Dungeon Games

by Lexi Blake

  Dungeon Games

  A Masters and Mercenaries Novella

  By Lexi Blake

  1001 Dark Nights

  Dungeon Games

  A Masters and Mercenaries Novella

  By Lexi Blake

  1001 Dark Nights

  Copyright 2014 DLZ Entertainment, LLC

  ISBN: 978-1-940887-14-2

  Forward: Copyright 2014 M. J. Rose

  Published by Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Book Description

  Obsessed

  Derek Brighton has become one of Dallas’s finest detectives through a combination of discipline and obsession. Once he has a target in his sights, nothing can stop him. When he isn’t solving homicides, he applies the same intensity to his playtime at Sanctum, a secretive BDSM club. Unfortunately, no amount of beautiful submissives can fill the hole that one woman left in his heart.

  Unhinged

  Karina Mills has a reputation for being reckless, and her clients appreciate her results. As a private investigator, she pursues her cases with nothing holding her back. In her personal life, Karina yearns for something different. Playing at Sanctum has been a safe way to find peace, but the one Dom who could truly master her heart is out of reach.

  Enflamed

  On the hunt for a killer, Derek enters a shadowy underworld only to find the woman he aches for is working the same case. Karina is searching for a missing girl and won’t stop until she finds her. To get close to their prime suspect, they need to pose as a couple. But as their operation goes under the covers, unlikely partners become passionate lovers while the killer prepares to strike.

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  1001 Dark Nights story on 1/1/15.

  The First Night

  by Shayla Black, Lexi Blake & M.J. Rose

  Table of Contents

  Forward

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Also From 1001 Dark Nights

  Author Acknowledgments

  About Lexi Blake

  An excerpt from A View to a Thrill by Lexi Blake

  Also by Lexi Blake

  Special Thanks

  One Thousand and One Dark Nights

  Once upon a time, in the future…

  I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.

  I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and

  the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast

  library at my father’s home and collected thousands

  of volumes of fantastic tales.

  I learned all about ancient races and bygone

  times. About myths and legends and dreams of all

  people through the millennium. And the more I read

  the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered

  that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually

  become part of them.

  I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher

  and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I

  would not be telling you this tale now.

  But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off

  with bravery.

  One afternoon, curious about the myth of the

  Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to

  see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar

  (Persian: شهریار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then

  sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written

  and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade,

  the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand

  women.

  Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived

  in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged

  places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had

  never occurred before and that still to this day, I

  cannot explain.

  Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have

  taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can

  protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to

  protect herself and stay alive.

  Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.

  And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a

  point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.

  And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that

  he might hear the rest of my dark tale.

  As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new

  one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before

  you now.

  Chapter One

  Derek Brighton watched the Texas Ranger running the meeting. Clayton Hill was a big guy dressed in pressed jeans and a perfectly ironed western shirt with pearl snaps. Polished boots covered his feet. That dude didn’t have to wear craptastic polyester uniforms, and he was pretty sure he didn’t have civilians regularly cursing him. He stood tall in the small conference room in the DPD building. Two other members of the Rangers stood in the back. Derek was the only officer representing the Dallas Police Department. It made him nervous that there was so much attention settled straight on him.

  The slide changed, throwing ghastly images on the screen.

  “The unsub has killed four women we know of,” Hill explained. “We’re fairly certain his actual number is more. He’s smart and clean, so he’s likely got several not so clean kills to his credit, and he’s smart enough to not get his prints on a vic. We believe he’s using latex gloves and has a working knowledge of forensics.”

  The blond guy in the back snorted a little. He wasn’t dressed in typical western wear. He wore a full suit and kept his hair in a far too metro style to actually be a field Ranger. He seemed to be some sort of tech, but both Rangers turned and gave him chilly looks.

  “Harris? Do you have something to add?” Hill asked.

  The man named Harris held up his hands. “Just saying the dude ain’t as smart as me or he wouldn’t have pulled the rice trick. Idiot.”

  Hill turned back. “Ignore him. He’s our forensic expert. He’s got a genius level IQ and the personality of a jackass. Now back to our unsub. The feds are staying out of it—for now. Let’s hope we can solve this before we have to deal with them. The minute they step in, we’re all screwed. So all the victims were left in a similar fashion…”

  Hill kept talking, but Derek looked at the slide in front of him. A brunette had her hands together, tied in a knot he recognized. Asanawa. Shit. There was a reason Hill had chosen him and it wasn’t for his location. Three of the killings had occurred outside of his precinct.

