by Jan Bowles
Emma cleared her throat. “Chloe and I became good friends at Oxford University. We were both eighteen with our whole lives ahead of us. Tragically, Chloe’s life has been cut short. I’ve chosen a poem that sums up how I feel.” She took a deep breath. “We cannot judge a biography by its length, nor by the number of pages in it. We must judge it by the richness of its contents. Sometimes those unfinished are among the most poignant. We cannot judge a song by its duration, nor by the number of its notes. We must judge it by the way it touches and lifts our souls. Sometimes those unfinished are among the most beautiful. And when something has enriched your life, and when its melody lingers on in your heart. Is it unfinished? Or is it endless?” Her voice cracked on the last word, and Zane knew she was just barely keeping it together. “You touched the lives of everyone who knew you. Thank you, Chloe. I will never forget you.”
Zane wrapped his arm around Emma as she came and sat beside him once more. He could see her lower lip trembling as she fought to keep her composure. He whispered in her ear, “Emma, I’m real proud of you.” It felt bittersweet to think a tragedy so heartbreaking had brought them together.
When the service was over, he held her protectively around the waist and guided her toward the entrance.
“Can I have a word?” Detective Dave Mitchell appeared through the throng of people queuing to leave the chapel.
Zane sighed. That’s all he needed. An overzealous cop. The detective had an irritating knack of turning up at inappropriate moments. “Is this absolutely necessary? Can’t it wait? It’s a Goddamn funeral in case you haven’t noticed.”
Detective Dave Mitchell was unrepentant. “You can always come down to the station and answer my questions there.”
“Take no notice of him, Zane. He’s just trying to intimidate us.” Emma looked the detective squarely in the eye. “That is what you’re doing, isn’t it?”
“Just doing my job, ma’am.”
“Shouldn’t you be looking for Orion, instead of harassing us?”
“The man calling himself Orion has come forward.”
“Really. Who is it?”
“Ma’am, I can’t divulge that information.”
“Why ever not? He’s the one who killed Chloe.”
“His DNA didn’t match the killers.”
Zane butted in. “So why are you here, Detective?” If he could get away with it, he’d lay the prick out with a left hook to the jaw.
Matthew and Ethan must have overheard his raised voice, because they came across.
“What’s going on?” Ethan asked.
“Detective Mitchell was just leaving.” Zane hoped the asshole would take the hint.
The detective seemed totally unfazed by the growing audience. He stared at them all. “There’s a trail leading all the way from Chloe Watts to Club Submission.”
Out the corner of his eye, Zane could see the two brothers square up to the detective. Any minute now a fight would break out.
Unperturbed by the growing hostility toward him, the cop shook his head. “I’ve asked myself a thousand times. What sort of men enjoy hurting women? If it’s the last thing I do before I hang up my badge, I’ll have the place closed down.”
Matthew spoke out. Although his voice was calm, Zane knew he was angry. “It’s bigoted cops like you who give the police a bad name. Maybe you should stay away from things you don’t understand.”
“Mr. Strong, Club Submission is a haven for sadists, using the cover of the club to practice abuse and violence on vulnerable women. It is my intention to close it down for good.”
The detective’s misconceptions of the BDSM lifestyle were insulting to Zane and the women he’d shared a D/s relationship with. Goddamn it, the guy was seriously asking for a broken nose.
Emma must have noticed Zane’s hands clench into fists, because she gently squeezed his arm. “Please, everyone, don’t take the bait. He wants you to get angry, so he can arrest you all. Then the good people of Boston will think he’s doing a great job.”
Zane looked at Emma. Her beautiful face pacified the anger seething through his veins. He’d been so close to hitting the cop, and he guessed Matthew and Ethan had been, too.
“Detective Mitchell, instead of concentrating on Club Submission, try looking elsewhere. Maybe then, you’ll actually find the killer,” she stated matter-of-factly.
Ignoring the cop, Ethan extended his hand to Emma. “Those are wise words, ma’am. My condolences on your sad loss.”
