What About Love (Club Decadence Book 6) (23 page)

She took a deep, steadying breath and repeated, “We need to go.”

This time, he didn’t argue. He didn’t have anything to add other than to sweep her into his arms and tell her he was full of shit, that he wanted her like no woman he’d wanted before, not ever. Except the bitter memories had crept in, and like a fool, no, like the coward he was, he stepped back. When he’d fastened his pants, he bent and picked up the blanket, draping it around her once more.

“My clothes.”

“One of the attendants will bring them.” He stared down at the top of her head, concerned about her state of mind for the rest of the night. “Are you up to this?”

“Of course, this is my job. The sole reason I came here. In the end, nothing else matters.”

He flinched, her words like a slap. But he gave her that, and whatever else she needed to shore up her defenses for what lie ahead tonight. Unfortunately, he didn’t think it would cover what was in store for them back in San Antonio when this was all over.

Chapter Sixteen

Worse than an uncomfortable exit following really bad sex and more degrading than the walk of shame in the wake of a drunken one night stand—she’d had one in college and swore never again—having to sit with T in the lounge until midnight after a one sided love declaration was the most excruciatingly awkward experience of her life. She couldn’t even fortify herself with alcohol, not with a potential date with a killer in her very near future.

He’d made one more attempt to talk, but she’d waved him off.

“Please, let it go. Don’t make it more difficult than it already is.”

“All right, Angie. Not tonight, with potential shit going down, but trust me on this, we will talk.”

By the determined look on his face and his resolute tone, she knew he believed this was true. He didn’t know her well enough, however, to understand that was not going to happen. It would be a very cold day in south Texas before she talked this out. She’d go home, lick her wounds and try to forget that he’d shattered her heart into a million pieces, but she wouldn’t dissect it or pick it apart. No way, no how, and never, not if she had any say over it, would she do so with him.

The bigger problem was how to move on, in particular, how to work at Rossi with a man she vowed to never be alone with again. Feeling his scrutiny, she fidgeted under his regard, shifting nervously in her seat, tugging at the microscopic hem of her short clingy dress and wishing desperately for the blanket to once again cover her naked back. Thankfully, Eric and Val came up at that moment and joined them.

Val’s face was flushed and her lips were swollen. She looked like she’d been thoroughly kissed at the very least. Angie felt her face heat as she imagined she appeared the same way. Her heart lurched, still feeling his arms around her, his lips voracious against her own, and his body… She tugged on her ear, before realizing she’d done it. When that didn’t help, she cleared her mind, or at least she tried to as she caught Val’s perceptive gaze. Damn mind reader.

Val murmured something to Eric and soon they both wore identical concerned expressions.

“Anything you two want to share?” the Master Dom intoned with a penetrating stare. Both she and T were closed mouthed, not disclosing anything about the volatile scene in the service hall, although not denying that anything was wrong either. The minutes crept by until it was time to go.

“Are you ready for this, Angie?” Eric asked in a hushed voice despite the noise in the lounge.

“No,” she admitted honestly, “at any rate, I want this done.” One hand rose and brushed back her hair, surreptitiously checking to make sure her earring was still there. To avoid appearing obvious, she resisted checking the other, but her gaze dropped to her foot and her toe ring, barely visible in her peep toe pump.

With a nod, more to embolden herself than anything, she stood.

T grabbed her hand. On reflex, she looked down and directly into his upturned face.

“You won’t be out of our reach, darlin’, not for a second.”

She offered him a small smile, which had to look forced, because she didn’t feel it and wondered if she ever would again. Tugging gently, she pulled free and with a last glance at Val and Eric, headed out the front door.

At the front desk, she checked out and gathered the props provided for her cover, including a clutch she’d never seen, which held an unfamiliar keyless entry remote to a strange car in the parking lot. Swallowing against a wave of nausea, she exited the lobby into the warm L.A. night.

