Wallbanger (23 page)

“—
the
collar,” she amended, “and is
back under her Mistress.”

He bobbed his head; hope springing to life.
“Sacha’s sister, the
White
Russian.”

* * * *

Downstairs, Marchande waited for Zlata to go
outside before pulling the phone from his pocket. He had a specific
window to check in with his contact and was just on the tail end of
it. With Xander strategizing with Kizzie, this would be the best
chance he’d get.

“You got it?” the man on the other end
asked.

Hello to you, too.
“Close.”

“It’s been ‘close’ for a while now.”

He didn’t appreciate the tone, returned with
one harsher. “You’re more than welcome to go after Harvey yourself.
I get paid either way.”

A long pause before the man spoke again. “Was
that you in St. Petersburg?”

“No idea what you mean.” Phil almost
laughed.

“Is that how you’re playing it?”

“Stop with the questions. You want Harvey,
I’m working on it.” He watched Xander make the descent of the
stairs. “But I need a favor.”

16

With slow baby steps Kizzie eased to the door
and stopped, bracing her body against the jamb. Every footfall was
agonizing, sending a shockwave through her bruised side and ribs.
Standing tall tugged at the slice across her belly, so she stayed
doubled over to minimize the pain. It didn’t help much. A few more
feet and she’d be there, but it might as well have been miles for
the condition she was in.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

Her unexpected visitor almost made her jerk
upright, but she remembered it would hurt like a bitch and stayed
pitched toward the floor. Her gaze was all she had the strength to
lift. “My bladder still works, you know.” Xander strode to her
side, bent to lift her. “Do it and die. I’ll get there on my own.”
She progressed another inch and stopped.
Maybe I should do it
fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
She didn’t move. The mind
was willing. The body was smarter.

“Too bad Sacha didn’t beat the stubborn out
of you,” Xander grumbled. He ignored her threat and picked her up,
deposited her on the bed.

“You really are an ass.” But she was thankful
he hadn’t listened.

“Says an ass. Next time call me,” Xander
said, pulling the light sheet up on her. “You wreck my stitch-job
I’ll be pissed.”

Kizzie cocked her head. This was an
interesting bit of information. The physician that had come to
check her out said everything looked fine, and she assumed he’d
been the one who patched her up. But Xander? She would have thought
Phil before Xander. How did he know what to do?

“You stitched me?” she asked. “Why didn’t you
let me die?”

“I need you to get Harvey first.” It was
cold, but it was the truth, and she appreciated it. “Do that and
you can die all you want.”

“Thanks…for patching me up.” Her eyes roamed
over his attire—jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt. What was he dressed
for? “It’s gotta be four in the morning, X. Do you ever sleep?”

“Heard you up and came to see if you needed
anything.”

“Funny, I thought subs did all the
serving.”

His voice went silky. “Are you my sub,
Princess?” She didn’t respond and he followed with, “To dispel the
myth, a good Master takes care of his sub, much the same way a good
husband cares for his wife. You have a lot to learn about the
lifestyle.”

She snorted. “My submissive
day
is
already a faded memory.”

“You mean you didn’t like it even a little?
The spankings and the whip? Before you came out the zone, I think
you were up to four or five on the cum count.”

“Good thing I’m not paying you to think,
Duquesne.”

He grinned. “Maybe when you’re ready to admit
it, I’ll—” The words died in his throat and he reached into his
back pocket. “Brought you a present. Phil couldn’t hack it—he’s
still working on the other one—but this one keeps vibrating.”

“Waste of time.” Taking the device, she
quickly thumbed a complicated pattern over the darkened screen and
the display lit up. “Biometric scanner coupled with a sequencer.
Something one of the wizards in The Crew rigged. Can’t get in
unless you’re me.” She eyed the notification.

“Everything okay?” Xander asked.

Her head bobbed. “Yep, just fine.”

“Liar. But you don’t trust me, so I’m not
offended.”

He was right on both counts. The flashing
alert meant things were definitely
not
okay. And she
wouldn’t trust him, period.

