Free and Bound (A Club Volare New Orleans Novel)

by Chloe Cox

  “That was a long time coming, huh?” Charlene said.

  “I guess so,” she said. “Yeah. Yes.”

  “And you’re happy?”

  “Yes!” Olivia said. “Definitely. I mean, we’re not romantic or anything—”

  “Well, that’s Gavin.”

  “But we are friends,” Olivia said. “And he’s the most amazing Dom.”

  “Hush. I would not know anything about that, that man is like my brother and I do not need details.”

  Now it was Olivia’s turn to cackle.

  “About that,” she said.

  “Mmm hmm?” Charlene said again, this time with a bit of a lilt to it.

  “I mean the brother thing, not the—”

  “I get it! Hush!”

  “Is there anything you can tell me? Anything at all about…” She paused. Might as well tell the truth. “Anything you can tell me about how to get Gavin to trust me?”

  Charlene didn’t say anything. There was a beat, and then Olivia just could not keep herself from filling that awkward silence with more words she knew she probably shouldn’t be saying.

  “I don’t want to pry, I’m just flying totally blind and I feel…helpless, trying to save the club. I mean, no details or anything, obviously, and not like, any secrets or—”

  “Sugar, you are going to have to ask your Dom about that yourself,” Charlene said sweetly, and finally.

  Olivia grew quiet. She’d known it was a mistake as she was saying it, but she just didn’t know what else to do. She felt entirely trapped.

  “I’m sorry, Char,” she said. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

  “Oh calm down,” Charlene said, and swerved to avoid someone in the street. “You didn’t commit a mortal sin, you’re just curious. And you’ve got a point about the club. I just…can’t, but I still love you.”

  “Was that guy drunk?”

  “This is the French Quarter,” Charlene replied. “So probably.”

  “I had no idea the Quarter was so far from the club.”

  “It’s not. I just wanted to get you talking.”

  Olivia kicked the front seat, and Charlene laughed.

  “You never did tell me why you needed a ride to Blue’s place, you know.”

  “I’m going to ask her to help me produce a show for the club,” Olivia said, peering out the window. They’d pulled up to one of those old French Quarter buildings with the covered balconies and the wrought iron and the peeling paint that all just oozed history. “Like a last-ditch attempt to rush Aaron Black and whoever else we can get on Velar’s side. And that’s where we’ll make a big announcement, so…press will be there.”

  “You scared?”

  “Obviously.”

  Charlene turned around in her seat and gave her The Eye.

  “And you will be special, just definitely not a couple?”

  “Right.”

  “And you’re fine with that?”

  Olivia gave her own Look. “Of course, that’s the deal.”

  Slowly, Charlene nodded. She seemed to be taking the time to put her thoughts in order before she spoke again.

  “You know,” she said, looking Olivia right in the eye, “Blue knew Gavin way back when, too. Blue knew everyone, and everything. Still does.”

  Olivia blinked.

  “Now get out of my car, you free-riding vagabond,” Charlene smiled. “I’m afraid you might jinx it. I heard about what you did to Luke’s truck!”

  But Olivia was already jumping out of the car—she’d come here with only one mission in mind.

  Now she might have two of them.

  Gavin wished it would just rain again already. Maybe some thunder, lightning—something to match his mood.

  He should have known Crennel would hole up in a place like this.

  It was a nice enough house, in a nice neighborhood, about half an hour out of New Orleans proper. Yard, covered porch, all that. But Crennel obviously didn’t give two shits about his neighbors. There was a dying tree leaning over his property line, about ready to crash into the house next door; there were obvious hurricane hazards everywhere.

  The door was open. He rang the bell anyway.

  No answer.

  Gavin let himself in, his eyes adjusting to the dark without much effort. His Dom instincts were going crazy. This all seemed deliberate. Controlled. Somebody had let him in on purpose, and wanted him to feel uneasy. He smiled.

  Good luck with that.

