They had no idea.
“Hallo,” Samuel said, sliding up behind her and leaning a meaty arm against the bar.
Celine ran a hand through her hair and allowed the ponytail to fall over her shoulder and past her chest. “Bonjour.”
“French?” Samuel said, seeming surprised. He took her hand without permission and kissed the back of it with his thin lips. The bristles of his unkempt beard prickled her skin like tiny needles.
It took everything in Maggie not to punch the man in the throat for touching her, but she kept her cool and played along. Samuel was nothing but a pawn in the deadly game of chess she’d found herself in, and she needed to learn what she could from him. There’d be plenty of time to punch him in the throat after the imminent threat was handled.
“Yes,” Celine replied in English. “Drink?”
“Please, allow me.” Samuel took the chilled bottle from the bucket and topped up Maggie before pouring his own glass of champagne. “I enjoy a woman with taste,” he said, regarding the bottle.
Celine tilted her head to the side and leaned closer to him. “What is life for, if not to indulge in the pleasures it has to offer?”
“I’ll toast to that,” Samuel agreed, and clinked his glass against hers. “I’m Samuel.”
“Oui, Samuel Thomas.”
“You know who I am?” Surprised again, Samuel’s wide grin indicated he was more than a little glad Celine knew of him.
“Of course. Your reputation precedes you. My name is Celine Delacroix.”
Samuel’s bushy eyebrows rose to the top of his balding, gel-covered hair. “My, my, what a pleasure to have you visit my establishment, Ms. Delacroix. A real pleasure, indeed.”
“You’re too kind,” Maggie replied.
“I hope you don’t think me too forward, but—”
Maggie placed a hand over Samuel’s arm. “I like a man who gets to the point.”
“In that case, might I inquire your reason for being here? Business or pleasure?”
Celine nibbled her bottom lip and held her glass between them. “I was hoping for a bit of both.”
Hunger rose behind Samuel’s watery blue eyes, taking Celine’s not-so-subtle flirting as an invite. “Why don’t we go to my office?” he offered, licking his lips. “It’s more private, and we can talk business. And pleasure.”
Maggie tossed back the remainder of her champagne. “Lead the way.”
Samuel ordered another bottle of Dom and led her through the club and downstairs to the floor below. One of Samuel’s guards left his station to trail behind them, close but not too close to impose. Maggie kept an eye on him, noting his position, and the silhouette of the gun outlined against the fabric of his suit jacket.
“You have girls down here too?” Celine asked, peering through an arched entrance guarded by another bouncer whose broad shoulders took up most of the space. That made at least two downstairs, one upstairs by the stage, and the man at the front door. Four wasn’t so bad. Maggie could take four, even without her gun.
“For VIP members,” Samuel replied, unlocking his office. “It caters to those of us who like to keep our activities discreet.”
Celine gave a knowing nod. “Discretion is my middle name.”
“So I’ve heard, though I’ve heard rumors about some of your clients and their proclivities.” Samuel held open the office door and gestured for her to go before him.
Maggie entered the predatory lion’s den, but Celine Delacroix was no lamb. “I can assure you none of it has come from me. My clients pay for my silence more than anything, which I provide. Loose lips could get a girl into a lot of trouble.”
“Trouble isn’t always a bad thing,” Samuel said behind her, closing the door.
Maggie walked past the desk that had seats at both ends for when Samuel held meetings. She sat on a red leather couch at the back of the room. “Oh, I know.”
Samuel followed behind her, sitting closer than necessary. He opened the second bottle of champagne and refilled their glasses. “So, what can I help you with?”
“I’m in need of girls,” Celine said, allowing her foot to brush over Samuel’s, each movement deliberate and entrapping the man’s interest. “The Hungarians I use were arrested a few months back, and it’s been difficult finding someone I trust who can supply what I need.”
