Fleur de Nuit: Bourbon Street Bondage, Book 1

by Cat Montmorency

  “Mon ange noir, no one’ll recognize you.”

  Moira nodded and smiled at Adrian, then at Kara on his far side. Arm in arm, they strolled up the street to the club. The people lined up outside the building ranged from vampire to steampunk to goth to nightclub in their dress. All of them whispered and pointed as the three of them passed, making a straight line for the doors.

  The doormen, a hulking black man and an only slightly less impressive Caucasian wearing leather pants and collars, let them in without question. A number of the people in line protested, but a pale woman in head-to-toe black leather holding a bullwhip glared them into silence.

  She nodded to Adrian. “Maître.”

  “Maîtresse Cassandra.”

  Inside, the music assaulted Moira’s ears, trance music with light overtones and overwhelming bass beats. It crossfaded into a remixed Cole Porter song, the relentless bass never stopping.

  The inside itself looked like a gutted warehouse. The west side of the building held a bar tended by several men and women in matching black pants, shirts and fedoras, with white suspenders and ties. White and black lights lit the area around and behind the bar.

  The dance floor took up most of the space, though dancing wasn’t exactly what she’d call what was going on. More like cosplay meets orgy meets dancing.

  She felt Kara lean in to whisper in her ear. “Remember when we cosplayed in college?”

  Moira smiled. “You promised me you’d never bring that up. And okay, you weren’t kidding when you said there were a lot of different sets here, were you?”

  Adrian grinned. “Don’t be afraid to use your crop, mon ange. Some of them can get a little… What’s the word you use, Kara? Grabby?”

  “Wait, we’re going in there?”

  Adrian nodded. “Ready?”

  “You should’ve given me a bullwhip, not a crop. Point me where we’re going, and I’ll clear a path.”

  Adrian pointed to a spot on the far side, kitty-corner from the bar. Moira nodded and twirled her crop, pushing forward into the crowd. Her crop tapped left and right, moving people out of the way. Some simply moved, some stopped and turned. Some required a second or third use of the crop because they either ignored or reached out to touch. The latter reaction earned them a glare and a sharp slap.

  They were about halfway through the crowd when a man deliberately stepped in her way. With a sculpted chest, tattooed arms and spiked black hair, he wasn’t at all unattractive. But he was in her way, and Moira didn’t like the cocky expression on his face, or the cockiness in his voice when he spoke.

  “Going somewhere, doll?”

  He smirked as Moira stepped closer. She tapped the crop on her leg and ran her fingers down his chest. “Do you know what the difference between a Dom and a cocky son of a bitch is?”

  He smirked, looking to the side at his friend while her fingers dipped into his pants. His finger reached out to touch her chin. “What’s that?”

  Moira yanked his briefs up tight, twisting her grip, wiping the grin off his face as the front-wedgie twisted his balls. “The Dom doesn’t have to be cocky,” she said, leaning in closer, and twisting his briefs tighter. “Now get out of my way before I rip your balls off and shove them down your throat.”

  She released him with a hard push, sending him reeling back into the crowd. Moira smirked as someone reprimanded him as they passed.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, bro? You don’t touch the lady Dommes. Ever.”

  The rest of the crowd cleared with much less effort on her part, until there was no one left, only a dark corner.

  Moira glanced back. “Now what?”

  Adrian smirked, lifting his silver-tipped cane to point back in front of her. She turned again, staring at the darkness, and then gasped.

  Out of the shadows stepped one of the tallest men she’d ever met. He wore a top hat and tails, but it was the half-skull mask that covered his ebony skin that gave her a turn. A woman stepped up beside him, a petite blonde wearing a similar mask and a deep purple corset that emphasized all her curves.

  The music stilled as the pair stepped past them and a voice came over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte!”

  Silence reigned for a heartbeat before the man let out a deep, raucous laugh that sent the entire club into an uproar. The Baron shouted, “Let’s have some fucking music!” He laughed again and the music restarted, returning the club to its previous fever.

  The strange couple turned back to them with wicked smiles. “That was quite the show you put on for us out there, Maîtresse. Good to remind the vulgaire where they stand, every now and again.”