  The hallway was intentionally dark, but not so dark that Gavin couldn’t pick out the camera on the ceiling. Made to look like a smoke detector—high end. A common-sense security precaution. The rest of the interior was similarly understated, but expensive.

  Gavin had thought Crennel needed money, but there were at least twenty grand in cameras in this room alone.

  He walked through the house, his steps making almost no sound on the carpeting. Even though there were several professional lighting set ups—the kind Gavin had seen on film sets—the light was kept low, with only dim sconces in the corners, and a floor plan obstructed by lots of unnecessary, non-load-bearing walls.

  His Dom instincts weren’t wrong.

  He made for the stairs, certain that there would be a hokey Bond villain-style private lair up above the main floor.

  It was the first door he tried.

  There was Crennel, sitting back in a big leather chair, surrounded by video monitors, the feeds from dozens of cameras all around the property lighting the room with an eerie glow. The blue light gave his pale skin a sinister glow and cast long, stark shadows over his face and fingers, which were tented together like Crennel was in the middle of contemplating something Very Important. Gavin was pretty sure he’d rehearsed this in front of a mirror.

  Anyway, Crennel was smiling.

  He said, “So what do you think of my club?”

  Gavin didn’t answer. He’d been right—the closest monitor’s feed was hooked up to the front-door cameras. Crennel had seen him approach and had hastily set up this dramatic confrontation, thinking he could establish dominance.

  It was goddamn amateur night.

  “I don’t, generally,” Gavin said.

  “Then why are you here?” Crennel asked. “No, let me answer that for you. You’re here to ask for my help with Delavigne’s commission. Maybe to get me to intervene with Daniel on your behalf?”

  ‘Daniel.’

  Gavin smiled. Crennel had done some research, and he wanted Gavin to know he was on a first name basis with Daniel Delavigne. And he was pretty pleased with himself for it.

  “Thing is, Colson,” Crennel went on, drawing out the words, “I just don’t know that I can do that for a man with your history.”

  Gavin heard the dig, but let it bounce off of him. He was busy taking in this room. It amounted to a kind of command station, with all the monitors and camera feeds, and probably a whole bunch of other surveillance stuff he didn’t even see. But it wasn’t security—most of those cameras were placed inside the house.

  There was an entire row of monitors showing empty playrooms.

  “I heard you were looking for money,” Gavin said. “But this setup isn’t cheap.”

  Crennel smiled.

  “It’s all top of the line,” he said, gesturing at the monitors. “You wouldn’t believe how much people will pay to watch their fantasies play out in real time, live, streaming over the web. Now we’re just looking to expand.”

  It was the word “expand” that gave it away.

  Gavin felt his body come alive in a prickling wave, and clenched his fists. He trusted his instincts. Gavin had been a professional gambler his whole life, in various forms, and he would bet the damn house that Crennel didn’t get consent for all of his “shows.” Because this was a business venture, not a club. The members were the product, to be bought and sold. Curious people who didn’t know any better would come here and get exploited, and that was the best-case scenario.

  This
man was a predator.

  “You really thought I was broke? I have so many sources of income I almost don’t know what to do with them!” Crennel laughed. “They just seem to fall in my lap. The cam business is great, don’t get me wrong, but let me tell you, it ain’t got nothing on good old celebrity gossip.”

  Gavin stayed perfectly still.

  “Spell it out, Crennel.”

  “I mean, it’s not my thing, usually,” Crennel went on. “All this interest in the love lives of pretty people who are just so boring. But Olivia’s not boring, is she?”

  Don’t touch him.

  He wants you to touch him. He’ll press charges if you do, get whatever it is he wants that way.

  Don’t. Touch him.

  “The bland girl-next-door turned out to be kinda fun, huh?” Crennel giggled. “I can get a good price for these photos of Olivia in your club. Even more for my eye witness account of all the freaky shit girl-next-door Olivia Cress is into.”