“Thank you for coming.” Emma smiled and shook his hand, before taking Matthew’s hand. “Thank you.”
“We liked Chloe. She was a great girl,” Matthew said. Then both the brothers turned and began walking away. It was as if the detective no longer existed.
“I think we’re done here.” Zane put his arm around Emma’s shoulders. She brought out the best in everyone. He didn’t want to give the rogue cop a second thought either. “Let’s go home, baby.”
* * * *
Two weeks later
“How should I behave, Zane? Tell me again how a sub should act with her Master in public.” Emma had a slight nervous edge to her voice as he drove the luxurious Range Rover across the intersection. It was mid-December, and snow lay frozen in patches on the ground. He was glad he’d decided to use the four-wheel drive.
He guessed she was a little apprehensive, because he was taking her back to Club Submission for the first time since they’d met. For the last few weeks she’d stayed at his home. Of course, Emma being Emma, and a very independent lady, she’d insisted on paying the market rate for her board and keep. They’d been working on cementing their relationship together, and it had developed far better than he could have hoped. She was proving to be a worthy sub. Her repressed English background was almost a thing of the past now. There was just the odd day or two when her old insecurities would resurface, and she’d feel unsure of herself. Like today. In a year or less from now, it would be gone for good.
“First of all, baby, enjoy yourself. Club Submission is a place to feel free from the constraints of the vanilla world. Anything goes, so long as it’s consensual. Mathew and Ethan have owned the club for six years, and will not tolerate subs being forced to do anything against their will. Like I say, everything has to be consensual.”
“Yes, that’s reassuring to know, but how should I act with you? Can I speak freely?”
Zane sighed. Emma’s nerves were clearly getting the better of her. “We’ve already been through this. I’m sure you’ll remember what’s expected of you.”
“I know. Just tell me one more time, please, Zane. I don’t want to let you down.”
“Very well. You can speak freely when we’re alone, but there is a certain protocol that needs to be followed when we’re with other club members. You may interact with the other submissives if you wish. But you should always keep your eyes downcast from the other Dominants, until I introduce you to them.”
“But won’t that seem rather rude?”
“Not at all. That’s how they expect a sub to behave. You should never speak out of turn. If you wish to speak with another Dominant, you need to gain my permission first.”
“It all sounds very complicated.”
He stroked her arm, soothing her obvious concern. “It’s quite simple really. The club is a sanctuary where we can act out our fantasies in a safe environment. It can be very arousing with spectators.”
“What if I forget my place and I blurt out something without thinking?”
Zane smiled. “Then I may decide to discipline you for speaking without my permission.”
Her eyes opened wide. “In front of everyone?”
“Perhaps. That would be my choice to make. It all depends on how benevolent I’m feeling. But make no mistake, you will be disciplined.” He kept his voice low, to show he meant business. Tonight would be a true test of her commitment to the lifestyle he’d enjoyed for the past six years. He couldn’t afford to be soft with her just because he’d fa
llen in love with her. He had his position as a respected Dom to maintain.
“Oh.” Emma visibly squirmed in her seat. The thought of being disciplined by him clearly turned her on. When she’d shared her deepest fantasies with him, the night they’d first fucked, Emma had reluctantly told him that she’d like to have her ass spanked. He mused, now, which would be best? The paddle or the cane?
Zane shook the cock-hardening thoughts from his mind as he steered the Range Rover into the club’s parking lot. For a Friday night the lot looked empty, but then the weather was bad, and lots of club members hired cabs.
Once he’d killed the ignition, he turned to Emma. Her cloud of blonde hair was pinned up, leaving just wispy, golden tendrils to cascade around her beautiful, heart-shaped face. “Ready, baby?”
She nodded, and drew in a deep breath, her slender fingers tightly gripping her purse. He noticed her knuckles bared white.
Zane placed his hand on hers, stilling the neurotic action. “No need to be nervous.”
“I can’t help it, Zane. Last time I was here I was just a stranger. Now I’m your sub.”