  Fuck all. He’d been outed. After ten years of keeping his proclivities private, someone had talked.

  Derek
sighed and sat back in his chair. If he was going to get fired, he wouldn’t be sitting in on this meeting. He would be in the chief’s office getting his ass handed to him. The chief wouldn’t care personally. Hell, the chief was a member at Sanctum, but if there was a scandal brewing, he’d have no choice but to throw Derek under the proverbial bus. He was sure they would find some tiny infraction he’d committed. Internal Affairs loved to fire people for taking pencils or using the Internet for personal reasons. Everyone did it, but IA used it as an excuse to get rid of problem officers all the time.

  “Do you recognize the rope pattern, Lieutenant?” Clayton Hill’s partner had identified himself as Tyler Watts. He was only slightly smaller than his partner, his hair an almost reddish brown. He kept it the tiniest bit longer than Hill and there was at least ten years separating him from the older officer. A Ranger baby. Which meant he was deadlier than the rest, more competent than his age would suggest.

  This was the moment. He could shrug and ask why he’d been pulled in here. He could deny everything and maybe, just maybe save his ass in the long run.

  The vision of the girl, forever silenced, would haunt him if he didn’t speak up. Unfortunately, he hadn’t become a cop to save his ass. He’d become a soldier first and then a cop because the need to protect was his highest imperative. He sighed and followed his instincts. He couldn’t be less than who he was, wouldn’t allow himself to hide when it meant someone’s justice might go undone. “Yes. They form a pattern used by practitioners of Japanese rope bondage. Do you have close-ups of the ligature marks?”

  Normally he would call them rope marks—a loving reminder of a good time between a sub and Dom, but this wasn’t BDSM. BDSM was consensual. Always. He’d heard the term consensual BDSM. Whoever came up with it was a fuck wit. Non-consensual BDSM was assault, battery, rape. It was a crime and should be treated as such.

  Harris stepped up, a folder in his hand. “Absolutely. The minute I realized what was happening, I paid close attention to the patterns.” He shrugged a little. “I have a girlfriend who read all that Fifty Shades stuff. Can’t stand it myself, but damn it gets the ladies hawt, if you know what I mean. I’ve gotten more trim from that damn book. I could kiss EL James. Or hey, I could do her, too.”

  Harris was annoying as fuck. Derek simply stared at the idiot until he passed him the folder.

  “You thought about applying for the Rangers, Brighton?” Watts asked, a smile on his face. “Because you have the intimidating look down.”

  He flipped the folder open and was assaulted by a look book of horrors. Harris might be an ass, but he understood how to document a crime. He’d taken his time, making a panorama of the victim’s torture. Every knot was documented and then removed to show how the rope had burned into the victim’s skin, forming patterns.

  “He knows what he’s doing.” Derek had practiced Shibari for years and studied with a Master. This guy knew what he was doing with ropes and knots, but he was brutal. “He understands the lifestyle, but I would say he’s not a true believer. He plays at it. He’s good with knots, but he’s a Master in the narrowest sense of the word.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Hill asked, his brows in a confused V.

  Derek tried not to get his back up. He had to be patient with people who didn’t understand the lifestyle. “It means a true Master does what’s right for his submissive. This man is a monster who understands the discipline but ignores the philosophy.”

  Harris grinned. “Told you I was right to bring him in.”

  Hill rolled his eyes.

  The door opened and a bright light blocked the silhouette of a man coming through the doorway. A large man. And then another. Two big-ass dudes were entering what had previously been a nearly empty conference room.

  “Is this the right place?” The first shadow asked, though with that accent of his, it came out more like Is dis ta right place?

  Liam O’Donnell. He would know that accent anywhere. Well, at least he wasn’t the only one who’d been outed as a perv, though O’Donnell worked in the private sector.

  Hill made a gesture and the lights suddenly came up. Derek could see the second man. Sean Taggart. Tall, blond, built like a linebacker. It was odd that the six foot three inch former Green Beret’s nickname was Little Tag, but then his older brother dwarfed him. Ian Taggart had been Derek’s commanding officer when he’d been in the Green Berets as well. He knew Big Tag better but was well acquainted with the younger Taggart. Before he’d gotten married and become a chef, Little Tag had worked with his brother at McKay-Taggart, an elite security firm that handled work for corporations, private citizens and—if rumors were true—often did work for the CIA.

