Dex groaned, making Sam smile. He squeezed the other man’s waist, then took a chance and placed a gentle kiss on the curve of his neck. Dex swayed backward so that his back hit Sam’s chest, trembling against him. He looked like he might pass out—or perhaps drop to his knees.
“Until then,” Sam said, fighting to keep the rough, overpowering lust out of his voice, “you’ll wear the white shirt Sydney bought you over the top of it.”
Dex frowned. “Why do I have to wear this if it’s not meant to be seen while we’re at the club?”
“I just told you. It’s not for the club.” He dropped his voice. “It’s for afterward.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dex swore. “You’re going to send me straight to hell. You and Syd both.”
“Maybe. But we will enjoy the ride.” Sam picked up the white button-up shirt Syd had purchased, took it off the slim wire hanger, and helped Dex slide it up over his arms. Then he pressed himself against Dex’s back, reached around him again, and did up the buttons one-by-one. Dex, watching him in the mirror, looked like he was ready to explode.
When he finished the buttons, Sam smiled at Dex’s reflection and dropped his hands to his sides. “I’ll let you tuck it in,” he said in a rumbly sort of whisper, “too much temptation.”
Dex whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut briefly, and started tucking in his shirt with shaking fingers. Sam watched him, hungry for every detail. Even flustered, Dex kept shooting quick glances toward the mirror, but he was watching Sam’s reflection, not his own. Looking for approval, perhaps. Or maybe just making sure Sam liked how the shirt looked after it was tucked in. Which he did. Fuck yes, he liked the way that shirt looked, especially since the lines of the harness were still visible through the fabric.
God, he hadn’t felt like this in a long, long time. No, scratch that—he’d never felt like this before. Syd had opened some kind of Pandora’s Box when she forced them to admit their feelings for one another. Sam had spent so many years suppressing his own needs, denying who he was, that having the opportunity to be himself felt like shedding some gigantic, constricting exoskeleton. For so long, he’d had to hold himself back, pretend he felt comfortable in the backseat. But after Syd came through like an unapologetic wrecking ball, all the walls were starting to come down. Seeing the way she handled Dex—and seeing the way he responded to it—only made Sam harder, hungrier. And after Dex’s confession…
Sam cursed under his breath, turning away so Dex wouldn’t see him adjust his slacks to accommodate his hard-on. He needed to get ahold of his hormones.
“My lord in Heaven,” said a lust-soaked, feminine voice, “you two are enough to make a girl forego panties for the rest of her life. Talk about temptation.”
Sam pivoted to face the bathroom doorway—and froze, heart in his throat.
Speaking of temptation…
Sydney glided into the room, her movements liquid and boneless, reminding him of a hunting cat. She’d done something to make her normally-straight black hair fall into luscious curls that spilled over her shoulders and framed her face like silky black clouds. She wore a slinky silver sheath dress, strapless, with a silver lace bodice that cupped and molded her gorgeous breasts and gave her ample cleavage. The dress stopped high on her thighs, barely covering her ass, exposing long, toned legs. Four-inch platform stilettos, held on by crisscrossing silver ribbons that tied just below her knees, gave her a little extra height.
In a word, stunning.
“Jesus…Christ…” Dex panted. His eyes had gone big as saucers. “Fuck…Syd…you look…”
“Good enough to catch the eye of a criminal mastermind?” She smiled wickedly, twirling in place. A long train of silvery, gossamer lace lined the back hem of her skirt. It swung out and around her legs as she moved, giving her the appearance of wearing a ballgown with the front skirt panels removed.
“Can you fight in that outfit?” Sam asked in amazement. It looked like her breasts were about to pop out any second.
“I can fight buck-naked,” Sydney replied with a snort. “And these heels are one of my favorite weapons.” She tipped her foot forward, giving Sam a view of the sharpened point at the end of the stiletto. “See? Stabby and sexy. Can’t go wrong with that.”
He had to laugh. “I’ll take your word for that. I don’t look good in heels.”
