Diablo Blanco Club, Rite of First Claim

by Qwillia Rain

  Diablo Blanco Club:

  Rite of First Claim

  Qwillia Rain

  www.loose-id.com

  Diablo Blanco Club: Rite of First Claim

  Copyright © November 2010 by Qwillia Rain

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  eISBN 978-1-60737-889-1

  Editor: Mary Harper

  Cover Artist: April Martinez

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  PO Box 425960

  San Francisco CA 94142-5960

  www.loose-id.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * *

  DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

  Dedication

  For Jennifer Cole, Melody Rahl, Elijana Kindel, and Cassandra Gold.

  I thank you for your patience and sympathetic ears (and eyes) as I did battle with the most stubborn pair of lovers I have ever created.

  Damn those Halsey men and Lawrence women!

  For my editor, Mary.

  I appreciate your slogging through the morass of ick to find the gold nugget in this book!

  I still haven’t forgiven you for Maass’s The Fire In Fiction, but I’m gettin’ there. LOL

  And for Mom—who reads my books even though they aren’t mysteries.

  —Qwillia

  Chapter One

  Halloween was a time for playing and parties. And—if Lyssa Lawrence was lucky—a little magic. According to rumor, the Diablo Blanco Club’s Midnight Masquerade was the ultimate party. Innuendo and speculation abounded about what went on inside those thick, stone walls on Halloween.

  Like Vegas, what happened in the Diablo Blanco Club stayed in the Diablo Blanco Club, which made it the best setting for what locals and members dubbed Select-a-Sub Night. And the perfect opportunity for Lyssa to deploy her plan.

  “I can do this. I can do this.” Lyssa’s steady whispers filled the interior of her car. Each word kept time with the rhythmic click-click of the turn signal as she hesitated at the Club’s private drive.

  No vehicles were visible in front of or behind her on the narrow state road, but her reluctance had less to do with traffic and more to do with her reasons for attending the Midnight Masquerade.

  She forced her foot off the brake, onto the gas pedal, and applied firm pressure, moving her sedan across the empty highway and onto the paved lane toward an uncertain future.

  In the distance, she could see the glow of the parking lot security lights over the trees that lined the road and covered most of the hundred and twenty acres surrounding the Club. Whispers echoed in her head with every yard closer. I can do this. The nerves tightened in her chest. Do I want to do this?

  “Get over it,” she snapped. “You have to do this.” She’d waged this internal debate for the last two weeks. Ever since Mike Halsey’s annual invitation to the masquerade had arrived in the mail, just as it had for the last four years.

  What happens when Mike finds out what you’ve done?

  Again her foot eased off the accelerator.

  Lyssa didn’t doubt Mike would discover what she’d done. It was his reaction she wasn’t sure she could predict. Not that she really cared if he was upset about her finding another lover; he’d lost the right to comment when he’d chosen a job over her four years ago. She shook off the sense of unease and focused on the Club. It loomed ahead of her. Every time Lyssa approached the building, her body tingled with an anticipation she steadfastly tried to ignore. The energy she had felt the few times she’d entered drew her.

  The pull could have been due to the nature of the building’s purpose. Or it might have been memories of the first night her sister, Mattie, had dragged Lyssa to the Club for a quick look-see. Within an hour of their arrival, one of the Club’s owners, Bryce Halsey, had arrived and escorted Mattie upstairs. His younger brother, Mike, had stifled Lyssa’s protests before he hustled her down a hall, into a storage closet, and repeatedly fucked her to multiple orgasms.

  Lyssa shook off the dangerous images from that night and fought the urge to indulge the fantasies of playing submissive to Mike’s dominant she’d buried deep inside. “Think about the plan,” she mumbled.

  A plan hatched because of a silly hiccup in her biological clock. Stupid hormones. Who would’ve thought turning forty could wreak such havoc? Early signs of menopause. Nothing had prepared Lyssa for her doctor’s diagnosis after a routine exam over two months ago. Which meant the children Lyssa had always wanted couldn’t stay a dream for someday in the distant future. She needed to do something about it. Now.

  The idea of insemination at a fertility clinic seemed too cold and sterile. Even if it was just for the purpose of creating a baby, she wanted some kind of connection, brief as it might be, to the father of her child. A chance to tell her baby that there had been more than test tubes and syringes involved in his or her conception. After weeks of tracking her temperature and using ovulation test kits, Lyssa thought she was ready.

  Four weeks of hitting the bars and nightclubs outside San Diablo had left her dejected and about ready to give up. It was only after Mike’s annual invitation had arrived that she contemplated involving a dominant from the Club—a dangerous but very tempting idea.

  Barricades funneled the traffic ahead of her toward the front of the building, requiring guests to leave their vehicles with the valets. Herding the cows to slaughter, she thought. Lyssa pushed her unease away. “This is to get my baby,” she reminded herself as she pulled up to the curb and watched the valet approach.

