Gale, Avery - Jenna's Submission [The ShadowDance Club 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More) (24 page)

Mia looked down at the dress she was almost wearing.
No shit, calling this sheer piece of fabric I’m barely draped in a garment is a pretty huge fucking leap of the imagination.
It would be more accurate to call it a see-through shirt that has been ripped to shreds. Why do Doms think it’s cool to dress women in clothes that look like costumes for some Middle Ages slave girl? Well at least your tattoo is plainly visible, can’t imagine Dylan missing that since he was there when it was inked.
Not likely any man in the room was going to miss the deep indigo dragon on her lower back, the dragon’s tail wrapped around nearly to her navel, and the fire he was breathing wrapped around from the other side. It really was too distinctive for undercover work, but it had been a gift from Dylan, and she had never been able to bring herself to have it removed.

Petrov didn’t seem to know much about the lifestyle of Ds, but he was a ruthless bastard who didn’t hesitate a moment to use pain to guarantee a woman’s cooperation. As they pulled up to the security gates, he reached over and squeezed her upper thigh so hard she’d cried out. His warning had been clear, no talking unless it was directed toward their goal.
We’ll see, ass hat, you’re about to walk onto a playing field I know a whole lot more about than you do. You think you’ve got this one all wrapped up, give it your best shot, because it’s game on, baby.
As they passed through the gate, it would have looked like any Dom keeping his hand possessively on his submissive’s leg, a basic form of restraint to anyone monitoring the security cameras. What Petrov hadn’t seen was her quick hand signal, now she hoped her little “Heads up, boys” signal hadn’t been missed by Dylan and whoever he’d brought on for tonight’s little dance with the devil as she’d been thinking of it for the past several weeks.

* * * *

Grayson had kept his face glued to the front gates monitor, hoping to get some advance warning that their target was on-site. “Fuck, Matthews, get over here. I think we’ve got her, and she gave us a signal, hang on, I’m running it back.” Dylan was behind Mitch Grayson in the time it had taken him to blink. Christ, she was really here? “Is that your woman?” Mitch had hearing the sheriff’s thoughts for days and hadn’t needed anyone to tell him about these two’s shared past.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what’s she almost wearing? That’s her, and you’ll have a positive the minute she exits the vehicle if she hasn’t had that dragon tat removed. Run it back and slow it down, I want to see the signal again.” They watched it replay several times when Dylan leaned back and sighed. “We each had a hand sign for ‘I love you’—that was hers to me.” God, he felt like he’d been deflated then filled with a happy gas in the blink of an eye. They’d had dozens of hand signals, things they’d worked out during long, boring stakeouts, and of all those, she’d used this one? Damn, was it possible? Was he lucky enough to get another chance with the woman who still held his heart?

“Let the team know we’re good to go and find out who that bastard is, he’s got his fucking paws on my wife.” Dylan hadn’t ever been able to refer to Melita as his ex-wife, and he sure wasn’t going to start now that she’d used her one second of opportunity to say “I love you” with a hand signal she’d known only he would recognize. No, there was no chance he was going to lose her a second time.

Mitch Grayson gave him a knowing look. “I know who he is, that is Nikolai Petrov, he’s a high-ranking official in the Russian Mafia. Fuck, I have calls to make. Jesus Christ, this thing’s just got about a thousand times more complicated.”

Grayson was typing furiously on the computer and talking on the phone at the same time, and Dylan watched in utter amazement at how the man could have two completely different cognitive lines of processing at the same time and not miss a single beat. Hell most men he knew couldn’t watch a ball game and listen to their wife and know for sure an hour later what she’d said. Every man on the security team was being given a sitrep via their comms, and the security surrounding Katarina’s suite on the second floor of the mansion had just been doubled. Now that they knew who they were dealing with, they held no illusion that the bastard was alone. When a man saw one cockroach, he knew there were a hundred others lurking in the woodwork. It wasn’t going to be a simple “snatch back” because it was a fairly safe bet that Petrov had spent a small fortune to have people already inside and in place. Talking to himself, Mitch’s muttered words echoed the thoughts of every former black-op team member working tonight. “Yep, what we have here is a regular SNAFU, boys, oh yeah, situation normal, all fucked up!”

