Target

by Julia Sykes

  “The same place as the first time. I went back there hoping he would be there.”

  She fixed me with a level look. “And are you going to tell me where this mysterious place is, or do I have to start guessing?”

  I cut my eyes away. “That’s not important.”

  “It obviously is,” she pressed. “Otherwise, you would just tell me. Now, spit it out. You know I won’t judge you.”

  I glanced up at her, debating. All I detected in her countenance was sincerity.

  Of course she was sincere. Sydney wouldn’t be cruel if I admitted where I’d met Ian.

  I blew out a breath. “I went to Dusk. The local BDSM club.” I watched her expression, trying to read her reaction. When she didn’t answer right away, I continued, “BDSM is like, kinky stuff.”

  “I know what BDSM is,” she assured me. “I just didn’t know you were interested in it.” She squeezed my hand. “But that doesn’t mean I’m judging you for going there. Tell me about it.”

  “I wasn’t really interested in it,” I confessed. “Not until a few weeks ago. It kind of came out of nowhere, and then I couldn’t resist looking into it. I thought it would help me deal with my Bipolar.”

  She nodded. “I understand that.”

  My brows rose. “You do?”

  “Yes. You want someone else to take control so you don’t have to be responsible for yourself for once.”

  I stared at her, marveling. “How do you know that?”

  Her lips curved up at the corners. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve known you your whole life or anything.”

  “Don’t tease me right now,” I requested. “I’m such a mess over all this. I haven’t been able to get my head straight ever since the first time I went to Dusk.”

  “Why did you decide to go?” She asked, turning more serious. “That was a really big step to take after just a few weeks of being interested in BDSM.”

  “Alik suggested it.” It felt a bit strange telling Sydney that my therapist sent me to a sex club, but when I thought about it, it was the most natural thing in the world. Nothing Alik did could possibly be strange or misguided.

  “Oh,” she said, understanding lighting her eyes. “That’s good, then. Alik knows what’s best.”

  “I know. That’s why I went to meet Master C at the club.”

  Her forehead creased in confusion. “Master C? I thought you said his name was Ian.”

  “Things didn’t go well with Master C. Ian made him leave me alone, and we hit it off after that. I’ve never felt a connection like this with anyone. He keeps rejecting me, but I still want him. That’s pathetic, right?”

  “Alik knows about this?” Sydney asked carefully. I nodded. “What does he think?”

  “The last time we had a session, he helped me work through my confusion. I decided to go back to Dusk and look for Ian. Then we started to hook up tonight, and he pulled away again. I don’t know why I’m so hung up on him. I mean, he’s gorgeous, and we have off-the-charts chemistry, but I don’t know anything about him. I shouldn’t be so upset over losing him.”

  “Who says you have to lose him?”

  I sighed. “He’s not interested, Syd.”

  She arched an eyebrow, silently challenging that statement.

  “Okay. Maybe he is interested, but he won’t act on it. Every time we start kissing, he runs like I’m poisonous.”

  “I’ve never known you to give up on something you want, no matter how hard you have to work to get it.”

  “This is a man we’re talking about, not a law school application,” I countered, exasperated. “I can’t force him to like me.”

  “It sounds like he already likes you,” she volleyed back. “And you said he told you that you didn’t do anything wrong. It seems to me that he just has his own issues. You’re good at helping people with their issues. And you’re tenacious when you go for what you want. You can win him over.”

  Frustration made my fingers curl into fists. “Why are you pushing this so hard? I’ve been humiliated enough. I’m not going to throw myself at him again.”

  “Then don’t throw yourself at him. Make him come to you.”

  I scoffed. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”

  “You said you have mad chemistry. If he’s a Dominant in the BDSM lifestyle, he’s probably pretty possessive. Go back to the club, and if he’s there, flirt with someone else right in front of him. That’ll get his attention.”

  I bit my lip, wavering. The idea of Ian sweeping me up in his arms again and carrying me off to be alone with him was undeniably appealing.

