What About Love (Club Decadence Book 6) (19 page)

“I’m only going to mingle and watch a few scenes. Seen and be seen, as the saying goes.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“It’s okay, Val. I’ll stick to the Doms you pointed out. I swear.”

“Angie—”

Like a fool, she’d ignored her warning and walked away.

The lash landed again, this time the blow was different. Heavier, more penetrating, with bone-jarring intensity. It was too much.

“Yellow!” Her cry came a split second too late as the thongs once again exploded in a blaze of fiery pain across her lower cheeks. To make it worse the tips wrapped around her body and bit painfully into her hip and thigh.

Unable to hold back, she cried out again. “Yellow,” then, wrongly, “Please, stop!”

“Safeword, motherfucker. Twice. Are you deaf?” T’s voice cut through the haze of her pain, sharp with anger.

“I was too far into the stroke to pull it back. I tried. That’s why it wrapped her hip.”

“She’s had enough.”

“But I’ve barely warmed her up.”

“My decision. You didn’t honor her safeword. This scene is over.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“No, you won’t.” T barked, his voice stern, with no vestige of tolerance in its hardness. “I’m ending this, right now.”

“Who are you, her daddy?”

“No, what I am is your worst nightmare, if you don’t fucking back off. You are done.”

All of this had been going on behind her back until the grumbling, angry Dom came into view as he stalked to his bag. Through a haze of discomfort, with the lash marks still burning hot, Angie watched him store two floggers, one an evil looking whip with a handful of narrow tails and knotted ends, the other a heavy, ominous looking one with a multitude of wide black thongs. Neither of them looked like a tool a Dom would use on a beginner, as they’d agreed beforehand. He packed up his gear and stalked toward the opening in the ropes, casting a disdainful glance Angie’s way. “Damn, newbie. Why did I waste my time?”

As he stepped out of the scene area, he was greeted by two other DMs.

“Master Eric wants to have a little chat, Gregory,” one advised as he took his arm.

“Is this the second or third time this week you’ve ignored a sub’s safeword? In either case, I think your membership card is about to be suspended.”

“That’s not fair. It’s noisy, I couldn’t hear…”

Angie flinched.
The big fat liar.
He needed to pick a story and stick to it.

The DMs seemed to agree.

“If you can’t hear a submissive call red, maybe you’re getting too old to play.”

“She called yellow, not red.”

“Oh, so you did hear her. That changes things. I think your card is about to be revoked.”

She’d twisted as best as she could in her bindings to watch as they hauled him away, so she jumped in surprise when T stepped up to her, his hands going to her cuffs.

“Hold on, darlin’. I’ll get you down and we’ll take care of those welts.”

“But T, this is the perfect time. I’m sure I’ve got his attention. Find me another Dom.”

“No, this was enough. You’re done for tonight.” Once freed, he curled her into his chest.

Although inwardly glad for his strong arms supporting her since her legs were shaky and limp like spaghetti, she still mounted her objections as she slumped against him, convinced this aborted scene wasn’t nearly sufficient. “You’ve got to let me do my job or we’ll never solve this case.”

“Whipping and marking you with a damn cat wasn’t part of the plan, little bit.”

“Excuse me, Master T.” A distinctive voice, polished and refined, with a hint of a European accent interrupted them. “Master Eric sent me. I’d be delighted to finish the scene with the submissive, if she is willing.”

They both turned to find a tall, slim man with shoulder length dark blond hair standing at the opening in the ropes. Classically handsome, Angie thought he could almost be called pretty if not for the ultra-cool pencil mustache and goatee he sported, which included a small soul patch below his lower lip. Not a huge fan of facial hair, this was neatly trimmed and Angie had to admit despite the enormity of their situation, she found it sexy as hell. T wasn’t nearly as impressed and came close to barking his response.

“I’ve called an end to impact play for tonight for her.”

“Impact isn’t what I had in mind. I’ve been training with Master Eric and he suggested a more illuminating and satisfying conclusion to this badly botched scene. The bondage table behind us is available and can be set up in minutes. If the girl is up to it, she can assist me with a demonstration.”

T stiffened against her. She didn’t know this man or what kind of demonstration he was referring to, but if impact was ruled out, she was up to it.

