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Authors: S.E. Chardou

Killing Time (6 page)

BOOK: Killing Time
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“What Trésor and I had was special. It was what she was born to do and with me, she found her calling. I loved her so very much and I would do anything for her but . . . it’s hard because you have to keep a part of yourself closed off, reserved as a Dom. The submissive partner must never know they have any power over you but she did—she knew it. She instinctively knew I would never really hurt her or do anything she wouldn’t be able to recover from and that is what made our relationship so fascinating, so beautiful.

“I saw her in a Thierry Mugler show during fashion week in London. It was…lust at first sight. I loved her litheness . . . her slender body and the way she looked in the clothing. She was starving herself then but all I could see was how much better she would look if she only gained fifteen pounds.”

“My God, I remember that show. I was there. It was the only one I could make and when she saw me afterwards, she pretended I didn’t exist. She later sent me a text to say she was spacey and please forgive her or some such shit. I don’t remember the exact words.”

“Yes, she was spacey. She was hooked on a combination of Red Bull and Vicodin. She wasn’t eating and she barely slept but the designers loved her because they could cover all her imperfections with makeup. She was also self-harming at the time—the insides of her buttocks, mostly. It wouldn’t show when she had to wear revealing clothing. She used a razor blade.”

The tears began to fall whether I wanted them to or not. “Is that why the police think she did this to herself? I just . . . I knew she was hurting but she wouldn’t kill herself. Trésor had too much pride. I just can’t believe she could do this and she wanted so desperately to be loved. You loved her, didn’t you?”

I knew I sounded drunk and out of it myself because hadn’t I asked him that question already and he’d answered in the affirmative?

“Yes, I loved your sister very much and I don’t believe the suicide crap either. Trésor’s punishment was no worse or better than any previous ones. I would have been here but I got called away to Munich on business. I was only gone two days and God knows I now wished I would have taken her with me.”

He was so close I could smell his cologne. Expensive and dark, it was hypnotic and fragrant. I grabbed his left hand and squeezed. “I’m so sorry I doubted how you felt for her. I had no right to judge. If she was happy . . . well, that’s all that matters.”

Rory’s aquamarine eyes met mine. “What about you? Are you happy?”

What ever daze had befallen me lifted as if someone had just doused my face with ice cold water. “I don’t see how that has
relevance to this conversation.”

“I take that as a ‘no’ then.”

I refused to answer him but he was much more patient than I would have ever given him credit for. He turned on his heels and walked away, leaving me in that empty foyer.

Chapter Three




apartment used to be the residence of my sister’s, I had no wish to look around. I couldn’t be a journalist at the moment when I was still secretly grieving. I hated my emotions seemed to swing from out right denial of Trésor’s demise to passive acceptance which threatened to take over and leave me absolutely demolished as a human being.

The click of expensive shoes brought me back from my own thoughts. The Prada loafers on the pristine marble flooring belonged to none other than Rory Krieger and he held a large wooden jewelry box that was obviously expensive. It contained several different drawers that divided the box into sections and it also had a lock. He gave me the key to hold instead of the box.

“Be careful since . . . that is the only copy. There are other items, which belonged to her but I will have them shipped back to your parents’ house in France. There was one personal box which I feel you should have . . . my driver will drop it off at your residence tomorrow. She did leave you with a substantial amount of money but I’m afraid I would need my attorney to speak about that,” Rory explained.

“Is it heavy?” I wondered and hoped he understood I was inquiring about the jewelry box.

“Yes, it is because everything inside is real. My driver will drop you at home and carry it up to your apartment. Please give him clear instructions as to where he should leave it.”

I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. “This money of my sister’s . . . I don’t think I want it and since your attorney isn’t here—”

“Don’t be asinine,” Rory cut off dismissively. “It’s a lot of money. Meet me at my club tomorrow night in the Meatpacking District. My driver will pick you up at nine. Is that all right with you?”

“Do you mean . . . at night?”

“Well seeing as I own a string of
then yes, it would
at night, Ms. Segler-DeMarche. It is a sex club for people who are into BDSM. I assure you safe sex is always practiced; I do not hire at-risk females or those who have been sold into a life of bondage.

“It’s a tough job especially where the Eastern European and Asian women are concerned. We often have to make sure they don’t owe a debt to one kind of mafia or another though it is mostly the Albanians, Chinese Triads and Russians that give us trouble. I assure you won’t be witnessing anything you have never seen before unless you have never observed yourself having sex or watched an adult film.”

I pursed my lips. “Is there a dress code?”

“Of course. Wear what you like but dress conservative if you don’t want to be mistaken for one of the workers. They are pretty much fair game . . . it’s their job and they are paid very well to do what they do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

We walked out of the apartment and Rory proceeded to lock it before he returned the key in the lock box attached to the elegant door knob.

I waited until he caught up before we strode to the elevator together.

“I think it also goes without saying that you are not allowed to bring any cameras or mobile phones in the club either. Many of my members are high profile in certain industries including finance, law, medicine and politics. They have no wish to be recorded while they are acting out their fantasies and darkest desires. I hope you understand,” he explained in that same sexy dark chocolate-caramel voice.

“Yes, of course. I assume these items are collected by the coat check personnel?”

“Along with other personal effects and your coat, if you choose to bring one. You can assure along with our exclusivity comes discretion and your reputation as a hot-shit, cutting edge journalist will not be harmed in any way.”