“But you do look damn good all dressed up,” Sydney purred, looking him up and down. She glided over to him and ran her hands down the length of his chest, smoothing the silk beneath her palms. Even with the stilettos, her head barely reached his chin. “God, Sam. I wish I had a step-stool. Then I could kiss you without making you ruin the lines of this outfit.”
He stared down into her eyes, letting just a hint of lust bleed through his expression. “Dex. Give the lady a hand up.”
Dex startled, then a slow, wide smile lit his eyes. He walked over, dropped to one knee, and cupped his hands in front of Sydney’s feet. Sydney tsked, nudged his hands aside with the toe of her shoe, and instead planted her foot on Dex’s bent knee. She took hold of Sam’s neck as she hoisted herself up, using him to keep her balance. Now taller than him due to Dex’s assistance, she cupped Sam’s jaw, tipped his face upward, and kissed him.
Sam groaned as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. Those lips were so soft, so plump, so velvety smooth he wanted to feel them on every part of his body. She kissed him slow, taking her time exploring him. He cupped her waist, careful not to disturb the delicate fabric of her dress, and let himself get lost in her. When she finally released him, Sam had trouble getting his eyes to focus.
“That’s better.” She let out a sexy little hum, stroking his recently-shaved cheek. Then she lowered herself back to the floor, carefully stepping down from Dex’s knee to avoid stabbing him with her weaponized heels, and bent at the waist to give Dex the same slow, exploratory kiss. Sam watched, eyes ping-ponging between the sight of them kissing and the sight of Sydney’s glorious ass. Fuck, it wouldn’t take much to lift aside that gossamer train, push that tiny skirt out of the way and…
“We need to go,” Sam grated. He swallowed to get some of the lust and rocks out of his throat. “Or we’ll never leave this room.”
Sydney chuckled, finally releasing Dex from her kiss. He looked just as dazed as Sam had felt. She stroked Dex’s cheek, then straightened and gave him a hand up. Standing straight, both men towered over her, but that didn’t diminish her in any way. No matter how much the two guys dressed up, Sydney would always be the center of attention. Fuck, if she walked out into the street looking like that, she’d cause an immediate pile-up as drivers in all directions stopped to stare.
Seeming to know where his thoughts were heading, Sydney gave him a little wink and reached for a long, black overcoat that hung in the small closet. Sam immediately took it from her, gestured for her to face the mirror, then motioned for Dex to join him. Each taking one sleeve, they eased the fabric up her arms and over her shoulders. Sydney smiled at their reflections as she pulled her hair from the coat’s collar and then buttoned it closed.
“Thank you, gentlemen. I think we’re ready to go meet our criminal mastermind.”
“Why do you keep calling him that?” Dex asked, curiosity making his voice a little higher than normal. “I thought this Davenport guy was just a flunky for the Big Man.”
“Marlon runs the recruitment effort for Levi’s network,” Sydney reminded them. “Next to Levi himself, Marlon is the biggest player in the game. We need to impress him, so he’ll feel comfortable inviting us to join him at Levi’s big event. You both remember your roles?”
Sam nodded. They’d refined their plan over the last couple of days. Sam originally proposed posing as a couple of bikers, since the local gangs were mostly looking for new guys to join them. But Syd said the biker gangs were mostly low-key mayhem-makers, a dime a dozen as far as the Big Man was concerned. If they wanted his attention, they need to pose as big-shots with something to offer. Several brainstorming sessions
had resulted in a plan that took advantage of the building blocks Syd had already put in place with her forays into the world of pimping and prostitution. With any luck, they’d be in front of the Big Man even before the fabled con-fab even took place.
Here’s to luck. We’re going to need it.
“I’m Cameron Spencer, Cam for short,” Sam said. “I run a prostitution ring out of Houston. We run only high-end call-girls, no drugs, with the occasional weapons deal on the side. We’re here because we think the Big Man will be interested in expanding his network to include more lucrative clientele.”
“I’m Max,” Dex said gruffly. “I run the day-to-day operations while Cam runs the recruitment branch. He finds the girls, I put them to work.” His scowl betrayed his disgust with the cover they were using.