As per the script, she turned right at the bottom of the steps and walked straight to the little red Honda that was parked exactly where they said it would be. Footsteps fell in behind her, echoing more solidly in the arid night than the click of her stiletto heels on the asphalt. Shakily, she beeped the locks and watched the lights flash. Within a few steps of the car, a shadow appeared alongside her own. Trying to keep from losing what little she had to eat that day, she whirled, as anyone would.

It was a woman. Tall, at least six feet, and muscular, not ripped like T or Eric, but defined as if she worked out with weights. She was also slender, which was evident from the body hugging leather of her cat suit. Unsure of this odd turn of events and how the killer would react if he was watching, Angie knew she had to get rid of her quickly. She didn’t need this stranger scaring Stapleton off.

Laying it on thick, her hand flew to her chest as if trying to slow her rapidly beating heart—which was true. “You startled me.” When the woman didn’t speak, she added, “May I help you with something, Mistress?”

She didn’t react negatively, so her assumption that she was a Domme was correct.

“I saw you on the carousel tonight. It was hot.”

“Um, thank you, uh, Ma’am.”

“You’re Angie, aren’t you?”

She took a step closer, invading her space. When she did so, a shaft of light from the nearby street light fell across her face. Her eyes appeared black, her face drawn and haggard, and her mouth twitched. She appeared wired, like she was strung out on something. Angie took an involuntary step back; the Domme followed apace. She retreated again, stopping too soon as her backside came up against the car.

Her hand came up and traced down Angie’s arm, making her tremble. “You’re new to L.A.” It wasn’t framed as a question.

Although tweaked by her bold approach and odd behavior, Angie was more concerned that she knew her name. She didn’t freak out quite yet, remembering it had been plastered on the carousel board for all to see. That she was new to the club also wasn’t a secret. Still, the woman creeped her out. And she was standing way too close. She shook off her respectful, submissive air and stated point blank. “Look, it’s late and I need to be on my way. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, slut,” she snarled with a grating laugh as her hand came up and pressed a pungent smelling cloth hard over Angie’s nose and mouth. It took her breath away. Struggling fiercely, she turned her head, using both hands to push at the hand covering her face, but the Domme was surprisingly strong. When her other arm came across her throat pinning her against her car, she got woozy. “You can help by going for a ride to meet my friend Dick.”

The last lucid thought in her head was,
oh shit!
She knew Dick, Dick Henson to be precise, an alias for her former chief of police, Robert Stapleton. Her world tilted sideways and went gray as she knew nothing more while fading into unconsciousness.

*****

The night had been a twisted, emotional yo-yo and T was still on edge. It wasn’t getting better as he stood in the lot observing Angie leave the club. He had a bad feeling about this. Not one to have premonitions, he felt this in his gut. There were so many ways this night could go bad and every one of them was playing out in his head. As she walked to her car, one of the club members approached her from behind. He tensed, elbowing Eric sharply in the arm.

“Who the hell is that?” he demanded in a hushed tone.

“Mistress Daria, evidently Angie has caught her eye.”

Samson, who stood on T’s other side, snickered. “In that dress, I’m not surprised.”

T’s response was an irritated snarl.

“What’s your problem, T?” the gruff Dom demanded. “I thought you two were in the friend zone, although after your performance on the carousel tonight, I call bullshit on that.”

“Shut up.”

“Man, I told you, if you don’t claim her, someone else will. Like Daria over there, or me.”

“Samson,” Eric interjected brusquely, “how about we table this little sidebar and try to stay focused. You can grill T about his love life some time when we’re not on the trail of a killer. Besides, we all three know you already have two women who would have your balls on decorative display on your mantel if you so much as suggested adding a third.”

He grew openly amused. “That’s true. Tara and Julie like to decorate in the eclectic.”

T ignored him, in the mood for neither jokes, nor Samson’s bullshit. The three men lapsed into silence as they watched and waited as Mistress Daria drew near Angie. Focused on the killer being a man, specifically Stapleton, they didn’t react until Angie suddenly crumpled in Daria’s arms.

T moved immediately, at least he tried too, but two sets of strong hands restrained him.

“Stand down, T.”

“Fuck that. I’m going in. We can get the Amazon to take us to Stapleton.”

