by Lila Dubois
“No full nudity. No real spankings, whippings, anything like that. If you saw Jennie when you came in, then you saw her getting beat with a fake whip made out of lightweight plastic and velvet. It’s all fake, a performance. That’s how we’re zoned.”
Tasha’s mind was racing, but she nodded. “We understand, Sir.”
“Okay then, yeah, you’re welcome to do your thing.” Demario looked around. “Would that stage work? I’ll get the lights on.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“What are you drinking? I’ll send over a bottle as a thank you for coming in and giving us a bit of a show.”
“My Master prefers single-malt scotch.”
“Oh, uh, okay. Maybe not a bottle.”
When Demario was gone, Tasha rose to her feet and perched on Damon’s knee, crossing her arms behind her back. He closed his big, warm hands around her waist, stroked his thumbs over her belly. Tasha doubted he realized he was doing it, but for her it felt as intimate and powerful as if he’d fucked her. She shouldn’t be having this reaction to him.
“Marco says he’s never seen that woman before,” Tasha whispered to him, trying to ignore the way she was shivering in reaction to his touch.
“I didn’t think it was her either, but her voice—there’s something familiar about it. It’s hard to imagine her with hair and without all the piercings, but maybe it is her. She changed a lot. On purpose?”
“Undoubtedly. And I think she’s drugged.”
“What?”
“The tattoo on her arm. That’s to cover track marks. Either she was a druggie before, or they got her addicted after she took the video in order to keep her quiet.”
“Who are they?”
“Later. We need to talk about what’s going to happen next.”
“I assume we’re leaving.”
“No. I need to be alone with Jennie, and I’d like to see the back room or office. Someone is paying big money to visit her—paying enough that Demario is keeping her on staff when he doesn’t want to. I need the name of that person.”
“So what, I create a distraction and you sneak away?”
“Something like that.”
Behind them two spotlights clicked on and illuminated the raised platform set against the wall. It was about eight feet wide, four feet deep and three feet off the floor. Tasha looked from it to Marco and Jennie.
Marco had his hand on the back of Jennie’s neck, a mimicry of how Damon had held her. Jennie’s eyes were closed and she was swaying slightly. She was high or seriously drunk, possibly both.
“Damon, this will work if you do what I need you to.” Tasha met his gaze—this close his eyes were green rimmed in gold.
“What do you need?”
“When we get up on stage you need to use your belt on me.”
“Tasha—”
“Give them a show. I want you to do it hard enough that everyone hears it—get everyone in the club looking at us. Fold the belt in half—it will make a lot of noise. Then hit me harder, somewhere unexpected. I’m going to cry like you’re really hurting me and try to get away.”
His eyes flicked side-to-side as he searched her face. “What’s the endgame?”
“When I resist you’re going to hit me.”
“Keep going with the belt?”
“No, I mean really hit me. In the face.”
Damon’s whole body jerked. “Absolutely not.”
“You do that, I’ll fall off the stage into Marco and Jennie. Then I’ll get Jennie to take me to the back. The guards and Demario will be busy throwing you out—there will be no one back there.”
“I’m not going to beat you with a belt and then punch you.”
“Not punch, backhand.”
“No. I will not do that.” His hands squeezed her waist.
A little shiver of happiness worked its way through Tasha. She pushed the useless feeling aside. It was nice to have another protector, but right now she needed someone who would hit her.
“Okay, that’s fine. I’m going to invite someone from the crowd onstage with me. All I need you to do is nod as if you ordered me to do it. Then, when they hit me, make a big scene while Jennie takes me into the back.”
“Wait, no. I don’t want anyone to hit you. Me or anyone else.”
“I don’t have time to argue.” She tried to get up but he held her in place on his knee.
“We’ll switch,” he said, words tinged with frustration. “I’ll be the sub, you hit me.”
“I think it’s a bit late for that plan.” It was such a sweet offer that Tasha impulsively leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
She jerked back, moving so fast that he didn’t have time to tighten his hold. Tasha dropped to her knees in front of him. Her heart was pounding in her chest. What was wrong with her? Why had she done that?
He leaned forward. “Are you okay?”
She tried to move away, but he caught her by the ring at the front of her collar. For the first time since she’d put it on it was used for its intended purpose—to control her. It should have made her angry, or helped snap her out of this flustered state, but instead all it did was make her aware of Damon’s eyes, his lips, his strength.
“Are you okay?” he repeated.
“Fine. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“That peck on the cheek?”
The way he said it made it clear that it meant nothing to him. Tasha closed her eyes. It meant nothing to him. She held onto that, focusing on it until she had herself under control.
“Do you want me to get someone from the crowd?” she asked him.
He searched her face and then shook his head. “No. I’ll do it. Are you sure I have to—”
“Hit me as hard as you can.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Trust me. I know it’s coming, and I can pull away from it. In reality you’ll barely have touched me, but it will look bad.”
“What if you don’t move in time? I box to relieve stress. I could really hurt you.”
She winked. “You can try.”
That seemed to be what he needed, because he stood, pulling her up by the arm. “Let’s do this.”