She turned the tables. “Do you trust me?”
Xander shook his head. “Plan to?” He didn’t respond. “You were
military, weren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just the way you talk sometimes. Makes me
think you served in one branch or another, before you went all bad
guy on your own country.”

“Four days of ROTC before they kicked me
out…. Better at giving orders than taking them.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to get to
the bottom of the mystery that is Xander Duquesne.”

“No mystery, Princess. What you see is all
there is.”

“Hmm.” She didn’t believe him but continued.
“Hey, something’s been bothering me since Mauritius.”

He leaned against the wall. “Thought we
weren’t going to rehash Mauri—”

“We’re not. S’just…something you said got me
to thinking…. The sapphire, you knew I’d gotten it from the
gunrunner, Ri Nguyen, but it’s yours?” He seemed to think about his
response before signaling yes. Not the whole truth, but she let it
go. “Did you know it was rigged to a comm-link?” Kizzie held her
breath, hoping like hell his answer was again in the
affirmative.

Xander frowned. “No idea what you’re talking
about.”

She kept her expression impassive. “My team
lost contact with me while I was on your yacht
being…
imprisoned.
Tell me the truth. Did you jam the feed?”
Again with the breath holding, skin itching on the edge of
sweat.

“Like I said; no idea….”

She scrutinized his blank face.
“
You’re
lying.”

“What’s there to lie about? We were miles
from shore. By the time your team got to the yacht, by boat
or
copter, I’da been gone.” He shrugged. “I didn’t jam the
feed, Baldwin. Believe me or don’t, your call. Get some sleep.”

If Xander was telling the truth—and she
wouldn’t bet her life against that “if”—then it meant he was also
right about there being problems in The Crew. And, more to the
point, it meant either Solomon or Gale, the only members with her
on the Mauritius job, had jammed the feed. So Xander was a liar,
because that would never happen.

When he left the room, Kizzie entered a code
to bring up the live video link, flipping from camera to camera to
assess the damage. But everything at her place appeared
normal—clothes on the floor in the living room, half-full Balboa
bottle on the coffee table. Relief flooded her. The second-story
window. She had to leave it cracked open on her mad dash out. It
had probably let a breeze in that triggered the alarm.

The argument didn’t convince, and she
accessed the storage logs to put her mind at ease. The alert had
come in hours ago—kind of Xander to finally bring her the damn
phone. She reached the archives from around the time period,
watching zero activity for almost ten minutes.

Then it happened.

She rewound the loop, froze it when the
figure came into the frame. A quick enhance and she inhaled a sharp
breath. Brown hair or not, she’d know that face anywhere, that long
frame. She tapped ‘play’ and the video moved forward. The man stood
in the center of her living room, looking around. He pulled a phone
from his pocket and held it to his ear before disappearing up the
stairs.

That was it. A couple seconds of activity, no
more. He must have come and gone through that open window. Either
way, Kizzie was left wondering how he’d found it.

And, more importantly, what the hell Solomon
Nevins was doing in her house.

Epilogue

Two weeks later

Japan

Eighteen months since her last true binding,
Kasumi’s skin begged for the tight ropes.
Kinbaku
was more
than just bondage; it was the melding of geometry, flesh and
knotted jute. It was beauty. It was art. No one could bind her like
her Mistress.

She wondered how she’d be tied today, hoping
to be rewarded with her favorite, the prawn position. She received
the most pleasure that way, but would enjoy any technique the
Mistress thought best for her. A tiny smile tilted her lips, and
she trembled at the memories from her times in this room.

Another hour passed, and Kasumi meditated to
calm her mind. The Mistress knew what she was doing, building the
anticipation. This was all part of the reward for the ills suffered
at the hands of Sacha, and for the deeds done for her Mistress.

Finally, the translucent paper door slid open
and the woman entered the room.

“Kotenok.”

Overcome with relief, Kasumi almost
whimpered. Her Mistress’s voice wrapped around her making hot tears
well up behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. A
warrior did not cry. She could hardly speak, too overjoyed at
returning to the home where she belonged.

