French Connection Vol. 2

by M. S. Parker

  “Coffee?”

  Pierre signaled the waiter. “Yes, coffee. And we talk. You share with me the things I should be looking for. I tell you what I have been working on. I ask questions. You ask questions.”

  “So this is an interview?”

  “No,” he said. He shook his head. “I will not be including anything we discuss in my story.”

  I took a sip of my coffee. Wow. That was amazing. I was impressed that Pierre managed to get it right. “This is great.”

  “I am so glad that you like it.” He flashed that brilliant smile at me. “Now, let us talk.”

  Pierre and I began to chat. The flow of information came quickly, moving from one area to the next. I told him how young people were targeted, the common characteristics of the ones who were caught up in the sex trade. I expected questions about what had happened with Howard, but Pierre never mentioned it. He had to have heard about it. No one in the media in any major country could've missed that story.

  “Is any of this information helping?” I asked halfway through, wondering if I was providing anything Pierre didn't already know. I was glad he'd asked for my help, but pretty much everything I'd said so far could've been found in an internet search.

  Pierre nodded. “I would like to know more about the methods by which people are trafficked. How they are moved from one place to another.”

  “Okay,” I said. I fell silent for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “Well, there are lots of different ways the trafficking works. Some underground, some more blatant. It can be anything from internet sites where buys are set up, to back rooms.”

  “Are those not the smaller operations? A few people here or there?” Pierre asked.

  “Most of the time,” I agreed. “The larger operations are the ones most difficult to uncover because they have so many moving parts. Usually they've been able to grow so large because they have people in the government, people who look the other way and cover up the messes.”

  Pierre nodded. “I understand.”

  “The vast amount of money that changes hands in this business can be used to grease a lot of wheels,” I said, not bothering to keep the bitterness from my voice.

  One of the things that had always sickened me the most about the people involved in the human trafficking industry was how easily a person's life was traded for money. Normal people pictured traffickers as the flashily dressed pimps who stood on the street corner, cat-calling obscenities to the decent folk who walked by. In reality, the majority of traffickers were average-looking, middle-aged men who had wives and kids.

  “How are those operations run?”

  I gave Pierre a puzzled look. I didn't spend much time in the courtroom, but I knew a leading question when I heard one. He was trying to get me somewhere. I just didn't know where.

  “It depends on if it's local or overseas,” I said. “Most of the local girls are runaways who end up getting into it because they need money.” I thought of Robyn. “But there are those who end up getting picked up by someone in the industry, a pimp or a guy who's hired to break in the new girls. They pretend to be a boyfriend and eventually get the girl to have sex with other men.” I paused, then amended, “It happens to boys too, but it's more prevalent with girls.”

  “It is much the same here,” Pierre said. “Though that’s usually the story of those on the streets.”

  “Most of those girls are on the streets,” I agreed. “But these are tricks sometimes used by men who want to sell their victims. Foreign girls are usually brought in with the promise of a good life, a job as a nanny or in a factory. Some are sold by their families, others kidnapped.”

  “And it’s your job to find who these people are and stop them?”

  I shook my head. “What I do is work within the legal system to help the victims in any way I can.”

  “I heard how you helped the young woman who had been kidnapped by a wealthy man from your city.”

  I stiffened. Here it came, the questions about Howard.

  “This man, he used a club to find buyers and hide what he was doing, did he not?”

  “He did,” I replied. I wasn't going to offer anything else until I knew what he wanted.

  “Is that a common practice?” he asked. “Using a club to cover for a trafficking operation?”

  Okay, so he wasn't trying to get personal. At least not yet. “It's not exactly uncommon.”

  Pierre nodded and leaned forward, the expression on his face suddenly serious. “This is what I think is happening in Cannes.”

  I relaxed. He really was after a story here, not me.

  “There is a woman who owns many clubs and bars,” he began.

  My stomach sank.