  “You already have money,” Gavin said

  “And now, because of you, it’s not enough,” Crennel spat, his voice cracking. His long fingers gripped the armrests of his fancy leather chair until his knuckles looked like bleached bone. “Do you know how badly you’re fucking everything up, just by being here? You come back, and keeping licensed clubs out of New Orleans turns into Daniel Delavigne’s holy war, and now I’ve got a bunch of politicians who are crapping their pants. Do you have any idea how expensive it is to grease that many palms?”

  “No,” Gavin said. “That’s not how I do business.”

  “Well, that’s why we’ll make such great partners,” Crennel said. He leaned back again, struggling to keep in the rage that bubbled just below the surface, to show he was in control. He wasn’t. Gavin could see that anger twist up behind the other man’s eyes, bending everything to its shape.

  “You’ll have to be a silent partner, of course, given that reputation of yours,” Crennel said. “You’ll give me cash to help ease the political process, as I need it, and you’ll get a bit of equity. And you’ll leave Louisiana. Permanently. Because this is my scene now.”

  Gavin breathed in, and noted the almost preternatural calm he felt. Before, when he wasn’t sure about the facts, he’d felt angry. Now?

  He knew the facts.

  “Did you hear me, Colson?”

  “I heard you,” Gavin said.

  “Good. Let’s start with five hundred thousand. Wire it and then get out of New Orleans, and we’ll get to your stake later.”

  Gavin couldn’t help but smile.

  “Not in a million fucking years,” he said.

  “I’m not bluffing,” Crennel said. “You take this deal, or I make sure the press has everything they could ever want on your little girlfriend and her perverted personal life.”

  Gavin shook his head. He knew that was basically an empty threat, since Olivia planned to come out as his ‘perverted’ girlfriend all on her own, but it was still meant to hurt. It was meant to hurt Olivia. If Gavin weren’t a Dom, this rat bastard would already be in pieces.

  And it could still hurt her. She still wanted to talk to her ex first. Crennel threatened to screw that up.

  If Gavin hadn’t already decided to metaphorically neuter this predator just on general principle, that would have done the trick. He looked down—his fists were opening and closing in their own unconscious rhythm. He could feel his pulse all the way to his fingertips.

  “Congratulations, Crennel,” Gavin said, his voice flat. “I have a new goal. I’m going to run you out of this state, and I’m going to run you out of the kink scene. And if you so much as speak Olivia’s name, I won’t stop there. I will run you off this fucking planet.”

  “Big talk.”

  “No. A warning.”

  A pause. A forced smile.

  “You don’t scare me,” Crennel finally said.

  “Then you haven’t done your homework,” Gavin said.

  He turned, walked out. Kept a lid on it all the way back to Luke’s truck, all the way down the highway. Let it seethe and simmer inside him, watching the rain finally break, come crashing down in sheets. The water sliding down his windshield let him think, until he could let go of the rage, find what was under it.

  Fear.

  The idea of anyone hurting Olivia filled him with fear. He hadn’t felt it like this in so long, he didn’t recognize it at first. It was fear. He kept thinking about what she’d said, that she needed to talk to Brandon Greer before she could come out publicly. And what she hadn’t said, but he’d seen in her face—she was afraid, anxious. Not ready to go public. It should be her decision. She’d been robbed of so much already, and this piece of shit was going to take this from her too.

  Fuck that.

  He’d already made up his mind about what he was going to do next by the time he pulled up next to the side entrance of a particular old building in the French Quarter. For a second, he was surprised—he’d driven here, instead of the club, without thinking about it.

  Then he just got out of the damn car.

  Twenty-Five

  After Charlene had dropped that little hint, Olivia had been twice as determined to talk to Lady Blue. She needed her help to put on the club’s party, but maybe she could get some help with Gavin’s past, too. So she had rung every bell on that old door at least twice before someone called out to her from behind.

  “You looking for Blue’s place?”