“I need to do this, T,” she whispered against his chest.

“I’m Master Enzo. I assure you, I’ll take excellent care of her.”

*****

Flashes of blue light lit up the roped off area and beyond, as the Dom worked the violet wand over Angie’s bound and bared body. She’d been allowed to keep her panties, something she’d negotiated, he was sure, but the rest of her was gloriously exposed, including her generous breasts. From a distance, he could see the globes tremble, the pointed tips standing out firmly as blue sparks danced between her nipples and the tines of the rake electrode Master Enzo currently used.

T observed intently with Eric at his side.

“This was a good solution,” he conceded. “If attention is what we want, this was the way to go about it.”

“Yes. This crowd loves electric play, as you can see they’re standing five deep. Most likely our perp is nearby, lurking and watching too. Added bonus, there’s no direct touching for you to go apeshit over”

“Any of the DMs would have stopped that scene, including you. And I didn’t go apeshit.”

“Not yet,” Eric drawled, pausing as electrical energy crackled and arced from Angie’s other nipple, eliciting a low groan of pleasure from her throat. “She suits you, T. She definitely likes the restraints, the alternative play, and like you, intense spanking, pain and protocol is clearly not her thing.” Eric paused again as Angie cried out, her back arching off the table as sparks and light flashed around her.

“You’ll take care of that, won’t you?”

“What’s that?”

“Her disobedience.” He moved closer, lowering his voice. “I’d have never chosen Gregory for her. We’ve had our eye on him. She did that on her own.”

Another lull in their conversation occurred when Master Enzo, paused to change electrodes and the ambient glow went from blue to neon red. He continued on, slowly using a tongue-shaped glass tool down her belly and below, his destination unmistakable.

T’s back teeth clamped down hard, as the wand and the Dom’s hand hovered over her hips, following the crease between her pelvis and thigh until he reached her miniscule panties. He murmured something that T couldn’t hear. When she parted her legs, he didn’t need to.

Eric picked up their conversation as if they hadn’t paused. “Although she’s not a member, as a Rossi employee, she needs a lesson in following orders, especially ones given from a senior operative. She deserved a few swats for disobeying me, but not like that.”

“I’ll address it, although she did accomplish something in that scene with Gregory. She gave us a perfect reason to assign her to carousel.”

“Indeed. You’ll be riding with her, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“Good, and T, quit grinding your teeth.” Eric chuckled as T’s body tensed visibly. One thing bad about hanging out with Doms, they were too damn observant.

“I have a car for her outside and we’ll tail her safely to the apartment.”

“I hate this.”

“I know, in any case, we have to allow opportunity or he’ll target someone else.”

T scanned the crowd. One of these men was the murderer and they had no clue who.

A hiss of current split the air along with a throaty groan and snapped his attention back to the scene on the bondage table. Angie’s hips bowed upward toward the bolt of red light while her back arched off the table, her body shuddering in an unmistakable and simply stunning climax.

He responded with a groan of his own as a wave of intense longing rocked his body. Although it was hushed, Eric was too close not to hear.

“You are so fucked, buddy. She’s eager and ripe for the picking. If you don’t fix whatever it is that is keeping you from claiming her, and damn soon, someone else will.”

Similar warnings had come from several different Doms in the brief time he’d been in L.A. T was beginning to see their point; he was fucked. And he was beginning to wonder how long he could keep up his act of indifference. Obviously, his desire for her was as transparent as glass. He wasn’t fooling anyone, not Angie, or a host of others, and if he was honest, he was doing a lousy job of fooling himself.

Chapter Thirteen

Incessant beeping followed by the banging of metal was her wakeup call the next morning. Her lids came open and she peered up in confusion at the four decades out of style popcorn ceiling and recessed lighting over her bed. Rolling her head to the side, she surveyed the unfamiliar room. Drab walls, ugly curtains, dated furniture which looked like it came straight out of a TV Land rerun of Dragnet. She squinted at the digital clock on the dresser across the room. Making out the first digit, she grunted. Six o’clock was too damn early for a garbage truck to be making its rounds.