He squeezed her hand. “Let’s go in?”
Emma managed a smile. “Yes, of course.”
“Then I suggest we run across the lot, because it’s fifteen below out there.”
“After you.” She giggled, holding her hand on the door release, and waiting for him to make the first move.
“No, I insist, ladies first.” When neither of them opened the car door, Zane decided to take control. “As my sub, I order you, on the count of three, to leave this vehicle.” That was the beauty of being a Dom, he could always pull rank on his sub.
“But that’s not fair.” She waited, listening intently as he counted out loud.
“One…two…three.”
The icy blast hit him as he pushed open the door. Thank God he was wearing a winter coat. He heard the passenger door slam shut, and watched Emma hurry across the car lot to Submission. He listened to her girlish screams as the wind tore through her coat and permeated the miniscule skirt and top that she wore. Zane zapped the remote, securing the hundred-thousand-dollar automobile, and took off after her. A bitter gust of frozen air ripped through his hair, making him grit his teeth. Damn, it was cold.
Emma made him feel truly alive for the first time in years. When he’d been much younger, he’d fucked up his personal life by being a selfish prick. Yeah, but he hadn’t been true to himself. If he had, things might have turned out differently. In the end, unhappiness had spread like wildfire into every aspect of his life, leaving him bitter and discontented. Emma had given him a second chance. He’d make sure he got it right this time. He loved her.
They both reached the steps to the club at the same time. When he turned the impressive brass handle, attached to the solid oak door, he was surprised to find it locked. He felt his brows draw together. Perhaps there was a private party and he hadn’t heard about it. He thought this highly unlikely. He’d been a Submission regular for the past six years. The gargoyle doorbell was lit, so he pressed it. After a half-minute or so, he heard the heavy bolt being drawn back, and the large oak door slowly opened a few inches.
Andrea, the receptionist, peered through the gap. She seemed relieved when she recognized him. “Oh, thank God it’s you, Zane, come on in. Get out of this shit weather.” She opened the door wider, allowing him and Emma to enter.
“What the hell’s going on?” he asked as Andrea locked the door behind them. Her blonde hair shook with the effort to ram the bolt fully home.
She turned, looking slightly harassed. “The place has been under siege from the press and TV guys. They’ve been camping out on the steps, hoping for an opportunity to sneak inside. We’ve even had reporters pretending to be part of the scene, just to gain access to the club. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve caught them with concealed cameras. They must think we’re complete fucking idiots.”
“Jesus, Andrea, I knew there was some shit going down, but I didn’t think it was that bad.” Of course, he’d read the reports in the papers and watched the TV, but after a couple of days it all seemed to be dying down. “There’s no one out there now,” Zane commented.
“Yeah, that’s because it’s turned bitter outside, minus fifteen or less. Besides, they’ve frightened all the regulars away, so there’s nothing for them to report anymore. I mean, who in their right mind wants their photo taken in a club like this, and then plastered all over the papers. You know as well as me, Zane, the vanilla world has the wrong impression of what goes on here. Some narrow-minded folks would even disown their own kin if they found out they visited Club Submission.”
“Yeah, you’re right as usual, Andrea. Is it worth us signing in?”
“No, go straight in. The cops took the sign-in book as evidence. I suppose they were bound to after what happened to that poor girl who used to come here. Waste of fucking time, in my opinion. I mean, who signs their real name in the book anyway? At the moment the cops are on the lookout for four Bill Clintons, three Monica Lewinskys, and a well-endowed Welsh guy who goes by the name of Ivor Biggun.” She threw back her head and laughed at her own joke, but stopped abruptly when she noticed Emma standing quietly in the corner. “You’ll have to forgive my crude attempt at humor. I know you were a friend of Giselle’s.” She immediately corrected herself. “Sorry, honey, I mean Chloe. I sure hope I haven’t offended you?”
“No, not at all. Chloe was a fun girl. She would have seen the funny side, too.”
