Read Mine Online

Authors: Stacey Kennedy

Mine (7 page)

BOOK: Mine
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“Ah…” Steven cleared his throat. “Yeah.” He accepted the document and began reading it over. It simply stated that any photo taken by Steven or anyone he hired of Dmitri or anyone who came to his home belonged to Dmitri. If Steven published the pictures, he would be in violation of copyright laws.

Dmitri pulled out the final piece of paper from the envelope, an agreement that he had drafted himself before leaving his office. He added the amount of $300,000 to the agreement. “This is a promise letter securing your money. If I don't follow through, you can sue me to get it.”

His body bristling with tension, Dmitri gestured toward the bar. “Kyler will follow you to your house and pick up any remaining pictures you have, since I know you've made copies and likely have them stored on your hard drive. Once he calls and tells me he has them, I will transfer the money into your account.”

Steven watched Dmitri a moment, then he picked up the pen on the table and signed the agreement. Once finished, he pushed the document back to Dmitri. “I will agree to that.”

Deal done, Dmitri allowed his anger to now show on his face. He rose, leaning down to Steven to make sure he understood what he was about to hear. “Believe me when I say to you that I never want to see you again. Take this as the warning it is meant to be. Do not come near Presley, myself, or anyone I know. I told you once before that I could bury you in Vegas. I don't appreciate having to repeat myself.”

Steven attempted a return glare, but it held no strength now. “Is that a threat?”

“Not a threat,” Dmitri growled. “A promise.”

Chapter 6

Later that day, and minutes before four o'clock that afternoon, Dmitri exited the stretch limo, staring up at the modern skyscraper in the heart of the Financial District of San Francisco. He inhaled the scent of bacon-wrapped hot dogs being grilled by a vendor farther down the street.

The driver shut the limo door behind him as a streetcar whizzed by. Dmitri noticed a sidewalk café on the corner, regretting there was no time to grab a cup of coffee. Exhaustion weighed on him down to his bones. Determined to get this meeting over with and return to Presley, he headed toward the tall black high-rise.

Black glass covered the exterior of the office building, and on one side huge bold silver letters read
Holt Enterprises.
The last time Dmitri had come to San Francisco to visit the Dominants Council, or DC, was just after Charles had died. Micah Holt hadn't been working out of this building at that time. He'd owned a small three-story building on Union Square. Apparently the last few years had been good to Holt Enterprises, which Dmitri knew was a real estate company.

Charles had introduced Dmitri to Micah when they'd vacationed once in San Francisco—he wanted Dmitri to have good connections in the BDSM community. The friendship with Micah had stuck, and they'd also done some business together over the years. After Charles died Dmitri had gone to Micah for advice about opening Club Sin. That was when Micah had introduced Dmitri to the DC, the three other men who ruled the BDSM community in San Francisco.

Dmitri entered the building and headed directly to the security desk. The high-ceilinged lobby rose all the way to the top of the building, with balconies on each floor. Dmitri snorted; perhaps he should've gotten into real estate.

“Can I help you?” the security guard asked.

Before Dmitri could reply, a young man in a black suit intervened. “I've got him, George. Please, Mr. Pratt, will you follow me? I'm Neil, Mr. Holt's assistant, and he is expecting you.”

“Thank you.” Dmitri fell into stride with the slender man.

When they arrived at the elevator, the man tapped a card against the black box beside the door and the elevator opened. Dmitri joined the assistant inside and classical music filled the elevator as it sped to the top floor. Once the door chimed open, the assistant moved quickly, leading Dmitri past the receptionist down a long hall. He scanned the doors he passed, noticing that most people in this office appeared to be real estate agents.

Dmitri had known Micah was a real estate mogul, buying multimillion-dollar buildings and flipping them. Now Dmitri realized he'd expanded his business to include high-end residential properties. Dmitri also knew from a magazine article he'd read recently that Micah was on the board of several other multimillion-dollar companies.

Once they reached the end of the hallway, the assistant opened the door and waved Dmitri inside. The room was rectangular, with the skyline of San Francisco visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His attention briskly shifted to the four men sitting around the large, dark wood conference table. Most people would know them only as four of the richest men in their city. Dmitri knew they made up the DC.

Micah rose from his chair and approached Dmitri with an imposing gait. At six foot three, Micah had a crooked nose, a square jaw, and enough muscles to show he spent quality time in the gym. He was dressed in a classic black suit, and his blue-green eyes regarded Dmitri as he offered his hand. “Good to see you, Dmitri. I hope your flight treated you well.”

