by Christy Poff
"Anything, Ainsley."
She went to her bureau and pulled out a jeweler's box. Opening it, she lifted a thick gold chain from it then walked back to where he waited.
"I, Ainsley, your Mistress and the Dominant in your life, place my collar on you signifying my ownership of your life. Do you accept this from me without hesitation?"
"Yes, Mistress, thank you,” he said, then kissed the diamond wedding set on her ring finger. He'd had a bank officer from Chase Manhattan bring it out to him the day after their wedding. His mother would be quite pleased he'd found the perfect person to wear them.
Ainsley stepped back, admiring her husband—a stronger man than she deserved. The gold glistened in the light, Ainsley smiling. He kissed her hand again, waiting for her next command.
"Slave, my pussy craves your attention."
"Yes, Mistress, here or..."
"Here,” she said quietly, watching Brett intently.
Silently, he parted her legs a little then her nether lips. He teased her clit before laving her overheated pussy. The more he did, the more she urged him on, her fingers tangling in his thick head of hair. She threw her head back, her pleasure obvious. Her body began to sway, Brett catching her before she fell. He carried her to their bed then continued his task, refusing to be disobedient.
"Tie me up, slave."
"Yes, Mistress,” he said, grabbing an assortment of scarves and neckties. Since moving in, they had yet to organize their toys, so he planned to make do with what he had at hand. When he finished, Ainsley couldn't move, her hands behind her. He bound her legs in such a way that they were spread apart, though he hadn't tied her to the bed.
Ainsley rolled to her knees, lifting her ass up to meet his throbbing cock.
"Mistress?"
"Use me! Fuck me and make me cry out!"
"Yes, ma'am,” he said, placing his cock into her hands. Ainsley's fingers immediately closed around him and held tight.
"My slave knows how to take care of me."
"Always,” he said. He pumped his shaft in her hands, releasing his hot cum into her firm grip and onto her back while she contentedly moaned. Quickly, he thrust his cock into her, pounding her drenched pussy like a well-lubricated piston. As he neared the edge, he grabbed her breasts and pulled her body tight against his.
"Harder, Brett,” she commanded. “Oh ... my God ... Brett!"
"Ainsley, I love you."
"I love you, too!” she cried out.
Brett held her while the last drops of his soul filled her. He squeezed her breast with one hand while pulling her closer with the other.
"Mine,” he whispered. “Always mine."
"Yes."
* * * *
Eric Kane immediately began gathering information on Peter Holmes, an advertising executive and the owner of his own firm. This would make it a bit harder to learn his whereabouts for the past two years but Kane had his ways.
"Edith, I want everything you can get me on this guy, along with credit card references, phone records, everything!"
"Yes, Mister Kane."
That had been the morning after Jim Pearson's call. Now, he had note cards posted onto a board with the victim's photos underneath the city they were murdered in. He shook his head when he put a tack into a card marked Montreal. After a quick call to a friend of his in the Canadian city's detective division, Edith came into his office with a multiple page fax. Another photo to add to his suspect's crime spree sat on top.
He made another phone call.
"Pearson."
"It's me, how are you?"
"Good, but I have a funny feeling you've got bad news."
"That ain't the half of it, my friend. Come to my office."
"On my way."
Half an hour later after fighting early afternoon traffic, Jim Pearson sat in Eric Kane's office, several shades paler than normal.
"Son of a bitch!” he cursed.
"Tell me about it. This guy's got to be stopped. I've already placed calls to the women he has yet to perform a return engagement on but with no luck. Two returned home after graduating college..."
"That's good."
"Three won't return my calls."
"And?"
"I called three of the local departments."
"How did you get their names?"
"Police reports,” Kane said. “I contacted the cities where he stayed and learned most of his victims filed reports after the initial attack but he was long gone before they were filed."
"Good. I'm not surprised though."
"I hear you,” Kane agreed. “Anyway, with two less to attack on his way south, that will speed up his return to California, plus we are still trying to contact those throughout the South and Southwest."
"Shit!"
"He's one angry asshole."
"So, what do we have linking all three of them together?” Pearson asked, wanting to make sure of his facts.
"The attacks—all lashings to the back and sides, time frame set at twelve to eighteen months between attacks, and all the victims bear a striking resemblance to Ainsley Reynolds. There is one new piece of information I got from going through the reports..."
"What?"
"In each of the first attacks, he said the same thing before his initial strike."
"What?"
"No one tells me No! One girl told me he kept repeating it."
"Call Quincannon—he needs to know."
"I've tried but neither of them have answered the phone or returned my calls."
Pearson pulled out his cell, hit a number in speed dial and waited.
"Brett, we've got news."
* * * *
Brett paled, ending the call from New York.
"Brett, my God, what's wrong?"
"Ainsley, I don't know how to tell you this but..."
Brett went on to tell her everything Pearson had told him on the phone. He pulled her against him, holding her as if fearing she'd leave him. He felt her tears against his skin praying he could take her pain away.
