Killing Time (Ties That Bond Trilogy #1)

by SE Chardou

  I remembered his last text now and couldn’t help but chuckle:

  Jason: For god’s sake, don’t you dare think of downloading that Fifty Shades shit. That’s what vanillas think BDSM is but they couldn’t be much wronger!!!

  Yes, the exclamation points had been his, and not mine for emphasis. Jason was a good guy, sweet and full of life and love, unlike his cold fish brother. I sometimes thought Grayson had thrown it in my face because for a while, I was so close to Jason, he had honestly thought about leaving his wife for me.

  Not that I was a home wrecker. I would have put a stop to it before it’d ever gone that far however, Grayson had told me half of the truth while we’d still been in the dating stage of our own courtship.

  “Jay’s into some hard core shit and you don’t want anything to do with him, Aurélie. I swear, he could hurt you…and then I would have to kill him.”

  I couldn’t possibly know that was as emotional as Gray could ever become but I knew it now and I still thought I was making the right decision for my career, my future and my life. Love was nice. Love was over the top and beautiful and full of walking on clouds and memories of a touch, the feel of skin, the smell of a body but I couldn’t risk my heart again. Not after Renaud. Love, to me, represented Renaud: something I could never have and never would be worthy of ever again.

  “Are you going to be all right going inside?”

  The smooth velvet voice, a mixture of dark chocolate and caramel, startled me out of my contemplation. I’d always thought of German-accented English to be harsh and French-accented English to be so smooth and sexy. I’d never been so wrong in my life.

  I finally looked in Mr. Krieger’s direction and felt myself shudder though I played it off as if it were from the chilly evening and not the nearness of my proximity to him. This man might have had something to do with Trésor’s murder despite his pleas of innocence. Transatlantic flight or not, that didn’t make him fucking innocent or clear him of anything in my book.

  “Yes, I should be fine,” I replied as our eyes met before I looked away as quickly as possible.

  His former apartment building on Park Avenue was as formidable as ever. Tall, imposing and gleaming of nothing but money, this man was not hurting for a penny as far I could tell.

  We stepped out on the sidewalk and walked past an astute doorman who welcomed Mr. Krieger by name.

  “We’re just here to pick up Ms. DeMarche’s belongings, Harold. There is a showing tomorrow and no personal effects are to be left in the apartment.”

  “Of course, Mr. Krieger but . . . you should know there is a showing going on at the moment. Mr. Haussmann told me to tell you he would not let the prospective buyers see the basement but he would let them know about it and show them photos.”

  “That fucking greedy little shit,” Rory whispered under his breath though he said nothing further to the doorman and I walked as fast as my Chanel five-inch peep-toe heels would allow. He had a long purposeful stride that was beautiful to watch, and his clothes were absolutely impeccable. Expensive silks and vicuna knits were an arresting combination indeed, especially when everything he had on was black head to toe and matched to perfection.

  The alcohol high was starting to wear off and I desperately needed another drink, for courage if not anything else. The thought of other people being in the apartment made me feel better but who in the world would want to view an apartment at this late of an hour?

  Someone who desperately wanted the place for themselves and were intent on making an offer, that’s who.

  Or perhaps the murderer?

  Maybe it was the ultimate collector’s item knowing what they had in their possession and perhaps knowing what they’d done.

  In my line of profession, the only hard and fast truth I’d ever learned about human nature was no one really knew what people might do given the right motive and circumstances. That is what made them so unpredictable, dangerous, arresting, fascinating and complete joy to study, observe and thus report about. It was the reason why I chose journalism as my profession.

  Ethical journalism was more or less dead but digging dirt and exposing the rich and famous for what they truly were was absolutely priceless. It would continue to be as long as we lived in twenty-four-hours, seven-days-a-week news culture society.

  The elevator actually had a gentleman inside who pressed the button for the floor where Mr. Krieger had lived and it was a penthouse apartment, naturally. Not that there was just one apartment on the penthouse floor but three with tenants who were all incredibly wealthy and enjoyed their privacy.

  “Is Haussmann still in my former abode, Clinton?”

  “I don’t think so, Mista K. ’cause he took them cats’ up there about two hours ago and I’m sure they took the service elevator. You know how some folks is about privacy and what not plus the media had arrived. Harold managed to get rid of them about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Who were the prospective buyers?”

  “Just a woman but she was with a man—her attorney I think. Only reason I remember her is cuz she snapped at me when I told her no one was supposed to be viewin’ your place tonight. I didn’t catch her first name but her last name was . . . Smitz or maybe it was Schmidt.”

  “That fucking bitch,” Rory cursed underneath his breath.

  I waited until we were clear of the elevator before I turned toward him and grabbed his arm. He glared at me with cool crystal blue-green eyes before I’d realized my faux pas. I held the edge of his vicuña sweater, which had obviously cost megabucks, in a death grip though it wasn’t like it couldn’t be replaced unlike my poor dead sister.

  “Do you know this . . . Schmidt character?”

