by Mari Carr
The doors opened—and Cecilia let out a little moan of delight.
The plain office building above them was the perfect cover for this delectable den of iniquity.
Red was massive, occupying the entire basement level of the building. The club was open, with evenly spaced concrete support columns and furniture dividing the single larger space into different areas.
The floor was concrete that had been stained dark and varnished so it gleamed. Red light was everywhere, so though the space was brightly lit, it was oddly dim. The walls were a pale color—probably white, though it was hard to tell with the colored bulbs—and painted with images of naked men and women in bondage.
Cecilia would have stayed in the elevator—not because she didn’t want to exit, but because she was too busy looking around—if Dimitri hadn’t put a hand on her ass and given her a little push.
“Check in, please.”
They turned to find a small table set up in an alcove to the right of the elevator. A woman in black fishnet gloves and a long red dress motioned them over.
“IDs.”
They shared a glance, but then Dimitri reached into his pocket and pulled out their passports. They’d debated bringing them, but Dimitri hadn’t wanted to leave them in the car.
The woman glanced at each, then handed them back. “Sign the waiver. Make sure you know the rules. The club Doms will be happy to escort you out if you can’t mind your manners.”
Cecilia blinked as she was handed a clipboard. She eagerly started to read it, skipping the boring parts about liability in favor of the juicy bits with club rules.
No penetrative sex.
No exposing the vagina, penis, or female nipples. Socks and tape are allowed.
Socks and tape? What did that mean?
Mateo cleared his throat. She glanced over to see him handing his clipboard back. She scrawled something illegible at the bottom and then passed hers back.
“Go, go.” The woman shooed them with a flick of her fingers. “Off you go then.”
Cecilia spun on a heel and looked around the club again, this time focusing on the people. Not far from where they stood were a few wooden benches encircling a man who stood with his arms stretched up over his head. He was bound in place with rope that stretched from his upraised hands to a chain that dangled down from the ceiling. His companion—no, that wasn’t right—his Domme circled around him, her nails scraping over his bare skin. He wore loose shorts, and the front was visibly tented.
As she watched, the Domme took what looked like a black athletic sock and reached into his shorts. The man moaned, tipping his head back, his teeth bared in what was either pleasure or pain. A second later, the Domme carefully removed his shorts. His cock was now encased in the black sock thing, which technically hid it from view, but in practice didn’t do more than help to bring attention to his erection.
A woman walked between Cecilia and the scene. She was naked except for a black thong and two X’s of black tape over her nipples.
“That is what socks and tape means,” she murmured.
“What was that?” Mateo leaned close, his hand sliding over the bare skin of her lower back.
“Hands to yourself, sub.” Dimitri took Mateo’s upper arm in one hand, Cecilia’s wrist in the other, and led them away from the check-in table. Cecilia looked around as they walked, but Dimitri was moving too fast for her to see more than a wild impression of nakedness. It was loud—there was electronic music playing in the background, plus the murmur of voices and the thwack and slap of hands, crops, and paddles hitting flesh.
Dimitri found a vacant chair—a blood-red wing-back chair that was up against the wall—in a spot that was quieter than the rest of the club. He took a seat, then pointed at the ground. “Kneel.”
Cecilia looked at Mateo, whose jaw muscle was standing out. She put a hand on his arm and then dropped to her knees. Mateo followed suit.
Dimitri leaned forward. “Mateo. Strategy.”
* * *
Mateo hated having his back to the room—it made him twitchy that he couldn’t see if someone came at him. He hated that he was weaponless. He hated these fake leather pants that were making his balls sweat.
But he didn’t hate kneeling in front of Dimitri. Which was the surprising part.
“Would Derrick be here as a Dom or a sub?” Dimitri asked.
“I have no idea,” Mateo said.
“He’s your best friend. You know. Take an educated guess.”
Mateo replied without hesitation. “Sub. He’d be a sub.” He wasn’t sure how he was so certain, but there was something about Derrick that told Mateo his strengths lie only in following orders, not giving them.