Chapter 30

As Mia was escorted through the front doors into The ShadowDance Club, there was no doubt in her mind her message had been received. Holy Mother of God, there were security people everywhere, and each one looked at her and then straight to her tat. Holy hell it was hard to keep her eyes downcast and not scan the room for Dylan.

Petrov’s grip on her elbow was almost painful as he pulled her forward and spoke quietly so only she could hear. “Come, slut, you must find the woman Katarina. If we can get the diamonds before needing to stay tonight, we will, and then you will be free to go.”
Yeah, right, I’m real sure you’re just going to let me waltz away knowing you killed a man two nights ago in the motel in Salt Lake City, are smuggling a fucking fortune in diamonds out of the country to buy weapons for your little band of merry murderers, and that your sex-trade business is the largest in the world. Sure, you’re just gonna let me out at the nearest gas station, sure you are! Damn, I sure hope I don’t look that stupid.

“Yes, Sir,” Mia whispered. She had no intention of playing her hand too soon. “Sir, permission to speak?” Even though Petrov wasn’t a trained Dom, he’d learned enough over the past couple of weeks to at least be able to look the role for a short time, Mia was counting on using his lack of knowledge about protocol to her advantage.

“Speak, slut, Christ, this shit is a pain in my ass.” Petrov had a total disregard for others and being a sex trader was a reflection of his complete devaluing view of women in particular. He had led Mia into the main bar area, and his eyes had widened when he’d seen a woman tied naked to a St. Andrew’s cross while her Dom used a single-tail whip to lay perfect red stripes in a crisscross over her back and ass. The woman was begging her master for more, and Petrov had stopped near the small stage, enthralled with what he was seeing. Grateful for his distraction, Mia used the opportunity to look quickly around the room, and it only took her a few seconds to lock eyes with Dylan Marshall.

Dear God, he was just as gorgeous as she remembered. She could practically feel his eyes caressing her nearly naked body. He flicked his eyes to the center of her torso, his lips quirked up fractionally in acknowledgment of the tattoo he’d designed and had inked for her on their first wedding anniversary. Mia’s knees nearly buckled in relief, it took every ounce of self-discipline she had to stay rooted in place. She didn’t know who else in the room was in Petrov’s pocket, but she’d bet her last nickel there were several. Just as she’d brought her eyes back to the floor, Petrov had realized she hadn’t asked her question. “What did you want? You asked to speak and then stare at the floor, you are a typical stupid American whore, you want always to talk when you should be silent and then you’re silent when told to speak. Why men all over this damned planet want American women as their slaves is a baffle to me.” He turned to face her and grabbed her shoulders and gave her a violent shake. “Speak now, or I will give you to one of these perverts and watch as they whip you.” His angry tirade caused spittle to spray her face as he shouted, and she fought the feeling that she was going to throw up. The man must not even own a damned toothbrush and the seafood he’d eaten at lunch didn’t smell any better now than it had when he’d eaten three platefuls earlier.
Yep, real classy fella this one. Just have to pretend for a little bit longer, then I’m going to love watching as you’re cuffed and stuffed, you piece of shit.

“Sir, I need to use the restroom. Doms are always served free drinks at these clubs, I’d be happy to bring you something as soon as I return, Sir.” Trying to act subservient to Robertson and now Petrov was taxing every bit of reserve Mia had, after this mess, she was going on a long, much-deserved vacation. She planned to spend about a month lounging in a hammock on some beach letting cute cabana boys fetch her fruity drinks with little umbrellas, yes, sirree, she had it all planned out.
Just need to get those diamonds and drop a net over this thug. Come into my country and act a fool, we’ll just see how you like American women when Special Prosecutor Brianna Davis gets done with you. Oh baby, she is locked and loaded waiting for a chance at you. That sweet little brunette your guys picked up on the University of Texas campus last summer, that was Tiffani Davis, Brianna’s younger sister. Oh yes indeed, she is most anxious to have a conversation with your happy Russian ass.