  “Of course I do. Astrid Schmidt: dominatrix extraordinaire due to her height of five feet, ten inches, her predilection for six-inch thigh-high boots and her annoying presence at the club every time I happen to be in town. She’s German, our parents’ are friends and she is a bisexual who had a major crush on my sub. It got to the point where Trésor wouldn’t go to the club without me because her advances became over the top and bordered on harassment.”

  “Could she be a suspect?” I licked my dry lips and knew I was grasping at straws but I needed something—anything at this point—to follow so I could start my research.

  Rory pursed his lips. “I won’t tell you that. You’re a journalist and I know your type. You’re just itching to do a story on this and you plan to, don’t you? Expose the whole ‘sordid, dirty scene of BDSM’ when you know fuck all about it. You do your own fucking research.”

  He snatched his arm from my grasp and walked towards his former apartment.

  Rory Krieger was too smart for his own good. Any information I managed to pry from him would only be what he wanted me to know. I breathed deeply and followed him inside the apartment.

  It was airy and dimly lit but didn’t feel unsafe. It smelled of different enticing flowers and looked perfectly ordinary. No one would have ever known what kind of lifestyle the owner indulged himself. Nor would they be privy to know he owned the most high profile yet exclusive BDSM club in New York City and others in different cities across the States and around the world, according to Jason, Gray’s brother.

  Surely he didn’t spend all of his time on the East Coast? He had clubs all over and probably traveled often but if I was to get any information from him, I would have to approach it from an angle that would hurt us both: my sister.

  “Did you . . . love her?”

  Rory turned to face me. His breath was shallow but he was holding up just fine. “Of course I did or I would have never made her my full time submissive. It is true, I used other women and men but I didn’t share her—I would become too insanely jealous watching her with another man or woman.”

  I stared at him and he seemed deep in reminiscence. It was the perfect time to get him to talk but I would have to keep my wording even, my inflection soft, reflective and pleasant. It was hard to do with my heart knocking in my
chest at what seemed like one million miles per hour.

  “How did you meet her? Trésor. I understood you allowed her to model even though you two were involved in this . . . TP—”

  “You can just say it. You don’t have to use the initials since you didn’t even know what they meant an hour ago. Total power exchange.” He strode towards me and his eyes wandered from the top of my head down to the bottom of my toes though they were enclosed except for the open-toe part.

  “What Trésor and I had was special. It was what she was born to do and with me, she found her calling. I loved her so very much and I would do anything for her but . . . it’s hard because you have to keep a part of yourself closed off, reserved as a Dom. The submissive partner must never know they have any power over you but she did—she knew it. She instinctively knew I would never really hurt her or do anything she wouldn’t be able to recover from and that is what made our relationship so fascinating, so beautiful.

  “I saw her in a Thierry Mugler show during fashion week in London. It was…lust at first sight. I loved her litheness . . . her slender body and the way she looked in the clothing. She was starving herself then but all I could see was how much better she would look if she only gained fifteen pounds.”

  “My God, I remember that show. I was there. It was the only one I could make and when she saw me afterwards, she pretended I didn’t exist. She later sent me a text to say she was spacey and please forgive her or some such shit. I don’t remember the exact words.”

  “Yes, she was spacey. She was hooked on a combination of Red Bull and Vicodin. She wasn’t eating and she barely slept but the designers loved her because they could cover all her imperfections with makeup. She was also self-harming at the time—the insides of her buttocks, mostly. It wouldn’t show when she had to wear revealing clothing. She used a razor blade.”

  The tears began to fall whether I wanted them to or not. “Is that why the police think she did this to herself? I just . . . I knew she was hurting but she wouldn’t kill herself. Trésor had too much pride. I just can’t believe she could do this and she wanted so desperately to be loved. You loved her, didn’t you?”

  I knew I sounded drunk and out of it myself because hadn’t I asked him that question already and he’d answered in the affirmative?

  “Yes, I loved your sister very much and I don’t believe the suicide crap either. Trésor’s punishment was no worse or better than any previous ones. I would have been here but I got called away to Munich on business. I was only gone two days and God knows I now wished I would have taken her with me.”

  He was so close I could smell his cologne. Expensive and dark, it was hypnotic and fragrant. I grabbed his left hand and squeezed. “I’m so sorry I doubted how you felt for her. I had no right to judge. If she was happy . . . well, that’s all that matters.”

  Rory’s aquamarine eyes met mine. “What about you? Are you happy?”

  What ever daze had befallen me lifted as if someone had just doused my face with ice cold water. “I don’t see how that has any relevance to this conversation.”

  “I take that as a ‘no’ then.”

  I refused to answer him but he was much more patient than I would have ever given him credit for. He turned on his heels and walked away, leaving me in that empty foyer.

  Chapter Three

  THOUGH THE OSTENTATIOUS YET UNDERSTATED apartment used to be the residence of my sister’s, I had no wish to look around. I couldn’t be a journalist at the moment when I was still secretly grieving. I hated my emotions seemed to swing from out right denial of Trésor’s demise to passive acceptance which threatened to take over and leave me absolutely demolished as a human being.

  The click of expensive shoes brought me back from my own thoughts. The Prada loafers on the pristine marble flooring belonged to none other than Rory Krieger and he held a large wooden jewelry box that was obviously expensive. It contained several different drawers that divided the box into sections and it also had a lock. He gave me the key to hold instead of the box.

