Collared (Vegas Nights Book 1) (16 page)

“Hey, Pax,” Diamond called out, skipping through the door into his office. She stopped short at the sight of the men and froze pulling at her soft yoga pants self-consciously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here.”

“You were in the shower,” he responded dryly, raising his eyebrows at her carefree attitude. Mentally, he added a spanking to his list of things to do tonight. Even if she didn’t need to receive it, he needed to give it. “Come meet my legal team.”

She extended her hand, and he quickly made the introductions, inviting her to join them at the table.

“Um, why do we need lawyers? Slander? Libel? Restraining orders? What’s going on?”

“None of that, not yet. They were helping me prepare a statement for the press release.”

“A press release,” she barked, looking a bit wild eyed. “About me?”

All four men nodded.

“Oh, hell no! Why wasn’t I consulted on this? It’s my life. I’m not about to let you go out there and exploit my mother’s death and the nitty gritty details of our relationship to a bunch of fucking vultures! No way, Jose. Not happening.”

Pax’s eyes went hard and dark, and she backed up as he advanced on her slowly. When he reached her, he gripped her elbow tightly enough to make her wince, but not tightly enough to do any actual harm.  “Excuse me, gentlemen. We’ll be right back.”

He all but slammed the bedroom door behind them, and marched her straight up to the corner he had designated for naughtiness. One quick tug had her yoga pants around her ankles, and her panties with them.

“It might surprise you to hear this, sub, but not everything is about you.” His body pressed up hard against hers as he spoke softly but firmly in her ear. The room was soundproof, but he wasn’t taking any chances. “This happens to be a business decision. These people are upsetting the day to day operations here at Rojo. Not only are they loitering and not spending money, they are upsetting our paying customers and harassing our staff. We examined our options and this was the most streamlined plan of attack with the end result of hopefully getting them out of here quickly, feeling like they got something.” He paused, his hand moving to cup her bottom possessively as he spoke.

“Listen carefully, your safety and well-being is always at the forefront of my mind. In reality, they are not getting any new information that they do not already have. The lawyers are smart and they are careful, and they know how to write a God damn press release. The statement basically says, yes, you work here, yes we are dating. That’s it. The fact that you thought I would say anything else without at least running it by you first is, frankly, quite offensive. Besides that, you were very disrespectful in the way you spoke to me just now—in front of my friends and business associates no less. Because of that, you and I will be having a nice long discussion this afternoon. I think my friend Mr. Cane will be doing the talking. And until then, you will wait here, with your naughty bottom exposed thinking about the way you speak to me until I return. And we are still talking business, so it might be awhile.”

With that, he delivered a hard, rump shaking swat to her bare bottom, and left the room, not waiting for her response.

* * *

It was good that Pax hadn’t waited for her response, because she hadn’t planned on giving one. After a lecture like the one he had given, the yes sirs usually fell freely and often, but today, she was determined to begrudge him that small gift. She wasn’t feeling very submissive.

Tears pricked her eyeballs as she stood in the corner, fists balled at her sides in frustration. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this submissive thing after all. She seemed to constantly be in trouble for the same thing, and the lines of when certain things were appropriate and they weren’t seemed too blurry for her liking. And she hated that he would have made a decision about how to move forward in a crisis without at least asking what she thought. After all, she was the one who was experienced in dealing with paparazzi. He could have at least asked her opinion.

“To be fair,” she mentally argued with herself, “You were in the shower a really long time, and it is his place of business, and you should trust him. He has given you no good reason not to. Besides all that, you like being his sub. You like being called sub, you like being punished, you like the kinky sex, and the humiliation of it all. And he takes really good care of you, and he’s not perfect, and he’s obviously having a bad day. You’re not perfect either, and you’re not going to be great at every aspect of this submissive thing every night. Pax knows that. That’s why he punishes you, instead of getting angry. He knows you need practice and a tangible reminder to do better.”

Wow, this bare bottom corner time really does the trick, Diamond laughed to herself, imagining how she must look at the moment. Nose pressed against the wall, pants around her ankles, arguing with herself.

She stopped the argument, but her brain didn’t stop working. It continued to race through conflicting thoughts at a million miles a minute, until she could add sobbing, tear stained snot covered face to the list of reasons she looked downright crazy.