“You think I am so stupid as to let you out of my sight? No, you must wait.” Petrov didn’t care if she pissed herself, he wasn’t losing track of her, hell, who knew what shit she’d stir up.

Just then a tall man in jeans and boots stepped into Mia’s limited view, she’d kept her eyes down trying to convince Petrov she honestly believed she had a chance to win her freedom. The man’s deep voice was clearly that of an experienced Dom, but there was an underlying warmth that Mia didn’t miss. “Excuse me, sorry to interfere, but I couldn’t help but overhear your little sub there mention needing to use the bathroom. I know how you feel not wanting to let a pretty little filly like that get away from ya, but the restrooms here are monitored by Doms and dungeon monitors. May I?” He’d obviously asked Petrov’s permission to touch her, because at the ass-hat’s grunt, the man had placed his finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “We don’t worry about our little subs’ privacy, hell, with this outfit showin’ off all her personals, privacy ain’t much of an issue, is it, pet?” Mia was sure he’d just given her a message, likely that the monitor in the restroom was one of the security team. He released her chin and quickly returned his gaze to Petrov. “She’ll be safe in there, you tell the Dom on duty to keep an eye on her, and he’ll make sure she don’t leave his sight for a minute.” With that, he turned and walked away, never looking back. Mia had to suppress a smile, damn, that cowboy sure missed his calling, oh yeah, last year’s Oscar winner didn’t hold a candle to her new hero.

Petrov had grabbed her hand and was dragging her through the crowd toward the direction the cowboy Dom had nodded his head. Mia’s heart was racing, she was sending up prayers way faster than she figured even the most benevolent God could fulfill them.
Please, oh please, let there be a contact waiting in that bathroom for me!

* * * *

Dylan had heard Trace Bartell’s conversation about the restroom and had silently praised Alex and Zach Lamont’s deep pockets and their foresight in placing hidden mics on several of The Club’s regular members. They’d met with men they trusted and had known would be mingling through the room, giving them a brief rundown of the situation and asking that they engage the targets if they had the opportunity. The general consensus was, the more they talked, the better the team’s chance of knowing what was planned. Bartell had played it perfectly. He’d set it up so they would have a chance to speak with Mia, and he’d kept Petrov in the conversation long enough to give someone a chance to get in place. Dylan had to laugh, anybody who thought ranchers weren’t great business men who could step into any situation and make it fly had never met the man known locally as The Gentle Giant. Trace Bartell had lost his wife a while back when she’d been run off the road by a drunken teenager from a neighboring community. Even though the man had been devastated by the loss, he’d lobbied the prosecutor and judge to impose a sentence that would require the young man to work on his ranch for nothing but room and board for a year and a thousand hours of community service. That young man had been a problem in his hometown for years, everybody expected him to fail and damned it if the kid hadn’t tried his hardest to prove them all right. But this past year spent on Bartell’s ranch had turned the kid around. Trace had taught him values and was even helping fund the kid’s college education. When people had asked him why he’d done it, he’d assured everyone it had been healing for them both. Everybody hoped that Trace would find a woman who would appreciate the kind spirit that was still mourning the loss of a great love.

Dylan had seen Alex move into position, so he’d stayed back. It was best to let Alex talk to Melita, hell, if he got close to her, he was going to wrap her in his arms and never let her go, and that wasn’t going to help them tie up this cluster so they could clear both Katarina and Mia of the danger that would continue to haunt them if this didn’t end tonight.

Petrov stopped at the entrance of the women’s lounge and faced Alex Lamont, who stood with his feet planted shoulder-width apart and his arms crossed over his chest. His leather pants left nothing to the imagination and his black silk shirt was open to the waist, showcasing his massive chest and highlighting the deep bronze skin tone he owed to his Native American lineage. He was in full Dom persona, and Mia had to duck her head so that she didn’t smile. She’d spent many nights sitting out on the deck drinking beer and laughing at Alex and Zach Lamont’s crazy stories about growing up on ShadowDance Mountain and then later their harrowing tales of war and narrow escapes.