  “I believe she is using them as a means to traffic.” He glanced around, as if making sure no one was listening. “She lives in Corsica, which I believe is her base of operations, but she uses the clubs here to distribute her... product.”

  “Do you have any proof?” I wanted to ask for a name but I was afraid of what he'd say. I needed to know how much of this was speculation.

  “Not yet,” he admitted. “But that is what I intend to do with you. I wish for you to help me build a case against Alizee Padovani.”

  ***

  I must've spent a good twenty minutes silently cursing as Pierre had filled me in on his suspicions. Everything he said sounded pretty circumstantial, which made matters worse. Alizee could be a trafficker, but coincidences do occasionally exist. Technically, Gavin could've had a good circumstantial case against him for what Howard had done. I didn't want to jump to any conclusions.

  The problem was, if Alizee was getting involved in the club here and was what Pierre claimed, that meant she could damage the business. Not to mention, Gavin would be stabbed in the back again. I just didn't know if I should warn him now of the possibility or wait until I had solid proof. What would happen, though, if we left before Pierre and I found evidence? Could I let Gavin keep working with her without knowing? For how long?

  I was pretty sure Pierre sensed that something was off because after he laid everything out for me, he said he had some things to do and I should take the rest of the day to think over what he'd said. He promised to call tomorrow to see if we'd be able to meet again, and we said our good-byes.

  The whole way back to the hotel, I mused over what to do. I wanted to be honest with Gavin, especially since we'd talked about working on our communication, specifically not hiding things from each other. But, I also didn't want to start a fight and I knew if I accused Alizee of being like Howard without any proof, he'd be angry. He'd already been annoyed at my distrust of Vincent. An accusation like this would be worse, especially since I knew it would probably look like I was jealous. I wasn't, of course, but I knew it could come across that way.

  By the time I arrived at the room, I'd made my decision. If it came up in conversation, I'd tell the truth. If Gavin asked me what I thought of Alizee, I'd drop a couple hints about how I didn't trust her. If I had solid proof, I'd tell him. Other than that, I was going to keep my mouth shut and hope that Pierre was wrong. I didn't quite trust Alizee, even without the speculation, but for Gavin's sake, I didn't want Pierre to be right.

  Gavin was already in the room, but was on the phone, so I waved as I headed to the bathroom to freshen up. When I came out, he was off the phone and smiling.

  “We checked out the public beaches yesterday, but didn't swim. I was wondering if you wanted to go down to the private beach this afternoon.” He came over to me and put his hands on my waist. “I happen to know there's a dark red bikini in your bag that I'm dying to see you in.”

  “Oh really?” I asked. “And how do you know that?”

  “I might've seen it when I was looking for one of my t-shirts in your bag.” He grinned. “You do have a bad habit of stealing my shirts to wear to bed.”

  “I wasn't planning on wearing anything to bed most of the time we're here,” I teased.

  His eyes darkened. “Keep ta
lking like that and I don't think I'll want to leave the room.”

  I took a step back. “In that case, I better go change for the beach.” I started toward the bedroom and then stopped as a thought hit me. I turned back to face Gavin. “You know,” I said. “That is a topless beach.”

  He scowled. “I don't think so.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Was he honestly telling me what to do? I'd been joking when I'd first said it, but now I was seriously considering it, just to remind him that he didn't own me.

  “And what if I want to go topless?” I asked. I folded my arms and lifted my chin. “Are you going to forbid me to do it, Gavin?”

  I saw the war on his face. He wanted to say it, to tell me no, but he also didn't want to be that guy, the one who controlled the woman he was with. I waited to see which man would win. Would we end up in a fight or would he let me make my own choice?

  Less than fifteen minutes later, we stepped onto the hotel's private beach and Gavin looked down, waiting to see what I would do.