“And I’m Cindy,” Sydney said with a coquettish little smile. “Madame. Dominatrix. Hustler. Saleswoman. I recently joined your business to help you keep your girls high-class and profitable. And if any of us accidentally use our real names, they’re all close enough that we can blame it on the alcohol. All right, gentlemen. Shall we?”
Sam gestured for her to lead the way.
◆◆◆
Marlon Davenport lounged in his personal booth in the so-called VIP section at the crappiest kink club this side of the Mississippi. Not that it really qualified as such; they had one measly St. Andrews cross, a single spanking bench, and a roped-off area they called “the playpen” where sexed-up idiots could get their grope on. These people thought dim lights, black wall paint, and a few disco balls made the place “edgy.” On the far side of the room, past a miserable little huddle of bar-height tables, a tiny stage had been set up for the night’s entertainment. Which, sadly, turned out to be some idiot performing a half-ass bondage scene with some fat bitch Marlon wouldn’t even want to look at, much less fuck, either before or after he tied her ass up. Still, despite the abysmal scenery, the place was nearly full.
It was enough to give a guy nightmares. Nothing but back-country hicks and pissant wannabe crime lords as far as the eye could see. The whores were either country bumpkins or cracked-out rejects, none of them even worth a pity-tap, much less paying for pussy. Even the liquor tasted weaker up here. Everybody thought this bar was his “favorite” because he went there just about every night. Truth was there wasn’t anywhere else to go—except his own parties, of course. But in order to keep the mystery alive, and subsequently drive demand, he had to keep his own events rare and random so the locals wouldn’t get jaded.
Although, considering the state of this pathetic excuse of a kink club, the locals probably wouldn’t get jaded for a long, long time.
Ugh. These people had no standards. How did Levi stand living out here in the hinterlands all year long? The guy had to be going batshit crazy. But the Big Man had called this area home for as long as anyone could remember, so the rest of them had to put up with dragging their sorry asses up here every few years. He never came to them; he hadn’t even left his compound in the last ten years as far as Marlon knew. The guy was turning into a real recluse.
Although, the reports coming out of what used to be the Evil Eye Bar suggested the Big Man had reason to sweat. Word was going around among the other lieutenants that some old enemy of Levi’s had finally sniffed out his hiding place, and might very well be trying to make a play for his territory. The rumors had sent a few…interesting shivers through the rank and file. Some were scared. Some were pissed off. And some—not many, but some—saw it as an opportunity.
Marlon fell squarely into the latter category. Not that he would ever tell anyone else that. The Big Man thought he was the most loyal of underlings, ready to take a bullet for him if necessary. For Marlon’s own health, it was better to keep it that way—at least, for the time being.
“Heads-up, boss. New blood comin’ in.”
Marlon didn’t even bother to hide his groan. “Don’t tell me, Ryker. I don’t want to hear about another jumped-up wannabe shit-licker tonight.”
But Ryker, an aging former biker with a ZZ-Top beard and a shiny bald pate, shook his head. His chair was positioned near Marlon’s booth but far enough out that he could see the entryway and keep track of who came and went. “Naw. These two ain’t locals.”
“More imports?” Marlon said in disgust. Imports were what he and the guys called out-of-towners from big cities like New York and L.A. Mostly guys who liked to talk shit about their fancy mansions and sports cars while bragging about their devious little money laundering schemes. The type that would shit their pants if they ever had a gun pressed to their head.
“Maybe…” Ryker sat up with a jerk and let out a long, low whistle. His eyebrows had gone up so high, it looked like they were trying to replace the non-existent hair on his head. “Day-yum. Boss…you gotta see this.”
Tempting. And yet, I’m too lazy. “Just tell me.”
Ryker’s mouth hung open, expression slack. He didn’t respond. At all.
Grumbling, Marlon lifted himself up by planting his elbows on the table and took a peek over the back of the booth, in the direction Ryker kept staring.