The rest of the time with him was a blur and I had never been happier to see Grayson in all my life.

It wasn’t much of a trek for his driver and in fact, I could have walked it since we lived just four blocks from his old apartment building.

Grayson set the box in the bedroom and immediately opened the floor safe where it and the key were deposited together. He reminded me of Robert DeNiro’s character from the film,
. He wore a paisley robe except his was in red and black and a matching pair of boxers and house slippers. He hated the cold marble floors and though there were plenty of Persian rugs throughout the apartment, he insisted on having house shoes for every Paisley robe and boxer short set he owned.

I changed into a pale pink silk short-sleeved nightgown that almost came to mid-calf and slipped on a matching silk robe. Although not necessarily a nudist, I was comfortable with my body and in my own skin. However, everything about Grayson, his family and his life were all so very staunch and uptight. One did not walk around the apartment in just pajamas, one had to have a matching robe for said pajamas.

Bare feet were considered uncouth and bootie-socks were considered distasteful and “middle-class.” One wore a pair of house slippers at all times when not in regular shoes.

However, due to Grayson’s obsession with cleanliness, shoes came off in the foyer and were carried to our prospective shoe closets. Slippers were the only type of shoe item permitted past the foyer.

We sat on the bed, each on our own sides and drank expensive imported French cognac. I did enjoy this ritual because there was nothing better than a Xanax and cognac to put me to sleep. Tonight, I’d added a Vicodin to the mix and wasn’t feeling any pain.

“So, now you’ve met the notorious and mysterious Rory Krieger, what did you think of him?” Gray inquired as he stretched his long legs.

He did have a wonderful lean body with hidden muscles and skin the color of burnished peaches and cream. He wasn’t deeply tanned but his legs weren’t a sickening pale color either. He would never admit it but I knew he had a hidden tanning bed, which he used twice a month to maintain his perfect complexion.

I sipped from my cognac though I could have easily downed it and poured myself another. “What do you mean, exactly? I barely spent enough time with him for an impression to be made at all if I’m perfectly honest.”

“Stop being evasive, honey. Once you left with him, I called Jason but he was very tight-lipped about the whole Krieger family. Apparently Rory has a brother, Severin, although his nickname is Seven, like the film,” Gray informed me before he swigged from his cognac.

“I don’t get it.”

“What don’t you get?”

“The nickname?
is he known as Seven?”

“It’s complicated. Severin is known for being an extreme and rather proud sadist. If Rory has sadistic tendencies, he is also very kind and gentle but Seven is just a complete and fucking animal. He firmly believes in the whole slave/master mentality and keeps quite a few according to Jason.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t get much out of him regarding his relationship with Trésor other than he loved her. But he wouldn’t tell me what the difference is between a relationship that consists of a dominant and a submissive versus that of one between a slave and a master.”

Grayson smiled but his expression held little warmth. “The difference is
, my dear. Rory cared about Trésor. Although her body belonged to him, he knew her limits and he didn’t share her with others. That is all I am going to tell you about a relationship between a sub and Dom because you’re smart enough to figure out the rest.

“Now, according to Kaysa, Seven has slaves, two women and a man—he’s bisexual, as are many true sadists. He not only owns their bodies but he owns their hearts, their minds and their souls. They do not exist outside of him and they cannot imagine a world where they do not serve him, you understand? He keeps one of the women as a pet. She is not allowed to use the toilet—she has a litter box. She is chained up in a cage and he takes her out on walks on his estate. She is always naked and if he wants her to drink his piss or if he decides to defecate on her body, she will allow him to and not only accept his abhorrent treatment but actually gets off on it. She’s a scat and pain whore; she has a fondness for water sports. She doesn’t have a name because she doesn’t remember it and he calls her ‘Pet’ anyway so I suppose she thinks that
her name.”

“Christ almighty,” I whispered. “Does he live here? In New York?”

“No. He lives in Los Angeles if I am not mistaken but he visits his brother quite often. Oh yeah, be sure you’re talking to the right brother because they are twins.”

“Okay . . . and?”

Grayson breathed deeply in an exasperated way as if he were addressing a small child. “They’re
twins. For some reason, Seven likes to mock his brother so he copies his hairstyle and clothes . . . Jay says it drives Rory nuts but what can he do? They are siblings after all.”

“Where was this Severin when my sister was killed?”

“On a flight here to see his brother. Apparently it has something to do with their family’s business. Anyway, his flight didn’t arrive at La Guardia until shortly after noon so that rules him out. The police have been quite thorough at the insistence of my family. You’re to be my wife, Aurélie, no way would I leave any stone unturned in your sister’s death, you know that.”

I smiled at Gray before I put my cognac glass down and cuddled in the warmth of his arms.

He wasn’t the most emotional person but so what? I knew he loved me in his own way and I loved him. His embrace became a bit more prodding and I allowed him to kiss me, and his tongue to probe my mouth.

Eventually we made love and it was lovely and beautiful though I didn’t come and he fell asleep soon afterwards. I hated getting myself off but it was a small price to pay for a luxury apartment, endless money and a man who actually adored me. My orgasm came after a few strokes of my clit under talented and very familiar fingers. It seized me into its grasp like a possessive lover. I smiled afterwards before I rolled onto my side and settled into a gentle sleep that washed over me like a gentle ocean breeze.


BOOK: Killing Time
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