"Baby, I'm sorry."
"What am I going to do?"
"We are going to keep you alive. Besides, he doesn't know about our marriage, which should give us some breathing room. Kane's going to talk to the police department here and in San Francisco, too."
He felt her relax some, wishing he could do more but, at the moment, he needed to think but couldn't—Ainsley naked one hell of a distraction.
"Why don't you get showered and dressed and we'll take a walk? I hear the vines are beautiful right now."
"Come with me?"
"I need to make a phone call then I'll be in."
"Don't make me wait."
"Yes, ma'am."
* * * *
Ainsley walked into the bathroom and took a quick shower. She planned to get Brett into the huge, luxurious bathtub so they could soak in each other's arms while overlooking the beauty of California's lush wine country. Once done, she wrapped a plush towel around herself and went to find her slave.
She reached the door leading to the bedroom from the dressing area and froze. Her heart slammed into her chest, her head reeling as her heartbeats pounded an unsteady rhythm. She put her hand to the doorjamb and listened.
"I know the damned piece garnered great reviews and ratings went through the roof ... I want to do a follow-up ... I..."
Ainsley stepped back, heading back to the bathroom. Lightheaded, she leaned on the sink for support.
"Ainsley?” Brett called.
Her grip tightened on the sides of the sink, Ainsley caught between rage and the hurt from Brett's betrayal.
"Are you all right?"
"No, I feel lightheaded."
"Let me..."
"Don't touch me!” she hissed, hatred in her voice.
"What the hell? Ainsley, talk to me."
"I heard about a report on the national news exposing the life—the orgies and hedonistic sex acts. I never saw it but I'm aware of it. It was you—you did th
at piece of trash!” she accused.
"Yes and..."
"You've been using me for more information so you can do another so-called exposé."
"Ainsley, I need to tell you the truth."
"Get out! You don't know what the truth is! You committed a heinous error when you told me who you are,” she accused. “I don't know you."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't."
"My name is Brett Quincannon. Yes, I did that piece and I'm very sorry I did. The mistake came in not doing enough research. I've been trying to get the network to air another piece to right the wrong done by the first."
"And?"
"They won't."
"So I guess I'm just..."
"You are my wife, Ainsley. I love you with everything in me. I'm fully committed to this relationship in every way."
"How do I know I can trust you? You've betrayed me."
"No, I haven't. I wanted to tell you but this thing with Holmes comes first. I need to concentrate on your safety so we can go on with our lives."
"What life? You're a fucking reporter!” she shrieked.
"Not any longer."
"What? What do you mean?"
"I just quit."
"I don't believe you."
"The network brass refused to revisit the story. I told them if they wouldn't allow me to do the second piece, I wanted out of my contract. I no longer want to be associated with the network."
"Why did you do that? Reporters have no scruples."
"I do. I found out what kind of damage I've done and I will regret it the rest of my life. You taught me so much and..."
"Get out! I can't think!"
"Ainsley..."
"Get out! I can't deal with this!"
"Ainsley, I love you. I would never have married you if I didn't. Diego and Judge Allan warned me not to hurt you and I swore to both of them I wouldn't. I'm sorry."
Brett dropped to his knees, his hands clenched behind him.
"Please, Mistress, punish me and show no mercy,” he begged.
"Get out of my sight!” she commanded then turned away, tears streaming down her face. What the hell do I do now?
* * * *
After Brett quit his job, he called Pearson to see if they had any news. He told his friend about his current unemployment with the network and the fact he liked the idea of becoming an active part of the operations of their winery.
Ending the call after learning nothing new about the Holmes case, he went searching for Ainsley. He found her leaning against the sink, her color the same as the thick white terry towel surrounding her gorgeous body.
"Ainsley, are you all right?"
Never in a million years did he expect the verbal assault from her. His secret out, he had to face her about his professional life and the report which brought him to California and into her life. After trying to talk to her, he dropped to his knees, his hands fisted behind his back in fear of losing her more than of her rage.
"Please, Mistress, punish me and show no mercy,” he begged. He would take anything she dished out, needing her no matter what.
"Get out of my sight!” she commanded before she turned her back to him. He had no choice but to obey her. Brett left the room after grabbing some clothes. He went into another suite, showered and dressed in jeans and a light blue denim work shirt. After putting on work boots and grabbing his cell phone, he left the house needing to walk and think. What the hell do I do now?
He prayed she would call him, giving him another chance to apologize and make things right with her. He would beg her to believe him. A Quincannon begging—Quincannons never begged. If only his father could see him now. Brett could only imagine his old man's reaction but, at the moment, it meant nothing. I'm in danger of losing the only woman I've ever loved. She is the important one.
* * * *
Ainsley heard the door close when Brett walked out, obeying her wishes. She went to the window, watching him walk toward the winery. She could not believe his betrayal or her gullibility. He hit when she was vulnerable and she fell hook, line and sinker.
She picked up the phone and called Judge Allan.