“What about Charlotta?” Dimitri asked.
“Oh, that girl’s a Domme for sure,” Cecilia interjected, though Mateo wasn’t so certain about that assessment. He didn’t bother to correct her. After all, Charlotta wasn’t here tonight. She was on the Isle of Man. It was Derrick who was on the loose.
“Then we play that angle. I don’t want to use them, but if we need a last resort, do you have the photos?”
Mateo nodded. They’d taken a stack of photos of all the current Spartan Guards from Stranraer, the idea being they’d look them over on the boat, but that was before Cecilia’s bout of seasickness. Derrick and Charlotta’s pictures were amongst them. Flashing pictures to people in a BDSM club was probably certain to fail, given how many members prized their secrecy.
“Do we just go up to people and ask if they knew them?” Cecilia asked.
“No.” Dimitri stood. “We’re going to watch the scenes and use them as an opportunity to start asking questions. Only use the pictures if they do not recognize the names.”
“Why do we say we’re asking about them?” Cecilia asked.
“Say that we enjoyed them.”
“No, say we ‘scened’ with them. That’s how they’d say it in English,” Mateo corrected. He was still on his knees, neck craned to look up at Dimitri.
Dimitri bent, cupped Mateo’s head, and kissed him.
Then Dimitri led them over to a scene in progress not far from the red chair. Per their plan, Cecilia knelt close to another female sub, Dimitri took a seat on a small bench within arm’s reach of her, and Mateo leaned against the closest support column.
The scene featured a female sub straddling a wooden carpentry horse. Her arms were stretched overhead, and she was naked except for two red nipple pasties with tassels and a matching thong. She was balanced on the balls of her feet, her calf muscles tensed and hard. She whimpered into the bit-gag in her mouth and then relaxed her legs, her bodyweight coming down on her crotch.
“Ouch.” Cecilia winced and leaned toward Dimitri. He nudged her with his knee, pushing her toward the sub kneeling beside her.
Cecilia shot one glance over her shoulder at him, then turned to the other woman, bending her head close to be heard over the music.
“Hello.”
The dark-haired sub smiled, looked at her Dom, who nodded permission, then replied to Cecilia. “Hi.”
Mateo forced himself to be patient, to pretend to be paying attention to the scene, but really keeping an eye on, and protecting, Dimitri and Cecilia.
His patience paid off. The Dom of the dark-haired woman Cecilia was talking to leaned over to talk to Dimitri. Mateo took a half step forward, straining to hear.
“It appears our ladies have made friends.”
“Yes. It does.” Dimitri deliberately thickened his accent. Another part of their strategy—Mateo would do the same. He could always fall back on pretending he didn’t understand as a way to exit a useless conversation.
“Do you come here often? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“No.” Dimitri looked around. “We came here only once. Now we are wanting to find someone.”
“Oh?”
“Two someones. A woman Domme named Char…Charlotta, I think.” He pretended to consider. “A man. A submissive. Na
med Derrick or Dominic.”
“Derrick?”
Inside, Mateo went cold. He’d hoped against all hope it was Charlotta.
Dimitri smiled and nodded. “Yes, yes, that was his name.”
“I saw him, but I believe he’s in a private scene.”
“He’s here, tonight? Private?” Dimitri looked around the club.
“Yes, back near the bathrooms. There are a few private rooms, though they’re not much, and the club Doms monitor them.”
Dimitri’s expression hadn’t flickered with anything more than mild interest. He was playing the part perfectly.
Mateo’s mind raced, trying to think five moves ahead, when Dimitri said, “Ah, so they are not for…”
“No.” The other man smiled ruefully. “Intercourse, even in the private rooms, is forbidden.”
“Pity.”
Dimitri leaned forward and stroked Cecilia’s hair, then sat back. Impatience bit at Mateo but he forced himself to wait. Dimitri was the Dom. It was up to him to decide when the three of them moved.
Finally, Dimitri stood, then reached down and tangled his fingers in Cecilia’s hair, giving it a light tug. She stood, swaying a little. Dimitri nodded to the other Dom, then led Cecilia and Mateo away.