~~~~
Chapter Six
Marco turned his chair and watched Damon lift Tasha onto the stage. Under the bright lights, her skin seemed pale and delicate. In contrast, Damon looked like a gladiator with his thick muscles and gold skin. The mask and darkened hair added to the impression that the man up there was someone Marco didn’t really know.
He’d kept his hand on Jennie’s neck once she’d repositioned herself. There was something wrong with her—he could only assume she was drunk, though if she was working that seemed a bit strange. He didn’t know what Tasha’s plan was, but it was clear she wanted him to keep an eye on Jennie.
People were crowding around, whispering and wondering about what was going on. That was a good question, and Marco wished he knew the answer. Jennie wasn’t who they were looking for—she hadn’t been at the party. He would have remembered a girl who had piercings in her eyebrows, nose, lips and cheeks—not to mention the shaved head.
And yet Damon and Tasha were planning something—clearly this wasn’t the dead end Marco thought it was.
He settled back in his chair, curious and a little excited to see what Damon and Tasha were about to do. He loved seeing his friend like this—stripped of the grim legal shell he wore while at work. Normally, it took a whole weekend of partying to get the real Damon to appear, but now not only was the veil of refinement gone, but he seemed more raw and brutal than Marco had ever seen him before.
Tasha turned her back to the crowd, spread her legs and raised her arms above her head. Her body was smooth and taut, almost completely displayed due to the brevity of what she wore.
Damon’s mouth was set in a firm line as he looked out over the crowd. The mask covered his face from hairline to mid-cheek, and the angle of the lights meant that his eyes were hidden in shadow.
Behind Marco, the
crowd quieted, and someone turned down the music. Everyone was waiting with a collectively held breath. Damon ran one finger down Tasha’s back. She whimpered, and it was the sexiest sound Marco had ever heard. From the rumbles coming from the crowd, it seemed other people thought and felt the same.
Damon unwound the metal leash from his hand and attached it to the lock at the back of the collar. It dangled down Tasha’s back, bumping gently against her tight ass. Damon unbuckled his belt and slowly drew it from the loops of the pants.
Marco sat up, his hand falling away from Jennie. Were they really going to do this?
Damon folded the belt in half. Circling Tasha, he traced patterns on her skin with the leather. Watching them together aroused Marco in a visceral way that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He wanted to see Damon fucking her, wanted to watch them together…then join them.
Damon positioned himself beside Tasha, raised his arm and struck.
The crack of the leather was loud and startling. Tasha moaned and arched her back. Damon struck again, belt cracking against her ass.
Marco found himself counting. At ten, Damon paused and rubbed Tasha’s butt. She was moaning and whimpering continuously, and with each strike she moved a bit—shifting her weight, wiggling around.
Damon grabbed her hair, jerked her head back.
Tasha gasped. “Please, Master.” She looked up into Damon’s face. Releasing her hair, Damon took the leash and pressed it into her mouth, forcing her to hold it between her teeth.
Marco saw Tasha’s eyes widen, saw a shiver make its way down her back. He frowned—he’d assumed they’d planned all of this. Assumed that her wiggles and pants were acting, but that reaction seemed real.
Damon took his position beside her and raised the belt. This time the leather slashed against her upper back. Tasha screamed and stumbled forward. Marco’s fingers closed around the arms of the chair, but he held still, not wanting to ruin whatever they were doing.
Behind him people muttered. Someone whispered, “That’s right, whore, take it.”
It was all Marco could do not to find the speaker and beat them black and blue.
“Back in position,” Damon growled. He grabbed the dangling leash, which had dropped from her mouth and jerked Tasha forward.
“No, Master!” She held up her hands and pushed against him.
Damon let go of the leash, raised his right arm across his body and viciously backhanded her.
Marco was out of his chair as the sound of the slap died. He was ready to jump up onstage and separate them—and then figure out what the hell had gotten in to Damon—but Tasha stumbled from the force of the blow and fell off the platform into Marco’s arms.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered.
“Put me with Jennie,” Tasha demanded. “Then stay with Damon. The limo is at The Bean.”
Marco had only a moment to take in the fact that Tasha didn’t seem shocked or frightened, meaning the slap was planned. He guided her to where Jennie knelt. Tasha let out a loud sob then curled against the other woman. Jennie was blinking rapidly but wrapped her arms around Tasha.
Marco turned back to Damon, who’d folded his arms across his chest and was staring out at the crowd. As Demario and a bouncer rushed up to the stage, yelling at Damon, Marco looked over his shoulder to see that Tasha and Jennie were gone.
*****
Tasha took the needle from Jennie’s arm. Bending the tip back she wrapped it in a paper towel and put it in the trash.
As soon as they’d gotten away from the crowd, Tasha had asked Jennie for something to help with the pain. The woman’s eyes had lit up and she’d pulled out a bottle.
Tasha took the bottle from the mirror, which was lying on the seat of a chair. A powdery white residue from the crushed pills remained.
Diamorphine.
Shaking her head, Tasha wiped the bottle with a paper towel to clear her fingerprints and then put it back. Diamorphine was prescription heroin, and far more dangerous than the street grade stuff, which wasn’t pure. Though these were pills that she could have swallowed, Jennie had crushed, cooked and injected the drug—the mark of a hardcore addict.