"Ainsley, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I want papers drawn up."
"For?"
"Divorce."
"My God, Ainsley. Why?"
"He's a lying reporter. He only married me to do some damned report."
"No, he didn't."
"How would you know?"
"Remember when he and I spoke before I married you?"
"Yes."
"I recognized him from a piece he did on immigration as well as the one from New York."
"You knew?"
"Yes, and I'm sorry I didn't say something but he swore to me he had no intentions of hurting you."
"Well, he did. I heard him talking to his whatever about doing another piece."
"He wants to retract the first one and set the record straight."
"But..."
"Haven't you heard? It's all over the news."
"What?"
"Brett Cannon—your husband, Brett Quincannon—has quit his position at the network. The others are speculating on where he might go. He could become an extremely hot property."
"Then I won't hold him back."
"Ainsley, think about it. If he wanted to do what you're accusing him of, would he have quit a very lucrative position? Don't you understand he could be sued for breach of contract? He's given up his career because of you."
"I never asked him to."
"He knows that. I'm sure, from our conversation, that he's doing it for you. The man loves you without question."
"Why didn't he tell me right off?"
"Go back over every minute and answer your own question. If I know you, there's been no time. You two know each other way better than most couples happily married over fifty years."
"Obviously, I don't know him. I married..."
"A man you knew intimately, not by profession. Has he honestly given you reason to doubt him, aside from this new revelation?"
"No."
"He gave me the impression he wanted you to know him as he honestly is. I give him credit for not throwing his fame into your relationship—it takes a strong man to do that and not be a braggart."
"He lied to me."
"He didn't. He held back what he did so you would come to know Brett Quincannon, the man—not Brett Cannon, the reporter. For God's sake and your own, Ainsley, talk to him and let him explain. Like I said, the man truly loves you and I don't want to see you do anything rash."
"I'll think about it."
* * * *
"What can we do for you, sir?"
"I want a slave for the evening,” a man said, his hat covering his eyes. The darkness of the mood lighting didn't help Edward at all. He had the man sign in, took his medical file and checked it then welcomed the stranger into the club.
"One of the hosts will escort you to a room. Here is a set of guidelines for new guests. Your slave will join you in a few moments."
"Thank you."
Edward watched the stranger follow Joseph to an upstairs room. Since Mistress Anya's attack, they become more careful screening new guests. This one made the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge, a feeling he didn't like but always trusted. Something bothered him.
By two in the morning, all of their guests and employees had left. Edward made a quick check of the guestrooms and found nothing until he got to the one he'd sent the new guest to. After knocking on the door, he opened it and saw the slave asleep in bed, the stranger nowhere to be found. He closed the door, leaving her then went toward the stairs. Edward remembered nothing after something crashed over his head and he hit the wool carpet in the hallway.
* * * *
Peter Holmes dragged Edward's lifeless body into another one of the guestrooms then strangled him to make sure he would no longer be a problem.
"Now, for your boss then I can take care of the bitch a
nd her new husband,” he said.
Holmes accidentally learned about Ainsley Reynolds’ marriage to Brett Quincannon when he went through Diego's private files earlier in the evening. He'd had his fun with his slave, stabbed her and laid her in bed as if she'd fallen asleep then he started his search of the club and its owner's private quarters and offices.
Waiting for Diego to return, he made himself comfortable. If need be, he could stay here until he made his next move. All he had to do was lock the doors to keep everyone out. While he considered this, he hovered in the parlor of the old house and waited. From here, he'd be able to hear everything that went on. He didn't have long to wait.
* * * *
Diego had spent his evening with old friends at a restaurant near Fisherman's Wharf. They dined on lobster and enjoyed a very nice local wine before their limousine took them home in the wee hours of the morning.
On the ride home, he made a mental note to call Ainsley later in the morning. It had been weeks since he talked with her, especially since her marriage then the move from her Victorian home in the city to the huge Napa Valley vineyard and winery Brett had given her for a wedding gift.
As soon as he opened the door to the private entrance he always used, he knew something was wrong. No matter what, Edward always waited to meet him in the kitchen with a report on the evening's receipts and an update on anything he felt Diego needed to know. Looking around the empty kitchen, an uneasy feeling came over him.
"It's about time,” a strange voice said. “I've been waiting for you for hours."
"Get out! You are no longer welcome here."
"I don't care. You see—when I leave here, my next visit will be to that mindless miserable bitch and her husband. Once I'm done, none of you will be able to say anything."
"What can't you leave us alone? Haven't you done enough?"
"I haven't even begun to make her suffer,” Holmes stated.
"What the hell is your problem?"
"No wench tells me no!” Holmes averred.
"That's the reason for this madness? She and the others aren't allowed to go out with guests right after an evening here—my orders."
"Well, then, I guess I owe you for all this."
Holmes grabbed a knife from the wooden block on the counter and hurled it at Diego. It caught him square in the chest, Diego dead instantly.
"Now for her..."