“Derrick,” Cecilia said. “The woman I was talking to recognized his name.”
Mateo’s jaw muscle jumped as he clenched his teeth. “I know. The Dom did too.”
“I’m sorry, Mateo. I know this must be hard—”
“No time,” Dimitri said. “He’s here.”
“This way.” Mateo was in the lead as they wove through the crowd toward the far reaches of the club. What he’d thought was just a patch of shadow was, in fact, the entrance to a hallway. There were bathrooms on one side, and two doors bearing “private” placards. Mateo grabbed the first door and threw it open.
The room beyond was Spartan, with bare walls and floor. Instead of recessed lighting, there were wall sconces with red bulbs in them.
Mateo slammed the door and lunged for the second knob.
“Stop.” Dimitri caught his hand.
“Let go, Dimitri.”
“Step back. I will take the lead.”
“You may be playing the Dom right now, but I don’t take orders from you.”
Cecilia slid between them, putting her hands on Mateo’s arm, pushing him back. Dimitri slipped in behind her, taking point at the door. “Derrick is your friend. That makes this hard.”
Dimitri tested the door to the second room. This one was locked. He dug into his pocket as Cecilia murmured to Mateo in a calm voice. When Dimitri pulled out lock picks, Mateo bit back the urge to demand that they just throw themselves against the door until it burst open.
It wasn’t a complicated lock and Dimitri had it open in less than a minute. Tucking the picks into his pocket once more, he stepped to the side, motioned for Mateo and Cecilia to get clear, and then opened it.
This room was much like the other—a bare concrete box. But this room wasn’t empty.
For a moment, Mateo thought they had the wrong person. The man standing in the center of the room, arms raised and held in place by chains, ankles spread and locked to a meter-long spreader bar, didn’t look like Derrick at first glance. He had Derrick’s coloring, but seemed slighter and shorter than the man he’d called best friend for so many years.
There was a gag obscuring the lower half of his face, and his hair was mussed, falling over his eyes. He wore a pair of red leather briefs but was otherwise naked, his skin crosshatched by welts and bruises. There was a thick metal collar around his neck, with a large box resting on his clavicle.
The sound of the door opening was obscured by the crack of a whip. As they watched, the room’s other occupant, a statuesque Dominatrix, twirled the short whip around herself in a figure eight motion before flicking it. The small motion caused the tail of the red whip to lash against the man’s right thigh. A line appeared, first white then angry red.
He threw his head back, eyes squeezed closed, and Mateo got a good look at his face. It was Derrick.
He cursed in Castilian and turned away.
Dimitri unfastened the loop that held the whip at his side, letting it unfurl onto the floor. Then he stepped into the room.
The Dominatrix looked up, her eyes cold.
“We need to speak to your sub. Alone.”
She examined him from head to toe, gaze lingering on the whip in his hand.
It was clear Dimitri expected some resistance—after all, no good top would leave a vulnerable sub with strangers.
At that moment, Derrick’s head dipped forward and he opened his eyes. He caught sight of Dimitri standing inside the room, Cecilia and Mateo framed in the doorway.
He started to babble into the gag. His chest muscles flexed as he pulled at his bonds.
The Dominatrix looked from Derrick to Dimitri. She smiled, though it was more of a perfunctory curving of lips, then walked out of the room, brushing past Mateo who was rooted in place, staring at Derrick.
“Derrick.” Mateo spoke the man’s name in a dark voice laced with menace. Mateo knew Cecilia felt perfectly safe in his arms, but the deadly tone in his voice caused the hand she still had resting on his arm to tremble slightly.
Dimitri walked across the room, stopping in front of Derrick. He stood there for a moment, and Mateo wondered how Derrick managed to remain so still in the face of such danger.
The Dominatrix had left him completely helpless, at their mercy.
After several long moments, Dimitri reached out and unhooked the ball gag, pulling it out of Derrick’s mouth.