Propping her up, Tasha looked around the small office where they were hiding. Jennie had warned her they shouldn’t be in here, but the way she wedged the door closed and set up the mirror on the chair said that Jennie had done this plenty of times before.
Tasha went to the computer and opened the bookkeeping software. After only a few minutes she found them—weekly entries of $5,000 each that had started a month ago. They were marked as private event—Guinevere, and the payment type was listed as check.
Check? Not cash?
Tasha frowned, clicking through until she found the bank-generated scan of the check. It was handwritten. The account name was Trinity and the memo line said, Hello, Harrison.
Tasha closed her eyes. This was as bad as it could be.
She opened a ghost email server and pasted and attached the things she wanted into a draft email, then closed it without sending and deleted the browser history. Looking down at Jennie, she picked up the phone and dialed.
“Nine, one, one, what’s your emergency?” the calm voice of the operator hummed through the landline.
“Hi, I’m at this club on Taylor St. and there’s this girl here who was trying to sell me some pills she said were heroin, and I just found her in the office and I think she’s dead.” Tasha let out a little sob. “She’s on the floor and I can’t tell.”
“Ma’am, can you check if she’s breathing?”
“Wait, yeah, she’s…oh my God.” Tasha slammed down the phone. She wiped everything free of her fingerprints, opened the office door and followed the hall to an emergency exit. Someone had left a coat hanging on the corner of the lockers near the back door. Bundling herself into it, she got out before anyone saw her.
A block away she heard the wail of fire trucks and ambulances headed for the club.
Glad for the coat, Tasha gathered up the dangling leash and tucked it into her bra strap as she walked toward Sculpture Park and The Cloud Gate, the massive modern art piece locals called The Bean.
*****
“I can’t believe I did that.” Damon sat on a bench in the dark garden, head in his hands. “I hit her. I’ve never hit a woman before. I don’t hit women. That’s not who I am.”
“I thought you respected her expertise and were going to do what she said?” Marco was lounging against a tree. The limo idled in a red zone, and they could have waited more comfortably in there, but by unspoken agreement they weren’t leaving the park until Tasha showed up.
“I do. That’s why I did it. But…fuck.” Damon ran his hands through his hair. “Men who hit women deserve to be castrated.”
“My friend, you need to calm down. I’ll admit I was ready to deck you until I realized it was all part of her plan.”
“You know what else was part of her plan?” Damon started pacing.
Marco sighed and took the seat he’d vacated. “No, what?”
“She said she was going to pull away, that I’d barely touch her, but I definitely made contact. I hit her.”
“Why are you out here?” Tasha’s voice made them both jump. She was standing in the shadows under The Bean.
“Tasha? Are you okay? I’m sorry.” Damon started toward her.
Tasha grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the limo.
“Don’t say anything else. You shouldn’t be out here in the open talking about this.”
Damon let her march him to the limo and scrambled in. Marco followed him. Tasha was last in. She went to the front partition and rapped out a pattern.
“Secret knock?” Marco asked.
“Morse code.” Going to the built-in bar, Tasha lifted out the ice tray, set it aside and then pulled a cell phone from the interior.
“Tasha, what’s going on?” Damon asked.
In the dim lights, he could see her face just enough to make out the concerned ex
pression. Whatever caused Tasha to worry was probably the kind of thing that would make most people cry.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m with them.”
She huddled against the seat in the too-large coat that covered everything but her long, bare legs.
“It’s not an isolated incident. There was a message.” She listened and then said, “The girl who took the video is being kept compliant and close to Marco—she’s in Chicago. Someone is supplying her with medical grade H and paying to keep her employed at a club. I found the payment records—checks, written from a company called Trinity with a note that says, ‘Hello, Harrison.’”
Damon stiffened, looked at his friend and then turned his attention back to Tasha. What did that all mean?
“Fine.” She held out the phone to Damon. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Fuck,” Marco whispered.
Damon took the phone and held it to his ear. “Hello?”
“Mr. Polin.” The Grand Master’s tone was cool.
“Grand Master.” He’d suspected that was who Tasha had called, but it was unnerving to hear his voice.
“What did Tasha do in order to obtain this information?”
“I’m sorry?” The question took him off-guard—that wasn’t what he’d expected the Grand Master to ask.
“I assume you were with her.”
“Uh, yes. I was, and Marco was with her in Las Vegas.”
“She allowed both of you to work with her?”
“Yes. I thought that’s what you wanted?”
“It is. What role did she play?”
“She organized it,” Damon said, still unclear as to what the Grand Master was asking.
“I mean where did you go and what did you do to obtain the information?”
“She…she pretended to be a submissive. We were in a fetish club. Then she…” Damon fisted his hand on the seat. “Then I hit her—with a belt and then with my fist. We were up on a stage and she asked me to, but I should not have done it. I’m very sorry.”
“Enough, Mr. Polin. I have no doubt that you were following Tasha’s plan. I simply wanted to understand what she did to get the information.”
Damon frowned. “Grand Master, I think a good case could be made that all her actions were justifiable if not technically legal.”