  “I don’t know,” I hedged. “He might not even be there.”

  Sydney grinned. “So you’ll go back, then?”

  “It seems crazy to try to win him over again.”

  “You’re not winning him over. You’re luring him in. And I’m going to help. I’ll come with you.”

  I sucked in a shocked breath. “Really? You would go to a BDSM club?”

  “Who says I haven’t already been there?” She winked at me.

  “What? Sydney!”

  She shrugged. “I was reading about it last year and was interested in the lifestyle from a psychological perspective. I went for research.”

  I shook my head, thoroughly abashed. “This is all too crazy.”

  “No, it’s just the right amount of crazy,” she corrected me definitively. “We’re going tomorrow night. I have something you can wear, so don’t worry about going home to change. We’ll have a girls’ day here and then head to Dusk in the evening.”

  “You have clothes that are appropriate for a BDSM club?”

  She smirked. “Okay, maybe I went to Dusk more than once. My research was very intensive.”

  A surprised giggle bubbled up my throat. “I can’t believe this. How could you not tell me?”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “Fair point,” I conceded. “Are we really doing this?”

  She grinned. “We really are. We’ll catch that hot piece of man candy for you.”

  “We’ll see. I’m not convinced this will work.”

  “Have you looked in the mirror lately? If Ian’s there, he won’t be able to resist. Especially not after I’m done dressing you.”

  I groaned. “Is this going to be a repeat of the costume you made me wear for Halloween freshman year? I looked like a hooker.”

  “You’ll look just the right amount of slutty,” she promised.

  “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

  “Hey, you want to attract Ian’s attention, right? Just leave it to me. I’ll make sure he’s yours by the end of the night.”

  “This is kind of weird, Syd,” I said, suddenly uncertain. “Are you sure you want to go to a sex club with me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to watch. We’ll just hang out in the bar area until you snag your man.”

  I laughed in giddy anticipation. “I guess we’re actually doing this, then.”

  “We totally are.”

  Having my oldest friend reinforce my decision to pursue Ian helped calm my roiling emotions. If Sydney and Alik both thought going after the gorgeous Dom was a good idea, then it must be. I was ready to give it another try.

  Chapter 6

  Ian

  “Wasn’t sure you’d show,” the bald man’s bushy salt and pepper beard almost completely concealed his lips while he spoke. It made his expression difficult to read. His flat hazel eyes didn’t help me, either. He could be thinking anything.

  “Are you Terry?” I asked, not allowing my assessment to stall my speech. I was fully capable of keeping my mind on one track while my mouth followed another.

  “Burt,” the man corrected me, his name little more than a grunt.

  Burt O’Donnell: forty-two years old; Chicago native; childhood friend of Terence Randall; suspected of killing his wife eighteen years ago; unemployed; currently single.

  The list of identi
fiers raced through my brain. Without missing a beat, I held my hand out to shake his.

  “I’m Isaac,” I introduced.

  Burt’s enigmatic eyes flicked down to my extended hand and back to my face. He didn’t shake it.

  Suspicious.

  It seemed I wouldn’t be welcomed into the fold so easily.

  “Can I come in?” I rubbed the back of my neck, feigning nervousness. In reality, I could think of a dozen ways to kill Burt with my bare hands. But Isaac wasn’t capable of such things. He was an ignorant farm boy from middle-of-nowhere Iowa who had discovered Salvation’s idealist crap on the internet. Isaac Holloway was a nobody, and he believed Salvation could change that. They could give him purpose, a mission¸ infamy. Brotherhood.

  I widened my eyes to convey Isaac’s desire for acceptance, shifting my weight to show his anxiety over the prospect that he might be rejected.

  “Burt,” a new, smoother voice chided. “Let our guest in.” As soon as he peered around Burt, I recognized him.

  Terence Randall: forty-three years old; Chicago native; founder of Salvation; mail processing clerk for the US Postal Service; never married; one child, Joe.

