The Nightingale Trilogy: An Alpha Billionaire Romantic Suspense

by Cynthia Dane

  Nala used to be like that. Then someone opened her cage door and finally let her fly away, right into the arms of the only man who could change her life in such a wonderful – and unexpected – way.

  Epilogue

  Waves crashed lazily against the beach. The cloudy sky almost seemed cheerful in its disposition. Seagulls squawked and crabs scuttled sideways.

  Nala Nazarov perched on the hood of a luxury sedan, taking in the fresh, salty air.

  It was the most at peace she had felt in so long that she almost felt like she was dead. A blissful, heavenly death. As she lay back and let her hair be whipped around by the sea breeze, she imagined rose petals cast around her body and candles burning on the ground. A fitting farewell to someone only a few people knew.

  “They said if we keep going south, we’ll hit the caves soon enough.”

  Nala turned her head and opened her eyes, finding Vincent leaning against his car. “Come sit with me,” she said. “It’s a beautiful day.”

  Vincent stared at the white, somewhat gray sky before looking back at her. “You have a funny meaning of beautiful.”

  “It’s beautiful to me.”

  The car sank a little as he sat next to her, his jeans stiff but his cotton T-shirt flexible. The suit jacket he wore over the shirt had a habit of turning Nala on every time she looked at him. The stubble he had yet to shave off made him look dark and dangerous. She knew he was anything but.

  “I think you’re beautiful.”

  Nala smiled. Thanks for proving my point. “Did you bring me a maple bar?”

  Vincent leaned his head back. “Forgot. Was too distracted by the waitress’s, erm, assets. She had a lot, and they were very pushed into my face.”

  “Uh huh. Checking out another woman’s tits. I see how you are.”

  “To be fair, unless I closed my eyes or put my hand over my face, I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You saying mine are too small to have the same effect?”

  “What? No way!”

  Nala shoved his shoulder. “I’m joking.”

  “You better be.”

  “I am!”

  It was one of many pranks she had pulled on him since life settled down again. In the several weeks since the raid at Xavier Crow’s house in the West Hills, Vincent and Nala had made strides to work more like a real couple and less like partners in crime. That meant more dates. And less espionage. And a whole lotta sex. She was afraid happy Vincent wouldn’t be as into the kind of sex she liked, but Nala had been pleasantly surprised at how often she needed to recuperate her ability to use her legs again.

  Other, sometimes more personal things had transpired as well. Nala officially changed her address to Vincent’s. She also didn’t get a new job. Instead, she decided to live off her sugar daddy boyfriend’s money without any guilt and do something else with her life. Namely enroll in the local community college with the goal of eventually transferring to a four-year university. Her first classes started in two weeks. Until then, she was enjoying the time she had to go shopping, play video games, and go on driving excursions with her busy billionaire boyfriend.

  Vincent was in a lull between projects again. Whenever this happened, he got the traveling bug, insisting on a weekend in San Francisco, a night out on the town that consisted of a ton of alcohol and a bunch of people nerdily arguing over different editions of D&D, or driving to the other side of the state to take in the natural sights. Nala was always invited. In fact, it was mandatory that she go.

  Vincent didn’t have any new projects lined up for a good while. He said he was taking extra time off until Nala started her classes, knowing that she would be spending a lot of time studying since she was such a serious person. Yet when he asked what she wanted to focus on and she said, “Coding, so I can be better than you one day,” he had to punish her for insubordination. Found out that night how much this girl likes a sore ass.

  Yet the craziest thing wasn’t that they kept up the Dom/sub shenanigans when the mood struck them, or that they were asked to submit official testimony against Xavier Crow and his henchmen, or that Nala felt comfortable dropping thousands of dollars on a shopping spree – to buy more video game equipment she knew Vincent needed for his nights off. No, what she was shocked to find out was that she and Vincent would keep up some of the more public qualities of a kinky sex life.

  They found another club – a real one – for people like them and tested the waters by doing a trial membership. There was no pressure for them to do anything in front of anyone. They could enjoy the other members and their shows without fear of committing to anything they were uncomfortable with. There were leaders who kept things running smoothly, but they weren’t, well, sociopathic freaks. Nala was also able to cultivate her own personality that was more true to her, even when Vincent latched her Nightingale collar around her neck and told her to grind against him in a private room. She was more than happy to oblige.

  They also stayed close with Lucian and Robin, the latter of whom continued to blow up Nala’s phone whenever the mood struck her. In a way, they were best friends now.

  “What do you think?” Vincent asked, showing her a picture on his phone. “That’s the one I did at work yesterday. Think I should post it?”

  Nala glanced at the weaving Vincent pulled off with a few ropes and silks he kept in a drawer in his desk. Since dating Nala, he had immersed himself in the world of artistic bondage, and often practiced during his brief downtimes. Sometimes he depicted scenes. Other times they looked like dark spider webs. This one was a large flower, like a daisy, spiraling out of control. Sometimes Nala modeled for him. In bed or in a chair, of course. She liked being his muse.