“Welcome back, pet.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” She kept her head
bowed, seeing only the hem of the red robe that brushed the tops of
the other woman’s slender feet. Her Mistress stroked her hair, and
Kasumi soaked up the attention.

“Let us begin the lesson.”

Yes, the lesson. The training she’d received
in preparation for Sacha. Her Lady said she must be strong of mind
and body. Kasumi had recited the lines and practiced the fighting
stances day and night, and it paid off.

She shifted onto her knees to be more
accessible to her Domme. The lesson always began this way, and by
its end she’d be covered with cords of knotted rope, the bamboo
cane licking her skin, teasing her to heaven. She only had to
repeat the words. She cleared her throat. “Courage, above all
things, is the first quality of a warrior.”

The Mistress slipped a noose over Kasumi’s
head, tugging until the knot rested at the girl’s sternum. “Were
you courageous, pet?”

“As courageous as my Mistress made me,” she
replied, nodding. The length of rope dangled down Kasumi’s front.
To the casual onlooker this event would have meant nothing, but to
her it was the world. Her rightful collar and leash had been
restored signaling she was again under the protection and control
of her Mistress. As her Domme was above, Kasumi was below, and
there was a return of dynamic balance.

Another length of rope went around one wrist,
circled again, before a knot was made and her arm positioned so her
elbow pointed skyward and her hand touched her shoulder blade.

“Have you forgotten the rest?”

“No, Mistress.” So enraptured with the
movements she’d missed her cue, her body trembled from the first
contact. “A warrior must only take care that her spirit is not
broken.”

“And did your spirit break?”

Nearly, but the wisdom of her Mistress saw
her through. The loose rope grazed her back before it was firmly
tugged between her cheeks and through her legs, a knot pressed into
her anus, another against her clit. Her cunt twitched. “My spirit
is strong and whole, just as my Mistress made it.”

“Very good, pet. Continue.”

The binding made its way toward her neck
again, a tie made there before it branched off, each individual
length going over one shoulder and reconnecting again. Her free
hand was then yanked up and secured behind her back with both ends.
Her brain barely functioned, overloaded with the sensations. She
couldn’t wait for the caning to come, wet already at the
thought.

“He who has a why to live for can bear almost
any how.” The Mistress pulled at her nipples, twisting and yanking
and slapping until they were a bruised rose color against her light
honey skin. She moaned with delight at the harsh treatment, juices
seeping along the rope.

“Next.” The Mistress gripped the knot between
the girl’s legs and mashed it against her clit.

“Thank you, Mistress.” She gasped. “A warrior
takes responsibility for his acts, fo—”

“Stop,” her Mistress commanded, tugging hard
on the leash connected to Kasumi’s neck. The move pulled the girl
flat on her stomach, and the Mistress roughly nudged her onto her
back with a foot. “Bend your knees.”

Face up, hands in an impossibly painful
position behind her on the floor, she lifted her knees, causing the
knot on her clit to press in a bit harder. Kasumi fought against
rolling her hips to relieve the pressure. Still she was confused at
the interruption, but dare not speak unless her Mistress wished
it.

The woman lifted one of Kasumi’s feet,
pushing it back against her stomach as far is it would go. She
wrapped one side of the excess twine from the leash around a
tattooed ankle and secured it with a knot; repeated the process on
the other side. It was a new position for Kasumi, but she loved the
similarity to the prawn binding with the added novelty of her hands
behind her. And she could not relax her legs, forced to hold the
bent position or the rope could slip and strangle her. A test of
her control—her Mistress knew how to stretch the limits.

The Mistress rose. “Repeat.”

“A warrior takes responsibility for his acts,
for—”

“Stop. Have you taken responsibility for your
acts?”

The submissive nodded. She had completed her
task without hesitation. A threat to her Mistress was a threat to
her. That threat had been eliminated, and her Lady could carry out
her beautiful plan. She waited for the caning, but it didn’t
start.

“Tell me of those acts, beginning with the
first.” The Mistress delved into a pocket of her robe.