by Jesse Joren
"And your job was to find her?" I guessed.
"That's what I thought too, but she'd already been found and brought home. A business rival was behind it, and my client wanted revenge where it would hurt the most. Right in the wallet."
"I have a question. Be honest and not modest."
He feigned a look of shock. "Me, modest? Are you kidding?"
"I'm serious."
"Go ahead, Serious."
"Exactly how good are you at what you do?"
"You always ask tough questions," he said, refilling my champagne. "I've never thought of it like that. Put it this way. I've never been blocked when I really wanted in."
"What kind of revenge did your client take?"
"Financial. The rival had money all over the world. It took some work to cover my tracks, but most of those accounts vanished without a trace."
"Funneled right to your client's account, I bet."
"No. It had to disappear. Moving it around leaves too many trails. Those numbers in the digital accounts just faded away one night, and no amount of yelling or lawsuits could bring it back. My client was grateful and paid my one percent fee."
"One percent of what?"
"His business profits. I became a sort of permanent partner. Last year that was about sixty million dollars."
The idea staggered me. "He actually agreed to that?"
"It was a smart deal for him," Hex said. "He knew I was discreet and thorough. Hiring me bankrupted his competitor, and most of that business came to him. I get one percent, but he gets all the rest."
"Did you ever feel guilty about ruining someone you'd never even seen?"
"I met the little girl," he said, a note of anger creeping into his voice. "There was a look in her eyes that made me want to beat the hell out of someone. She said no one hurt her, but I knew better. She was only twelve years old. I slept just fine knowing that money went up in flames."
I glanced out the window, shivering a little at the complete darkness. Somewhere down below was the vast Atlantic Ocean, rolling silently in the night.
"That job was my start," Hex said. "My client's recommendation opened doors, and now I have clients all over the world. It's not drama to say that some people would like to see me dead, or worse."
His voice was very casual. Somehow it made his words that much more ominous.
"You'd be an excellent tool for revenge," he went on. "If I'm sometimes a secretive bastard, that's why."
"You do this all alone?"
"Mostly. If I need help, I have guys like Marco that I trust inside-out. We've saved each other's lives a few times."
"What happened to the little girl?"
"She's safe and sound in a Swiss boarding school. Very pretty, and probably giving her father a lot of sleepless nights for different reasons now."
Hex went back to the kitchen and returned with a smaller platter, covered with small golden balls of dough. Chopped walnuts and honey were drizzled on top.
"Loukoumades," he explained, setting them down in front of us. "Great with champagne."
The texture was sweet and dense, like an extra-rich doughnut. The champagne cut through the decadence, melting on my tongue.
"My first client is actually why I met you," he said with a grin. "Maybe I'll give him a discount on next year's fee. Remember when I told you that on the night we met, I was on a job in Dubai?"
"In the super-expensive hotel room, doing a favor."
"Yes. The favor was for him. He had a niece, Navah, who got into some trouble with sexy videos. As a favor, I went there to make sure all traces of them disappeared. To save her honor."
His tone was ironic as he worked on the dessert.
"I'm not sure how much honor there was to save. The videos were actually her idea, but I decided my client probably didn't want to know that part."
"I was all keyed up after that job. I came back to my hotel and logged into the chat room where I met you. That was the best favor I ever did for anyone."
I lifted my glass of champagne in a toast. "To Navah, who I'll never meet. Thank you for taking that video."
Hex laughed and clinked my glass. "I'll drink to that."
And to you, Rosine. Thank you for picking the wrong brother, so the good one was left for me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sometime during the flight I went to sleep, and Hex carried me to the bed. He woke me with a kiss as we were approaching Paris, just after sunrise. He was stretched out beside me, and I could smell fresh coffee in the air.
"It's forty-five degrees down there," he said, nuzzling against my neck. "It won't get a lot warmer, so wear something good for being on the streets. There's a little suitcase, but pack light."
"Going to hire me out already?" I joked as I stretched.
"Not a chance, but I do want you to see a little of the city today. The auction doesn't start until evening. We'll have a hotel room where you can get ready before we go."
Auction. Just hearing that word made my insides tense with fear and excitement. This all didn't seem real, even now.
"What do I have to do to get ready?"
"Just be yourself. This isn't a contest. It's an adventure, so relax and enjoy it."
He pulled me up from the bed and put his arms around me, tickling until I squealed.
"Marco has a perfect record," Hex grinned. "Don't startle him and ruin it now. There are some clothes in the closet. Dress warm."
He kissed the back of my neck and strolled out of the tiny bedroom, leaving me to dress. A white wool dress and some flat, comfortable-looking brown boots seemed like a good choice for a day of strolling Paris.
What am I doing here?
I glanced out the window at Paris below and took a deep breath. Whatever happened, it was too late to back out now.
--
A dark-blue sports car was waiting on the airstrip, and Hex threw my small suitcase into the miniscule backseat. He said it was something called Bugatti, but all I knew was that it looked fast.
