“Just that I think you might benefit from a new perspective. It might be a way to power past your current emotional impasse. It’s a way to feel less helpless in relationships. Come up and take a look around. See if it appeals to you, and maybe sign up for a class.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for something like that.” He was astonished. J.J. was a member of a sex club? “So, you’re saying this BDSM might help me control the women in my life?”
“Hell, no, but it’s a lot of fun to try. Just come up and take a look around. You don’t have to participate or sign up for anything right now. Just be prepared to keep an open mind and remember that everyone up there wants to be up there. It is all completely consensual. The watch words of the lifestyle are ‘safe, sane, and consensual.’ No one is forced to participate, and the use of a safe word will stop any activity in its tracks, no matter how extreme it may seem to you.”
“Now you’ve piqued my curiosity. I’ll go up for a drink, no guarantee that I’ll stay.”
“Fair enough. See you at five thirty. We’ll go up together.”
* * * *
The foyer of The Black Iris Club, in the penthouse of the JDB Building, Downtown Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Friday evening, February 27, 2015
Dan watched J.J. swipe them into the elevator to the penthouse, then swipe the key card and put his hand on the palm plate before they walked through the mahogany double doors with the discreet brass sign that read “The Black Iris Club - Private.” There sure was a lot of security in place. They entered an elegant foyer with a mahogany reception desk that looked more like the reception area of a law firm than a private sex club. The original Georgia O’Keeffe painting on the wall over the reception desk caught his eye. The painting was a stunning floral done in black, white, and vivid pink that resembled the petals of a woman’s sex. Geez. There was no question about what was supposed to go on here.
J.J. took his arm before he could change his mind and bolt back through the slowly closing elevator doors. “Relax, Dan. Hello, Pamela. I believe you have confidentiality documents for signature by my friend, Dan McGrath.” The stunning receptionist turned to a credenza behind the desk and picked up a manila folder. She opened the folder and put the documents on the counter. Dan picked them up and quickly scanned the standard confidentiality language and signed the papers. “Why do I feel like I’m signing my life away?”
“Because you are. Those documents are to be taken very seriously. People’s lives and careers depend on them being honored.”
“Understood.”
“Okay. Let’s go into the dungeon and have a drink at the bar.”
Once he was settled on the comfortable leather barstool next to the beautifully polished hammered-brass bar, Dan began to relax. And then he looked around at his surroundings. Holy shit! There were naked women bound to strange-looking contraptions and chains dropping from the ceiling, all bathed in cones of light coming from recessed fixtures in the commercial warehouse-style ceiling. The walls were painted a dark red, and the tall windows seemed to be covered with an anti-reflection film of some kind. “Can people see in here?”
“Well, we are on the twentieth floor, and the windows are covered in a film that prevents anyone from looking inside.”
“I see. J.J., this is a little over the top.”
“Relax, Dan. Sit down. We’ll order drinks and just watch for a while. If you’re still uncomfortable, you can leave. No problem.”
They settled at the bar and ordered two martinis. Shaken not stirred. He smiled. He could actually see James Bond totally at ease in this elegant sex club while he pursued some villain or other.
Dan almost choked on his drink when he saw State’s Attorney, Miguel Gatto, and one of the ASAs, Gabriella Delaveccia, walk through a door followed closely by Jack Dalton Brown and Detective Kaylin Gallagher. They all walked over to the bar and greeted J.J. “Is Chloe coming by later, J.J.?” Kaylin was smiling at them.
“I hope she’ll be able to make it. She had some meeting or other at five. I believe you all know my law partner, Daniel McGrath. It’s his first time up here, and I think he’s still in shock.”
“Take a deep breath, Mr. McGrath. It takes a little while to take this all in. This is actually only my second time here.” Gabby Delaveccia smiled at him.
“Call me Dan, please. So much formality seems a little out of place here.”
Jack grinned. “On the contrary, McGrath. Formality is the watchword here. Ready for our scene, sub?”