Andrea nodded in silent approval. Emma’s manners and the way she held herself were impeccable. She was a natural submissive.
“Now both of you, slip off your coats and go right in. It’s a lot warmer in there, than it is outside.”
They duly obliged, shrugging quickly from their coats. Zane handed his to Andrea and then helped Emma from hers. She’d spent three hours getting ready that evening. He wondered why it took so long to put on a skimpy top and barely there miniskirt. Still, he had to admit she looked perfect. Complementing her frugal outfit were a pair of kinky leather boots, and some tastefully applied makeup. Feeling like a lottery winner, Zane couldn’t wait to show off his prize.
The heady beat of the music drifted down the corridor as Zane guided Emma toward the action. He held a protective arm around her waist. When he pushed open the double doors into the main part of the club, he was surprised to find it virtually empty. From what Andrea had told him, he guessed there wouldn’t be many members in tonight, but to actually see all the vacant chairs, made him stop in his tracks.
Jessica and Cole were the only people on the dance floor. Matthew and Ethan sat in the corner, leaving just Todd to tend bar. There was no one else. Everyone with the exception of Jessica appeared thoroughly depressed. It looked like the homicide investigation had brought Club Submission to its knees. He nodded acknowledgement to the two brothers, and continued walking to the bar.
“Where is everyone?” Emma whispered as they took a seat.
“I guess the cops scared them away.”
“That’s awful. Can they afford to keep the club open with so few paying customers?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find out what’s going on.” He cupped her chin. “Now stay here at the bar and relax. I’m just gonna have a word with Matthew and Ethan.”
Emma nodded. “Okay.”
“Just remember the protocols, baby, and you’ll be all right.” He gestured to Todd behind the bar. “Give the lady a drink, Todd. Anything she wants, providing it’s nonalcoholic.”
Todd nodded back. “Sure thing, Zane.”
Emma protested. “No alcohol?”
Zane placed his hands on her shoulders. “No alcohol means no alcohol. Don’t question me again. Get it?”
Her eyes lifted to his, and a sensuous smile drifted to her lips. Yeah, she got it all right, that tight little knot of tension in her stomach every time he controlled her in public. She’d soon learn the roles they played in front of an audie
nce were like an aphrodisiac—an appetizer for the main sexual event that would surely follow once they returned home. “Sorry, Sir. Thank you for looking after my welfare.”
“Good, that’s what I like to hear. A grateful sub.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I want you fully alert for what I have planned tonight. Alcohol will only cloud your enjoyment.” With his hands on her shoulders, he felt the tiny tremors that racked through her slender, fuckable body. Yeah, no doubt about it, Emma liked him taking control.
A broad smile touched his face as he walked across to Matthew and Ethan. They were deep in conversation, and appeared worried. Their furrowed brows were clear evidence of that. The younger brother, Ethan, shook his head, and then threw the pen he was holding down in disgust. Zane noticed a series of figures jotted haphazardly on a piece of paper, and guessed they were having trouble with their finances.
He held out his hand in greeting. “I hear things aren’t going too well, guys. If there’s anything I can do, just say the word.”
They both shook his hand, and Matthew gestured for him to take a seat. “Sit down, Zane. Thanks for the offer, but there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to help. It seems we’re well and truly up shit creek without a paddle. If we don’t get club members returning within the next month, we may have to pull the plug.”
“That bad, huh?”
Ethan picked up the pen again and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, that fucking cop. What’s the prick’s name? The one that mouthed off at Chloe’s funeral.” He snapped his fingers together. “Oh, yeah, Detective Mitchell. He’s stirred up a whole hornet’s nest here. He’s determined to close us down, but no matter how deep he digs, he can’t find anything illegal going on. Matt and I have always been vigilant where the law is concerned, you know that, Zane.”
Just the thought of Detective Mitchell made Zane seethe with rage. “Fuck, that guy sure is a pain in the ass. The prick’s been harassing me. Like a bad penny, he keeps turning up. He’s fixated with the club and everyone in it. He thinks what we do here is evil.”