"This is why I said to pack light," he said, handing me a pair of Oakleys.
He settled me in the low passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. His dark aviator shades made him look very suave, and he probably knew it.
"Last chance to back out," he said with a grin. "I can tell Marco to fuel up, and we can head back to Atlanta."
The words of the fantasy seemed to hang between us, along with the heat those images created inside of me.
Bought.
Owned.
Used.
"I just hope you brought plenty of money. I don't come cheap," I said as I pulled on the sunglasses.
Hex gunned the engine to a roar.
"Money isn't a problem," he said, "especially since you'll be working off whatever I pay for you tonight."
A slight smile curled his beautiful mouth as we sped away from the plane that was my last link to home. Somehow, that was more than okay.
Paris.
After wanting to visit here since middle school, here I was, but under circumstances I could never have guessed. We were speeding along in a hot little car, driven by a guy who was everything I ever wanted. Even at stoplights, I saw lingering looks from French girls who clearly wished they were in my place.
I would admit it only to myself, but I was getting plenty of attention too. Smiles and second-glances, good-looking guys who seemed to think that Hex was also pretty lucky.
Don't let it go to your head. Remember Grandma Irene, and her little speech about pretty is as pretty does?
That thought made me grin. Grandma Irene had been a pistol. If she was here, she'd probably be urging Hex to drive faster.
"Your mouth only looks that way when you're up to no good," Hex said. "Tell me. I want to be up to no good too."
"My grandmother would tell you to drive faster," I said, not thinking how it sounded.
Hex took that as a challenge and gunned it, making me shriek as the car screeched in a U-turn. In a few minutes we were outs
ide the city, and then he showed me what the car could do. We came to a sideways stop in a cloud of dust, not far from a farmhouse.
"That's called drifting," he explained, smirking at me. "What do you think? Would Grandma approve?"
"Yes, after she went back and got all the clothes that blew off."
He leaned over and kissed my lips as we idled. It was more than the short, wild ride that had my heart rate up.
"I have a very important question," he breathed against my ear. "What do you want for breakfast?"
You.
"I've never had brioche," I said instead.
"You've also never had café au lait like it tastes in Paris. There's a boulangerie on every corner."
He glanced at me, and his smile was more than a little wicked.
"You should enjoy our day on the streets of Paris," he said, "because tonight, we're going underground."
Chapter Thirty-Four
When Hex said underground, I thought he was being figurative. I should have known that he never used a word without a reason.
At dusk he drove us miles outside of Paris, into countryside that looked more like a winter scene from an impressionist painting. We stopped at a modest house with two cars parked outside, making me wonder if we were lost and asking for directions.
We were met at the door by a young maid who welcomed us. The main part of the house was a single room with a small elevator against one wall. No one else was in sight, but a silent valet appeared and took the keys from Hex.
"Am I going to need my bag?" I asked.
"Everything is provided for tonight," he said as we stepped onto the elevator.
It descended for only a single floor. When the doors opened, I realized that the simple house above was nothing but a deceptive gateway into a different world.
We were standing in a huge underground hall with stone walls and bright lights. A throng of maybe fifty people milled through it, men and women of every age and nationality. Black-clad servers were offering trays of wine and champagne, and an excited hum of conversation bounced from the low ceiling.
A brisk young woman in a dark blouse and tight black pants came immediately to Hex, speaking in rapid French. I couldn't catch the flow through all the noise.
The flickering candlelight from a nearby wall sconce made his face look different. I wondered if he saw the same type of change in my face.
"This is Yvonne," Hex said. "She'll take good care of you. You won't see me, but I'll be there."
Yvonne looked me over and smiled, putting her hand on my arm. She led me away from Hex toward a large set of heavy doors at the very back of the long hallway.
"Of course I will take good care of you," she said in perfect English, "because I can tell that you will bring an excellent price."
--
The doors led into another hallway, this one smaller and darker, with an aged feeling to the stone. There was no electric light, just hundreds of creamy candles flickering in iron sconces and chandeliers overhead.
I glanced around me at the other women and girls, maybe twenty of us. Some were spirited and laughing, or at least appearing very suave. A few looked as nervous as I was starting to feel as Yvonne led me down the hallway.
It was lined with wooden doors, and now I noticed that each girl had an escort just as I did. One by one they disappeared into rooms as Yvonne led me to the very last door at the end.
I looked back at the hallway as she opened the door. It had emptied like magic, the muted sounds of voices and rustling behind the doors the only reminders that we weren't alone.
A small shiver went down my spine.
"That's part of the thrill, is it not?" Yvonne said as we entered the room. "This club has survived many years for that reason. As humans we evolve, but the desires of the heart remain primitive."
I had been braced for a private dungeon, some den of iniquity with whips and chains. This room was almost bare, with only a small wooden chair in the middle of the room and a second, tall-backed chair against one wall.
Yvonne motioned me forward.
"This is where you receive your evaluation," she said. "No girl goes to auction without it. We pride ourselves on presenting slaves in their very best light."