Heaving an exhausted sigh, she closed her eyes again, wanting nothing more than to roll over and sleep the day away. This case was taking its toll, both physically and emotionally, so much that after leaving the club past midnight, she’d barely kept her eyes open as she’d driven the borrowed sedan the fifteen miles to nearby Venice and her lonely, unfamiliar apartment. Slogging up three flights of stairs in heels hadn’t helped and had zapped the last of her energy reserves. Without bothering to look around, let alone change into a t-shirt or nightgown, she’d collapsed into bed in her bra and panties and fallen immediately asleep.

Almost afraid to wonder what surprises today would bring, she allowed herself the luxury of another few moments to doze. At another loud crash and more irritating beeping, her eyes popped back open.

Resigned to starting her day at the butt crack of dawn, she scooted out of bed, doing so gingerly, in consideration of her backside which had taken two consecutive nights of tenderizing. Moving to the window, she pulled back the green drapes. Yes, green—butt ugly, olive green to be exact—yuck.

Outside her window, the sun was trying to cut through the smog that greeted nearly every summer morning in L.A. Through narrowed eyes, she decided some of the haze could be blamed on the dirty window that looked as though it hadn’t seen a good cleaning since the 1970’s when Dragnet had actually been on in prime time.

“This is the city: Los Angeles, California. I work here. I’m a cop.” Her Sargeant Joe Friday impersonation needed work. “Well, maybe not a cop anymore, but I bet Joe Friday never went undercover and had his ass flogged by a sadist.”

She snickered at her own silliness as her phone rang. Turning, she scanned the room. Spying it on the nightstand beside her, she scooped it up, frowning at the unfamiliar number on the screen.

“Hello.”

“Angie, this is Kieran Finnegan.” As if he needed to say. That Irish brogue washing over her first thing in the morning—like hot coffee, brown sugar, and heavy cream—was as soothing as it was unforgettable.

“Good morning.”

“I’d prefer you stay away from the windows in this neighborhood, lass.”

That was an odd greeting and an even odder request seeing that her objective was to lure in the killer.

“There’s a difference between luring in one predator,” he explained, as though he’d read her mind, “and an invitation to many in your exquisite black lace lingerie, love.”

“You’re watching me,” she whispered, stepping back from the dingy glass. That was as comforting as it was disconcerting, as was the collective hope that the killer would come after her next.

“Always, sweets,” he assured unreservedly. “Better put on a robe, you’ve got a visitor on the way up.”

His disconnect coincided with a knock on her door.

Searchingly, her eyes zipped around the room as she pulled on her rose satin robe. Were their cameras in the bedroom or had he known what she was wearing from the window? The knock came again, more urgently. Slipping on her robe, she hurried to the door.

The peephole was useless, only revealing the top of a blonde head.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Val.” A Starbucks logo appeared in her limited view. “I brought breakfast and other necessities.” The bakery bag was replaced by a familiar white tube with blue lettering.

“Get in here, girl,” Angie called eagerly as she threw open the locks and chain. As Val bustled in, she peeked out into the hall. No one was there, but she knew she had eyes on her from somewhere. “Carbs and caffeine?” she asked as she refastened all three locks.

Joining Val at the small kitchen table, she eagerly accepted the twenty ounce venti cup Val handed her.

“Cinnamon Dolce latte, my fav. I didn’t know what you liked so I hoped we had the same taste.”

Sipping already, Angie groaned in pure bliss as the warm sweetness hit her tongue, knowing a surge of caffeine would soon follow. “Valerie, my new best friend, you had me at the logo in my peephole.”

Laughter bubbled up from inside her. “Now why did that sound filthy?”

Angie grinned back at her. “I’m surprised Eric let you come alone.”

“I’m in charge of giving you the scoop. T and Eric are in a sublet across the hall, ready to break down the door at the first sign of trouble. That is also where two men are monitoring 24-hour surveillance on this charming abode.” She surveyed the room with a grimace. “I’d really like to say I love what you’ve done with the place, but dayum, girl...”

“Gives shabby chic a whole new meaning, doesn’t it?”

“More like grungy gross, if you ask me.”

That made them both burst into laughter, which continued until Val’s phone vibrated.