“It did.” Dmitri shook his hand with a firm grip. “Thank you for sending the car.”

Micah inclined his head with a smile, then said to his assistant, “That will be all, Neil. Please hold all calls.”

He accepted the order with a nod and shut the door.

“Trouble in Vegas?”

Dmitri turned to Gabe O'Keefe, the youngest of the men. When Gabe was only twenty-two years old, he had opened his first Irish pub, O'Keefe's, in San Francisco. Now, at thirty-three, he owned a chain of bars all over the United States. Gabe's sharp and intense hazel eyes, prominent chin, and square jawline gave him a chiseled look. With his well-styled dark brown hair, dark blue button-down, and tailored black slacks, he looked like he'd fit right in over in Hollywood.

Dmitri replied, “Trouble is an understatement.”

Gabe's expression tightened. “Sorry to hear that, man.”

Dmitri inclined his head in appreciation, taking a seat next to Micah, who was at the head of the table. “Thank you for making time for me.”

“It's not a problem,” Ryder Blackwood said. His chocolate-brown eyes, warm and rich, studied Dmitri carefully. Dmitri knew he was head of a well-regarded security company, so it didn't surprise him that Ryder seemed to be on alert at all times. He was dressed in black cargo pants and a black shirt, which Dmitri had seen him in before and took to be his daily uniform. His sandy hair hung down just past his eyebrows, drawing attention to his warm brown eyes, sharp jaw, honed cheekbones, and deep dimples.

“So, tell us, what's going on?”

Dmitri shifted in his seat and slid his glance to the final man in the room, Darius Bennett, the CEO of Bennett Inc., a financial services and management company.

“There is trouble in my house,” Dmitri admitted.

Darius ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair. His clear blue eyes held depth and wisdom. “What kind of trouble?”

Dmitri let out a long exhalation. “Long story short, an ex-boyfriend of my submissive took pictures of the club's members, intending to out them.”

Gabe's eyebrows rose. “And he planned to do what with them?”

“Sell them to a tabloid.” Before anyone could comment, Dmitri added, “Earlier today I bought the pictures and had a copyright agreement signed. On that end, things are squared up.”

Ryder cocked his head. “I take it that you're still worried about the club being exposed?”

Dmitri nodded. To most of the world, these four men appeared to be eligible bachelors, living a grand life. Each of them had been the subject of numerous magazine articles. Yet they had managed to keep their secret—each of them owned a public BDSM club. If anyone could help him, he believed, these men could. “My club is no longer safe. Even if the threat has been removed, I can't imagine anyone feeling secure enough to play there any longer.”

“That's understandable.” Darius adjusted his gray suit jacket.

“There will be some negativity. Though you don't want that, that's something you can't help,” Micah said with a firm nod. “So, what is it exactly that you wish to do?”

“I need advice on the next steps to take. What my options are.” Dmitri swiped a hand across his eyes again, rubbing the sleepiness away. “I'd appreciate your advice.”

Ryder leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his thick chest, his defined biceps straining against his sleeves. “When we talked about Club Sin…what was it, nearly six years ago now?” At Dmitri's nod, Ryder went on. “I figured keeping the dungeon at your house would be enough to keep it under wraps.”

Micah agreed. “I did as well.”

“Though you can never stop someone who is out for vengeance,” Gabe interjected, voice dry. “It changes the game.”

“It couldn't be avoided.” Dmitri placed his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I do not wish any of the blame for this to land on my submissive's shoulders.”

“That would be a pity,” Ryder acknowledged.

“So,” Dmitri said, glancing from face to face, “I'm unsure how to move Club Sin without my name being on the title, and how to keep my members safe and out of the public eye.”

“Well…” Micah studied Dmitri, tapping his fingers against the cherrywood table. “We have all gone about it differently, of course. But there is a similar thread in our stories that I'm sure you could use yourself.”

Dmitri inclined his head in gratitude. “I would appreciate the help.”

“For my club, Impulse, I bought an art gallery,” Darius explained. “It's understandable that people would be coming there in the evenings and on weekends. The BDSM club is in the basement, but it's not advertised. Only those in the lifestyle know of it, and new invites are thoroughly vetted.”

“Yet your name is still on the title?” Dmitri inquired.

“On the art gallery it is,” Darius continued. “But the club itself is registered as a cocktail lounge. The owner is a Dominant whom I've known for many years and whom I trust.”