  “Be careful since . . . that is the only copy. There are other items, which belonged to her but I will have them shipped back to your parents’ house in France. There was one personal box which I feel you should have . . . my driver will drop it off at your residence tomorrow. She did leave you with a substantial amount of money but I’m afraid I would need my attorney to speak about that,” Rory explained.

  “Is it heavy?” I wondered and hoped he understood I was inquiring about the jewelry box.

  “Yes, it is because everything inside is real. My driver will drop you at home and carry it up to your apartment. Please give him clear instructions as to where he should leave it.”

  I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. “This money of my sister’s . . . I don’t think I want it and since your attorney isn’t here—”

  “Don’t be asinine,” Rory cut off dismissively. “It’s a lot of money. Meet me at my club tomorrow night in the Meatpacking District. My driver will pick you up at nine. Is that all right with you?”

  “Do you mean . . . at night?”

  “Well seeing as I own a string of nightclubs then yes, it would be at night, Ms. Segler-DeMarche. It is a sex club for people who are into BDSM. I assure you safe sex is always practiced; I do not hire at-risk females or those who have been sold into a life of bondage.

  “It’s a tough job especially where the Eastern European and Asian women are concerned. We often have to make sure they don’t owe a debt to one kind of mafia or another though it is mostly the Albanians, Chinese Triads and Russians that give us trouble. I assure you won’t be witnessing anything you have never seen before unless you have never observed yourself having sex or watched an adult film.”

  I pursed my lips. “Is there a dress code?”

  “Of course. Wear what you like but dress conservative if you don’t want to be mistaken for one of the workers. They are pretty much fair game . . . it’s their job and they are paid very well to do what they do.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  We walked out of the apartment and Rory proceeded to lock it before he returned the key in the lock box attached to the elegant door knob.

  I waited until he caught up before we strode to the elevator together.

  “I think it also goes without saying that you are not allowed to bring any cameras or mobile phones in the club either. Many of my members are high profile in certain industries including finance, law, medicine and politics. They have no wish to be recorded while they are acting out their fantasies and darkest desires. I hope you understand,” he explained in that same sexy dark chocolate-caramel voice.

  “Yes, of course. I assume these items are collected by the coat check personnel?”

  “Along with other personal effects and your coat, if you choose to bring one. You can assure along with our exclusivity comes discretion and your reputation as a hot-shit, cutting edge journalist will not be harmed in any way.”

  The rest of the time with him was a blur and I had never been happier to see Grayson in all my life.

  It wasn’t much of a trek for his driver and in fact, I could have walked it since we lived just four blocks from his old apartment building.

  Grayson set the box in the bedroom and immediately opened the floor safe where it and the key were deposited together. He reminded me of Robert DeNiro’s character from the film, Casino. He wore a paisley robe except his was in red and black and a matching pair of boxers and house slippers. He hated the cold marble floors and though there were plenty of Persian rugs throughout the apartment, he insisted on having house shoes for every Paisley robe and boxer short set he owned.

  I changed into a pale pink silk short-sleeved nightgown that almost came to mid-calf and slipped on a matching silk robe. Although not necessarily a nudist, I was comfortable with my body and in my own skin. However, everything about Grayson, his family and his life were all so very staunch and uptight. One did not walk around the apartment in
just pajamas, one had to have a matching robe for said pajamas.

  Bare feet were considered uncouth and bootie-socks were considered distasteful and “middle-class.” One wore a pair of house slippers at all times when not in regular shoes.

  However, due to Grayson’s obsession with cleanliness, shoes came off in the foyer and were carried to our prospective shoe closets. Slippers were the only type of shoe item permitted past the foyer.

  We sat on the bed, each on our own sides and drank expensive imported French cognac. I did enjoy this ritual because there was nothing better than a Xanax and cognac to put me to sleep. Tonight, I’d added a Vicodin to the mix and wasn’t feeling any pain.

  “So, now you’ve met the notorious and mysterious Rory Krieger, what did you think of him?” Gray inquired as he stretched his long legs.

  He did have a wonderful lean body with hidden muscles and skin the color of burnished peaches and cream. He wasn’t deeply tanned but his legs weren’t a sickening pale color either. He would never admit it but I knew he had a hidden tanning bed, which he used twice a month to maintain his perfect complexion.

  I sipped from my cognac though I could have easily downed it and poured myself another. “What do you mean, exactly? I barely spent enough time with him for an impression to be made at all if I’m perfectly honest.”

  “Stop being evasive, honey. Once you left with him, I called Jason but he was very tight-lipped about the whole Krieger family. Apparently Rory has a brother, Severin, although his nickname is Seven, like the film,” Gray informed me before he swigged from his cognac.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “What don’t you get?”

  “The nickname? Why is he known as Seven?”

  “It’s complicated. Severin is known for being an extreme and rather proud sadist. If Rory has sadistic tendencies, he is also very kind and gentle but Seven is just a complete and fucking animal. He firmly believes in the whole slave/master mentality and keeps quite a few according to Jason.”