Little Red Riding Crop (2 page)

“I learned from the best.” She smiled at him, a shallow hollow smile that covered the loneliness they both felt for the one man who could twist them both around his perfect fingers. But she wouldn’t think about him today. Or ever again.

Nora said nothing more as she watched Kingsley wrestle with what little was left of his conscience.

“One month vacation.”

Nora sagged in the seat. She could have cried with relief and kissed the French out of the man with gratitude but …

“But.”

“But? I should have known there would be a but.” Nora sat back up again and gave Kingsley’s “but” the attention it deserved.

“But I need you to do an errand first. Complete the errand successfully, and I shall tell the Underground that your services have been engaged in Europe for the next month. I’ll even send you to Europe, the country of your choice.”

Nora raised her eyebrow.

“What sort of errand is this?” To earn an entire month off plus a trip to Europe on Kingsley’s dime, Nora knew she’d probably have to kill somebody. Two months without sex and she was about ready to.

“Black Forest. I need you to go there.”

Nora’s eyes widened.

“Kingsley … that’s—”

“They are more afraid of us than we are of them.”

“Then why are you sending me instead of going yourself?”

Kingsley crossed his arms over his chest and threw his booted feet up on the seat by her thighs. His every move seemed designed to show how relaxed he was, how laid back. She didn’t buy it.

“They would never let me in. I’m the enemy.”

“And I work for you which also makes me the enemy,” she reminded him.

“Black Forest is poaching my employees. They took Mistress Irena last month.”

“I know but—”

“Hunt quit today.”

Nora had heard about Irena, Kingsley’s Russian Dominatrix, defecting to Black Forest–the only BDSM club in Manhattan that could give Kingsley’s Underground Empire a run for its money. That had hurt. But losing Hunt, the sexiest male submissive in all of New York and one of Kingsley’s many bedtime companions, that was personal.

“So I’m supposed to go there and what? Ask for Hunt back?”

“Black Forest is a mystery even to me,” Kingsley said. “No one ever gets to meet La Grande Dame. She won’t return my calls, answer my notes …”

“She’s smart then.” She’d heard of La Grande Dame or just The Dame to the Underground. The Dame was something of a shadowy figure. Kingsley positioned himself as the King of the Underground, the face of
Kink. He had no shame and lived so publicly he would have traded shares of his empire on the stock exchange had the businesses been legal. But The Dame had no face and no name Nora had ever heard. She couldn’t be touched, couldn’t be influenced and, most importantly, couldn’t be seduced by Kingsley Edge.

“Too smart. I don’t like not knowing my enemy. Go in if you can, find out something, anything for me. A name. A face. Or at the very least get her to stop stealing my people. Anything and you’ll have your month off in Europe. If you can get Hunt back, you can take him with you.”

“Now that is a serious offer.” Nora knew she really didn’t have anything to lose. Worse came to worse, they wouldn’t let her in, she wouldn’t get her month off, and life would go on as usual. No real danger involved except for failure. No real danger but for … but surely not. He wouldn’t be there … would he? “Brad’s not still there … is he?”

Kingsley didn’t answer.

“Shit.” Nora collapsed onto her side.

“One month,
chérie
. Yes or no?”

Nora straightened up again.

“Fine. Fine, fine, fine. I’m going. I’ll go. Maybe Brad won’t be there today. Am I going today?”

“You’re going right now.”

Kingsley nodded at the window. The Rolls Royce had pulled up to a dark alley shrouded by two overhanging trees. The trees had inspired the name of Black Forest. One didn’t see big trees often in New York except in Central Park and yet these two seemingly had sprung
from nowhere to serve as guardians of Black Forest.

As she gazed down the dark alley, water started to pound on the roof of the car as the rain turned to a storm.

“No. Today’s not good. I can’t get my leather wet.”

Kingsley reached under the seat and pulled out a red cloak with a hood.

“No more excuses.”

With a growl, Nora grabbed the cloak and pulled it around her. She covered her hair with the hood and looked once more down the alley.

“If I don’t make it back alive tell You-Know-Who-”

“You will be fine. Go.
Vite!
”

Kingsley waved his hand.

Nora sighed.

“You’ll wait here for me, right?”