  Adrian stepped up next to Moira. “Mon ange noir, allow me to introduce Maître Obadiah Toussaint and his Marcelle. They run La Danse Macabre as voodoo’s Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte.”

  “Enchanté, Maîtresse Ange Noir.” Toussaint reached out and took Moira’s hand, lifting it to his lips. His dark eyes flashed inside his mask. “I have been asking Maître Lacroix to bring you for some time now. I hope you enjoy our little club.”

  Moira smiled. “Thank you, Maître Toussaint. I do like it.”

  Toussaint smiled. “And Kara, beautiful as ever. Still running free?” His dark fingers traced the pale skin at her neck, and she trembled.

  Kara’s eyes flickered to Moira before returning to the floor. “For now, Sir.”

  Toussaint cocked his head and gave Moira a look that made her shiver. “Intéressant.”

  The crowd roared again as the song changed to Rihanna’s “S&M”. The noise level rose higher as they all began to sing along. Toussaint rolled his eyes. “Every fucking night.” He sighed. “But they love it.”

  Moira raised her eyebrow. “Apparently.”

  Marcelle reached up to whisper in Toussaint’s ear and he smiled. “Go on then. Let’s find a place to chat, shall we?” he added, turning to Adrian. He didn’t wait for a reply but led them back into the dark corner he’d come from. The black wall turned out to hide a corridor that held a set of stairs, leading up to an office above the dance floor.

  Toussaint shut the door behind them, dulling the noise considerably. He pulled off his mask and top hat, and sat. “The windows are one-way. There are two VIP lounges on the other end that are the same. We’ll head over there shortly. I have a few candidates for you, Adrian. Including that novice you sent over.”

  Adrian smiled. “That would be your Mr. Boudreaux, mon ange.”

  “Oh, good for Landry. What did you think of him?”

  A faint smile played at Toussaint’s lips. “J’approuve. I like him. He has potential.” He lifted a decanter and poured himself a finger’s worth. “Whiskey?”

  “Oui, I thought you’d never ask.”

  Kara took the decanter without a word and poured a glass for Moira and Adrian.

  “You may have some as well, chère Kara, so long as Maître Lacroix agrees?” Toussaint glanced at Adrian, who nodded. “S’il vous plaît. Enjoy.”

  Kara smiled and splashed a bit in a tumbler for herself, before turning to take a seat on the floor. But instead of sitting at Adrian’s feet, she paused and sat between him and Moira. Moira reached out to run a finger down Kara’s face and found Adrian and Toussaint exchanging a look.

  Moira narrowed her eyes. Her mouth opened with a question on the tip of her tongue, but Marcelle returned before she could ask. The blonde made a straight line for Toussaint, who listened intently before rising.

  “Seems your candidates have all arrived. Shall we?”

  Toussaint replaced his mask and hat before leading them out the door and back down the stairs. “Time to make another appearance below.” He stepped out onto the floor and the crowd roared. He leaned back, arms extended to the sides, and shouted, “Laissez le bon temps rouler! Dance, my children!” He finished with a riotous laugh. Deep and rolling, it seemed to start in his toes and grow as it traveled through him.

  When Toussaint moved forward again, laugh
ter still playing at his lips, the sea of bodies parted a wide berth around him.

  At the other end of the building was a door, guarded by another of Toussaint’s hulking bouncers in leather pants, who stepped aside as soon as he saw them coming. Toussaint tipped his hat to the man with a grin and stepped through the black door.

  The room beyond was bigger than Moira expected, and partially divided. One-way glass covered the main wall from knee-high to ceiling. The other walls held every type of sex toy and bondage device Moira could imagine, and several she couldn’t.

  She snagged a finger in Kara’s laces, pulling her close. “Is that a…?”

  Kara looked up and grinned. “Fucking machine. Yeah. Crude but effective. I prefer the real thing, personally, but…” She shrugged, finishing her sentence with silence.

  Moira laughed quietly. “The things people come up with.”

