True North (Compass series Book 4) (5 page)

Thursday evening I
find myself standing outside a townhouse in the Mission District. It’s larger and slightly nicer than the other buildings in the neighborhood but not especially notable. But why would it be? Was I expecting blaring red lights or blinking neon signs?

I fidget outside the door, which is irritating because I don’t fucking
fidget
, and I can’t help glancing over my shoulder. Like I know someone in this neighborhood, this city. Except for colleagues, I don’t know anyone. I debated going back to the hotel and changing before I came over here, but the suit I have on feels like armor. As if clothes can protect me.

It’s been less than a minute when the door swings open and a man, barefoot and wearing khakis and an untucked button-down with the sleeves rolled up, steps out. When he sees me, he gestures with a lanky arm.

“Mr. Lewis, come in please.”

This is not Reyes Walter. The voice is too melodic, no hint of flinty hardness. His expression is affably blank, and I wonder what he’s been told. How did he even know it was me? Though it’s easy enough to find a photograph of me. Easy as Google. Easy as the occasional evening news broadcast. My stomach tightens at the idea this could be a trap. I humiliated India once, and though it was in the relative privacy of a meeting, it would be easy to humiliate me publicly.

The risk makes me hesitate, but when the man’s eyebrows go up slightly, I swallow the panic and step inside. Too late now.

Once inside, the man leaves me standing in an entryway, telling me he’ll be right back. He walks away, and I take the opportunity to look around. Whoever this Reyes Walter is, he has good taste. Expensive taste. I’ve got an eye for these things—I studied it as hard as any other subject in college—and he does too. Aubusson rug and antique furniture. I’d have to inspect them more closely to be sure, but they’ve got the look of immaculately done restorations, not repros.

It’s not long before a man comes toward me, and I’m not terribly surprised to see it’s the other man from the photograph. The Latino guy I assumed India had married. He’s wearing a suit, and I’m glad I’ve kept mine on.

He holds out a hand, and I take it, matching the firmness of his grip. “Mr. Lewis. Sorry to keep you waiting. Let me show you to the den. Care for a drink? I’ll be having water, but you’re welcome to wine, beer, milk, juice, soda, or Matthew makes excellent cocktails. Your choice.”

I follow him down the narrow hallway, trying hard not to steal glances at everything. Whatever it is he does for a living, he’s clearly quite successful. And by successful, I mean completely loaded. Everything in here has been selected with care and not in a high-low mix way. He shows me into a comfortable but still expensively furnished room, gesturing for me to take a seat.

“Water is fine, thanks.” I choose a leather club chair and sink into it, the material giving way with a low creak.

Mr. Walter says something to the man I’m assuming is Matthew. I hadn’t noticed that he’d followed us, but now he’s on his way out. He moves like the breeze, quiet and swift.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to show.”

Reyes Walter’s dark eyes are focused on me, studying me acutely. People look at me all the time. A lot of my job involves people watching me. And though this is a single man in a private home, I feel more exposed than I do in front of a full presser covering a breaking scandal.

“I said I’d be here.”

“And so you are.”

The teeth at the back of my jaw grind together as I try to think of what to say that’s not going to break the single guideline of not acting like an asshat. Luckily Matthew appears bearing a tray with a pitcher full of water and a couple of glasses. I expect him to place it on the coffee table and leave, but he pours the water and serves us. With a glance at Mr. Walter, he drops to his hands and knees in front of the chair. Shock courses through me as the besuited man raises his feet, crosses his legs at the ankle, and lays them on top of Matthew’s back.
No. Shit.

I stare so hard I’m surprised my eyes haven’t fallen out of my head. What in the hell—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve asked. Do you mind?”

“Mind?” I echo, not tearing my eyes from his
feet
. Jesus.

“Yes. I can—”

“Don’t.” I swallow hard after I’ve said the word, but I don’t want him to stop. I can’t look away. The movement of Mr. Walter settling back into the couch finally breaks my gaze, and I blink to his face. His expression has softened, though I couldn’t tell you how.