“
Bien sûr
,” Kingsley said.

Nodding, Nora opened the door and stepped into the rain. Just to be on the safe side, she brought her toy bag with her. The items in her toy bag were designed for inflicting pain–consensual pain but pain nonetheless. If she was heading into Black Forest, she would go armed.

Staring down the dark alley, she steeled herself. She could do this. She had Kingsley as her backup in case anything …

From behind her she heard the sound of squealing tires. Kingsley had gone.

Nora could only roll her eyes.

“Fucking Frenchman …” she mumbled as she strode forward. “It’s like World War II all over again.”

Early afternoon still, the club hadn’t yet opened. The heels of her boots echoed hollowly off the wet concrete
and the sound followed her to the green door at the entrance to Black Forest.

A rare case of nerves overtook Nora. She’d beaten the shit out of some of the biggest, toughest men in the world if they paid her enough for the privilege. But they’d wanted her to, invited her to. Here, at Black Forest, she came unwanted, uninvited. To comfort herself, she took her red riding crop out of her toy bag and held it by the handle. One never knew …

Nora tried the doorknob and found it locked. No worries there. She started to open her toy bag to dig out her lock-pick set when the door flew open so suddenly she gasped.

The man said nothing, asked no questions, and made no introductions. Of course, he didn’t need to say anything or make any introductions. Nora knew Brad, had seen him before, had met him before … but no matter how many times she’d seen him she could never wrap her mind around the sheer size of the man. At six foot four he stood no taller than her tallest ex-lover. But where most tall men tended toward the lean side, Brad was muscle from shoulder to shoulder, neck to ankle, and so wickedly handsome with his lupine smile and his salt-and-pepper hair that Nora could never look at him without wanting to get hip to hip.

Enemy, she reminded herself sternly. No fraternizing with the enemy.

“Shouldn’t you be at the gym?” Nora recovered her composure quickly. “I can see you shrinking by the second.”

“Well …” he said, looking Nora up and down. He
seemed to take particular note of what she held in her hand and her signature red cloak. “If it isn’t Little Red Riding Crop.”

Nora gave him her brightest, broadest, most obnoxious smile.

“If it isn’t the Big Brad Wolfe. We meet again.”

“And me not even properly dressed.” Brad wore nothing but a pair of loose-fitting black pants and a black shirt … unbuttoned.

“I have that same shirt.” Nora tapped her chin. “Well, actually it’s a bed sheet. Same size. Very comfy.”

“I’ve heard tales of your bed, Mistress. Urban legends.”

“I live in Connecticut. They’d have to be suburban legends. I’ve heard tell of your bed too. Trees as bedposts, right?”

“You’re getting me confused with Odysseus.”

Nora raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself.

“Brawn and brains–I would never have guessed. But then again, I don’t know anything about you.”

“Born in Albany. Played football at Rutgers. Rhodes scholar. Love kink. Hate normal jobs. Divorced. No kids. There. That’s the beginning and end of my life story.”

“Divorced, huh? Vanilla ex-wife?”

“How’d you guess?”

“I’m smart too. Used to a fuck a Rhodes scholar. By the way … are you going to invite me in?”

“Should I?”

Nora thought about that question and decided honesty would win her more points than charm.

“Nope.”

Brad raised a dark eyebrow at her and said nothing. Maybe she should have gone with charm.

While waiting for Brad to make up his mind, Nora started to twirl her riding crop in her hand like a baton. She did that often when burning off nervous energy.

Brad merely watched her. How many damn games of chicken was she going to get into with incredibly sexy men today?

“If I let you in, will you promise not to break anything … or anyone?”

Nora spun the crop one more time.

“Nope.”

“The Dame will have my hide if I let you in and you know it.”

“Then let’s hope you’re into that sort of thing.”

Nora smiled again at him, the smile she reserved for midnight conversations whispered across black sheets. It seemed to work. Brad took a step back and let her pass.

Finally inside Black Forest, Nora took a moment to simply look around. Kingsley’s Underground Empire included half a dozen clubs all over Manhattan. But he only had one club that existed solely for their kind. The 8th Circle, as it was known to insiders, had been carved from the ruins of an old condemned hotel. Kingsley hadn’t done much to spruce up the joint. The seediness of the club suited the clientele. But where The 8th Circle catered to money, Black Forest reeked of it. Black chandeliers with black light bulbs swung low from the black-and-gold ceilings. Leather chairs and sofas littered the floor. A dozen doors lined the first and second floor–doors
that led to private rooms for secret activities.