“Which is?” Samuel asked, sobering a bit. The man wasn’t a complete fool, and while his intentions toward Celine were clear, he was still a businessman. Money was a much more tempting mistress to a man like Samuel who had his choice of girls at his disposal.
Celine enjoyed money a great deal. Much more than sex. Having been a working girl since the age of fifteen, sex was more of a transaction to a woman like Celine. A means to an end.
“Girls who will do what they’re told. Girls who won’t be missed.”
It hadn’t been easy working her way up from streetwalker to madam. Not many girls would survive what she’d gone through to get there, and such trying hardships had turned Celine cold and harsh, like any good pimp. Her girls were the product, and she the supplier.
“What makes you think I of all people could help?” Samuel asked, putting down his half-full glass. The hint of mistrust danced across his features, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I’m sure you know others who could fulfill your needs.”
It was true. Celine had a vast network of contacts at her disposal. After all, creating an empire such as she had required the use of others, even if she never trusted any of those she worked with. From the directors of her snuff films and dungeon masters who provided rooms for her girls to take clients with more peculiar needs, to her peers in the kink scene and those who navigated the Dark Web where girls were bid on and sold like items off eBay. Yes, she had contacts, but Celine was in the market for a new business relationship.
“I have it on good authority that you have connections with a Romanian syndicate. Ivan Dalca. I’ve had some minor dealings with him in the past but have been unable to reach him.”
Samuel nodded as understanding washed over him. He picked up his glass again and took a deep drink. “The British have him in prison.”
“A pity,” Celine replied with a sigh. “But his people are still active?”
A setup like Dalca’s wouldn’t stop just because its leader was imprisoned. Ivan Dalca wouldn’t be the first criminal to leave prison richer than he had arrived, thanks to the hard work of his underlings looking to prove themselves in their leader’s absence.
“Yes,” Samuel admitted. “In fact, I’ve been meeting with them over the past week on some business of my own.”
“Then I’d like you to make introductions.” Celine inched closer, holding Samuel’s stare like a snake enrapturing its prey before lashing out. “I’ll provide you with a fair facilitator’s fee, of course.”
Samuel cleared his throat, his cheeks turning red as he pulled at his shirt collar. “And what kind of payment would you suggest?”
Celine trailed a finger down Samuel’s chest and stopped above his belt. “I’m sure we can think of something.”
Samuel swallowed and leaned toward her with a conspiratorial glow. “I must admit, I’ve not had much experience with your side of the industry.”
“We could start slow,” Celine purred, luring the man closer. “Handcuffs. Toys. Chains.”
Oh, there’d be chains all right.
“That, uhm,” Samuel stuttered, reaching for her with his meaty paws. “Well, that could be nice.”
“Oh, it’ll be far from nice.” Celine hiked up her skirt and straddled Samuel. She pinned his arms down with her legs, which resulted in a groan of exhilarated shock from her target. “A man like you is used to having to be in charge all the time. Let me lead the way and show you things you’ve only dared fantasize about.”
Maggie slipped an arm behind her back and reached for the syringe tucked into the back of the waistline of her skirt. Samuel squirmed with pleasure under her and Maggie tried not to gag.
It would be over soon.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to—”
Whatever lurid activity Samuel had always wanted to do, Maggie never found out. Before he could admit to idealizing some weird kink or another, Maggie thrashed out and jammed the syringe into Samuel’s neck.
The effect was instant.
Samuel’s eyes widened, and he shoved Maggie off him, his superior strength sending her to the floor in his panic. He struggled to get up from the couch, wriggling on the seat as the drugs began to circulate through his bloodstream.
“Help!” Maggie yelled, loud enough to be heard from outside the office. “Somebody please, help!”
The security guard outside barged through the door and strode past Maggie who hovered over Samuel in fake panic. He shoved her to the side to reach his boss, now convulsing on the floor and clutching at his chest. He ripped the buttons from his shirt with thick fingers, like he was trying to claw out the pain.
The second guard arrived at the foot of the door, eyeing the scene before him.
