His Devil's Chains

by Linzi Basset

  His fingers pushed past the lacy triangle to find her hot and wet center.

  “Get away from me,” she shrieked under her breath. She clearly didn’t want to make a scene.

  Oh no, sweetheart. Backing up isn’t an option.

  “Nice and hot. Let’s see if it’s got some juice to go with.”

  He pushed two fingers inside her slit.

  She jumped and aimed a fist at his head which he easily caught in his hand. He grinned evilly.

  “A hot and wet pussy. Willing too.”

  “Fuck you! Get—”

  Crack!

  “Oomph,” Jack grunted as the fist against his temple came from nowhere. Sean had walked up so quietly he hadn’t heard him. It wasn’t hard enough to unseat him, but Jack added a dramatic stumble backward to give the punch more authenticity.

  “Oh no, no, no! Please! No fighting inside the restaurant!” Annabelle rushed up and pushed in between the two men who stood glaring at each other.

  “I don’t appreciate anyone interfering in my business, buddy,” Jack snarled.

  “Business my ass. The lady clearly doesn’t appreciate your attention,” Sean sneered coldly.

  Jack smiled crookedly as he looked at Tasha. Her expression was choleric and her skin bloomed a bright red. It was clear she didn’t appreciate being the center of attention.

  “Let’s see what the lady decides. If she isn’t interested in my generosity, then I’ll gladly concede defeat.”

  “This is a respectable establishment, sir. I’m afraid I must insist you leave. Immediately.” Annabelle puffed out her chest and glowered at Jack from between narrowed eyelids.

  Jack shrugged. “It seems I’ve overstayed my welcome.” He looked at Tasha. “Pity, I would’ve liked to explore new …. territories.” He glanced at Sean and said derisively, “Good luck with this one, sugar. I don’t think he’s got half the chunk of meat I have.”

  “Mr. Cook! I have to insist you leave right this instant!” Annabelle turned to Tasha and Sean. “I am so sorry. Please believe me, this is the first time something like this has happened.” She spun back to Jack. “Out, now, before I call the cops.”

  Jack held up his hands in defeat. “I’m going.” Jack picked up the unfinished drink and chucked it down his throat. “Put this on blondie’s tab. I figure he owes me for the mosquito bite on my temple.”

  He pushed his hands into his pants’ pockets and strolled outside, his body relaxed and nonchalant.

  Sean’s concerned, “Are you okay, miss?” followed him as he opened the door.

  A smile formed on his lips at Tasha’s throaty response. “I’m fine, but it would be remiss of me not to say thank you. Join me for dinner?”

  Hook, line, and sinker!

  From her tone, it was evident that the Russian mob Princess was on the lookout for a playmate, and Sean’s good looks and physique clinched it. Jack prayed that he would remain level-headed during this covert op. When a job led to physical interaction with the target, lines became blurred all too easily. He was concerned that with someone as naturally sensual as Tasha Alenichev, Sean might not realize he had become entangled in a den of snakes before it was too late.

  A quick glance at his watch confirmed it was still early. He contemplated going to Club Devil’s Cove and find a willing sub to scene with but the vision of Jordan sprawled on the kitchen counter with his cock spearing into her kept interfering. He was still considering his options when he realized he had turned onto the street to his house. He blanked his mind to the reasons why he had unconsciously gravitated toward his own sub.

  He found her in bed curled up with her Kindle, reading. She shot him a cursory glance before she continued to read.

  “Still miffed that I went out, I see.” Jack kicked off his shoes and undressed to his boxers. She didn’t bother to respond. “I suppose you didn’t believe me when I said I was working.” Still the cold shoulder. Jack did his best to curb the pleasure he felt at her obvious jealousy but failed miserably. He was pleased about the possessiveness she had over him. “If I had gone to the club, would I be back this soon?”

  Jordan looked at him sideways. “I guess not.”

  Jack settled on the bed. He leaned against her back. “You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he whispered against her cheek.

  “I’m not jealous,” she said, her voice doused with indignation.

  “No?” He pushed her onto her back. “Let’s get rid of this, shall we?” He pried the Kindle from her hand and placed it on the bedside table. He couldn’t resist the pulpy invitation of her lips. His fingers teased over the fullness of the bottom one.

  She reared back and pushed upright against the headboard. “Get the fuck away from me.”