  The room had a number of people in it, several dozen at least. Waiters and waitresses in collars and chains and little else walked from guest to guest, eyes down and silver trays held high. Their faces were painted with the same bone half mask that Toussaint wore. The guests themselves milled around, ignoring their entrance until Toussaint slammed his cane on the hardwood floor, making the room ring with the sound.

  “Mesdames et Messieurs, welcome to La Danse Macabre. As the public face of New Orleans kink, we stand as les gardiens to the real underground, run by our Maître Lacroix. But as a community, we are always looking for new faces to bring into the night. You are here to see if you might be a good fit.”

  A blond man wearing all leather stepped forward with a self-assured grin. “So what is this, tryouts? We’re auditioning for the chance to what, beat people? Fuck them senseless? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t need an audition for that. I fuck who I want, when I want and how I want. And I don’t need your permission.”

  Toussaint gave him an expressionless look and said nothing, until Moira could see the man squirming where he stood. And then Toussaint began to laugh, a low, menacing sound.

  The man shifted on his feet and looked around. “I mean, I—”

  “What is your name?”

  He swallowed. “Doug Fairley.”

  “Monsieur Fairley. In our world, respect is paramount. And you have just proven that you don’t belong. I would appreciate it very much if you would leave, and not return.”

  “Now wait a minute, I—”

  His words cut off sharply as Toussaint raised his cane and looked down, tapping it against his hand once. “I don’t like to repeat myself, monsieur.”

  Fairley snarled to himself and stalked past them, out of the room. Toussaint looked at Marcelle, who bounded out of the room after him. The rest of the guests murmured quietly.

  Moira stole another glance at Kara, who leaned in again.

  “He does this every time. Picks someone he knows will make a fuss. It sends the message clearly, what’s acceptable and what’s not.”

  “Makes sense, I guess.”

  Toussaint cleared his throat. “Now, where were we? Ah yes—”

  He continued, but Moira was distracted by one of the bouncers, who crept up to Adrian and whispered in his ear. Adrian’s face went white then shut down completely. His body practically radiated sudden anger.

  “Maître Toussaint, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we have to cut the evening short.” He waved to the bouncer, who whispered in Toussaint’s ear. “Mon ange, Kara, ma petite, I am truly sorry, but we’ll have to return another time.”

  Moira’s confusion kept her rooted to the spot. She watched as Adrian and Toussaint conferred, and then turned back to them, practically shooing them out. “Adrian, what’s going on?”

  “Not here, mon ange.”

  “Adrian, you’re worrying me.”

  Adrian stopped for a moment and gave her a look that broke her heart. “Mon ange, please. Moira. I will explain everything back at the house. Please trust me.”

  She stared at him for a moment and then nodded. “Always.”

  “Merci. Viens. Kara?” He hesitated then whispered something. Kara nodded and turned around. “She will meet us at the car.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The ride back to Adrian’s passed in a grim silence. The silence ate at Moira, stealing her hard-won confidence. This pensive, angry man across from her wasn’t the Adrian she knew, and it scared her.

  Once they arrived back at the house, he hustled them all inside with an odd urgency, which he maintained all the way up to his office.

  Another shock awaited them there.

  “Gideon, mon frère, merci. You’ve met Kara Deschamps, and this is Moira D’Arcangelis.”

  Moira stared at the dark man she’d seen Adrian conferring with. Up close, he was even more intimidating. He towered over her and looked down with deep, brooding eyes that gave nothing away. “Kara. Good to see you. Moira, Gideon St. Sauveur. I wish the circumstances were better. I’m sorry to pull you away from the evening festivities.”

  His deep, rumbling voice carried a crisp, upper-class English accent. Moira couldn’t reply. Instead, she took the hand he offered her in introduction and said the only thing she could. “Adrian, what’s going on?”

  Adrian sighed and collapsed with a sudden defeated look. “Mon ange, I am so very sorry.”

  Gideon cleared his throat. “You’ll have to excuse Adrian. He’s always had a flair for the dramatic. I’m afraid your apartment was broken into tonight, and set on fire.”

  Moira collapsed, the blood draining from her face. Her apartment, her life.