  “Post it. Build that portfolio. You’re gonna do that demonstration at the club… next thing you know? You’re Vincent Lane, billionaire tech guru and that guy who makes art with women and ropes!”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s an Instagram account.”

  “I keep forgetting you can do that with phones.”

  “Sometimes I think you have to be kidding.”

  Nala leaned her head against his shoulder with a pleasant visage. “I love you. You’re my favorite thirty-year-old.”

  He snorted. “I love you too. I could love way worse twenty-one-year-olds.”

  “I’m twenty-two now. Excuse you.” What a great birthday. Cake, orgasms, and video games. In that order.

  “Ah, yes, huge difference.”

  “Like our ages!”

  “Would you stop bringing that up? It’s clearly not like that.”

  “I’m practicing for what my mother says when she finds out.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Uh huh. Now get in the car. It’s a long drive to Nevada from here.”

  “We are going to Nevada, huh?”

  “Yup. You’re going to meet my mother. Then we’re going to Fresno so I can meet your mother.”

  “Whoa, whoa…”

  “Yup! And you’re going to introduce me as your fiancée so she knows how serious it is.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Relax. I’m not telling you to marry me.” Nala slid off the hood of his car and opened the passenger side door. “Yet. Let me finish school first, cradle robber.”

  Sighing, Vincent joined her in the car and started the ignition. “The things I do for love.”

  “I’ve thought that a lot over the past few months.”

  He looked at her, fondly. “Me too.”

  Nala met him halfway over the front seat of the car for a light kiss. She sat back, pulling on his seatbelt and giving him a wry smile. “Look at you. My hardworking, super hot boyfriend who likes cramming it in like he’s never gonna get the chance to again. However will I compete in the coding world with you?”

  Vincent put the car in reverse and eased into a turnout. “I know. You’ll be spending most of your time in bed, so you won’t be able to.”

  “That’s the only advantage you have over me.”

>   “The only one?”

  “Why, yes. I come from a proud line of Nazarov women who kick ass at science and fuck Doms. It’s just my sister was smarter at the former and I was smarter at the latter.”

  Vincent pulled his sunglasses on and turned onto the nearest roadway. “This is going to be a very interesting relationship.”

  “Would you have it any other way?”

  “Nope.”

  He hit the gas and took them south. To California? Toward Nevada? Who knew. Furthermore, who cared?

  The day was young and Nala was in love without a care in the world. This was what she was meant to do with her life – and it was only getting started.

  If you have enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review for the series on Amazon. Likewise, you can find out about new Cynthia Dane releases by joining her mailing list!

  We hope you enjoyed THE NIGHTINGALE TRILOGY. Please enjoy this bonus preview of HIS DOMINATION, starring the characters Monica and Henry. Part 1, PURSUED, is presented here!

  Pursued

  Almost A Year Ago

  The gun shook in Monica’s hand. She had never fired one before – she didn’t want today to be the day.

  “You don’t get to play the games anymore.” Although her heart thumped in her chest, she had to be steady, cool. For the first time in her life, Monica had to look like she was in complete control in front of her nightmare.

  A dozen pairs of eyes were on her. Jasmine, the woman she was trying to protect besides herself, and Jackson Lyle, the awful sack of shit who called himself her boyfriend, her Dom, her master… they were the only ones that mattered. Jasmine, scared out of her wits, and Jackson, who didn’t believe in a million years his demure submissive would ever actually shoot him.

  “Now, my pet, that is a dangerous weapon you have there. You should put it down and give it to me.”

  The bastard actually held his hand out. He can’t be serious. After so many years together... after all she had given him… after all he had done to her… he really thought he could say a few nice words and get her to back down? What kind of broken spine did he think she had?

  “Don’t you dare call me your pet ever again. You don’t deserve to call me that. You lost that privilege when you started hurting me.” The gun was hot against her skin. She hadn’t even fired it – yet – and she was already anticipating the burn of revenge.

  “Hurting you? What are you talking about?”

  Monica’s lip trembled. Don’t cry in front of him! How many times had he made her cry? “I don’t have to tell you or anyone else here. You know damn well what you have done. I may be submissive, but I’m still a human being. I’m not sure about you anymore. I don’t think you’re human at all.”

  “Monica.” A few yards away, Ethan, a friend and the man who had come to take his girlfriend Jasmine away from this terrifying situation said. “This isn’t necessary. Let’s go.”

  Somehow Ethan coaxed the gun out of her hand, emptying the clip and showing how serious she had been as each bullet clattered on the floor. I would have done it. Her lip continued to tremble. This man stole my life. He would continue stealing the lives of other women until someone put him down.

  Ethan took both women by the hand and drew them toward the front door of Jackson’s lavish mansion, the place Monica had called home for years. She also called it her prison.

  This wasn’t what she had in mind for a jailbreak.

