Someone put his palm on her forehead and pushed her head up. She tried to focus. Joe, the man who’d put her into the van, right?
Maybe. Whatever.
“Grace.” Joe looked over his shoulder and smiled at someone Kristin couldn’t see. “Do your thing.”
Her mind swirling, Kristen felt like a leaf floating on water and nonsensical singsong music made her want to hum.
Joe faced her again and he smiled. Such a handsome smile. How easily he had taken her in. Flirted with her, bought her a drink, and bam, she was gone.
So easy.
No emotion existed in Kristin. She just was. She watched as an old lady pushed a cart close to her. Looked like makeup and stuff was on it.
“Let me do her nipples.” Joe grinned and opened a container with a pink substance.
He pinched first one nipple then the other, and squeezed hard. The pink stuff had the consistency of lipstick and caused her to gasp as he rubbed it around her areola and all over her nipple. The sudden sensation was powerful enough to cause her to catch her breath. Her nipples were hard, distended, and they ached like a small vise was clamped on them.
The old lady moved in close to Kristin as Joe cleaned his fingers with a wet wipe from the cart, smirked, and walked away.
Grace started fussing with Kristin’s long hair, which had been washed earlier when she’d been dragged into a shower. Kristin’s hair was dry now, and Grace teased it and curled the naturally blond hair so that it fell in soft swirls and waves to her shoulders.
Next Grace applied makeup to Kristin’s face, and finished with lipstick and gloss. The makeup felt thicker and heavier than she normally wore, almost like a mask.
The old lady nodded with approval in her expression before rolling her cart away. Joe directed Grace to go to another place where she was needed and the old woman headed through a gap in the drapes.
Kristin’s mind couldn’t settle on anything, bouncing from one thing to another. Blue drapes in a circle around her. Cameras. Lights that weren’t on. Computer monitors. Microphone.
Interesting, too.
She supposed.
Kristin hummed along with the odd music dancing in her head.
And then her thoughts took flight. To nowhere. Anywhere at all.
The lights around her came on so brightly she had to blink in their glare. Three or four people were with her in the circular curtained area. Joe held a recording camera up and was filming her. A mild sense of curiosity had her watching him, and then he started moving slowly around her, recording every bit of her naked body.
Joe began listing all of her attributes out loud, starting with her being a college student, her body unspoiled, never prostituted. He gave her measurements, showed the birthmark on her lower back.
All so strange.
Disembodied voices began shouting out numbers. Dollars. The voices reminded her of the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons, only she could understand the words. Some. One voice said, “Five thousand,” another said, “Ten.” More numbers increased with bids from other computer-enhanced voices.
“Twenty thousand dollars to triumph2000.” Joe gave a satisfied smile as he looked at Kristin. “A worthwhile investment.”
“Smile, baby.” Joe came up to her as all the lights and computer monitors were shut down. “You were just purchased by a man who wanted you real bad. He’s the reason you ended up here.”
Joe settled his palm on her hip as he leaned closer. “One good screw won’t spoil you before we deliver.”
“Back off.” Grace elbowed past him and began removing the heavy makeup from Kristin’s face with a damp cloth. “You don’t screw the merchandise.”
Joe gave a wink and a grin, and left the room while Grace continued to wipe Kristin down, from her face to her rosy, distended nipples.
Grace pushed Kristin’s hair over her shoulders before signaling to two men in the room to come to them. When she looked back at Kristin, Grace said with a motherly smile, “Just enjoy your new life, pumpkin.”
Kristin frowned and wondered if she cared what the old woman meant.
Grace patted Kristin’s cheek. “Be thankful you’ll be one man’s property, and that you won’t be prostituted and have too many men to count screwing you every night.”
CHAPTER 12
Leather and lace will take a girl a long way
March 30
Saturday night
The sleek Mercedes convertible registered to Alexi Adams was made just for me and I looked damned good in the sinfully red sports car.