  Oh God. He knew. He knew, and that’s why he made us stay with him. Because, because…

  Panic froze her heart, even as Kara shot out of her chair. “What?”

  Adrian wiped his face. “Fortunately, I had Devon pick up most of your things today.”

  Kara was furious. “You knew something like this would happen?”

  Of course he did. I can’t— He—

  Gideon poured two glasses of bourbon and sat after handing one to Moira. “We suspected it might, or something like it.”

  “Oh my God, Tony!” Moira couldn’t think about her own place, but the thought of Tony’s shop made her sit up.

  “Easy, mon ange. They caught the fire in time.”

  The words that had come so easily a moment before escaped her now. “How?”

  Gideon gave Adrian a look and took a sip. “I had a man watching. He saw the flames and called the fire department. The sprinklers protected it enough until they arrived. But while his shop survived, I’m afraid your apartment is unlivable for now.”

  Moira couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. She knew what it meant. She knew. With a shake of her head, she knocked back the bourbon in one gulp.

  Kara, on the other hand, was livid. “What do you mean you thought something like this might happen?”

  “Kara, please, sit. Mon ange, Justin Surley was released on parole two weeks ago. A week ago, he missed checking in with his parole officer.”

  Moira froze, paralyzed, while the bourbon threatened to come back up the way it came.

  No. She’d known, really. She’d always known he’d find her again, but couldn’t admit it, couldn’t say his name.

  No.

  “How the fuck did that bastard get out? He killed a woman. He nearly killed Moira. And why didn’t she know he was out?”

  Adrian sighed. “I am so very sorry. His lawyer somehow managed to get him out on early parole. From what I have been able to find, they couldn’t track mon ange down to notify her. Her father—”

  “Her father is an asshole, and wouldn’t have told them where she was, even if he knew. Which he doesn’t. Thank God you were keeping tabs on him. Fuck.” Kara sank down next to Moira and grabbed her hand, but Moira was too numb to respond, a single word stuck on repeat in her head.

  No. No. No. No.

  “You’ll be safe here, mon ange. Gideon and I will make sure of it.”

  No.

 
Gideon nodded. “I have men searching the Quarter for him. He won’t be a threat much longer.”

  No. “I saw him.”

  Everyone froze and looked at Moira.

  Hysterical laughter bubbled up from inside her, and she had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop it. “I thought it was over. That was stupid of me. I should have realized the moment I saw him. It won’t be over, not until he’s dead, or I am.”

  “Mon ange, we won’t let him get—”

  She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “No.” A bubble of laughter escaped before she could shove the hysteria away again. “No. I won’t be a prisoner. I won’t go through that again. I spent the last eight years hiding.”

  “Moira, he means to kill you.”

  She glared at Gideon. “I have no doubt of that. But I won’t—”

  “Moira.” Kara’s hand grasped her own, cutting off her tirade before it could begin. “Please. Nobody wants you to hide. But I need you safe.” A tear ran down her cheek, tearing Moira apart. “I can’t lose you.”

  Moira dropped her head to rest against Kara’s. The silent nos continued their repetitious litany in her head while she strained to sound sane. “You won’t.” She leaned in, sealing her promise with a kiss. It took all her effort to pull away and turn back to Adrian. “What’s the plan? I won’t hide. I want this over, if I have to kill the bastard myself.”

  Gideon laughed. “I like this one, Adrian.”

  Adrian gave his friend a look before turning back to Moira. “You’ll both stay here. The police have been notified in Virginia and made aware of the situation here, but I’m afraid they’re already stretched thin with Mardi Gras. If you must go out, you won’t be alone. Myself or Devon will most likely accompany you. Kara?”

  “He said, whatever you need. What did he mean?”

  “Bon. Your young Mr. Boudreaux has also agreed to help.”

  Moira’s brows pulled together. “No. I won’t have him roped into this. It’s dangerous.”

  Adrian gave her a sympathetic look. “Ma chère, he’s a Marine. That young sergeant survived two tours in the Middle East. He’s likely seen worse danger, and he agreed knowing the risk.”