Dan nearly choked again when Kaylin dropped to her knees at his feet and said, “Yes, Master.”
Miguel Gatto nodded to Dan and J.J. “We have a theme room booked. Maybe we’ll see you later.” Gabriella Delaveccia followed him walking a pace behind. Amazing!
When they were alone again, J.J. turned to him and said, “Maybe I should explain a little about BDSM. All the sexual activities you see here are completely consensual. They may include Dominance and submission, role-playing, and bondage, et cetera. The players are Doms or Dominants, Masters or Sirs. Their partners are subs or submissives, or slaves, depending on the relationship that has been negotiated between the parties. The sexual activities involved may include spanking and whipping, sensory deprivation, orgasm denial, forced orgasms, role-playing, and other consensual activities. The parties negotiate hard limits, or what they are willing to do or not do, beforehand. All participants have to agree on what those activities are. This is not abuse. Some couples live the lifestyle all the time, others only in the bedroom or at the club. Everyone treats it differently.”
“This is definitely a lot to absorb. You really do this? Chloe really does this?”
“Yes, we do. Not twenty-four-seven, of course. She would never put up with that, and I wouldn’t like it either. All parties must derive sexual pleasure from the agreed activities. Sometimes the people form a ménage, not just a couple. The only rule we abide by is ‘safe, sane, and consensual.’ The sub has a safe word to halt the action should he or she become frightened or uncomfortable for any reason. Safe words are never ignored. To do so would be grounds for immediate exclusion from membership in the club.”
Dan knew he looked shell-shocked. This definitely was a lot to take in. He took a sip of his martini and again almost choked. This could prove hazardous to his health. Nikki Sommers walked up to the bar and smiled when she saw J.J. She took a second look when she saw Dan. “Hello, gentlemen. J.J., you didn’t tell me you were coming up tonight.” What she seemed to actually be saying was “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were coming up tonight and bringing Dan McGrath?”
“Sorry to surprise you, Nikki. J.J. wanted to show me the club with the hope that I might want to join as an antidote to my current doldrums.”
“No problem, Dan. I was just surprised to see you here.”
Dan tried to check out Nikki’s outfit without being obvious. That seemed to be an impossible task. She was dressed in a short, tight black dress made of some material that was not material—maybe rubber? Or silicon? And thigh-high black leather boots. He had never seen a dress like it. The back was a collection of crisscrossed strips of black rubber that went from the base of her neck down to the top of her ass and barely covered said pretty fabulous ass. He could just barely see the twin dimples at the top of her butt crack. He felt his eyes beginning to glaze over. Geez fuckin’ Louise. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep it in his pants. Dan had admired Nikki’s long, apricot-red hair, pale peaches-and-cream skin, and beautiful, light-blue eyes since they had moved in to share her office space. Nicollette gave the impression of innocence and delicate sweetness, but Dan had had the occasion to know that she was as tough as nails when acting on behalf of a client. She had negotiated a plea deal for Antoinette Marie with Miguel Gatto, who had absolutely no interest in cutting his ex-wife, a kidnapper of young girls, a deal. He was sure Gatto wanted to take that case to trial in a big way. Nikki must be a member of the club since she had not entered with an escort. What the h
eck did that mean? He was dying to ask but knew it would be extremely rude. Had this been part of J.J.’s plan? No. It couldn’t be. Nikki had seemed surprised to see him here.
“I can see the questions rolling around in your eyes, Dan. Feel free to ask anything you want to know. J.J. or I can answer just about any question.”
“I’m a little off balance here, Nikki. Are you a member of this club?”
“Yes. I’m what’s called a switch. I can be either a submissive or a Dominant—or rather the female version, a Domme—depending on the particular relationship. I have not been to the club in quite a long time, but recently I decided that since all of my best friends were coming in that I would come back.” She laughed. “I know this is a lot to absorb for someone who hasn’t been exposed to the lifestyle before. Enjoy your drink and look around.” She turned to the bartender and ordered a mojito.