I drove up to the entrance of the Crystal Twilight, near Beacon Hill, and parked the hot little number. The young, overly eager valet opened my door, took my hand, and helped me step out in a smooth movement.
Yep.
His eyes just about popped out of his head.
Amazing what a short skirt and a leather-and-lace corset could do to a man.
Years of experience undercover had taught me to dress and act like I belonged in whatever situation I might be in. But with Donovan now in the picture, tonight would no doubt be . . . interesting.
The snug black leather skirt was smooth beneath my palm as I gave it a single tug to take it from where it had scooted up to just below crotch level. In my other hand I held the small clutch containing cash, ID, and the invitation to the Inner Circle.
A cool, clean-scented wind brushed my legs, which were bare save for the specially equipped studded-leather ankle cuff. Martinez had designed the cuff to include a gadget that hid a high-tech USB device along with a signal scrambler to use when we needed it. Martinez was kick-ass when it came to designing gadgets. From my lipstick camera to the pen that would get me out of deep shit, which I kept in my purse. I only needed to click the pen twice to call in RED agents if an undercover operation went bad.
I slipped my fingers into my Versace clutch and handed a big enough bill to the valet to make his eyes pop out almost as much as they had when he’d gotten a look at me. “Take good care of my baby, won’t you?” I said, my voice soft and sultry.
His throat worked as he said, “The best,” before giving me a claim ticket that I tucked into my handbag. I winked at him as I saw him look from my breasts to my face. His blush was instantaneous.
My leather corset had a wide V of lace between my breasts. The lace traveled downward and nearly reached my belly before it stopped. The half-carat diamond piercing through my belly button sparkled in the glow of the Crystal Twilight. The lace exposed the swells of either side of my breasts. I wouldn’t have any trouble getting attention tonight.
As I turned from the valet, another man took my arm and escorted me to the door, where yet a third man was checking his guest list before allowing members to enter.
“Alexi Adams.” I slipped my invitation from my clutch and handed it to him along with my ID. My ID showed one of the most exclusive addresses in all of Boston.
The man returned my ID and the invitation. “Mr. Tarantino himself will join you shortly for the exclusive gathering,” the man said with a slight nod.
I passed him a large bill before walking through the door into the nightclub.
Hey, it was RED’s money.
The music’s beat pulsed through my body as I stepped through the doors of the Crystal Twilight. Smells of alcohol, perfumes, and aftershave swept over me.
Georgina had made sure my chin-length hair and makeup were perfect. My lipstick felt smooth and glossy on my lips, my makeup applied in a way that accented my features. I looked pretty hot if I said so myself.
It was hard to keep from smiling as men literally turned their heads to watch me walk into the club. By their scowls, a few women didn’t seem to appreciate the attention I was getting from their dates as I gently swayed my hips. The click of my heels against the marble floor was nearly lost in the beat of the music.
Only the rich could afford the Crystal Twilight, so it wasn’t as packed as some nightclubs, meaning there was breathing room. From the research I’d
done, Lucca Tarantino had ensured this club built its rep as the classiest, most elitist nightclub in Boston.
A long-legged blond stepped in front of me and headed toward the bar. For just a moment something twisted in my belly as I remembered the blond with her legs wrapped around Gary’s hips—
Someone grabbed my ass.
I swung around to face a cocky-looking college-aged kid.
The smile I gave him had his expression turning from cocky to “oh, crap,” in a second. I moved close and murmured. “Touch me again and your balls will be in your throat.”
One second flat and he was gone.
I enjoyed being a petite package that most people underestimated. I’d taken down men as big as Donovan, as well as big flabby SOBs with guts the size of Rhode Island.
Papa had put me in jujitsu classes after Rick Larson knocked out my front tooth when I was eight.
Let’s just say that, after a few lessons, Rick never came near me again. At least not until we dated our senior year in high school. He grew up to be hot.
