Wallbanger (15 page)

Really?
She didn’t know how long she’d
been gone, but if this boob stayed in the mirror much longer,
“Lucy” would have some “s’plainin’ to do” once she got back. On the
other hand, if he caught Marchande, they’d
all
have some
explaining to do with the added excitement of dodging bullets.

Kizzie took a step forward and Phil grabbed
her shoulder, insistently shook his head when she turned to him.
“Got a better idea?” she whispered. “Me, then you.”

Nodding begrudgingly, he dropped his hand and
she strolled out of the cubby. Caught unawares, the guard—the same
one who had tried to pat down her person when they’d
arrived—pointed the gun at her. Kizzie raised her hands and gasped,
hoping like hell he didn’t pull the trigger. Dying in a cupless
corset was not on the bucket list.

“What are you doing over here?” he asked in
urgent Russian, the gun wavering slightly.

She shook her head to indicate she didn’t
understand, all the while taking slow steps toward him. “Please,
I…I just got a little turned around, you know. This place is so
big, and pretty, and, well, I just thought—”

“Zatknis´!”

She immediately stopped talking—that tone was
understandable in every language—fixing her face with as much fear
as she could muster. She took in short, quick breaths, made her
body tremble. She couldn’t have been more than eight feet from him,
and she continued to inch forward. They’d only have one shot at
this, so the closer she got, the better.

“Stop there,” he commanded in accented
English, lifting the weapon higher.

Or I could stop here….
She lowered her
hands, smiling as they trailed over her nipples and down the fabric
covering her belly. It drew his eye for a moment, but didn’t
completely distract him. “See. Unarmed.” She giggled nervously,
crooking her finger for him to come closer. “But you can check for
yourself.”

The guard took a step, trepidation slowly
losing out to baser instincts, lust pushing him closer and closer
to her until he was only a few steps away. Hand extended to touch
her, something over her shoulder caught his gaze.

Using the moment, Kizzie’s arm shot out, the
heel of her palm connecting with his nose. At the odd angle, the
force didn’t jam the cartilage into his brain as she’d hoped, but
it stunned him enough to make him drop the weapon and claw at his
damaged nostrils. Moving fast, she delivered a knee to his solar
plexus, and he
oomph
ed, doubled over but didn’t fall.

Sweet spot,
she decided, kicking
upward between his legs. The goon had other plans, catching her
foot mid swing and yanking her toward him. She stepped down hard on
the extended leg, pain shooting up to her hip, and the fingers of
his open hand caught her across the face. Drama added, she fell to
the ground. With her training, she didn’t register the blow,
compartmentalizing whatever pain the tap might have caused and
focusing on her short-term goal of bringing the man down. And she
didn’t have long.

Regrouping, she laid on the ground, soft
moans escaping her throat. Instead of coming to finish her off as
she’d hoped, the man went for his gun.

Retrieval of the weapon was not an
option.

Kizzie sprang from the floor. Charging the
man from behind, she hopped on his back and snaked a forearm around
his neck, the other behind his head. The front hand gripped her
elbow, and she used her arms to leverage his head forward, cutting
off his air.

He batted at her with his hands, tried to ram
her against the wall, but Kizzie held on. Legs tightened around his
torso, she maintained position until his flailing turned to
staggering, and that turned to him slumping onto the floor. She
kept her hold tight until she was sure he was out, and Marchande
left his hidey-hole to join her.

“Could’ve helped,” she breathed.

Phil looped his hands under the guard’s arms
and dragged. “Had to take down the one on rounds outside. Thought
I’d let you have a little fun.”

Kizzie chuckled. “You’re so thoughtful, Phil.
How’s it you’re not married?”

The man sliding along the wood groaned. They
pushed him into the niche, and Phil pressed down on a spot at the
base of his neck. He slumped again. Out cold.

“Y’know, you seem to be the only person to
appreciate me.” He flashed her a devastating smile. “What d’ya say?
Wanna get married, Kizzie?”

“I’d love to, handsome. But your boss is my
current owner. I’ll keep you in mind when this honeymoon ends.”