Dmitri pondered that for a moment. “So you've fronted the money, but on paper he owns it?”

“Exactly.” Darius nodded.

Micah put in, “I set up Lace in a similar manner, with the cover being a photography studio.” He leaned back in his chair, continuing to tap his fingers on the desk. “It's rather well known that the photographer does some fetish photography, but it gives me a way to create distance. Just because I own the building doesn't mean I have any responsibility for what happens there.”

Dmitri considered again, thinking that's exactly what he needed. A place from which he could distance himself but which could still be his Club Sin. “And you know the photographer well?”

“I've known the Dominant since my twenties,” Micah explained. “That is the most important factor, I believe. You need to make sure whoever is running things does so in the way that you would, since you are giving them control over your club.”

Gabe nodded at Micah and then addressed Dmitri. “I set up Afterglow a little differently. I went the Swiss account route and dropped money into it. Then I used that money to buy the club. The profits go back into that account. If it's traced, my name is nowhere near the title.”

“And you hired the employees yourself at the club?” Dmitri asked.

Gabe shook his head. “The CEO is a past submissive of mine. She worked in management for a long time, so stepping into the position was perfect for her. She handles the club in its entirety. I've given her complete control, from design to payroll and everything in between.” His brow arched haughtily. “The rules of the club remain with me, however.”

Darius smiled at Gabe's tone, then turned to Dmitri. “I run Masquerade much the way Gabe runs his club. I believe that is what keeps us safe. Yes, we own these clubs, but there is not enough proof that we have any involvement in them. Some of us own the buildings and some of us don't have our names anywhere near them. But either way, we can't be held responsible for what is done by another company in the building.”

“Besides,” Micah added, folding his arms, “if it did get out, we could play the press, answering with amusement that we didn't know what was happening there, but we wish we had.” His mouth curved into a small smile. “The press enjoys a good story. Give them something and you'll be fine.”

Dmitri considered what he'd heard and the men around him. He respected this group. While none of them played at their own clubs, they owned them for one very good reason—to control the BDSM community in San Francisco. More important, it helped establish a positive tone for those who live the BDSM lifestyle.

Their clubs were upscale, and members were treated well. The money they spent to maintain their clubs was in the millions. No one wanted to open a competing club, because they couldn't possibly live up to the standards these clubs had set. And Dmitri had also learned when first meeting the DC that they owned these clubs to scout out submissives for personal play—which happened at hotels, under tight security and confidentiality agreements that would keep all parties involved silent.

These men had found a way to play safely and discreetly. Dmitri respected that and wanted it for himself.

“Seems pretty simple,” he finally said.

“Because it is,” Ryder agreed with a bob of his head. “Just front the money for another business that's in the same location as the club. To run it, pick someone from your club whom you trust, someone who doesn't care if their lifestyle was revealed to the world. Then go from there.” He paused, clearly thinking hard, before continuing, “Hire good security for the club, especially any entrance to the dungeon, and use thermal fingerprint readers to ensure that only vetted members gain entrance into the club.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table and added, “Lastly, keep the dungeon's door private—have the members enter through the main business, but then they'll need to access a private area to enter the club. That way no one can capture pictures of them.” Amusement lightened his eyes. “I'd recommend hiring security known to work for politicians.”

“Why?” Dmitri asked.

Ryder grinned, displaying his deep dimples. “Because they will know how to ensure that dirty little secrets don't get out. I have a team in Vegas that you could hire, if you'd like help getting started.”

“I would appreciate that,” Dmitri replied. “Thank you.”

Ryder gave a nod of acknowledgment.

Dmitri started running through a list of individuals who might be interested in such a venture with him. An idea began to form, one that made his smile feel more honest than it had in days. “I think I might know how to make this work.”

“Good. Keep us updated on how things go,” Micah said, rising from his seat. “You know we will help in any way we can.”

That was why Dmitri respected these men. They were top-notch Dominants who didn't rule with intimidation, but dominated through respect and admiration. Much like Dmitri did at Club Sin.

Micah glanced at his watch. “It's nearly dinner. How about we grab something before you fly back to Vegas?”

Darius grinned. “And to see if there are any business opportunities available with that casino of yours. It's doing well, I hear.”

“This last quarter was exceptional.” Dmitri fought back his desire to get back to Presley as quickly as possible; he couldn't insult these men. He owed them some of his time. “Dinner sounds great.”

BOOK: Mine
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