“You don’t need to worry about Matthew. He’s the soul of discretion. Aren’t you, Matthew?”

“Yes, sir.”

I’m not into dudes. Just, not. And the sight isn’t turning me on per se. But there’s a definite loosening of something in my body I hadn’t realized I was holding tight.

“So, Mr. Lewis. What can I do for you?”

“Call me Slade for a start.”

He raises his glass and takes a sip. “You’re welcome to call me Rey if you’d like.”

I gulp down my water, praying I won’t choke on it, but I need an excuse not to talk while my brain flies around my skull like a bat trapped in an attic.

“To be completely honest, I don’t know. All India told me was your phone number. And not to be a dick.”

He smiles, fondness lighting his face. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

I grunt, not knowing how else to respond. She’s something all right. A hellcat masquerading as a sex kitten, maybe.

“She seems to believe you have potential, even if you’re a hot mess.”

Anger and embarrassment shoot through me, rendering my tone defensive. “A hot mess? Is that what she said?”

“No. Those are my words. But you are, aren’t you? Unhappy? Unsatisfied? Missing something, but you don’t know what? I know you act out. Verbally abuse your staff and colleagues, particularly the women. Would you like to deny any of that?”

“No.” The word is gritted out between my teeth because it makes me queasy to hear the truth in what he’s said. I’ve been better since India laid down the law, but god is it hard and I slip sometimes.

“Good. It’s possible I can help you find what you’re looking for. No guarantees. But first things first. If we’re to work together, you need to knock that shit off. No more mistreating your staff, no hurling abuse at them, no yelling, or any of your other tricks you use to demean them. If I hear about it—and I guarantee you that I will—we’re done. Are we understood?”

I don’t blush often, but my face is flaming. The only person who’s ever called me out on this before was India, and it’s mortifying. My discomfiture is reflected in my reluctant mutter. “Yes. India’s already threatened dismemberment for that. I’ve been better.”

“Good. And you’re going to be faultless on that front. Now that’s settled, let’s get down to business. Do you know anything about BDSM? Kink?”

“Nothing outside what I’ve seen in porn.” If I weren’t so distracted, I might’ve thought better of telling this stranger that I watch porn, but my eyes have zeroed in on Rey’s feet propped on Matthew’s back again. And when my gaze drifts to Matthew’s face, his is not an expression of grin-and-bear-it, but something closer to peace. I might even say joy. He looks
happy
.

“And that appealed to you?”

I feel my forehead wrinkle while I formulate my answer. “Sort of. Not exactly. Not enough to have…”

“Done anything about it?”

“It didn’t look like something real people actually do.”

“A lot of it’s not. But there are plenty of real people who are into kink. If you pass muster, I’d be happy to introduce you to some of them.”

My gaze snaps to his face because the idea of involving anyone else in this is terrifying. I’m still a little sick to my stomach knowing I’ve put my reputation in the hands of people I don’t know from Adam.

“Or not, if you’d prefer.”

I nod. “Discretion is important. In my line of work…” My political career would be over in a New York minute if this got out.

“I understand. It is in my line of work as well. Keeping private lives private is a matter of high stakes for most of my clients. Unless and until you give the word, this stays between you and me.”

“You’re not even going to tell India I called?”

He shakes his head. “The second you dial my number, you have an expectation of privacy. If she or anyone else asks me about you, I say, ‘Slade who?’”

I understand then that Rey resting his feet on Matthew’s back wasn’t some absent-minded faux pas. He meant to do it, as I suspect he means to do everything. For however much I may like him—and I think I do—the man is calculating. I’ll have to remember never to play chess with him. Though I have to admit there’s a certain appeal to checkmating him on a board laid across Matthew’s narrow and willing back.

‡

W
hich is exactly
what I find myself doing two weeks later.