Pax came in, turned her around, took one look at her, and lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the bed to sit in his lap. He grabbed tissues from the bedside table, and softly wiped her nose, holding one to her nose so she could blow.

“That’s looks like it was an intense timeout. Want to talk about it?”

“I can’t,” she sobbed, soaking the front of his shirt with her tears. “There’s too many things, and they all run together, and contradict each other, and I can’t make heads or tails of any of it. The only thing that makes any sense to me at the moment is you. That’s it. Not BDSM, not spanking, not working at Rojo, not why I can’t seem to get it right as a sub—none of that makes any sense. I can’t find any peace about it, and just when I think I have, some other totally different contradictory thought comes straights out of left field and blindsides me.”

“I see. Would it help if I said I’m having the same kind of day, and I think I overreacted a bit and I’m sorry?”

She sniffled, and looked up at him, with hopeful eyes. “Maybe.”

“We’ve hardly gotten any sleep the last few nights, we’ve been burning the candle at both ends for several days, and the one day we do plan to sleep in, we are woken up early and greeted by utter chaos. It’s enough to overwhelm anybody. Add in the fact that there are no less than a thousand photographers downstairs just biding their time, waiting for a glimpse of either one of us, or even better, both of us together—and that they are literally taking over a place that is both our work and our home—we were doomed for some sort of miscommunication or blow up. It was bound to happen. And for my part in it, I’m truly sorry. I should have run it by you. It does directly affect you, and I should have been more considerate. I felt like I was doing the right thing, and I’m used to being the final word in all decisions. But just because I am the final word, doesn’t mean I need to necessarily be the only word.”

“So what you’re saying is you could have at least pretended that I had a say?” She giggled, already feeling slightly better. Pax had a way with words. He was good at cutting right to the core of what was bothering her, and offering reassurance while still expressing his own needs and frustrations.

“I think I’ve been feeling a lot of guilt today, and because of that, I overcompensated.”

“Guilt? Why!”

“Well,” he began, stroking her hair with one hand as he spoke, while his other hand possessively gripped her neck. “I feel, however misguided that it may be, that I failed in protecting you in this. I could have refrained from kissing you on the porch once I saw that guy in the tree. I could have told you not to take pictures with certain people at work. Several of them are heavy into the online scene as well, and I knew that. I could have protected you from it, by using wisdom, and thinking with an organ other than the one between my legs. But ever since I meant you, everything I thought I was has flown out the window. I don’t use common sense, I act impulsively, I throw schedules out the window. And it’s fun, and it’s healthy, and it’s very freeing, but I need to be more strident in remembering when it is acceptable to act impulsively, and when I need to put your safety first and foremost above all else. I feel like I failed in that this week and I’m sorry. Sometimes the lines blur, and they need to be balanced. And sometimes in order for you to figure out where that balance is, there has to be a little chaos, and mistakes have to be made. And that’s just the reality of it. But in the end, the one thing that is clear, is that stressful day aside, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. And at the end of the day, all the blurred lines, and regret and mistakes fall away, and here we are dom and sub, and that’s how we have to operate.”

“Oh.” It had come back to that. Of course it had. No matter how sweet and considerate and romantic Pax was, if she had a punishment coming, it would always come back to that. It was one of the things that made him an excellent dom. “I’m sorry I got mad and yelled at you and didn’t trust you to make a good decision with my best interest at heart.

“It’s already been forgiven, my dear. I’m sorry I didn’t consult you on the matter that affects you as much as the rest of us, and I’m very sorry I overreacted. I wasn’t very kind when I brought you in here, and you certainly don’t deserve the cane. The hairbrush maybe, but not the cane.”

“No!” Diamond whined pathetically, not really feeling that way at all. The entire day had had been overwhelming, and emotional, and every one of her senses was crying out for the sort of tear inducing, conscience cleansing, role reaffirming spanking that only a hairbrush could provide. She was never so relieved as when Pax ignored her protests, and rummaged in the nightstand drawer, withdrawing the wretched brush. Oh how she loved to hate that thing.

“Oh, I think so, my pet. I think that’s exactly what we both need. C’mon now, get up over my knee.”