  Unlike his friend, Terence—Terry—was meticulously styled. His thick blond mustache was carefully groomed, his matching wavy hair tamed with product. Dark green eyes sparked with liveliness, and a row of white teeth flashed when he smiled. Where Burt was unsociable to a degree of rudeness, Terry was charismatic and welcoming.

  But I would be a fool to think he wasn’t just as suspicious of me. Much sharper than his smile, his keen gaze roved over my face. I kept my expression open, eager.

  “Isaac,” I introduced myself again, holding out my hand hopefully.

  Terry gripped it firmly and pulled me in to clap me on the back.

  “Terry,” he greeted me. “Welcome to my home. Come on in.” He grasped Burt’s shoulder and moved him aside so I had room to step through the townhouse’s front door.

  “Come down and meet the guys,” Terry continued on, leading the way down a short hallway to a set of stairs. Unease edged up my spine. We were going into the basement. The only way out would be back up the stairs, and they could easily be blocked. I wasn’t armed, and even with my training, there was only so much I could do against five men.

  I concealed my discomfiture, forcing myself not to flex my muscles in a warning show of aggression. Isaac wouldn’t want to fight his new friends.

  I followed Terry down the stairs, Burt flanking me, hemming me in. He remained at my back to block my exit once we stepped down into the basement. The space was fully finished, with a tan linoleum floor and tobacco-yellowed walls. Cigarette smoke thickened the air, burning my eyes. I blinked away the stinging sensation, focusing on my surroundings.

  Workout equipment crowded one corner of the room. I spotted several potential weapons, if it came to violence. The kitchenette in the opposite corner might also come in handy; I didn’t allow my eyes to linger on the knife block on the counter, but I took note of it.

  A set of couches took up the rest of the space. Three men sat there, their easy posture belying their assessing gazes. I quickly identified them.

  “This is Leonard,” Terry gestured to a heavyset man who was discernably younger, despite his thinning mousy hair. He tipped his head at me in acknowledgment as he took a long pull on his cigarette.

  Leonard Wayne: thirty-six years old; incarcerated for domestic violence against his girlfriend; released six months ago from Pinkneyville Correctional; found Salvation online while in prison; unemployed.

  “Robby,” Terry continued the introductions. A skinny man with a caveman brow showed me a jagged set of stained teeth in a semblance of a smile.

  Robert Crawford: thirty-two years old; recently relocated from Johnson County to Chicago, presumably to be closer to Salvation; divorced nine months ago; origins of ties to Terence Randall currently unknown.

  “And Ernest,” Terry concluded. The bulky young man stood and shook my hand with a genuine grin.

  “Nice to finally meet you,” he said. “I’m the one who’s been emailing you.”

  Ernest Brady: nineteen years old; Chicago native; orphaned at fifteen; Terence Randall’s nephew; webmaster for Salvation; currently single.

  I returned his broad smile. “It’s great to meet you, too.”

  “Can I get you a beer?” Terry’s question was punctuated by the sound of a can popping open. A cold Bud Light was pressed into my hand.

  I guess I don’t have a choice. At least I knew it’d been sealed before he gave it to me. No chance of being drugged.

  I threw back a big swallow, like a nervous person might gulp an alcoholic drink when in an uncomfortable social situation. Really, I could down the whole thing in one go and barely feel buzzed; I was accustomed to harder stuff. My wits wouldn’t be impaired if I only drank a single beer.

  “Ernest here says you think the same as us,” Terry spoke for the group, as I had suspected he would. He was the brains, the charismatic leader. The others were ignorant and full of hate. They easily fell into line when Terry started spouting his fundamentalist bullshit.

  “Oh, yeah,” I lied in eager agreement. “Your blog is awesome. Really inspiring stuff.”

  Burt just grunted, clearly doubtful. I shot him an uneasy glance over my shoulder, feigning confusion.

  “That’s why you invited me here, right? Because we want the same thing,” I nudged the conversation in the appropriate direction without coming on too strong.

  “And what do you think that is?” Leonard chimed in, equally as suspicious as Burt.