Marchande pulled a pair of zip-ties from his
pocket and bound the guard, following through with a strip of duct
tape to the mouth.

“Is that what you pulled on me in Mauritius?”
He nodded and she cut her eyes at him. “You’re going to teach me
that trick.”

Phil went to the window, lifted the sash.
“We’re not married yet, dear, so you can’t order me around. Scoot.”
He climbed through the opening and lowered the glass, disappearing
into the frosty night.

Kizzie turned and went down the corridor,
laughing in her head. Between Phil and Xander, they made it hard
for her to remember they were the bad guys.

No sense in sorting out her career issues
now, she had to get back to her spot at Sacha’s door.

* * * *

Her Master secured in the office, the puppet
slipped into a side room and found the recess in the wall. She was
early, she knew, but the information she had could not wait.

Making quick work of the tunnels, she located
her contraband and pulled it from the niche in the floor.
Adrenaline coursed through her veins at what she might be told.

On the third international ring, her call was
answered.

“Kotenok.” Such a simple nickname, but it
always made her heart flutter. “I expected you tomorrow.”

She spoke urgently in Russian, hoping her
voice didn’t carry, but too nervous to really care. “I believe the
meeting has moved for tonight. They have been talking for a while
now and not—”

“Calm yourself, kotenok.”

A deep inhale and she started again, slower
this time. “The Duquesne man arrived, with a submissive. The
meeting is tonight, not tomorrow as planned.”

The person on the other end did not respond
for what felt like an eternity, and the puppet grew more and more
restless. She had to get back.

“When a warrior strikes—”

The code.
“It,” she cleared her
throat, “it is with stealth, accuracy, and purpose, so that his
enemies have not the ability to counter or strike back.”

“And who is your enemy?”

“Sacha,” she said automatically, feeling the
calm settle where anxiety had reigned for months. It would take her
ten minutes to set the charges, but she’d have to wait to retrieve
the cell phone. Now she just had to figure out a way to get him to
the Dungeon. A slow smile crossed her face. “And one more.”

“One more, pet?”

“Oh, yes,” she nodded, empowered by what she
would soon do. “One more.”

9

Kizzie jogged back the way she’d come, making
her way through the different hallways until she arrived at one of
the main playrooms. The action seemed to have continued without
her, no one noticing her absence, but she was still cautious of
being seen.

“Where are you going?”

Shit.
The skeevy-looking Dom from
before crossed her path, the stench of vodka and cigarettes strong
on his hot breath. Brown shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows revealed
short, hairy arms. Leather crop in hand, he slapped it against the
opposite palm as he leered at her breasts.

“To my Master,” she said begrudgingly, glad
Xander wasn’t around to hear that. She moved to go by him, but he
stepped in the same direction, blocking her. “Please, I don’t want
any trouble.” Not that she cared either way. With the adrenaline
still pumping from the tussle with the guard, she was up for either
fighting or fucking. Fighting was all this guy would get.

“Not so fast, puppet,” Master Vadim said.
“I’m going to play with you first.”

He reached out a hand and tugged on the lock
of her collar. That he’d touched it pissed her off more than his
skin on hers. She slapped his arm away. “I said I’m going to my
Master
.” ‘Dumbass’ was implied.

The man grinned, exposing teeth gaped so wide
she could see the whole house through the picket fence. “Sacha
always shares his toys. Every woman here belongs to him, in one way
or another.”

“Not me,” she chirped; gave an over-bright
smile. Her gaze went beyond him and she blinked, sure she was
seeing things. Zlata approached then paused, eyes widening, before
she turned and rushed back down the hallway, moving surprisingly
fast for someone who was supposed to be frozen before her owner’s
door.

The girl glanced back and then hurried out of
sight.
What is she up to?
Kizzie was so confused she reacted
to the touch before her brain even registered it. Her arms lifted,
throwing his palm off of her. The move exposed his throat and with
a stiff hand she jammed her fingers firmly into the soft depression
at the base, curled them sharply inward over his sternum. It
amplified the sound of his breathing, and she tugged him toward
her, slapping him hard across the face. The loud smack ricocheted
off the walls.