She obeyed grudgingly questioning as she went. “You need a hairbrush spanking too?” she teased. “Are you a switch now?”

“No,” Pax growled. Laying into her ass with the hairbrush, lightly, but immediately. “I am not a switch. Sometimes, it can be just as cathartic for a dominant to administer a spanking as it is for the submissive to receive one, smart ass.”

“Oh, okay!” Diamond tried to giggle, but it came out choked, as the hairbrush was now falling hard and fast. It wasn’t having the same panic inducing flight or fight response it had had the first time, and she worked really hard on receiving it and all that came with it. Every painful stroke had meaning to her, from her insecurities as a submissive to her lack of trust in her dominant to the hell in a hand basket day that they had both had. She suspected it was the same for Pax, although he didn’t speak. For once, he was fully content to let the spanking do all of his talking for him, and Diamond found it oddly relaxing. The wooden brush beat a drum solo against her backside, and she relaxed into the rhythm of it. As spankings went, it was a short one, but it was everything it needed to be.

When it was finished, Pax claimed her as his, loving her completely, in a way that no man ever had, and content and relaxed, she drifted off to sleep.

Pax and Jase paced in front of the window of Pax’s suite two days later, glaring down at the crowd below. “I can’t believe the press release didn’t work.”

“Calm down, man. Give it a little bit. It takes a while.”

“You’ve been saying that for two days!” They had given the press release Monday night, and neither he nor Diamond had left the suite since.

“It’s still the same. They are afraid they are going to miss something. They want to stick around a few days, and find out if you have anything more for them. Besides that, it’s kind of a game. Nobody wants to be the first to leave. They want to wait out the competition.”

“Don’t these people have lives? Jobs? Families?”

“All of the above I’m sure, but this has big story potential and the big stories pay the big bucks. Sorry, man. Might have to wait it out through the weekend.”

“Through the weekend? Are you fucking kidding me? Jase, it’s only Wednesday.”

“What do you expect me to do about it?” his buddy retorted, looking almost as stressed as Pax himself was. “I’ve done nearly everything I can think of short of using the two of you as bait. There is nothing else left to do other than wait it out. I’m sorry.”

“We can’t wait it out—these are our lives—this is my livelihood!” His rant was cut off by the ringing of his cell phone.

“Yes? This is Paxton.” He listened, and his jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me! This is a joke right? Okay, yes, do that. I’ll be down in a minute. Thank you.”

He hung up the phone, and turned to Jase, who was watching him intently. “This has gone too far. Too far. There’s a bomb threat been called in. They are saying there is an explosive device somewhere on the premises. We have to lock the whole place up, and bring in the bomb dogs. This is fucking unreal. A bomb, Jase? A bomb! Are they trying to kill us now?”

Jase was already on the move. Pax caught up with him near the elevators and they went into ass kicking mode, storming the casino like men on a mission. The front desk was in chaos. Phones were ringing off the hook. People were pounding on the front doors. Patrons were screaming. Just when it couldn’t get any more chaotic, the swat team stormed the place through the back door, bringing a half dozen dogs with them. They blew right past Pax, and took over the situation. They were barking orders at people, herding them into lines, letting the dogs loose to catch the scent. Old ladies were crying, people were fainting, and there was nothing Pax could do. It was without a doubt, one of the scariest moments of his life, and that was saying a lot.

The generally unflappable Jase, who had been Pax’s rock throughout the entire ordeal, was standing behind the front desk, frozen in place as he stared at the events taking place. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know, man. I’ve never had this happen before. I think we just wait, and make ourselves available if they need anything. Maybe try to go calm some guests?”

Although, Jase didn’t look like he could calm himself right now, and Pax felt like he was going to throw up, as he looked out onto the casino floor, he saw a lot of terrified people who were much worse off than he was. They were on vacation. They hadn’t asked for this, and it had nothing to do with them. Now they were virtual hostages in the middle of a bomb threat. Talk about a vacation nightmare. Pax had to do something.

Zoning in on a group of hysterical regulars, he took off across the casino, a man on a mission. At least there was something he could do to feel less helpless.

* * *

Her heart was filled with a mixture of dread and hope when she woke up on Wednesday morning and padded into the sitting room as she did every morning. There were two things on her mind. Coffee and checking out the view of the front of the hotel. Coffee first.