“He’s having a heart attack!” Maggie yelled at him. “Call an ambulance!”
The guard fumbled with his phone and called as ordered.
“How long?” the first guard asked, trying to calm Samuel down and place him in the recovery position.
His colleague hung up the phone after relaying Samuel’s state to the phone operator in rapid Dutch. “Ten minutes.”
Ten minutes was all Maggie needed.
Four minutes later, a pair of footsteps herded downstairs.
Two emergency medical technicians were led into the office moments later by the second guard who wrung his hands as he followed behind. The paramedics bent down next to Samuel, ushering the first guard out of the way, and got to work.
“What’s happening?” Maggie asked, still in her role as the panicked Celine, playing up the dramatics for her audience.
“We need to get him to a hospital,” replied the EMT in charge, his Dutch accent thick.
The EMTs left Samuel to drag in a stretcher they’d brought downstairs with them. With the help of the bouncers, they hoisted Samuel on top and strapped him in.
Maggie trailed behind the four men as they carried the ample Samuel up the flight of stairs to the main floor of the club and rushed him through the crowd. The ambulance was waiting out front with the engine still running, and Maggie climbed in the back with Samuel and made a show of crying over his convulsing body.
One of the EMTs jumped into the driver’s seat up front and prepared to leave. Samuel’s main guard called something to the others as he got in the back of the ambulance with them, barking orders.
With no time to waste, the driver pulled into traffic, sirens wailing like a mourning banshee.
The guard asked the EMT dealing with Samuel a question in Dutch, but he ignored the towering man and turned to Maggie.
“What are we going to do with him?” he asked.
Maggie shrugged, and both she and the EMT regarded the guard like an unwelcome guest.
“Sorry, pal,” said the EMT, “but you’re not invited to the after-party.”
Before the guard had time to react or comprehend what was happening, Ashton smacked the man’s nose with a crushing fist and aimed a brutal kick to the solar plexus while Maggie swung open the back door of the ambulance.
The guard reeled, and Maggie shoved him with all her might. The guard toppled back and fell from the ambulance onto the hard street they were rushing through, landing with a heavy thump at the side of the road.
Leon glanced into the rearview mirror from the driver’s seat to catch a glimpse of the guard and whistled. “That’s going to hurt in the morning.”
Chapter 17
Maggie doused her captive with a bucket of ice-cold water.
“Wake up.”
Her voice echoed against the naked walls of the abandoned warehouse they’d hauled up in for the interrogation. It wasn’t as secure a location as Maggie would have liked, but she doubted Samuel would have many of his people looking for him. He didn’t have the level of resources or loyalty from his people that someone like Ivan Dalca benefited from. Samuel’s men were work-for-hire at best.
Still, she had Leon keep watch through one of the slatted windows at the entrance in case their presence alerted the police or any of the homeless who called the surrounding area home. He’d done well playing his part as EMT, though he’d needed to sit and catch his breath after they’d dragged an unconscious Samuel into the building.
“I said, wake up!”
Maggie emphasized her words with a hard slap to the face this time, which seemed to do the trick. Samuel Thomas awoke, a thick droplet of saliva dripping from his gaping mouth as he sucked in a deep, panicked breath.
Eyes blinked open, and for a moment, Samuel appeared confused. Considering the drugs Maggie shot into his system, he should be. Imitating a heart attack wasn’t the safest method of extracting a target, but it certainly did the trick, and no one would be shocked at the man’s sudden health turn, given his physique and party-boy lifestyle he’d continued well into his forties. A bad bump of cocaine or an overzealous encounter with a lover could have been enough to cause a heart attack in a man like Samuel.
“Where am I? What’s going on?” he slurred. Samuel moved his arm and the rattle of chains chinked together. His stare sharpened when he spotted the chains attached to the metal cuffs securing his wrists, fully awake now that the reality of his current situation settled in.