  Chapter 11

  Gavin

  I gritted my teeth to hold back a comment when Carrie reached behind her to untie her top. I knew this was a private beach and that anyone behaving inappropriately would be dealt with by the hulking security guards who stood around the perimeter, but that didn't mean men weren't going to be looking. And I didn't like the idea of men looking at Carrie. Actually that was an understatement. I hated it. I'd forgotten just how much it bothered me.

  When she wore sexy dresses and men watched her walk by, or the times when they stared at her cleavage, I enjoyed putting my arm around her waist, letting them know she was taken. But even when she wore her most revealing dress, it wasn't a bathing suit. When we'd been on the beaches yesterday, I'd thought about what it would be like to have men seeing her in a bikini. I'd never dreamed she'd consider going topless.

  I loved how far she'd come from the quiet, fairly self-conscious woman I'd met a year ago, to someone comfortable enough with her own body that she'd go half-naked in public. It was like the thing with Alizee, when she'd talked about exhibitionism. It was one thing to taunt and tease the idea, but something else entirely to actually do it.

  No matter how much it bothered me, though, I didn't tell Carrie not to do it. It wasn't my decision to make. I refused to be one of those possessive jerks who acted like their girlfriends or wives were their property. Still, it didn't stop my hands from clenching into fists as she untied her top and let it slide off.

  Fuck.

  Her breasts were perfect. I knew some guys liked them smaller and others preferred them large, but hers were exactly what I wanted. A little more than a handful, firm but not fake-feeling firm. There was no doubt they were all natural. Her nipples were a slightly darker rose color and perfectly proportioned to the rest of her. I'd once spent hours on her breasts alone, teasing and sucking, playing with her nipples until they were hard and sensitive.

  Dammit. I shifted, wondering how in the world I was supposed to keep an erection away when she was right there. I had a difficult enough time not getting hard when she was in regular clothes. Hell, I thought she was sexy in sweats.

  Carrie reached over and took my hand, reminding me that we weren't in the privacy of our home or hotel room. I gave her a tight smile and looked around. Other women were walking around without tops, but my gaze slid right over them, searching for the men who were staring at my girlfriend.

  “Come on,” she said. I could hear a note of amusement in her voice as she pulled me toward the ocean.

  I followed, barely feeling the water flowing over my feet and lapping against my ankles. She laughed as a wave hit her knees and the sound made me smile for real. I loved hearing her so happy. And if this made her happy, I'd be damned if I ruined it. It wasn't like there weren't hundreds of other beautiful women showing their breasts. It was a cultural thing. No need to freak out about it. Yeah, I needed to keep telling myself that.

  I grabbed Carrie around the waist and lifted her out of the water. She squealed as I spun her around, sending both of us into a wave that splashed over us. She gasped as the water soaked us both and squirmed in my arms, turning around so we were facing each other. Her nipples were hard as they brushed against my chest. The response was immediate as I felt my cock stiffen in my trunks.

  I brushed my lips across hers, not trusting myself with anything more serious. Her, half-naked and wet, in my arms, would be a test of even the most iron self-control. I wanted to ravage her mouth, slide my hands beneath her bottoms, feel how tight she was, how ready for me. I wanted to walk us deeper into the ocean, pull out my cock and fuck her right there.

  “If I go home without a tan, Leslie and Dena might kill me,” Carrie said. She took my hand again and led us out of the water.

  A quick glance down told me she looked almost as amazing from the back as she did from the front. Of course I already knew that, but wow… that bikini was something else. I used my free hand to tug the wet material of my trunks away from my body, hoping to draw attention away from my pretty impressive erection. I was seriously regretting suggesting coming to the beach.

  We headed for a pair of chairs sitting out in the sun and Carrie immediately settled on one, leaning back and closing her eyes. I sat in the other one, drinking in the sight of her, that body I knew so well. I knew how every inch of her felt, how soft her skin was between her breasts. The dip over her ribs and the slight swell of her firm stomach. I knew how tight and hot her pussy would be if I slipped my fingers inside her.

