckles were white.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes, please, I need—”

“Better than when Richard was with us?”

She could swear there was something in his voice. Forcing her eyes open, she tried to clear her thoughts, read the expression in Bryce’s face. Confusion and need fogged her mind, making it difficult to think coherently. “No…yes…I don’t know.”

Above her, Bryce stilled; his hands rose to cup her face, fingers smoothing the sweat-dampened curls from her eyes. “Explain.”

She wondered why he’d ask. “For you.”

Holding her gaze, his lips smoothed away the tears she wasn’t aware she’d shed. “Why?”

And there it was, the one question she’d asked, her sister had asked. Why would she do these things? And just as simply, the answer came through. “It pleases my master. You’re my master. I love you.”

His expression was inscrutable. The pride she could read easily in his eyes, but still something was missing.

“You may come.” The cool command washed any thought from her mind. The pulsing wave of orgasm moved through her body, flooding her senses, erasing any idea she might have of trying to reason out Bryce’s reaction to her words. Or the actual lack of reaction.

The knocking on the door was the first thing Mattie heard as she eased back into herself. The bindings on her wrists had been released, the cuffs still in place. Bryce had removed the plug and bathed her body, leaving her feeling refreshed rather than sticky with sweat.

“All right,” Bryce growled, the bed shifting as he rose and tugged on the slacks he’d discarded earlier.

Swinging her legs off the bed, she sat up and reached for the robe folded on the nightstand beside her. Even as she finished tying the belt at her waist, Mattie could hear the commotion from downstairs as Bryce pulled open the door.

“What is it?”

“Lionel Makepeace is kicking up a fuss downstairs.” Ben Murphy stood on the threshold, his blond hair tousled. “Richard tried to handle it, but the old fart is refusing to leave until he talks to you.”

As Ben shoved his fingers through his hair, Mattie realized the condition of his appearance was due to frustration rather than the attentions of LaTreace. Knowing the woman had been downstairs when she and Bryce arrived, she had to smile.

“Okay, give me a second.” Shutting the door, Bryce grabbed his shirt from the chair and pushed his arms into the sleeves. Haphazardly tucking buttons through buttonholes as he shoved his bare feet into his shoes, he paused beside her. “I’m going to go downstairs for just a few minutes. Be right back.” Pressing a hard kiss against her lips, he didn’t wait for a response before striding out of the room.

Curious, Mattie followed. With the robe snug around her, she leaned against the railing and looked down into the lounge area. Near the double doors, Lionel Makepeace weaved drunkenly. His words loud, echoing off the high ceiling, were slurred and abusive. Unable to clearly make out his complaints, Mattie shook her head and turned back toward the room.

Movement down the hall drew her attention. A woman stumbled and fell against the wall before dropping to her knees. Not sure who she was, but concerned there could be something wrong, Mattie hurried toward her. The woman had gotten unsteadily to her feet by the time she reached her, and Mattie was chagrined to see it was the bitchy redheaded model, Charlene, whom LaTreace had mentioned earlier in the evening. Despite her annoyance with the other woman, Mattie couldn’t allow her to go stumbling about the Club. She could hurt herself or someone else.

“Are you okay?” she asked, cautiously touching the woman’s arm.

“Shick,” Charlene mumbled, not even looking at her. “Baf-bafrum.” Her arm came up and she motioned toward a door near the end of the hall.

Unfamiliar with the majority of the upstairs of the Club, other than the rooms Bryce had taken her to, Mattie nodded. “Okay, let me help you.” Draping one arm over her shoulder, she helped the model weave her way down the hall to the narrow door. After reaching their destination, she propped the girl up and pulled open the door beside them. “Give me a sec—” she began, only to feel firm hands shove against her shoulders, pushing her into the dark confines of the room.

The abrupt collision with the wall had her head spinning, but she was aware the door was slammed shut behind her and the click of a lock had her cursing. Something tickled her scalp and she swung at it, thinking some spider had fallen from a web into her hair. Instead, the cool metal of a light pull slithered across her hand. Grasping at it, she tugged and breathed easy as the light clicked on. Forcing herself not to panic, Mattie checked the door to confirm if she’d been locked in.

She had.

Pushing down the fear trying to take hold, Mattie rapped on the door. “Char, this isn’t funny. Open the door.”

A snicker sounded through the wood.

Rattling the knob, she pounded harder. “Damn it, Charlene, enough with the jokes. Open the damn door.”

“From what I’ve heard, you like closets.” Frieda Makepeace’s laughter was as nasty as the tone of her voice.

“Frieda?” Mattie looked around her. There were no shelves or rods on the walls to indicate the room was being used as a closet. Four coat hooks were bolted to the walls and door, the dull brass gleaming against the deep crimson paint covering the walls. Another shiver snaked its way down Mattie’s spine. “This isn’t funny, Frieda. Let me out of here.”

“Tell me, Mattilda, what wicked little games did you play to make your father lock you up? Hmmm?”

The slam of a fist against the door had Mattie recoiling. Memories clawed to be free, but she fought to push them back. “Let me out, Frieda.”

“Did you tell Bryce what you did?” Frieda’s sneer was evident in her voice. “Does he know all about how your daddy shot your whore mother?”