Mateo saw the shine of drool on his chin. Derrick’s mouth closed almost painfully and he wondered how long the gag had been in. It looked like the muscles had been strained and it was taking them a moment to move naturally again.
Mateo still stood near the door, but his voice, when he spoke, resonated and filled the cold space. “Why?”
Derrick seemed hesitant to take his eyes off Dimitri, who stood too close and was clearly the more immediate threat.
“Untie me.”
Dimitri shook his head. “Answer his question.”
Derrick closed his mouth, his silence proving he wouldn’t make this interrogation easy.
Mateo considered what they would do if he continued to refuse. It wasn’t like Dimitri could beat the man with the whip. Given the deep red welts covering too much of his body, it was obvious he’d enjoy that technique.
Dimitri reached into the back pocket of his pants and pulled out his phone, handing it to Cecilia. “Record.”
Cecilia lifted the phone, pointing it directly at Derrick before asking,
“Did you let the drone operator on the grounds of Triskelion Castle?”
Derrick’s eyes flicked to hers, and she felt his disdain for her. She was clearly confused by that look. Mateo also found himself wondering about it. Cecilia had done nothing to Derrick, who still refused to respond.
Dimitri waited for sixty seconds, then reached into his other pocket, pulling out the lock pick he’d used to break into the room. He ran the sharp tip of it down Derrick’s chest and stomach, then he ran it over the front of the leather underwear.
Dimitri didn’t say anything. Cecilia stepped closer, moving so she had a better angle for the video. Mateo could read the curiosity on her face. Knowing their intelligent lady, she’d seen a thousand spy movies and read a million mystery novels where the bad guy was tortured for information, and she was actually viewing this moment as educational.
Dimitri glanced at Cecilia, and Mateo thought he saw amusement in his eyes, but it was there in a flash, then gone again.
Derrick snickered, giving Dimitri a derisive grin. “Do your worst.”
Dimitri didn’t reply. Instead, he lifted his leg and brought his boot down hard on Derrick’s bare foot.
The man yelped, jumping awkwardly in his bindings. “Bloody hell!”
Dimitri raised his heel and smash
ed it down again. The sound of boot on flesh and bone was sickening.
Derrick shrieked, and tried to shift his weight to his good foot, but the spreader bar prevented that. “You broke my toes!” The words were a pained gasp.
“Probably. If not all, some. Ready to answer our questions or should I start on the other foot?” Dimitri glanced up at Derrick’s bound hands. “Then I’ll break your fingers.”
Derrick’s face had gone white, pain etched in the lines by his eyes and mouth. “Okay.”
Cecilia was impressed and apparently anxious to become a part of the action. “Did you let the drone operator on the grounds?”
“Yes,” he snarled at her.
“Did you taint the medicine that was given to the fleet admiral?” she asked.
Derrick’s initial hesitance seemed to melt away. Now that he’d confessed to the first part, it was as if he was happy to suddenly be free to speak about his role. Not because he felt guilt or remorse, but because he was proud of his actions. He looked straight at the camera.
“I did.”
“Where did you get the poison?” Mateo asked.
“I made it. You never knew about my talents as a chemist, Mateo. Always assumed I was nothing more than you. The muscle, the good foot soldier, the obedient warrior.”
“Why?” Mateo asked.
“Because I should have been head of the Spartan Guard! My family has served as members of the guard for five hundred years, and yet I was second choice to you.” He spat the last word at Mateo.
“Huh,” Cecilia said quietly. “Josephine and Hugo were right. It was about the legacy guards. Remind me to tell them that.”
“Who are Josephine and Hugo?” Dimitri asked.
“Err. Never mind.”
Mateo stepped in front of Derrick. “Are you the Domino?”
“I recruited the drone operator. I have been instrumental in furthering our—”
Derrick’s mouth was open to speak, but his lips pulled back in the parody of a grin. His body started to shake, his head rocking so wildly his chin hit the metal collar around his neck. His eyes rolled back in his head.
Cecilia dropped the phone and started to reach for him—he seemed to be having a seizure.