  Olivia jumped about three feet. The woman standing behind her, a dark shawl draped over her shoulders against the damp of the sudden rain shower, hadn’t made a freaking sound. And had apparently materialized out of thin air—her hair, curly and dark, was perfectly dry. Behind her, and beyond the protection of the covered porch they shared, sheets of rain battered the ground.

  “Yes, I’m looking for Blue’s place,” Olivia said. “Um. Where did you come from?”

  The woman smiled, and winked.

  “Blue’s place, of course,” she said.

  Olivia looked around. She was still standing in front of the only door. There was some furniture out on the porch—a couple of chairs, a tiny end table, an old cupboard. She cocked her head towards the cupboard, doors hanging slightly ajar.

  “Is it…in Narnia?”

  The woman laughed, full-throated, deep.

  “Close,” she said. “Follow me.”

  The woman turned, beckoning with her hand in a graceful, twirling gesture, and Olivia knew right away that she was a dancer. She led Olivia just a few steps, around the corner of the wrap-around porch—and then she knelt down, pressed a button that Olivia couldn’t see, and part of the floor popped up a few inches.

  A hidden, hinged door—right in the porch floor.

  “From Prohibition,” the woman said, throwing the door open to reveal a staircase leading down into the darkness—and into the music. A winding jazz tune floated up, and beckoned even more than the woman had. “Or maybe earlier. No one knows. We just keep the place alive. I’m Tanya, by the way.”

  Olivia just kind of smiled dumbly. This was starting to feel like the Hogwarts of sexy musical theater. She hadn’t even dreamed that such a place existed when she was younger, which was just as well, because if she’d known she probably would have tried to hitchhike all the way to Louisiana. She was now prepared to full on beg for Blue’s help in putting on a show.

  And maybe, if Charlene was right about Blue knowing everything about everyone, she’d learn something about this whole mess in the process.

  “I’m Olivia,” she said. “Lead on.”

  She followed Tanya down old wooden stairs, the music wrapping itself around her tighter the deeper they went. It was one of those dark stairways where for a single moment she was enveloped in perfect blackness—she could be anywhere, anytime, floating between lives. The next step she could see light dancing below, and it was like stepping into another world.

  Another world with a recessed stage, lit blue and green like an underwater ca
ve, across from a polished black-granite bar on which sat, regally, an iguana. Next she felt a cold, wet nose on her hand, and looked down to find an old silver dog with blind white eyes was there to greet her formally.

  “He likes you,” Tanya said.

  Olivia laughed. She was kind of falling in love with this town, where even scars shone through the grit-covered charm.

  “Dan’s a Katrina dog,” Blue said, coming around the bar. “Last one I rescued that’s still standing.”

  Tanya waved and melted back into the seating area, which Olivia could now see was only halfway ready for an audience. Chairs were still up on tables, and there was a basket of lemons and limes on the bar. The music she’d heard, a winding, slow, soft trumpet, came from speakers hidden somewhere, though there was a pit for a live band. Performing in a place like this would feel like a dream. She was knocked out of it by a heavy head against her leg equipped with DefCon-five puppy dog eyes. She could have sworn she heard someone actually whisper, “Treats.”

  “Don’t fall for it,” Blue laughed.

  “How can you resist?”

  “I can’t. That’s why he’s so tubby.” Blue clicked her tongue and the old dog immediately padded away to a dog bed that was currently being occupied by a Siamese cat. “I like animals,” Blue grinned. “And I’m a huge sucker for puppy eyes.”

  “Well, we have that in common,” Olivia smiled back.

  Blue raised an eyebrow and led Liv over to the bar. There was what seemed like an unnatural hush over the place, even with the music—like its usual state was one of boisterous, living, loud joy.

  The seats were cool leather, the bar that deep, reflective black granite, and there were metal rings studded into the sides. Olivia’s pulse picked up—she remembered what those were for. She’d learned when shooting Submit and Surrender at the LA Club Volare, she’d just never…seen them put into practice.

  “Gavin called and told me you’d be coming by,” Blue said. “Seems we have something else in common, too.”