But they held him back as the Domme lifted Angie and shoved her into the back of the Honda, tossing her shoes and her clutch on the ground before she slammed the door.

“Get off me,” T demanded as he struggled, managing to knock Samson a step back.

“T, think,” Eric urged as he held on. “This is what we hoped would go down. Let this play out a bit more.”

Convinced that was the riskiest action for Angie, T broke free of his hold and ran, but Daria, having scooped up the dropped keys from the asphalt, had already climbed behind the wheel and was racing out of the lot. Eric was on him, slamming into his back as he skidded to a halt at the edge of the black top. Helplessly, he watched as the tail lights faded with her right turn onto Beverly Boulevard. T’s curse boomed like a clap of thunder in the night.

“Samson, call this in,” Eric ordered as the man came up on his other side.

“Already did. Jerry and Kieran are activated and picked up her tail out of the lot. We have her GPS signal up as well, which will lead us right to her.” Sam clamped a hand over T’s shoulder. “Patience man, we got this.”

But the bad feeling he’d had for days, didn’t quit. Turning on his heel, he stalked through the crowded lot and across the street to Rossi headquarters. He wanted to be in the control room as word came in. His thoughts full of Angie, he slammed through the doors, Eric and Samson on his heels. As he took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, his frustration oozed out, as did his shouted, “Fuck!”

*****

“Let me play with her first, Dick.”

Stapleton snarled. “It’s Richard, bitch, and if you don’t shut up, you won’t get a chance.”

“That’s not fair. I do the work and you have all the fun. You got greedy with the last one and killed her before I got a taste.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Angie flinched as Stapleton let a wicked backhand fly, sending the woman who had abducted her hard to the floor. She cried out in pain, cradling her injured cheek in her hand. When she looked up at him, tears flooded her eyes and blood welled from a gash in her lip. Helpless to do anything except watch, Angie was surprised the woman didn’t respond in kind and make the smaller man pay for the vicious blow.

Instead, she whimpered, gingerly touching her lip. A moment later, when she held up her hand and saw blood, she muttered under her breath, “Goddamn prick.” That seemed to be the consensus of opinion where Stapleton was concerned. Then she said more loudly, “Fine, you can have her, but give me my pay now.”

Stapleton stalked across the room to a tall chest and took a small plastic bag from the drawer. Crystal meth. Angie had seen it many times. He flung the bag at the Domme.

“Take it and get out. I’ll call you when I need you again.”

When the door banged loudly behind her, he bolted it and applied the chain, then walked over to Angie. She leaned away as much as she could when he reached for her, grimacing as he picked up a curl from her shoulder and rubbed it between his fingers. After a moment, he gave it a ruthless tug. As tears filled her eyes from the burning pain in her scalp, he laughed.

“I won’t need her again for a very long while.” He bent down and whispered in her ear as he explained, “I’m going to take my time with you.”

She felt the wet glide of his tongue along her neck. Jerking away, she gagged. With deep gulping breaths, she fought back the nausea enough to speak. When she did, it was imprudently and with a generous amount of loathing. “Getting your rocks off with subs that look like me; you’re one sick fuck, Dastardly Dick.”

Pain exploded across her face as he slapped her, his palm connecting with her cheekbone and whipping her head around the other way. When the flashes of light and chirping birds faded, and her vision cleared, she lifted her head, gazing up into his despised face with hatred. If not for her dry mouth and cracked lips, she would have spit at him despite her predicament.

Something had gone seriously wrong. She didn’t know how long she’d been out, but definitely, the Rossi team should have been there by now. It had been long enough for her to become parched, which wasn’t a good sign. Maybe the awful chloroform had something to do with it. She searched the room for the time.

Across the way, in what apparently served as a kitchen, a cheap plastic clock hung on a wall covered in ripped wallpaper. It was also stained with brown blotches, the origin of which she didn’t want to hazard a guess over. The time was 3 a.m. Shit! Almost three hours had passed since she left the club. Plenty of time for them to track her, come up with a plan, and enact a rescue. The delay didn’t shift the outcome of this jacked up mission in her favor.