  “You both will be nothing but whores for the rest of your lives,” Jackson called after them. “You may not be our whores, but girls like you can’t help themselves. You will always be somebody’s whore.”

  Monica never expected it, but she was content with Ethan going up and punching the fucker right in the face.

  ***

  “There must be something we can do…”

  “He’s too powerful. It’s their word against his. That lawyer of his will do everything in his power to discredit Ms. Graham, especially. She pulled a gun on him. They’ll get her for being mentally ill, at best.”

  “Do you have any idea what he did to her?”

  “I saw the bruises, Mr. Cole. They would claim it’s a result of their lifestyle.”

  “That’s not BDSM. That’s abuse.”

  “Even so…”

  “I’ll testify against him myself.”

  “I can tell you care for these women very much, Mr. Cole, but I’m afraid it will never be that simple. As your lawyer, this is my advice. Drop it.”

  ***

  One day went by. Two days went by. Soon enough a month had gone by, and Monica had no idea how to live life on her own.

  Funny thing, being in a relationship with a Dom like Jackson for so long. He had controlled every aspect of her life. She liked it, at first. It was welcoming, and suited her wishes from that kind of relationship. Except her prince turned into a dragon over the years. The words, the smacks that were more pain than pleasure, and then the…

  Other people would ask why she didn’t leave sooner. Wasn’t she strong enough? Didn’t she know her worth?

  Love. I stayed for love. As toxic as Jackson had been, he was her Master… and Monica wanted nothing more from life than to love and serve her Master.

  Now she was broken. A sub without a Master. Sure, she could move far away from him. Sure, she could rely on friends with connections for a while. And, sure, she could open her own business and stay busy… but her thoughts would always go back to that man, and her heart would always pine, hope, and dream.

  Monica wanted to believe that there was something better out there. A better life, a better love…

  Wasn’t that the same thing?

  Chapter 1

  Rose Vines

  One rose in the bouquet was crooked. Monica stood in front of the long dining table, the late afternoon sunlight streaming across it and blinding the others while she remained determined to figure out how to make that blasted rose no longer crooked.

  “It’s hardly noticeable,” said Sylvia, one of the girls who worked for her. That evening she wore a black cocktail dress accented with pearls, her makeup bright in the lips and smoky around the eyes. Sylvia fancied herself a 21st Century Flapper. Not that she ever got the terminology down… but she could quote The Great Gatsby until her patron rolled over and fell asleep in bed. “Nobody is going to care if a single rose is crooked.”

  “I’ll care.” Monica reached for the stem and twisted it, the dewy red petals shifting into their new place. When she dropped her hand, however, one of the thorns nicked her fingertip

  “Oh dear.” Sylvia shuffled to an antique coffee table at the edge of the dining room. One of the drawers opened. Sylvia pulled out a small first aid kit and fetched the smallest Band-Aid she could find. “Do you need alcohol?”

  Yes. Not the kind Sylvia was thinking of, however. What Monica needed was a glass of wine or maybe some brandy to settle her nerves. “No thank you. The bandage is fine.”

  She let her girl put the bandage on before dismissing her to the kitchen, where Sylvia was to find out the status of their dinner. One hour. This was the night Monica hated the most in her business. The night every patron and their invited guests came for a banquet of both the stomach and the loins.

  Monica knew what she signed up for when she opened her house of sadomasochistic pleasure, especially when she catered to some of the most elite men in the country, let alone the world. The money was there. The desire was there. What was also there was a lot of planning, a lot of stress, and God knew a lot of little things that added up to fray Monica’s nerves. Like a damned rose too crooked to be in a bouquet.

  None of the patrons would notice, sure. Just like they wouldn’t notice that one window had a smudge on it, or that the napkins weren’t neatly folded, or that one place setting had the forks on the wrong side. They wouldn’t notice because those mistakes were no longer there. From the moment they walked through the doors of Monica’s Château, they were treated like k
ings. Presidents. Gods. Everything was just right. Even the five women Monica employed as mistresses were about as perfect as they could get. Oh, they had their physical and emotional flaws like anyone else, but they were trained to give and receive pain of the highest order, depending on what the customer wanted. Every girl had customers she saw once or on a semi-regular basis. They also had patrons. Rich, powerful men who paid for specific privileges that the average man coming through the doors didn’t get to have.

  All five patrons were coming tonight. Once a month the Château hosted a banquet for all five girls and their patrons. Usually only two or three came. Tonight was the first time since the Château opened its doors that all five decided to grace it with their presence at the same time.

  For Monica, that meant more work making sure everything was prepared. The cooks had to be perfect on pain of firing. The maids had their outfits inspected multiple times. Monica even went so far as to hold their nails up to her eyes to make sure they weren’t too sharp or too dirty. The patrons weren’t allowed to touch them, but they had to look impeccable. These were men who were used to the world kowtowing to them, and Monica would not let them receive anything less.