My game is atrocious and Rey is wiping the floor with me, one match after another, because I can’t keep my mind on moving the pieces around the board. I’m usually a formidable opponent, but A) Rey is a more skilled player than I am, which is not entirely shocking; and B) he’s likely accustomed to playing board games while using a person as furniture, whereas this is a new and somewhat unnerving experience for me. Awesome, yes, but distracting as all get out.

I swear under my breath as Rey murmurs an almost-apologetic, “Checkmate.”

I’m so preoccupied by the slight rise and fall of the board because of Matthew’s steady breaths that I’m only momentarily irritated and mortified. Mostly I’m studying the curve of Matthew’s wiry but strong shoulders and, as confused as it makes me, the slope of his ass as he balances our game on his slender back.

Rey leans back against the tufted leather sofa he’s been perched on while schooling me. “Had enough?”

I nod because, as much as I’ve been enjoying this, it’s probably not what he actually brought me here for. In fact, I’m sure of it. It’s my first meeting with him as his official client, which means the meter’s running. The outlandishly expensive meter. No wonder the man can afford his lavish home. I’d be ticked off about exactly how much this is costing me, except that he does provide a very particular service and I can’t imagine there are all that many Rey Walters in the world. Actually, the idea gives me chills. Hopefully, just the one.

Rey eyes me from across the chessboard and then begins to pack our game away. “Mind if I make myself more comfortable?”

As I say yes, I’m hoping this means he’ll be putting his feet where the board used to be. Lucky for me, it does. Unluckily, what follows is Rey staring at me for so long I feel the urge to pull one of the designer throw pillows over my face.

“It’s time to go over your homework.”

Ugh, yes, my assignment from the end of our last meeting. He’d instructed me to do some research and try to get a handle on some of the things I might like to try. Let’s just say it’s a good thing my mother is dead because even a fraction of the past two weeks’ search history would kill her. There are a lot of filthy things out there. And now Rey Walter is asking me to confess which of those filthy things I want to personally be involved in.

Part of me wants to say none of them, storm out of the house, and forget I ever dialed his number. But we both know I’m not going to do that. Probably even Matthew, still as the table he’s impersonating under Rey’s feet, knows that. Rey laces his long fingers together across his abdomen and his eyebrows go up in invitation.

After I take a deep breath so I won’t puke all over his fancy-ass carpet, I rattle off a list of the things I’ve seen that appeal the most. “Spanking, flogging, clamps, restraints, paddling, whipping, and—and…”

“Say it, Slade. Come on. Not judging is why I get paid the big bucks. Whatever you’re thinking, I guarantee I’ve done things a hundred times worse. To people who enjoyed it and begged me to do it again. You’re among friends.”

My throat squeezes tight in my body’s one last bid to keep this appalling desire to myself. And it fails.

“I don’t know exactly what you’d call it. But when I was with India, she said something to me. She said, ‘There are people who are into that shit. Find them and mind-fuck them stupid.’ That’s what I want. I want to berate a woman. Tell her she’s stupid and worthless, embarrass her and make her cry. And when she’s all teary and red-faced, I want to fuck her. Tell her she’s dirty and disgusting. But I want her to like it.”

I shake my head because that’s idiotic. India said it was true, but what if she was lying? Rey said he wouldn’t judge, but he must be rethinking his pledge. The idea of him wrinkling his nose and getting an appalled look on his face makes me want to sink through the floorboards. Just as I’m about to vomit the gin-and-tonic Matthew made for me when I arrived, Rey clears his throat.

When I look up, it’s not to an expression of antipathy. If anything, he looks fonder of me than he ever has.

“I’d be happy to help you with that, and you are most certainly not alone in that desire. I swear to you. Humiliation kink is a very real and valid thing. India was right. There are lots of people who enjoy either side of it, sometimes both. We’re going to find you someone who’s the yin to your yang so you can try it out. You’re going to learn how to do it responsibly, without hurting anyone. Including yourself. Promise.”