“Good advice. I think I’ll do that—just look around and take it all in.” He sipped his martini. He had never needed a drink more. All these people he thought he knew had secret lives. Gatto, Delaveccia, Brown, Gallagher, Sommers, and Temple. Who else was into this stuff? He sat back and began to watch the action. He had to admit he’d like to have Antoinette Marie tied up to the cross thing, but that wouldn’t be safe, sane, or consensual. He had to grin at that image. Actually, he noticed that his Johnson didn’t think it was all so strange, or was he reacting to Nikki in that amazing dress?
* * * *
Nikki tried not to smile. Poor Dan looked like a fish that had been yanked out of the water and onto the pier with no warning. She couldn’t believe J.J. had brought him up here without preparing him. Or, maybe he had tried to prepare him, but the reality was just too much. Nikki had to admit that she found Dan McGrath fascinating. He had held up remarkably well to the trauma Antoinette Marie had put him through. He’d started a new firm, taken care of his kids, and made financial arrangements for Antoinette Marie before divorcing her. He’d asked Nikki to review the divorce settlement agreement on Antoinette Marie’s behalf before taking it up to the prison for her signature. He hadn’t cheaped out and sent it by mail. He’d been a man and taken care of it in person—and that had to have been hell. The man was extremely handsome and dignified. His dark hair was wavy with a little gray at the temples, and he filled out a suit very well. She had to wonder if he filled out his skin as well. Whoa! Where did that come from? She did find him attractive and interesting, but she didn’t try to mentally undress every man she met. Yikes! Maybe she was ready for another relationship. She could see herself submitting to this man. He definitely had a dominant edge to him—or possibly having him submit to her? Now that was a picture.
Chapter Three
Offices of Nicollette Sommers & Associates, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Monday early afternoon, March 2, 2015
Nikki was eating lunch at her desk. She had spent the morning with a new client at the Paul Rein Detention Facility in Pompano Beach, the Broward County jail where female prisoners were kept. The accused’s cousin had called and arranged for Nikki to meet with the woman to discuss her representation in a possible murder case. Mercedes Young had been arrested at the scene by the responding officers who had been backed up immediately by BSO detectives. She had not yet been charged or arraigned.
Mercedes was accused of shooting her husband, Russell Young, an ex-Marine gunnery sergeant, when he had attacked and beaten her in the bedroom of their Fort Lauderdale apartment. Mercedes claimed that her husband was suffering from PTSD, or Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which he refused to acknowledge or get treatment for. She had begged him to go to the VA for treatment, but she knew that he felt seeking psychological help would be showing weakness.
Mercedes claimed that when her husband returned from the Middle East this last time after three tours in Afghanistan, he was not the same man she had seen off to deployment. He came back stressed and nervous, combative and violent. She didn’t know how to deal with his mood swings and apparent paranoia. One night when he had been watching the news on television, a report regarding the deaths of several Marines from a roadside bomb had triggered a PTSD episode, and he had attacked and beaten her.
He seemed to be out of his mind and did not know where he was or who he was beating. She had been sure she would not survive his attack. Suddenly he had a gun in his hand. It must have been tucked between the mattresses on their bed. They struggled for the gun, and it went off. Russell had been shot at point blank range in the heart, killing him instantly. Mercedes swore it had been an accident. She had not meant to kill him, was only struggling to take the gun away from him when it went off accidently. He had fallen on top of her, and her body was covered in his blood when the police called by neighbors arrived. When Russell’s brother, Paul Young, told the police that he had not been suffering from PTSD, Mercedes had been arrested for the murder of her husband.
When Nikki met with Mercedes at the jail, she was extremely depressed and lethargic due to the survivor’s guilt she was feeling. She was sure she would be indicted and convicted. Mercedes had asked for her help, and Nikki had agreed to look into the arrest. Nikki was busy reviewing the responding deputies’ and detectives’ statements and the crime scene reports which were currently available. She was looking for inconsistencies and assumptions made by the arresting deputies that would mitigate the circumstances or which she could exploit for her client’s benefit.