  “Well,” I paused, as though puzzling over the answer. “To bring America back to God. To give the sinners what they deserve.”

  A long minute of silence passed.

  “Don’t give him a hard time,” Ernest ordered. “He’s legit. You don’t need to haze him.”

  Hazing? Shit. I hoped I wouldn’t have to deal with that. Who knew what the group might make me do to prove I was one of them.

  I furrowed my brow. “Hazing? Is this like a fraternity or something?”

  Terry slung his arm around my shoulders, drawing me further into the room. Burt stayed stationed at the bottom of the stairs.

  “We are brothers,” Terry assured me. “Salvation is our family. We want you to be our brother, too. We could use more muscle on our side.”

  “What do you need me to do?” I asked, my eyes shining with sincerity while my stomach turned.

  Terry cocked his head at me, considering. After a moment, he smiled his suave grin. “We’ll figure something out. For now, lets talk.”

  I didn’t bother holding in my sigh of relief. Isaac would be just as tense over the prospect of hazing as I was.

  “Sure,” I agreed, taking another sip of my beer as I headed for the couches. I sat beside Ernest, having identified him as my easiest ally. He thought we were friends, and he was young enough not to be as jaded as the rest.

  “So how did you find our website?” Robby finally spoke. “What’s your story?”

  “To be honest, it’s not pretty,” I began my carefully selected fabrication. “My dad and I ran the family farm, but he passed two years ago. I couldn’t afford to hire help, but I couldn’t run it on my own. Bank took it from me when I couldn’t pay the mortgage. Then my wife left when I couldn’t find work. Bitch was only ever interested in what I could buy her.”

  That should get me in good with Robert.

  As I suspected, he approved. He leaned forward to tap his beer can against mine.

  “Sounds like my wife. I lost my job with the county a few months back, and she left with half of everything I had. Greedy cunt.” He nodded at Terence. “Terry found me trying to drown myself in the bottle at a little dive bar not far from here. He told me about his cause, and he made a load of sense. I’ve been part of the brotherhood ever since.”

  So that explained their connection. The men around me all had misogyny in common. Even Ernest, who
was too young to have ever been in a serious relationship. His mother died of an overdose when he was nine years old, leaving him an orphan when a heart attack took his father six years later. He’d ended up with Terence. With his uncle’s influence, the boy never had a chance at turning out to be a decent human being.

  I shook the thought away. Ernest didn’t deserve my pity. And feeling any sympathy would make my job more difficult if I had to take him out. I couldn’t afford to hesitate if it came down to that.

  “Daddy?” A young boy appeared at the bottom of the stairs, peering around Burt’s legs. He couldn’t be more than four years old.

  “Hey, little man,” Terry greeted, opening his arms. The boy ran into them for a bear hug. Terry ruffled his pale blond hair and turned back to me. “This is my boy, Joe. His cunt mother tried to keep him from me when I knocked her up, but I took care of that. It’s just us men now, right, buddy?” He asked his son.

  Joe hugged his father’s leg. “Yeah. Mommy was a whore.”

  Hearing that dirty word come out in such a youthful tone made my gut clench. If I’d thought Ernest never had a chance, there was no hope for this kid.

  He looked up at me, leaning against his father shyly. “Are you going to help make the building go boom?”

  I hesitated, glancing at Terry to assess his reaction. He just smiled at me.

  “I’d like to,” I said as evenly as I could manage.

  “Why don’t you go back upstairs and play, Joe. The grownups need to talk,” Burt suggested, his voice softer than I’d heard so far. He obviously harbored affection for the boy. Seeing these twisted men show fatherly love was so fucked up that it made me queasy.

  “You all right, Isaac?” Terry asked incisively.

  Shit. I smothered my grimace with a bland smile. “All good, thanks.” I waited a few seconds so Joe could leave. “What did he mean, make the building go boom? Are we really taking action?”

  Terry considered me. “We don’t need to talk about that right now. I’d rather hear about how you feel about all these fags getting married.”