Feeling as if the bloodred walls were closing in on her, Mattie glared at the door. Angry, terrified at the images coming to mind, she attacked the door, hammering at it with her fists and bare feet. “You bitch! Let me out of here! Now!”

“Like father, like daughter, right?” Frieda snarled. “You should have been locked away. Caged up for what you did.”

“When I get out of here—” Mattie snarled right back.

“Who says you’ll get out?”

Pressing her ear to the door, Mattie could hear the thud of footsteps fading. Pounding on the door, she called out, “Let me out. Frieda. Charlene. Goddamn it, let me out of here!” Over and over she shouted, hoping someone would hear her, but nothing.

Shaking, exhausted from crying out, hands, feet, and shoulders hurting from trying to force the door open, Mattie drew a deep breath and then another. “Okay, okay,” she whispered. Her throat sore from calling, she stepped back and examined her surroundings.

If she stretched out both arms, she could put her palms flat against the wall. Turning, she did it again, this time pressing against the back of the room and the door. “So, good news.” She tried to reassure herself. “I can at least be comfortable if I have to sleep on the floor.”

Trembling, she made herself sit down facing the door with her back against the wall. Stroking her hand over her lower abdomen, Mattie soothed herself as she spoke to the baby she carried. “Sorry, kiddo. Mommy has a thing about closets, you know. That old bitch is wrong. We’re not gonna be stuck here for long. Daddy’ll come get us; you’ll see.”

Nodding to herself, Mattie closed her eyes, shutting out the color surrounding her and the memories it evoked. “We’re okay,” she repeated. “Everything will be okay.” If she kept talking, the voices from the past couldn’t get through, Mattie assured herself. “There’s a light. And Bryce is here. He’ll find us. It’ll be okay.”

Downstairs Bryce grew tired of Lionel’s slobbering excuses. “Go home,” he ordered, pushing the older man toward one of the heavily muscled security officers. “You’re drunk, and you don’t know what you’re babbling about, Makepeace.”

“Your father ru’n’d ev’r’thin’,” Lionel slurred.

“Go. Home.” Bryce nodded at the man supporting Lionel and shut the door.

“Jesus.” Richard waved his hand in front of his face to dispel the stench of alcohol the older man had left behind. “Maybe you should have sent him to a detox center instead of home.”

“That’s not going to fix Lionel’s problem.” Bryce shook his head, turning toward the stairs and the room where Mattie waited for him.

“Sending him home isn’t going to help either,” Richard offered.

“Until he—”

The slam of another body stopped his words. Looking down in exasperation at the overdone makeup and tight, thigh-skimming dress Charlene wore, he cursed the impulse that had made him bed her two years ago. Setting her away from him, Bryce shook his head. “I think you need to take a cab back to your place, Char.”

He guessed the pout on her lips was supposed to be sexy, but to him it only looked pathetic. “Only if you come with me, lover,” she purred.

“No, thanks.” Bryce turned away, again heading for the stairs.

“What you see in that little bitch is beyond me.” She snickered.

“I would watch it, Char,” Richard warned before Bryce could do the same. When he saw his friend move the model toward the door, Bryce nodded his thanks.

“Why? She’s useless.” The redhead chortled over her shoulder. “Can’t even handle being locked in a closet without freakin’ out.”

Bryce had her facing him before she’d finished her sentence. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“See, you need a real—”

“What the fuck did you do?” Ignoring the wary faces watching him, Bryce demanded, “Tell me, Char.”

“Frieda said she needed to learn a lesson. I thought you should see that Mattie wasn’t what you needed, so I helped her.”

The fear on her face only made him more determined. “What did you do, Charlene?”

* * *

The crackling sound had Mattie’s eyes flying open. It seemed like hours had passed since Freida and Char had left her here. The light above her flickered, winking off, then burning bright. “No no no,” she whispered, pleaded, as she scrambled to her feet. “Don’t, no, don’t go out. Please,” Mattie begged, knowing the light was the only thing harnessing the memories, keeping them locked away. Again the bulb faded, flickered, burned bright before dimming.

Even as she reached up, her hands wet with cold sweat, the light winked out and remained dark. Sobbing, she grabbed for the bulb, crying out at the heat and then screaming as the hot glass shattered against her wet hand. Nothing made sense. The explosion from the burst bulb echoed off the walls around her. Terrified, she stumbled back, falling against the back wall and sliding down. Glass crunched under her knees, the pain barely registering as the memories broke free, flooding her mind with images of bloody walls, screams, and pain.

Pointing over his shoulder toward the stairs, a key dangling from her fingers, Char’s eyes grew wide. “The closet. At the end of the east hall, we—”

She hadn’t finished speaking when Bryce pushed her away, ripping the key from her grip, and sprinted up the stairs, taking two and three at a time. The pounding of feet behind him signaled Richard and at least one other Club member had followed him.

“Pirate,” she whispered, sobbing, knowing that if Bryce heard their safe word he would be there. He would take care of her.

Again she said it, this time louder.

Then again, louder still.

And again and again and again, until the tiny walls surrounding her nearly vibrated with her screams.

Across the landing and up the second stairway, he’d almost reached the newel post when he heard her scream.

“Pirate!” echoed up the hall twice more before he’d reached the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.