The pot was full and ready to go, even though for the first time since Monday morning, Pax and Jase were nowhere to be found. That was odd in and of itself, but, they did have hotels to run. Inhaling the strong heady scent of the coffee Pax favored, she clutched her cup in her hand, and dialed room service. Bacon, fruit and toast. It might take a while because the only person allowed on the forty-ninth floor these days was Will. Pax was so stringent on this fact, that he had put the young man up in a room for the time being, and offered him a heady bonus to stay at the hotel until the chaos died down.

When that was finished, only then did she make her way over to the window. The blinds were already open which meant Pax had done the same thing before he left. The scene below filled her with anxiety and set her teeth on edge. There wasn’t much change. Paparazzi still stood at attention, cameras and binoculars around their necks, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. The news vans had been gone yesterday, but for some reason were back today. Every single person had their neck craned towards the upper floors, as if they would be able to see her from down there. Ugh. Her stomach rolled and she stepped back from the window, glaring into her nearly empty coffee cup with unease. She was beginning to think she’d never be allowed to leave the suite. Sure, it had only been a few days, but it felt like forever.

A shower was definitely in order. Even if she couldn’t leave the suite, at least she could attempt to feel human today. As she entered the bathroom, the knock on the door alerted her to breakfast. Will was here.

“Just leave it inside the door, Will,” she called out, knowing that Pax had given him a master key.

Shrugging out of the hotel robe, she stepped under the spray, letting it run as hot as it could go. Short and hot was the ticket this morning. It only took a few minutes to wash her hair and body, reveling in the scalding water until the steam was nearly choking her, before stepping out and putting the robe on once more.

Not feeling like bothering with make-up or her hair, she threw her blonde locks into a messy bun, without bothering to dry them first. It was definitely a tank top and yoga pants day, she thought, as she opened the bathroom door, mentally going over her wardrobe that Crystal had brought her.

He was sitting on the bed. It was the closest she had ever been to him, but she knew who he was. His bright red hair and scruffy beard gave him away, as did the camera around his neck. A navy blue Jansport bag sat on the bed beside him. The glint of a metal grip caught the sunlight streaming in through the blinds, and the glaring reflection caught her eye. Her breath caught in her throat as she noted the gun sticking out of the pocket of his black hoodie.

Her eyes welled with tears as her brain raced with possible outcomes of this situation. Where were Pax and Jason anyway? And how had Fitch gotten in? Those questions and so many others were glued to the tip of her tongue, but paralyzing fear kept her from speaking. It didn’t matter Fitch spoke first.

“You look just like her.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped, taking in the sight of her, and she remembered she was dripping wet in only a short thin robe.

Her mother. With the exception of her blonde hair, she was the spitting image. Was that what this was about? A long rooted obsession with her mother? It made sense. He wouldn’t be the only one.

She opened her mouth to scream, and he was on his feet in an instant. His body pressed against her back, as his hand covered her mouth. His breath was hot against her ear. “Don’t scream. Just listen. Obey.”

The last word clicked in her brain, and she remembered how he had found her here. A crazed obsessed paparazzo with wannabe dominant tendencies. Perfect. The word “obey” from his mouth made her sick to her stomach, but she would use it to her advantage.

She nodded, and felt his body relax against her. “I’m going to let go now, and you’re going to be quiet.  Only speak when I ask you a question. Do not scream. If you do, I will have to punish you, understand?”

Her eyes were wide with fear and unshed tears as she nodded her acquiescence. Relief flooded her body when he let go over her and moved back towards the bed.

“I just want to talk,” he told her, putting his hands up in front of him, in a gesture that was surely meant to create a false sense of safety—like she was the one keeping him instead of the other way around. “I don’t want to hurt you, Diamond. I love you.” His voice was thick with emotion as he whispered his sick confession.

She wanted to argue, to point out that he didn’t know her—that they had never had a conversation—that he had only spent years worshipping her from afar—that she wasn’t her mother. But she couldn’t speak.  He had warned her not to. Her eyes were glued to the gun in his pocket.