Definitely imports. The two guys looked like they’d just stepped out of GQ Magazine, their shirts crisply ironed, their shoes shiny black. One was tall, with shoulder-length brown hair that meant he couldn’t be a banker or stock-broker, which made him momentarily interesting. The other guy wasn’t quite as tall, but he was beefy, with massive shoulders and arms, and he had a way of walking that screamed military training. Probably the first guy’s bodyguard, so that made him derivative. Marlon sized both men up, dismissed them, and started to turn around to chew Ryker’s ass out—
And did a double-take. The preppy guys weren’t alone. The woman with them looked as if she belonged on a New York strip pole—the kind where they threw diamonds instead of dollar bills. Clouds of black hair, a pointed chin, legs for miles, and god, that cleavage…
Sex on legs. Fuck, I haven’t seen an ass or tits that good since I left Baltimore.
“You know them?” Marlon asked, trying to sound casual.
“Never seen ‘em before. Wish I’d seen her, though.”
Marlon had to agree with that. He watched the trio move toward the huddle of bar-height tables, lowering himself back into his seat as they moved into his line of sight. The tables were all full, but the moment those three walked up to one, the table’s occupants scattered like terrified quail. The tall guy pulled out a chair for the lady, even giving her a hand up so she wouldn’t have to risk losing her balance on those sexy-as-fuck silver stilettos. The other dude scowled at everyone else, making it clear he was the one in charge of security and anyone who got close would meet the business-end of his fist. He also seemed to be a lackey, because as soon as the other two were settled, he went off to the bar, presumably to order drinks.
“Think they’re here for you, boss?”
“Of course, they’re here for me. Why else would they come to this dump?” Marlon tapped the table in a rapid staccato, frowning as he studied them. His instincts already told him they weren’t part of the Big Man’s crew—not “darklings,” as the idiotic DEA liked to call his kind. Which meant they were either here on personal business, or they were here to gain an audience with the Big Man himself. Folks like that didn’t bother with backwater dives like this otherwise.
And if they were here to see him, it meant they knew he held the keys to Levi’s sprawling underworld. Yet he hadn’t heard tell of a pretty little threesome sniffing around for access to the Big Man’s good graces. Which meant they were either impossibly well-informed, or someone down the food chain had ratted him out as Levi’s go-to guy.
Neither of which made him very happy.
“Go invite the lady to join me,” Marlon said, eyes still on the pair waiting for the other guy to return with their drinks. “Do it now, while the big guy is distracted.” Their reaction upon getting the invitation would tell him whether they expected it, or merely hoped for it.
That was one thing he’d never missed after becoming part of Levi’s crew—the weakness of being purely human. His life before the change had been filled with fear, hatred, and constant anxiety. Now, he could just sit back and marvel at the petty creatures who took themselves far too seriously.
Fools. At least now, he had his priorities straight, unlike the fickle sheep who bleated every time someone took their feed troughs away. Weak fools. All of them.
And yet, he had the feeling these newcomers were anything but.
Ryker marched up to the table, and the man and woman both met his appearance with a raised eyebrow. The woman said something, a little smile playing across her lips. Ryker gesticulated, indicating the VIP section where Marlon waited. The woman didn’t even look in his direction; she leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, and said something Marlon couldn’t make out from this distance. Whatever it was, it seemed to annoy Ryker, because he made a sharper gesture, shoulders going tense. But the woman didn’t move, and the man sat back in his chair, clearly trying not to laugh.
Interesting.
Ryker must have lost his temper then, because he reached out and grabbed the woman by the upper arm. Marlon expected the tall man to explode out of his chair, rush to her defense. But the man didn’t even blink—and next thing Marlon knew, the woman had Ryker’s middle finger bent backward over his wrist. Ryker cried out, his knees buckling as he tried to compensate for the pressure, but he couldn’t seem to get away from the woman’s grip. She smiled, said something else he couldn’t make out, and waited for Ryker to nod frantically. When Ryker finally did, she released him with a dismissive flick of her wrist and sat back, primly folding her hands in her lap.
The Darkling Hunters: Fox Company Alpha (Fox Company Series Book 1) Page 21
