by Lila Dubois
“Follow my lead. The less you say the more people will fill in the gaps for themselves,” she whispered. Marco nodded, his gaze searching her face.
The door opened, metal hinges creaking.
“Yeah?” The man who stood in the doorway was middle-aged and fat. He looked like a rumpled accountant. A stack of mail was under his arm.
“Are you Nero?” Tasha asked, getting the name from the mail he held.
“And who are you?”
“I heard you might be looking for someone.”
Nero rubbed the top of his balding head. “I have audition days, you should come back then.”
“I’m here now.” Tasha scooped a hand through her hair, dipped her chin and looked up at him through her lashes.
Nero examined her head to toe—there was nothing sexual in the way he did it, which was unexpected and a little unnerving. “Okay, come in.”
Tasha and Marco followed Nero through the door into a dark hall. There were doors to a stockroom, the bathrooms and an unlabeled one that they headed for. She could see a section of the club at the end of the hallway. The house lights were on and a uniformed crew was cleaning the dance floor and raised dancers’ platforms. The unmarked door led to a good-sized office.
“Sammy, these two just showed up.”
Another man sat at one of the two desks in the office. He was clearly related to Nero, though he was younger and had hard, dark eyes.
Sammy looked Tasha over, eyes narrowing as he examined her. His gaze was definitely sexual.
“We don’t take guys.” Sammy waved at Marco.
“He’s my boyfriend,” Tasha said. “He’s just coming with me to make sure nothing bad happens.”
“That’s a good idea,” Nero said absently as he sat at his desk and started sorting mail.
Sammy snorted. “If he doesn’t want anything to happen to you then maybe he shouldn’t let you be a stripper.”
“This is a strip club?” Tasha sneered slightly. “I thought it was somethin’ else. Sorry.”
“Wait a sec, blondie. If you’re looking for better money than glitter and titty tassels then you’re in the right place.”
“Cool. I’m Ashley.”
“I’m Sammy. Me and my brother own this place.” Sammy swiveled his chair, leaned back and crossed his arms. “Strip down and let me have a look.”
Tasha heard Marco take a step forward. She tossed a smile over her shoulder. “It’s okay, baby, this is how they do it.”
The dark glasses obscured his eyes, but she could tell from the way his head moved that he was looking between her and the men. Tasha willed him to go along with it—struggling to ignore the unfamiliar feeling in her belly. She wasn’t used to having someone with her, wasn’t used to someone objecting to her doing whatever she had to do. Marco nodded once, folding his arms. He wasn’t relaxed—she could see the muscle in his jaw flexing, but for now he was playing along.
Tasha stripped out of her leggings, slowly peeling them off and turning as she did it so they got a good view of her ass. Next she pulled off her top, letting it slide slowly down her arm before dropping it to the floor.
Sammy rocked in his chair, nodding. “You’ve got a nice body. You done kinky before?”
“Yeah, I know how to be a good girl.”
Nero chuckled and Sammy reached into a drawer and tossed her a pair of handcuffs. “Put them on.”
Tasha locked her hands together in front of her and held out her wrists. “How do I look now?”
“Good.” Sammy leaned forward, grabbed the chain connecting the cuffs and yanked.
Tasha was pulled off-balance. Rather than catch herself, she let herself hit the floor, falling hard on her knees. Bowing her head, she held up her wrists like an offering.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Marco growled.
His tone made her shiver, but she raised her voice and said, “It’s okay, baby. He just had to check and make sure that I knew how to be a good girl.” She tossed her head and looked at Sammy though her lashes. “Am I a good girl?”
“Oh yeah, Ashley, you are.”
Nero looked up from his paperwork. “Have you worked in one of our clubs before?”
“No, but my friend told me about you, said it was the best place.”
“We have a very good safety record.” Nero looked at Marco. “She’ll be completely safe when she’s on the floor.”
Sammy stroked her cheek. Tasha bit her lower lip.
“Oh yeah, look at that face. I bet you’ll make some sexy noises when you get whipped.” Sammy kept glancing up at Marco, as if checking to see what he’d get away with doing while her boyfriend was watching.
“Who recommended us to you?” Nero asked.
Tasha raised her cuffed hands, placed them behind her neck and arched her back. “My friend,” she whispered, breathing deep. Sammy’s gaze was glued to her breasts, which were nicely displayed by her black bra. “Jennie.” She mumbled the name, hoping the incomplete answer was vague enough that if Jennie walked in she could say that her friend told her about Jennie, or, if Jennie wasn’t here, that she could claim Jennie was her friend.
“Oh yeah? Are you from Chicago?” Nero looked up and smiled. “I love the pizza there. How is she doing? I keep meaning to call Demario—he’s our manager at our club in the windy city.”
“She’s good, really likes working there,” Tasha said, hoping Marco was controlling his reactions. Another move to Chicago eliminated the possibility of coincidence.
“And why did you move to Sin City?” Sammy asked. He grabbed Tasha’s chin and forced her head up.
His grip on her jaw was so tight that she couldn’t answer.
“She came with me,” Marco growled. “Take your fucking hands off her.”