  “Dammit, Carrie,” I muttered under my breath. How was I supposed to relax when she was so fucking distracting?

  I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the heat of the sun and the sound of the waves. Anything but my girlfriend. Slowly, the tension began to seep out of me. It didn't last long though. As soon as I heard male voices coming closer, I opened my eyes. I needed to know if they were looking at her. One glanced her way and I scowled, but as soon as he put his arm around the other man's waist, I started to relax. Then I heard part of their conversation as they passed.

  “...think they'd be interested in joining us?”

  “I doubt he swings both ways.”

  “Pity. Maybe they'll let us watch.”

  I didn't have any proof that they were talking about us, but it managed to ruin any chance I had at being able to sit back and enjoy the sunshine and scenery. I managed to make it through another thirty minutes without losing my mind or my temper, but my body was so tightly coiled that I knew I was going to need to blow off some steam or I was going to go crazy. Carrie had said that she wanted to know the kinds of things I enjoyed. I fully intended to show her a side of me that was a bit darker than what she'd seen before.

  “We're going back to the room,” I said suddenly. I sat up and looked over at Carrie.

  She raised an eyebrow, but didn't move.

  I turned so that I was facing her, close enough to touch even though I didn't.

  “I told you once that you were mine,” I said. I pitched my voice low and watched her shiver as I spoke. Damn, I loved how she responded to me. “Now we're going back to our room and I'm going to show you what that means.”

  Her eyes darkened with desire and she sat up. She reached the small bag where she'd stashed her top and pulled it out.

  “No,” I said firmly. She gave me a puzzled look. “You wanted to go without it. Wanted men to look at you. Now you don't get to put it back on as long as we're on the beach.”

  I stood and held out my hand. She took it, smiling as I threaded my fingers between hers. I fully intended to make sure she understood that I hated knowing other men had seen her breasts, but I also wanted her to know that I wasn't actually angry with her. Worked up, hell yes. Wanting to vent some frustration in a positive manner, definitely. Acting out of anger, no. Anyone who truly understood the BDSM lifestyle knew where the line was and respected it.

  By the time we reached our room, I knew I was going to be getting pretty close to
it, but I'd never cross over. The moment the door closed behind us, I spoke, “Stop.”

  When she immediately did as I said, I knew this was going to go well. I reached out and yanked the tie for her bikini top. It fell to the floor, exposing her now-lightly tanned breasts.

  “Did you enjoy men staring at you?” I asked as I stepped closer. I kept enough space between our bodies that we weren't actually touching, but close enough that she could feel me there. “Did you like knowing that they were imagining what it would be like to touch you?”

  I reached around her and covered her breasts. I squeezed until she made a soft noise. Judging by how quickly her nipples hardened against my palms, she wasn't going to protest at least a bit of rough treatment. That was good. I wasn't particularly feeling gentle at the moment.

  “Well, you may have enjoyed having men ogle you, but I didn't.” I put my lips next to her ear. “But I think you knew that. In fact, I think that's why you did it.” I pinched her nipples, hard, and she whimpered. “I think you decided to take off your top because you wanted me to punish you.” I dropped my hands and slid them down over her stomach and back around to her ass. “Is that right, babe? Do you want me to punish you?”

  She didn't answer, but that was okay. The game worked whether she admitted it or not. The only thing that really matter was if she said her safe words. Anything other than that was just part of the experience.

  I took a step back and pulled off my shorts. I was already hard from her show and the anticipation of what was coming. “Walk over to the window.”

  I saw her shoulders tense, but she didn't protest and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. They were closed so the air conditioning could run while we were gone, but I didn't want them open at the moment anyway. It was the illusion of the thing that mattered. We had an ocean view and were too far up for anyone to see us unless they happened to have binoculars on the beach or in a boat. It was a risk, I supposed, but that's what made it so exciting. The curtains were already drawn back so Carrie stopped a couple feet away, obviously not trusting that no one would be spying.