So far, she had found nothing except the brother’s adamant contention that Russell Young was not suffering from PTSD and did not beat his wife. The old and new bruises that had been photographed on her body put the lie to that statement. Nikki would have to get her investigator, Mark Cohen, working on the case immediately. They would want to interview the couple’s neighbors, Russell’s fellow Marine unit members, and people in the neighborhood who might have seen him acting erratically. She would have to subpoena his health records from the Marines and Veterans’ Administration as well. She needed a complete history of both participants in the tragedy. She also needed more time with Mercedes. She had to be convinced to trust Nikki. If she withheld information, it could be a deadly mistake. She would need to prepare motions to obtain discovery material from the prosecution in the event Mercedes was charged and arraigned. She knew she would probably have to contact the State’s Attorney’s office on her behalf.
Nikki put her head back against her chair and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes. She had to think. If Russell Young was indeed suffering from PTSD, there would be a lot of sympathy for him at trial, as there should be. It was a shame that he had not taken advantage of the help that was available. Nonetheless, she thought this was a clear case of self-defense. She hoped that the State’s Attorney’s office and the detectives saw it that way. If Mercedes was indicted for murder, it would be a long, hard road to acquittal. The “battered spouse” defense had become popular in recent years, and the courts and prosecutors often felt that it had been overused. Some of the women who had pulled it out of their hats had actually been guilty of murder, and that made it harder on the women who actually deserved to make the assertion. The prosecution would have to prove her client guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Nikki needed more information about Russell Young’s condition. She needed to defend her client to the best of her ability without slandering the damaged veteran. Trying to blame the victim could prejudice the jury against her client from the get-go.
* * * *
Dan poked his head into Nikki’s office on his way back from the coffee room. He glanced in and saw her head tipped back. She looked worried and worn out. “Hey. How are you doing? You look tired.”
“I am tired. I just got back from Paul Rein in Pompano where I met with a new client. She’s accused of killing her PTSD-afflicted veteran husband when he was beating her up and pulled a gun on her.”
“That sounds serious. And I thought multimillion-dollar real estate closings were tough. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Oh, thank you, but I’ve had enough caf
feine.
“Can I sit down for a minute?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to say that I enjoyed having drinks with you guys last night. I was a little surprised at the venue, but everyone was so friendly and open.”
“We’re all just people, Dan.” She grinned. “People with some interesting kinks to say the least. I run hot and cold. Sometimes I get busy and don’t get up there for months on end.”
“Can I take you out to dinner some time and ask you some questions? I don’t want to be nosy or pushy, but the ambiance and the whole scene up there did pique my interest.” He grinned. “Not to mention that outfit you were wearing. That definitely piqued my interest.” In reality, he had not been able to get the picture she made in that rubber dress and high-heeled boots out of his head. Anne Marie had always tried so hard to be the consummate Southern lady. She was the queen of pearls and twin sets. He doubted he would have been able to coax her into that getup on Halloween. Yeah. And look how well that had turned out. Antoinette Marie sprang from bayou trash criminals and I never knew it. She had been a mistress of deception and a master manipulator. Maybe it was better to just get it all out in the open so a person knew what they were getting.
“That would be fun. I don’t have all the answers. I’m certainly no expert on BDSM, but I can recommend some books if you’d like.”
“I’d rather just get your take on the situation to start if you don’t mind. How about Friday night?”
“That would be fine. I look forward to it.”
* * * *
Nikki smiled. Dinner with that gorgeous man would not be a hardship. She hoped their discussion didn’t turn embarrassing. She was much more comfortable doing it than talking about it. That was interesting. She could spend days on her feet in front of a jury without a problem, but the thought of explaining BDSM to Dan McGrath made her palms sweat.
Nicollette's Defense Page 3