Hearing those words fall so casually from her lips made me feel as if I had fallen into a dream that was happening to someone else.
"How will you evaluate me? Or have you already decided that I'm not worth the trouble?"
She laughed, her long fingers playing in my hair.
"My job is to look after you. I leave it to those with more experience to make formal evaluations."
"Do I need to send someone a fruit basket? You know, a bribe to give me a good grade?"
A female voice spoke from the corner of the room, scaring the living hell out of me.
"The only acceptable bribe is a bottle of Côte de Nuits," she said. "Preferably at least forty years old."
The voice was female and husky, tinged with equal parts French and dry amusement.
"Now take off your clothes," the shadowy visitor continued, "and I will give you an auction name."
Chapter Thirty-Five
Her dark-red gown suited her pale skin, and the pearls around her throat emphasized a single carnelian ring on one hand. Her hair was pulled back into a salt-and-pepper mass on the back of her head.
She strode without sound to the high-backed chair, sitting with a flick of her skirts. Yvonne came to stand beside her, attentive and silent.
"You may address me as Madame Colette," the stranger announced.
I took a deep breath. "My name is—"
The woman held up her hand. "Whatever name you carry beyond these walls isn't important. I will assign you a suitable name. Undress."
She settled back into the seat, her hooded gaze sweeping over me with a practiced expertise. Yvonne gave me an encouraging smile over Madame Colette's shoulder.
I unknotted the beautiful blue silk scarf that Hex had bought me today on our stroll through Paris, draping it over the back of the small wooden chair. My white wool dress was next, then the luxurious boots that had kept my feet warm from the Paris chill.
"Everything," Madame Colette said when I hesitated, gesturing at my bra and panties. "You are permitted no secrets here."
My nonchalance slipped away along with my underwear as it fell to the floor. The faint approval around the madam's eyes gave me confidence to stand straighter.
She made a brief gesture.
"Turn. Slowly, with your arms at your sides."
The trick, I decided, was to pretend that I was alone. I did a slow spin, as commanded.
"Walk to the far wall, then return to your place."
Her calm arrogance was getting under my skin. Some smartass part of me prodded me to exaggerate my walk to a hip-swaying, swinging rhythm that would have made an old-time screen goddess proud.
As I walked, I became aware of a slow heat building inside of me, trickling from between my legs to warm my whole body. Each step made than sensation more intense.
My trip back to the chair was more demure. The faint smile on her stern mouth suggested that Madame knew exactly the effect this little show might be having on me.
"Face me, then put your hands on your head," she said.
I did, feeling ridiculously like someone about to be arrested.
"Shimmy, so I may see how your breasts move."
My face went scarlet in spite of my resolve to act worldly. I gave her the world's briefest shimmy before lowering my arms.
Madame Colette motioned Yvonne down to speak in her ear. The girl approached me with a small white cloth.
"Madame has shared with me," she said formally, "that she has decided your name. I am to bring a sample to confirm her choice."
"A sample of what?"
Yvonne's gaze slid to the damp V between my legs.
"Your essence," she said.
Oh, hell no.
Part of me wanted to scream and run. Instead I sto
od taller and reached for the cloth. Yvonne shook her head.
"I am to collect the sample," she said. "Please place your foot on the chair so that I may have better access."
Madame Colette was watching me without expression. Maybe she thought I'd run away or refuse. Maybe she'd seen so many other girls that nothing surprised her anymore.
Pride rushed back into me. My eyes narrowed, but I made my voice honey-sweet.
"Tell La Madame that if she wants something that personal, she should come get it herself."
The slow smile on Madame Colette's face told me that she had understood exactly what I said. With one flowing motion she stood and approached us, waving Yvonne aside as she took the small white square.
I don't think you just bettered your deal.
She stood silent and tall in front of me, waiting. Using one hand to steady myself on the back of the chair, I put my foot on the seat. Instantly the warm, bittersweet scent of my arousal seemed to fill the room.
That knowing black gaze never left mine as she pressed the flat of her large hand between my legs, rubbing the silky cloth between my swollen lips. One stroke down, and she was delving deep into the dampness.
On the returning stroke, her fingers found the hardness of my clit through the thin cloth. She gave one professional, practiced movement, the firm pressure making me gasp and almost lose my balance as I clutched at the chair.
With a smirk, she withdrew the cloth and passed it in a series of delicate wafts under her nose, catching tiny whiffs with each pass. She nodded, looking satisfied.
"Lilith," she announced. "I will instruct Yvonne on how you are to be presented for auction."
She gave her instructions in rapid French, making me long to have real street French skills, not just the kind limited to reading books. Yvonne listened intently before Madame Colette swept from the room without a backward glance.
"We will now proceed to your grooming and costume," Yvonne said. "Madame did leave you with a message."
I bet she did. "And what was that?"
"It is customary to relieve the arousal you're experiencing during grooming," she explained. "It helps the slave be more relaxed. In your case, that service is to be waived.”