  “Enjoy your evening.” He handed her a ticket and helped her out of her sedan.

  The light fall breeze tousled Lyssa’s auburn wig. Loose tendrils clung to the shiny gloss coating her lips. She used one hand to smooth the short skirt of her costume—a red velvet Christmas elf’s dress trimmed at the collar, cuffs, and hem with fluffy white faux fur—while she secured the strands from her wig behind her ear with her other hand. A fortifying breath filled her lungs with the crisp scents of fall as she examined the stone edifice in front of her.

  The Club didn’t need lights or decorations to lend an intimidating mien for Halloween; it did that by reputation alone. Six broad steps led to a wide flagstone veranda and heavy, curved double doors resembling the wooden gate of a castle.

  Around her, other guests continued arriving. Lyssa followed them up the steps. Once she faced the doors, a shiver squirmed up her back. Sh
e paused and then moved aside to wait beside one of the thick columns until her body calmed. She used the fingertips of her right hand to stroke the embossed letters of the invitation tucked into the pocket of her skirt. The thump of her heart echoed in her ears as she stared at the Club entrance. Mike will probably never find out where I met my baby’s father.

  No matter how many times she weighed the pros and cons of her decision, Lyssa knew eventually she’d have to face Mike. She was fully aware there would be consequences for using his invitation. Consequences beyond what she hoped for tonight. But she had asked around and confirmed Mike wasn’t likely to show up. Everyone she’d talked to had made it clear that her brother-in-law’s younger brother no longer attended the Diablo Blanco Club’s Midnight Masquerade.

  Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of the younger man—a habit she’d never been able to overcome since the day they’d first met nearly twelve years ago. “Not that I’d ever let him know it,” she muttered; she’d made the mistake of trusting him once. Her internal alarms had gone off, but she’d ignored them, thinking it would be different than her previous experiences with men. “Strike three and you’re out, Lyssa. You don’t need any other proof that you’ve got rotten luck with men.”

  Besides, four years ago a baby would have more than cramped Mike’s globe-trotting lifestyle. Diaper changing and two-a.m. feedings clashed with photographing swimsuit models on sugar white beaches in the Caribbean or dodging bullets while recording the ravages of civil wars in remote areas of third-world countries. She didn’t need a repeat performance to know what was best for herself. “No Mike allowed. I should tattoo that across my forehead.”

  It’s over. Done. In the past. There isn’t anything Mike can say or do to make me change my mind. But saying that and actually believing it were two completely different creatures. Lyssa shook off the turbulent emotions thoughts of Mike stirred and returned her interest to the building in front of her. He had nothing to do with her plan. “Nothing at all,” she assured herself. “Focus on the plan.”

  A stone frame accented the unique arched doorway, and a second brim of stone edged the frame. The letters etched into the gray rock were worn down by time and the weather, but each was still visible when she looked close.

  “El diablo supone; el Dios sabe; los actos blancos del Diablo,” a man’s voice whispered into her ear.

  Lyssa jumped at the amused tone. “Excuse me?”

  The man beside Lyssa stepped into the glow of the lanterns that were shaped like medieval sconces on either side of the entrance. His hazel eyes glittered down at her. “The devil supposes; God knows; the white devil acts.”

  A neatly trimmed goatee framed his mouth, accenting the full lower and slightly thinner upper lips. The whiskers were the same jet-black as the hair he’d pulled back and secured at his nape. The way he held himself and the self-control emanating from him gave more than enough of a clue that he was one of the Club’s dominants. His tailored tuxedo only confirmed it.

  “The words.” The man motioned to the doorway’s decoration with his chin. “That’s what they mean.” His eyes twinkled with humor in his handsome face as he leaned back against the stone pillar to watch her.

  Lyssa nodded at him. “I know. A friend of mine told me years ago.”

  “Wouldn’t happen to be anyone I know, would it?”

  “No.” Lyssa shook her head and grinned. “It was long ago. When I first moved to San Diablo.”

  “With your sister, Mattie?”

  Lyssa looked at him and finally recognized the man. “You’re David Henderson, aren’t you?” Heat filled her cheeks as an image of this man and his friend, Dayton Kringle—her target for the night—sharing a woman in the lounge of the Club four years earlier entered her mind. She’d joked with her sister about what it would feel like to be caught between a private dick and a hard Saint Nick. How ironic would it be if she were to actually experience it? She held her hand out to him.

  He nodded and grinned. “And even with a wig on, I recognized you. You’re Lyssa Lawrence.”

  His big hand wrapped around hers, but instead of a friendly handshake, he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a gentlemanly kiss against her knuckles. The warmth of his breath took away the chill in her fingers for a moment.

  After releasing her, he continued, “If a friend told you the motto when you first arrived, it must have been one of your foster brothers.”