Sammy released her. “Listen, buddy, your girl is a glorified stripper, so if you don’t want me inspecting the merchandise then I suggest you marry her and keep her locked up at home.”
Before Marco could say anything else, Tasha rolled to her feet and bent over. Making sure her breasts were in his face, she whispered in Sammy’s ear. “I’ll come back later, alone.”
“Yeah, you will,” he panted. He pinched her nipple, squeezing hard enough that Tasha didn’t have to feign the gasp of pain. The action was hidden from Marco by her position.
“Nice to meet you, blondie,” Sammy said loudly enough that Marco and Nero could hear. He took some keys from the desk and undid the cuffs. Tasha pulled on her clothes, thanked Nero, winked at Sammy and then got out of there.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Marco started swearing. “That fucking son of a bitch. How dare he treat you like that? I should have knocked his fucking teeth in.”
“You would be in trouble if you broke your hand.” Tasha hadn’t thought the moody, sexy musician would have a reaction like this. His anger on her behalf was strangely sweet. “It’s fine. I’ve had much worse.”
They were halfway across the parking lot when Marco stopped her. “What does that mean?”
She shrugged. “Exactly what I said. I’ve done worse and had worse done to me.” Much worse.
Marco seemed on the verge of saying more, but Tasha didn’t have time to wait for him to come to grips with her methods.
“We need to go.”
Marco blew out a breath. “Back to Chicago?”
“Exactly.”
*****
Damon looked up from the dining table as the door to the condo opened.
“Hello?” he called out, getting to his feet.
“Damon? You’re still here?” Marco, wearing jeans and a half-open and wrinkled black dress shirt, tossed his bag into a corner. With his dark hair and stubble he looked rougher than his normal easy polished appearance.
“Why didn’t you go to Vegas?” Damon asked. “What happened?”
“We did go.” Marco motioned over his shoulder as Tasha appeared. She was wearing what looked like black riding breeches and a sweater.
“That w
as fast.” It was just after eleven. They must have gotten on an early afternoon flight.
“Why are you still here?” Tasha pulled her phone and a small black box that might have been an external hard drive from her purse.
“I took some meetings with people from my old firm since I was in town. I have a flight back to L.A. tomorrow morning.”
Marco went to the drawer in the kitchen where he kept menus. The cookware and utensils Damon had bought when he lived here were still in the kitchen somewhere, but Marco never used them.
“Persian or Thai?” Marco asked.
“Persian,” Damon replied, attention on Tasha. She’d slid onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar and was staring at her phone. “Is either one of you going to tell me what happened?”
Marco tapped Tasha’s shoulder. “What do you want to eat?”
“We ate on the plane.”
Marco snorted. “That wasn’t food.” He tapped his phone, keying in the order.
“Excuse me.” Damon cleared his throat. “I need someone to tell me what happened in Vegas.”
Marco’s lips thinned. He jerked his head towards the hall. Damon’s nerves were humming as he followed his friend to the stairs and then up to the master bedroom.
“What?” he demanded when the door closed behind them.
“We found them—sort of. The redhead’s name is Sandra. She moved right after the party.”
“And?”
“She moved to Chicago.”
“She’s here? Why? That seems strange.”
“Actually, her roommate wasn’t sure if it was Chicago or Boston.”
“Boston? Fuck.” Damon ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t want that girl anywhere near the Trinity Masters’ headquarters.
“And the other girl, the one who took the video—”
“You found her?”
“Maybe. Tasha got us in to the place where she worked—a fetish club—and they said that she’d moved to Chicago.”
“Fuck.” Damon sank into one of the club chairs by the window. Marco took a seat on the bed. “They moved here? Are they stalking you or something?”
“I was thinking about this on the plane. The video was sent to you, but then they came to Chicago instead of going to L.A. where you are.”
“None of this makes sense. They didn’t even ask for that much money.”
The million-dollar blackmail demand was a lot—enough that Damon would have needed Marco’s help to raise the cash—he was a civil servant after all—but it wasn’t unreasonable.
“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” Damon said, but he knew it wasn’t. There was something very bad going on.
“I don’t think we have that much luck.” Marco rose and went to the closet, taking off his shirt and dropping it into a dry-cleaning bag.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Damon asked. It was totally unimportant, but he needed some time to let the new information sink in.
“I posed as Tasha’s boyfriend when we went to the fetish club.” Marco jerked open a drawer and took out a polo. “She had to pretend she was interviewing for a job working there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that she took off everything but her underwear and got manhandled. This fucker named Sammy made her put on handcuffs and then jerked her around.” Marco shrugged on a new shirt. “I hate that she had to go through that because of something we did.”
Marco’s defense of Tasha was unexpected. “I agree that’s unsavory, but I assume she’s accustomed to being in difficult situations if she’s a corporate security agent.”
“She’s not a corporate security agent. I think she was a spy. A real spy.”
“Like a CIA agent?”
“I don’t know, maybe.” Marco shrugged. “I don’t like that someone else may have to get hurt to fix our problem.”
“What makes you think that she’s going to get hurt?”