“Bitch!” he wheezed and quickly raised his
arm, the rigid end of the crop slashing her cheek. It stung, but
Kizzie had other things on her mind. She pushed her fingers in a
bit more, assisting him in taking a seat on the ground. Then she
took off running behind the puppet.

* * * *

Certain he’d kept Sacha occupied long enough
for Phil to access the house, Xander decided it was time to end
this little power surge the young Sokoviev had shown. It took every
drop of his dwindling patience not to hop the table and strangle
the kid with his bare hands.
Threatening me? Wrong move
. But
that was not the way to handle Sacha. He’d kill him with kindness,
or calm, at least.

For now.

Speaking in a tone that brooked no argument,
Xander said, “The loss of my initial investment is not something
I’m going to just live with. We’ll have to come to some sort of
arrangement that ensures I’ll see that money. I don’t care how you
get it, just so long as you get it. Quickly. In the meantime, I
may
consider acting as a distributor—of course the split
would be 60-40 in my favor, with the added caveat that my sphere of
selling be worldwide.

“Additionally, I’ll need the specs before we
can proceed. While I’m sure you’re simply having a difficult time
recalling the figures at the moment, my clients need hard numbers.
And lastly,” Xander said thoughtfully, leaning forward in his seat,
“Akio Takata. Did he bite on that bullshit deal you just offered
me?”

Sacha’s eyes widened a hair, then he spoke
with forced restraint. “Takata is just one of a few I have as
potential distributors.”

“Ah…. Having a product to sell means nothing
without the right buyers, Sacha. You cater to a very specific
clientele, and I already have connections with 90% of your target
group. So, while Takata and your ‘others’
might
be able to
secure that other 10%, I think you’ll agree I have the market
cornered.”

Without giving the Russian a chance to
respond, Xander stood. “Your father was a smart man, Sacha, not
weak. That’s how you survive in this game. You may not have
respected him, but you should never question his hustle. Not once
did Nikolay treat an ally as a lackey, which is what you came
dangerously close to doing with me. Perhaps it’s best we finish
this meeting tomorrow when you’re of a clearer mind.” In spite of
the anger he felt, he extended his hand. “No love lost.”

Sacha took it and smiled lopsidedly.

Xander checked his watch—two more hours.
They’d have to locate info on Harvey in that time, if there was any
info to locate. After the extended conversation, a feeling in his
gut led him to believe Sacha’s inability to recall the facts could
be credited to more than just his drug use. And there was no way he
would leave Kizzie. With the man high as Jupiter and speeding
toward Neptune, he’d beat her to death in a matter of days if only
because she was Xander’s sub. Kizzie was strong, could probably
endure a lot more than the average bear, but nothing was more
dangerous than a Dom under the influence.

“Nesting dolls,” Xander remarked, walking
toward the door. He picked up the one representing Sacha and
studied it closely. “Your father has this exact set at his house in
St. Petersburg. Do you know one’s missing?” He replaced the little
effigy and spun toward Sacha.

“Hadn’t noticed,” the man grumbled. He stood
on slightly shaky legs and joined Xander at the door, loping an arm
over his shoulder as though they were friends. “Let’s forget this
and finish the night of play. Tomorrow, we’ll talk business.”

Xander wasn’t fooled, but he wasn’t a fool
either. Unless he could confirm his suspicions, Sacha was the only
link to Harvey. Then there was the little matter of still being in
the man’s house, his only weapon a short knife concealed behind his
belt buckle. There were a number of items in reach that would be
handy if needed; he just wasn’t sure how they’d fare against
bullets. If he wanted to get them out alive, he’d have to keep cool
until the party ended.

With his new best bud by his side, Xander
swung the door open in time to see Sumi rush toward them with a
tray of drinks, and the other puppet—whose name he didn’t
know—slide to a stop at her spot on the floor. She bent forward to
her proper position on her knees, forehead kissing the ground, arms
extended. Kizzie brought up the rear, gracefully sank onto the
settee across from the door. She struck a swanlike pose and
froze.

A pudgy man in a horrid brown shirt stalked
toward them, hand alternating between his cheek and throat, angry
eyes focused on Kizzie.