Thanks to one of the many sex shops in Amsterdam, it wasn’t difficult to gather a few supplies to keep up Celine’s persona. Securing Samuel against the support pillar hadn’t been easy given all the dead weight, but the three of them managed to pin him in place without too many bumps to Samuel’s head.
Maggie paced in front of him, back in character now that he was awake. Celine’s hand wrapped tight around the leather handle of the whip she held, from which sprouted multiple tails.
“I’ll ask the questions, Monsieur Thomas.”
Her heels clicked against the stone floor like a ticking clock, counting down the minutes until Samuel broke and told her what she needed to know. How long that would take depended on him.
“What is the meaning of this?” Samuel practically spat the words, spittle spurting from his mouth with the water that drenched him from head to toe. While it wasn’t winter, night had fallen and the temperature with it, which would only add to Samuel’s discomfort.
“Tell me everything you know about Ivan Dalca’s operation.”
“I told you already, the Brits have him detained.”
Maggie inspected the whip, running the individual tails through her gloved fingers. “I’m aware. It’s his people I’m interested in. You said you met with them this week. Are they still in town?”
Samuel sneered and tried another futile attempt to break free from the chains. “Why should I tell you after this?”
Without another word, Celine cracked the whip across Samuel’s face with a sickening snap. Samuel yelled out in pain as red lines instantly swelled across the side of his face and cheek.
Any remorse Maggie contained within her wasn’t wasted on a man like Samuel Thomas. People like him used their power to exploit others and take advantage of the vulnerable and desperate. A couple of knocks around the head was the least he deserved for the many lives he’d undoubtedly ruined.
“If you don’t want to talk, I’ll gag you. I’m not a fan of pigs who don’t squeal.”
Celine clicked her fingers and Ashton came into view from the dark corner, out of his ambulance uniform now, and handed Maggie the ball gag, a black leather number with a pink ball in the center.
Candles burned around them, the fire reflecting off Celine’s harsh face and creating distorted shadows as the flames flickered in the light wind circling the derelict building. It slipped through the cracks in the walls like phantoms warning Samuel of what was yet to come, should he decide to remain tight-lipped.
&n
bsp; “What was the purpose of your meeting with them this week? Did you order a new batch of girls?”
Samuel pursed his lips in protest and Maggie thrashed out with the whip again for a second lashing, harder this time across the man’s thighs.
“Yes, yes, I did,” Samuel stuttered, wincing through clenched teeth. “They didn’t give me an exact date, but they said I’d get the girls soon.”
“How soon?”
“A week or two? They weren’t specific. Complications arise all the time when smuggling the girls in. You should know that.” A line of confusion crossed his forehead, but Maggie continued before Samuel could ponder on that little note.
She stepped closer to him, jabbing the whip into his chest. “Are Dalca’s people still in the city?”
“I don’t—”
Maggie tutted in a very French gesture her language tutor used to give her back in her agent training days. “Don’t lie to me, Samuel. You’ve been doing so well up until now. Where are they?”
Distrust oozed from the man like a bad smell. “Why do you want to know?”
“I need to reach them.” Maggie turned her back on him and walked over to a makeshift table where an array of toys and implements were displayed for Samuel to see. She hovered her hand over them, as if debating which one to try first.
“So, you kidnapped me? Tied me up?”
“I needed to make sure you wouldn’t bullshit me. No pimp worth their salt would ever share their supplier. You would have kept Dalca to yourself.”
Samuel’s silence was answer enough to that. Sure, he would have enjoyed Celine’s seduction attempt, promising her anything to get what he wanted, but handing over his supplier? Not a chance.
“Now you have more of an incentive to share.” Maggie decided on a rather large set of needles that looked more useful for knitting scarves than inflicting pleasure. She never understood the whole pleasure-pain thing herself, but to each their own. Her choice certainly did the trick once Samuel spotted them, the metal glinting in the fire’s presence. “So, spill it. Is the syndicate still in Amsterdam?”
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