“You don’t like it, do you?” Brad came to stand behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his skin radiating from his bare chest.

“Bit middle-class, isn’t it? Got a Rotary Club feel to it.”

“It’s a helluva lot nicer than that shit-hole you work in.”

“Exactly. We don’t have to look pretty to get our millionaires through the door. They get that at home.”

“Black Forest is doing extremely well.”

“Must not be doing that well if you have to keep poaching Kingsley’s people.” Nora spun around and attempted to stare Brad down. It would have worked, but she had to look so far up to stare him down …

“Kingsley works his people into the ground. No days off. No breaks. No vacations.”

“He’s a sadist.”

“He’s a bad boss.”

“And The Dame is so much better?”

“She is actually.”

“Then I should meet her,” Nora said, heading toward the stairs. “We can talk 401Ks and dental insurance. You get dental, right?”

For a man built like a linebacker, Brad could move with shocking speed. He interposed himself between Nora and the staircase and stared down at her.

“That’s not fair.” Nora flashed him a pout. “If I can’t stare you down you can’t stare me down.”

“You’re on The Dame’s territory. She makes the rules. I enforce them.”

“Great plan. I’d like to talk to her about it.” Nora tried to push her way past Brad and got nothing for her trouble but a few delicious seconds with her hand on his chest.

“No one talks to The Dame.”

“Then I’ll just listen.”

“No one listens to The Dame either.”

“Fantastic boss you have there then. Come on, Brad. Five minutes. All I need is five minutes with her.”

“For what? Are you really thinking of leaving Kingsley for this middle-class Rotary club, as you called it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Let me talk to The Dame. If she makes me an offer I can’t refuse … well, then I won’t refuse it.”

“I do the recruiting for the club.”

“Well then …” Nora took a step back and tapped her chin with the tip of her riding crop. She saw something heated and mischievous gleaming in Brad’s dark eyes. “Maybe you should try to recruit me.”

“I have Mistress Irena now, along with four other Dominatrixes, plus three male Dominants, including me. We’re not hiring any more Doms.”

“Pity. I have an impressive résumé. And a huge client list. Everyone’s on it.”

“Everyone?”

“Your dad’s on it.”

Brad burst out laughing and Nora only waited with a smile.

“You should be punished for bringing my father into this discussion,” Brad said, raising a hand to her face. Nora didn’t pull away. He might slap her. He might
pinch her nose. He might even kiss her. She wouldn’t have objected to any or all of those possibilities.

But instead of a slap or a pinch or a kiss, he simply caressed her cheekbone with his thumb. She started at the gentleness, the intimacy of the touch, and took a step back.

“What was that for?” she demanded, raising a hand to her cheek. The caress burned more than a slap would have.

“You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re huge and handsome. You don’t see me going around getting all personal with your face.”

“Would you like to get personal with my face?”

“I …” Nora stopped and swallowed. She needed to get back into control of this situation. She could handle Brad. She could handle any man. Well, except for one … “You’re trying to top me, aren’t you?”

“I told you. We’re all stocked up on Dominatrixes. What we really need are a few good subs.”

Nora’s spine stiffened.

“I don’t sub.”

“Not anymore, right?”

Nora glared at him.

“Come on, Nora. Everyone knows who you used to belong to. It’s not a secret.”

“Not a secret, no. But not anything I want to talk about.”

“Was it all that bad, being a sub for him?”

Nora let her most dangerous smile spread across her face.

“No. It was that good.”

“Then you should enjoy doing it again.”

“You’re a big man, Brad, but not even you could fill his shoes.”

“Worth a shot, isn’t it? You want to meet The Dame, then you have to get through me.”

“Through you? Or under you?”

“Both.”

Nora fell silent and considered the offer. Wasn’t like she’d never subbed before. She’d been a sub longer than she’d been a Dominatrix–ten years she’d spent in a collar. Ten beautiful years. But she couldn’t do that again. Could she?