I never stopped my training, so under my belt was around twenty-three years of jujitsu, as well as experience with all the forms of weaponry I’d excelled with in Special Forces. Not only did I work out with weights, but my routine included boxing, sparring, and jogging when I wasn’t deep undercover. I could do a hell of a job of protecting myself and kicking ass.
But tonight I would be playing the part of a submissive and I kept my expression sultry as I turned away from him. My lips wanted to twist into a scowl at the thought of being submissive to anyone.
And that “anyone” was going to be Nick Donovan if everything went as planned.
The strange tingling in by belly caught me off guard. A flash of Donovan and me naked, with him sliding inside me almost made me falter in my three-inch heels.
A shiver strobed through me, as intense as the lights flashing over the dance floor. I responded by straightening my spine as I moved toward the bar.
I walked like a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. I made a discreet sweep of the room with my gaze.
With my countless years of training and instinct, I knew approximately how many people were in the bar; the number of bouncers—and had a good idea how many of them were armed; the best route to the front and back exits; common items that would make good weapons in a down-and-dirty fight; and which men were likely to come on to me before I located my prey. Lots of other little things I also filed away in my memory.
I eased onto the soft calfskin-leather bar seat and crossed my leg with the cuff clearly visible. My legs felt silky and soft from the wax job I’d had earlier today. The short skirt hiked up just enough that air cooled the skin where the movement revealed the bottom curve of one bare cheek.
“Lemon drop.” I leaned forward and smiled at the bartender, exposing more cleavage. “Sugar on the rim.”
“You’ve got it, babe.” In a few moments, the bartender set the martini on a cocktail napkin. “Tab?”
The sugar around the rim was tart and sweet as I raised it to my mouth, took a sip, then smiled at him. “Please.”
My manicured fingernails grazed the rich wood of the mahogany-and-granite bar as I pushed away just enough to turn slightly and survey the room beneath my lashes.
I wondered how long it would take Lucca Tarantino to find me and escort me back to the Inner Circle.
And I wondered how many men would approach me before Tarantino did.
Music pounded loud enough to vibrate the stool where I perched. The lemon scent of the martini as I sipped blocked out some of the smells that had hit me when I walked into the place.
After each tiny sip I slowly licked the sugar off my lower lip. It wasn’t long before the first sucker approached me and I quickly dispatched him and the two who came after him. I knew who I was waiting for.
I sat there for another fifteen minutes before a tickle along my spine told me someone was approaching from behind.
Finally.
This one flashed a too-white movie-star grin, and no doubt that was Versace he was wearing. He carried the light scent of a French spa cologne. Hey, I knew my stuff, my training was extensive. This guy had to have loads of cash.
“Would you like to join me at my table?” He had a line that wasn’t original enough for a girl like me even if I was interested.
“No, thank you,” I said, and looked away, dismissing him.
Door number five casually made his way to me through the crowd.
“First time I’ve seen you here,” the blond said. Not original but he had the look of a man’s man, so I let it pass. He had the body of a runner, slim and athletic, and wore a button-up blue shirt and Levis.
“First time I’ve been here.” The smile that touched my lips was sultry and seductive. I reached out my free hand and touched the top button of his shirt. And my, my, my. A bulge started to expand his jeans. Hmmm. Not bad.
I adjusted my legs so that the studs on the leather ankle cuff caught sparks of light.
He glanced at it and I fisted my hand in his shirt and drew him close. “Do you know what that signifies?” I said before I released him. I glanced at his jeans. That man had one nice package.
When my eyes met his he shrugged. “A leather ankle cuff.”
Too bad. “If you don’t know what it means, then I guess you’ll never find out.” I sipped my lemon drop before I added, “From me.”
He shook his head and smiled before turning away.
A low, rich voice came from behind me, a voice I didn’t recognize. “I know.”
I almost spit out the drink I’d just taken.