  Yeah, there was a reason Derek had joined the Dallas Police Department. He’d had enough of the Agency to last a lifetime. He had the scars and the nightmares to prove it. Just thinking about the CIA made a place in his gut ache—the same place where the Taliban had shoved their knives.

  “You’re in the right place, Mr. O’Donnell, Mr. Taggart.” Hill offered them seats, his eyes going back to the door. “Are you alone? I extended the invitation to the rest of your team.”

  Sean Taggart huffed a little. “Yes, it was such a lovely invite. You know invitations don’t usually come with armed escorts. Alex and Eve are on their way in. They were just a bit behind us.”

  Hill’s serious stare told Derek he didn’t appreciate the sarcasm. If he was going to work with McKay-Taggart, he’d better get used to it. Sarcasm was their first language.

  O’Donnell sank down into the seat next to him, a frown on his face. “Is this your doing, Brighton? You know I just had a kid. I had to leave Avery and Aidan behind with the Paxon sisters because apparently you can’t do your job properly.”

  “Give the guy a break,” Little Tag interjected. “You don’t understand how law enforcement works in Texas. When the Rangers call, you answer.”

  “I thought the bloody Rangers were a bad baseball team,” O’Donnell grumbled.

  And that was all he needed from the Irishman. “Bite my balls, asshole. Don’t talk about either Rangers that way.” He wouldn’t have anybody insult his team on his home turf. God only knew what the Irishman considered real sports. Probably soccer. “I’m not behind this. I got the same invitation, though the Ranger just came to my desk and hauled me in here.”

  Hill took a step forward, moving with the ease of a predator. “I only sent out the escort because I’ve heard Taggart can be a jerk.”

  Watts held out a hand. He was obviously the one who tried to smooth the way for his rougher partner. “Difficult. We’d just heard he could be difficult.”

  Harris obviously had no worries. He just grinned. “Oh, I’ve heard he’s an enormous ass. I was totally looking forward to meeting him.”

  Sean snorted a little. “You have no idea. Unfortunately, you picked a shitty time to decide to need his services. My brother is on assignment in England along with half our crew. I’m sitting in for him for a couple of weeks because we’re short staffed. Li here just had a kid and so did Adam and Jake. Jake pulled the short straw and had to go across the pond with the rest of them. Adam hid in the bathroom when the asshole escort showed up. I’m getting his ass back for that later. If you were trying to get to big brother, you’re going to have to call Tennessee Smith, and good fucking luck with that, man.”

  Tennessee Smith hadn’t been Derek’s handler when he’d done the Agency’s dirty work, but he knew the man well enough. Even if Hill could find a number for the CIA agent, there was zero chance that Smith would take the call if he was working overseas.

  Hill shook his head. “I’d love to have the big guy, but I’ll settle for what I have. Consider yourself subject experts. Captain, thanks for joining us.”

  Shit. Derek’s boss walked in and took a seat. Great. He needed his boss to hear this. The captain simply nodded his way and gave him a quick hello.

  The Ranger turned to the door again. “Ah, and there’s the on
e I really wanted to see. Hello, darlin’.”

  “Hello, Clayton,” a smooth feminine voice said. There was a warm welcome in her tone. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Derek turned to see Eve McKay stride into the room. She was a former profiler for the FBI and it looked like she’d done some work for the Rangers as well if her warm greeting for Hill was any indication. She was dressed in a chic business suit, her blonde hair pulled back in a business-like bun. She was followed by her hulking beast of a husband who also served as her Dom. She stopped and allowed him to move in front of her, their ease with each other obvious to everyone in the room.

  Eve allowed her husband to go first, allowed him to find a seat for her, allowed him to assess any threats in the room before following him. Eve was a submissive and a proper one at that. She was lovely and controlled and trusted her Dom with her safety and comfort and life.

  So unlike Karina. Karina was always the slightest bit messy when she wasn’t in fet wear. She typically wore her hair in a ponytail, the pure raven strands flying out at odd angles. She often didn’t wear makeup and outside the club wouldn’t wear a damn thing on her feet besides those nasty looking sneakers she claimed were comfortable. Eve was the gracious submissive and Karina was a self-described tough chick.

  He didn’t do tough chicks. Even when he really fucking wanted to. Even when they called to him. Even when his dick jumped at the sound of her voice.

  Nope. He’d done the modern relationship thing. He wouldn’t go there again. It ended in frustration and divorce. He didn’t need another “modern” woman to emasculate him. His wife had done the job quite well.

  His ex. Fuck all. Just like that he knew why he was here. “Maia. Maia told you.”