He sat on the unmade bed, pulling the backpack into his lap, and unzipping it as she watched with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Fitch was shaking as he slowly pulled out items one by one, setting them on the bed beside him. It was a mixture of unambiguous and foreboding. A water bottle. Rope. A photo album of some sort. A pocket knife. A roll of film. A pair of handcuffs. Altogether, with the gun, it looked like the survival kit of a serial killer. One by one, the items went back into the bag until only the water bottle, rope and album remained.

Fitch patted the bed beside him, and motioned her to come, leaving the rope, but setting the photo album in his lap.

“I know you don’t love me,” he stated flatly, his eyes sad. “It’s okay. You don’t know me yet. That’s why I’m here. We can change that. I know everything about you. I’ve watched you for years, collecting information until you disappeared. When she died, I thought I’d have my chance. I could comfort you. I could be the man you needed to get you through that horrible time. I waited until a few days after the funeral, to give you space and time to mourn. Then I was going to come to you. We were going to be together. But you never came back. I waited and waited. You never came.”

Dread settled like a boulder in her stomach. If only they had known that she was his target. They had thought of him as the harmless paparazzo, snapping pictures of their day to day life for the purpose of making a quick buck. They had never suspected that he was really just lying in wait—for her—the object of his maniacal affections.

She opened her mouth to speak, questioning him with her eyes as she silently begged permission. Appeased, he nodded. 

“It was too painful.”

His eyes were sad as he acknowledged her pain. “I know. I knew you were hurting. I knew you would come back when you were ready. We would be together then.”  He put his arm around her, one large clammy hand gripping her shoulder.

Her skin crawled underneath the thin fabric.

“But you came with him.” His eyes narrowed, and darted around the room frantically. She hadn’t known eyes that bright could look that dark and eerie. “You didn’t wait for me. You were supposed to wait!”

Fitch was growing agitated. Terror flooded her veins as his grip tightened on her shoulder, pulling her close to him. She could smell him then, a mixture of sweat and cheap deodorant. His right hand raked against the denim of his jeans as he clawed at himself frantically.

“I’m sorry!” she squeaked, praying she wouldn’t anger him by speaking. “I didn’t know! You never told me. How was I supposed to know?”

The calm was instant, and frightening. He looked at the album sitting in his lap as if he had just remembered that it was there. “I know,” he whispered. “I was going to. I had it all planned out. I worked on it all the time. I was going to show you. But you never came back.”

Bile was rising in her throat as she stared at the album in his lap—knowing that what laid inside was the work of an obsessed stalker. She didn’t want to see it, but it seemed to be the only thing calming him at the moment.

Laying her hand on his leg, she squeezed his thigh softly, fighting the tears that were still threatening to fall. “Show me now.” Her heart was pounding in her chest as she ran through her options. She could only keep him calm for so long. Whatever was in the album might set him off again if she didn’t respond appropriately, and her limited acting skills were sure to fail her at some point.

At her touch, Fitch jerked his head up hopefully, and gazed longingly into her eyes.

“Show me,” she repeated again, fighting not to stumble through the words she didn’t want to speak. “Show me now. I want to see. But,” she gulped, forcing herself to meet his eyes with a look that conveyed trust and promise. “Not in here. Let’s go into the sitting room, where the light is better.” Shrugging his hand from her shoulder, she gripped it in her own and stood, pulling him with her.

To her gratified amazement, he followed, taking only the album with him.

Diamond chose the bigger of the two small leather couches and sat, scanning the room for anything she could use as a weapon. There were only a few lamps, and a small wooden chair near the window where Pax often ate his breakfast. Pax kept the room tidy and devoid of personal belongings. Why couldn’t he have had a baseball bat behind the door or something?

Fitch’s gaze followed her own, and he noticed something she hadn’t. A photo of Pax and Jason outside Rojo rested on the armoire. He was instantly agitated. “This is his room.” His voice was cold. “You didn’t wait for me. You were supposed to wait. We’re supposed to be together. The fact that you’re here—at Rojo—it just proves that we are made for each other. You’re supposed to be my sub, not his.”

He turned on her, and stood, pacing around the room, filled with rage. “She’s mine. She’s mine.” He was muttering under his breath. His hand rested on the gun in his pocket, but he didn’t pull it out.