He placed his warm hands on my shoulders and wouldn’t let me swivel in my seat to face him. Then his mouth was next to my ear and he said in a smooth-as-melted-chocolate voice, “I know exactly why you wear that cuff.”
I swallowed, my chin high, and wished I could face him. “So tell me.”
“You enjoy indulging in certain, shall we say . . . proclivities? The cuff means you’re currently unattached.” He massaged my shoulders and I shivered. “If you were wearing a collar I’d know you had a Dom.”
He slowly turned me to face him.
Lucca Tarantino.
The owner of the Crystal Twilight and target number one.
Dark, handsome, and sexy as an Italian god.
He faced the bartender and I maintained my sensual expression. “I’ll have a martini straight up, and the lady’s drink is on the house.”
When he faced me again, I put all the desire I could into my smile that showed I was interested, very interested.
“And who is the gentleman buying my martini?” I said as I leaned against the bar and let my breasts jut out.
By the look in his incredible green eyes, it was clear he liked what he saw. “Lucca Tarantino. I own the Twilight.” He took my hand and ran his finger over my palm in a slow stroke. He smiled. “What is your name, cara?”
“Alexi Adams.”
“Alexi . . .” My name rolling out in that oh-so-hot Italian accent caused warmth to flush beneath my skin. “I understand you have a special invitation for tonight.”
“Yes,” I said, making my voice husky with desire. Lucca Tarantino was sensual and gorgeous so it wasn’t that much of a hardship to pretend. If he were a different man, I might even seriously be interested.
Tarantino didn’t release my hand as he ran his gaze down my body, skimming slowly over my nearly bared breasts, on to my midriff with the diamond piercing, and the minuscule leather skirt. He paused for a moment as he looked at the studded cuff on my right ankle, above my three-inch spiked heels.
He stroked my palm a little more, still not releasing my hand. “Tell me, Alexi, why exactly do you think you might find a Dom here?”
I opened my handbag and slipped out the invitation. I leaned closer to let him feel my body heat without allowing myself to actually touch him. Or fall off my seat. “A friend told me that I might find what I’m looking for in the
Crystal Twilight.”
Tarantino slipped the invitation from my fingers. He was a good six inches taller than me so he had to lower his head to move his mouth to my ear. “Bondage? Domination?”
“Mmmmmm.” I let my lips barely slide along his jawline and breathed in his sandalwood aftershave. “The whole package.”
When Tarantino drew away, his expression was intensely sexual. He had that 007 and Italian playboy look down pat. “Then I’m sure you’ll enjoy this evening.”
I sipped my martini, its flavor tart in my mouth. I lowered my glass and ran my tongue along my lower lip, tasting the sugar left from the edge of the martini glass. I met Tarantino’s gaze. “I’m ready when you are.”
CHAPTER 13
Your tax dollars at work
March 30
Saturday night
Tarantino tucked the envelope into his suit jacket before he took my hand and helped me down from the stool. Even while I held my lemon drop martini in my other hand, I managed to move gracefully.
Damn, I’m good.
When I was on my feet, Tarantino released me to take his own martini.
Tarantino got points for making sure he measured his strides to match mine. He placed his hand on the bare skin at the base of my spine, below my corset. I gave myself credit for not moving away when he moved his finger in a slow, erotic circle. He was gorgeous, but that didn’t mean every gorgeous guy got to pet me. But I was here to play a role and I’d play it good.
Then the thought flashed through my mind that he could be taking me to be auctioned like the women who’d been kidnapped. But that thought fled as we slipped through a back entrance and past a guard who nodded to Tarantino.
The lounge had definite Italian flare. Robust and beautifully decorated accessories including knickknacks on the strategically displayed tables and end tables gave the room Italian charm. Oil paintings graced the walls, and there were too many carved wood and alabaster items to count. It didn’t look cluttered at all. It was fabulous and made me feel like I was in Old Italy. A full bar also ran along one side of the room.
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