  The accuracy of his guess made Lyssa start. Then a wisp of memory surfaced. “I remember hearing you’re a detective.”

  “Investigator. So was it one of Gino’s boys?”

  The nerves relaxed in her belly at the mention of her foster father. It was possible David only recalled the information about her and her sister because he’d been tasked to do a background check on her sister when Mattie first started working as Bryce’s personal assistant twelve years ago. Lyssa admitted, “Yes, it was one of Gino’s boys. I’d forgotten about the inscription being there.”

  David stepped aside as another couple ascended the stairs to the front of the Club. He guided Lyssa away from the steps with a hand at her elbow. “I’ll bet Gino tanned his son’s hide for bringing you out here to begin with.”

  “Marco was scrubbing hulls for a month.” Lyssa laughed as she recalled the punishment her foster father, the owner of a small boatbuilding and repair shop, had meted out. Her gaze returned to the stone engraving, then drifted back to David.

  He extended his hand. “Would you allow me to escort you, or are you having second thoughts?”

  Lyssa looked at the hand he held out to her. She might have dressed for her intended target, but nothing said she needed to center her attention exclusively on that man. Considering David posed a likely candidate, it made sense she take the opportunity to acquaint herself with him. Her intended quarry might already be inside or en route. Either way, Lyssa knew what she was looking for, and she wouldn’t settle for less. “No, no second thoughts. As for your escort, I would like that. Thank you.” Lyssa allowed him to settle her hand in the crook of his elbow and draw her through the entrance and into the Club.

  Unlike other fetish clubs she’d seen online or had described to her, there were no dimmed lights or curtained hallways leading to private rooms. Instead the paneled walls and crown molding exuded a sophistication and respectability equal to any of the exclusive country or yacht clubs up and down the California coast. These little details made it easier for her to keep her emotions under control. And staying in control, especially tonight, was paramount to the success of her plan. She didn’t dare give in to the temptation to submit to a dominant, no matter how much a part of her craved to do so.

  The majority of the guests were dressed in evening gowns or tuxedos. The only ones in costume, like her, were submissives—both those owned and those looking for owners. Scanning the faces, she identified several of her potential donors, but she was careful not to stare at them in a way that might arouse unease or make them leery of her approach. She ignored the tiny pain that twisted her heart when Mike wasn’t among the guests. Forget the fantasy and face reality, Lyssa.

  “Smile. We aren’t that scary,” David whispered, his warm breath stirring the hair of her auburn wig over her ear.

  A tingle slid up Lyssa’s spine.

  “You’ve been here often enough to know we don’t bite.” A wicked grin lifted his lips. “Well, not unless you ask us to.”

  Lyssa smiled and shook her head at his jest. “And just how do you know how many times I’ve been here before?”

  David reached up and rubbed a curl from her wig between his fingers. “You might be in costume, but I’ve seen you visit a few times with Vance and Ben.”

  She met his gaze, trying to read his intent. His capricious eyes gave nothing away. Another tremor worked through her at the thought that this man would never allow another person to guess what he was thinking. Good information to have if she hoped for events to proceed as planned. Especially if she chose him this e
vening.

  “Invitation.” A security guard dressed in a black tuxedo and white shirt stared down at her.

  David nodded at the man, who then consulted the clipboard in his broad hands. Both men waited for Lyssa to fish the card from the pocket of her costume. She handed the heavy velum over and watched the doorman check her name off a list.

  “Hand.”

  When Lyssa held up her left hand, he slipped a white plastic bangle over her wrist. There were other colored bracelets, similar to the one she’d been given, in little boxes on the table beside the bouncer.

  Once she walked through the double doors leading from the foyer to the lounge area of the Club, she searched the assembled guests for the other men on her list and ignored the urge to scan the crowd for the one man she already knew was not going to be there. She spotted a few of the members she’d designed and created gear and costumes for, and nodded when they waved at her. At the bar, her neighbors Ben Murphy and Vance Justiss were chatting with each other and a few Club members. Vance stood behind the long expanse of teak nestled between the curving staircases leading to the second floor.

  His snug black cotton T-shirt emphasized his muscular build and highlighted his copper skin and silver-threaded black hair. In the four years since he’d been back in San Diablo and retired from the Marine Corps, he’d allowed his hair to grow. Tonight the long, thick waves were pulled back into a ponytail that brushed the area between his shoulder blades.

  Ben looked sophisticated and sexy in a tailored tux that fit his athletic frame. His dark blond hair, which he kept neat and short, brushed the collar of his white linen shirt.

  She sneaked a look at her companion. Four years ago David, with his goatee and long, tied-back black hair, had seemed yummy when dressed in jeans and a shirt. Now that he was dressed in a well-fitted tux, Lyssa wasn’t surprised to see several women moving toward them. The colors of the women’s wristbands varied, but not a single white one was among the group.