“Fine, not hurt, but she may have to do things—like pretend to be a stripper—to help us.”
“I agree that it’s not ideal, but I’m also enough of a feminist that if she chooses to use her sexuality that way I’m not going to judge her for it.” Damon didn’t like the idea of anyone—man or woman—cleaning up his mess, but after the way Tasha had gotten him to blurt out the information about the stolen cell phone, he wasn’t going to make the mistake of thinking she was helpless.
“She’s not what she seems,” Marco said. “She’s…”
“What?”
Marco shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Let’s go. I want to hear what she thinks is going on.”
Tasha was applying makeup, using the mirror in the foyer. She’d changed clothes and was now wearing black boots, a pair of tiny skin-tight black shorts and a loose black see-though shirt.
“Tasha?” Marco asked.
When she faced them her eyes were rimmed with dark make-up, making her look dangerous, but her lips were a glossy pink.
“I’ve reported our progress to the Grand Master,” she said.
“Was he pissed?” Damon asked.
“He might have been, had I told him everything.” She checked her reflection again, this time pulling her hair up into a loose bun that she secured with two black chopsticks. “He doesn’t need to know everything we do, only that we’ve made preliminary identifications and are pursuing the women.”
“Thank you,” Damon said.
“Where are you going?” Marco asked.
“To the club. I want to see Jennie.”
“I’m going with you,” Marco declared.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. After what happened in Vegas I’m not letting you go alone.”
“You’re going to…protect me?” Tasha looked away, and Damon thought for a moment her face changed, her expression sad or uncertain. He stiffened—was she afraid? Planning to put herself in real danger?
“I’m going too,” he said, surprising himself.
Marco raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were too much of a feminist.”
“Shut up, asshole.”
Tasha crossed her arms, making Damon painfully aware of the fact that he could clearly see her bra and the upper swell of her breasts through the shirt.
“You are not going with me. You will stay here and eat your food.”
“We’re going with you.” Damon stepped up to her. Even with heels, she was shorter than him. He was not above using some body-language intimidation to get what he wanted.
“You’re going to go to a fetish club? Unless you have alternate IDs you risk your precious reputation.”
Damon smiled. “Luckily, I do have one. You might not think it, due to our current situations, but Marco and I know how to be careful.”
Tasha looked between them and then shrugged. “Fine. We need to leave. I’ll give you instructions on the way.”
~~~~
Chapter Five
Tasha bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling as she looked at Damon and Marco.
Marco wore a black suit with gray dress shirt—the shirt was open down the chest. An untied black necktie dangled from his collar, hinting that he had no intention of using it as an accessory, but rather was willing to take it off at a moment’s notice and use it for bondage. He could as easily have been on his way home from an elegant party or evening at the theater as on his way to a fetish club.
Damon she hadn’t been as kind to. Once she agreed to let them come, she’d run through Marco’s enviably large closet on the second floor master and picked outfits for each man. The easiest way to gain entry to a place was to look the part—that was true of life, not just clubs. Damon could have dressed similarly to Marco, but Tasha wanted to see the aggressive lawyer off-balance. While Marco seemed comfortable in his skin, adapting with relative ease, Damon was like a controlled explosion—each careful word and aggressive action an attempt to impose himself on the world.
Marco stretched his legs out, the limo she�
�d called giving him the space to do so. “You look good, Damon. I’m going to send a picture to your office.”
“Shut up, asshole,” he mumbled.
Damon wore leather pants that she’d found in the back of Marco’s closet. Nothing but black leather pants. According to the musician, they were from a photo shoot he’d done for one of his albums, where he’d been dressed like a biker while playing the cello. Tasha didn’t admit she knew exactly which album he was talking about—the liner notes, which included photos of Marco shirtless with a tattoo of music notes across his back, and another of him with his eyes closed, his face streaked by grease as he cradled the neck of his cello—had caused her to have more than a few fantasies.
Damon’s bare upper body showed off skin that was golden where Marco’s was pale, his muscles hard swells under that bronzed flesh. Tasha had used some black stage make-up she always carried to add dark streaks to his hair.
The limo pulled to a stop.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, sliding out. The driver was someone she’d worked with before and knew better than to turn off the car while she ran in to the adult store.
At this time of night, it was mostly men perusing porn DVDs and fleshlights, though this was one of the best sex shops in the city and carried only a limited supply of cheap porn. Tasha ignored their come-ons and grabbed what she needed, plus a few extras.
Ten minutes later, she was back in the limo. Marco and Damon both watched her attentively as she dropped into a seat.
“What did you get?” Marco asked. “I didn’t know this place existed.” He was peering curiously out the window.
“Masks for you.” She pulled out the shaped leather half-masks and passed them out. “You won’t be able to put them on until we’re inside, but do it as soon as we’re in.”
Next she took out a leather motorcycle vest. It had cost nearly five hundred dollars, but the large circular symbol on the back made it worth it. She handed it to Damon. It would have been fun to make him go in half naked, but his discomfort might give them away. Better to give him more clothes and make sure the op was a success.