  Jack sat up. His expression turned thunderous. “What the devil is this?”

  “What is this?” Jordan jumped from the bed. “I might not be the perfect sub in your eyes, Master Black but I’m a woman and one thing you don’t do—ever—is touch me with the fucking smell of another woman’s cunt on your hands!”

  Jack cursed under his breath. He’d completely forgotten the scene at the restaurant. On the other hand, this was exactly the kind of thing he had been trying to avoid by not having a live-in sub.

  “Cunt? I’m impressed, Jordan. It seems you’re embracing the lifestyle more and more every day. For someone who struggles with the word cock, it’s enlightening to hear you—”

  “Really, Jack? That’s what you got from what I said? You lied to me, just now, claiming you didn’t go to the club and yet you have the smell of … ugh! Why do I even bother?” She picked up the Kindle. “I might be nothing more to you than a trial sub, but I’ll be damned if I allow you to treat me like a trollop.” She pivoted around and stomped to the door.

  “You’re not going anywhere, Jordan. You chose to invade my privacy, and you will abide by my rules as long as this agreement is valid. You will sleep in my bed since you’ve wormed your way into it willingly.” He sighed as her eyes flashed with anger. “I warned you from the start that we’re not exclusive.”

  She spun around. “Oh, thank you for the reminder, seeing as I’m obviously too daft to remember. Don’t worry, Master Black, I got the message. Loud and pungently clear! But I refuse to be your indulgence after the main course. If your … cock,” she spat out the word, “needs more cunt, go back to where your fingers were and shove it in there. Mine isn’t available for your pleasure tonight.”

  Jack watched her storm out. He couldn’t keep the smile from his face. She had looked irresistibly sensual and beautiful in her indignant anger. He sobered. His eyebrows drew together in a straight line.

  “Why the fuck didn’t I just tell her the truth?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. For one thing, he’d vowed his silence about the meeting and secondly, he’d been too enraptured by the emotions Jordan couldn’t hide from her flashing eyes. It was more than jealousy. She was hurt by what she believed had been deception. He mulled over his own reaction as he got into the shower. Steam filled the room as he opened the faucet. Jack leaned against the cool tiles and let the water beat over his head in steamy rivulets. He closed his eyes as the heat soaked into his skin.

  Everything was becoming too fucking complicated. He didn’t need this in his life. He understood her reaction. Any woman would have reacted the same way. It was insensitive of him, and, as a Dom, it wasn’t how he treated subs. He always took their feelings into consideration. The fact that he hadn’t with the only one, apart from Selina, who he had signed a D/s relationship with, screamed a warning at Jack. He felt the shift of the universe again. It rattled him out of his comfort zone. His eyes opened as his growl echoed back to him. It didn’t help to try and deny it.

  It had finally happened.

  He had changed. His feelings had become involved. He stood on the precipice of doing the one thing he had vowed would never happen again.

  Fall in love.

  Jack’s mind was in shreds; he was mor
e confused than upset. It was inconceivable that he could be developing such a strong emotion for a woman he barely knew.

  He finished showering and wrapped a towel around his waist. The reflection that stared back at him from the mirror was hazy from the steam as he towel-dried his hair.

  “Fuck, Jack. Get a grip. You’re not a teenager anymore, having his first crush. Deal with it. Man up. Either accept what’s happening or …”

  His voice faded as the thought of not having Jordan in his life settled in his mind. His gut contracted. Why the fuck did it bother him so much? Was his heart already more invested in her than he cared to admit?

  “I need a drink,” his voice rumbled from deep within his chest as he walked out of the bathroom to make his way downstairs, still only wearing the small towel.

  He sipped on an aged Macallan whiskey where he stood gazing out over the luminescence of the lit pool through the wall of glass doors. The water rippled in gentle waves from the breeze that kissed its surface, just like Jordan had done to his equilibrium. She’d invaded him with such stealth and sweetness, he hadn’t realized he was hooked.

  “Maybe Max is right. It’s time to move on. Why should I fight it?”

  Why indeed? Jordan was the first woman since Selina who had managed to worm her way past the ironclad walls he’d locked around his emotions. It felt right. For the first time in years, Jack felt the surge of warmth fill his heart to echo with a lonely cry of hope to his soul.

  Jack stood unmoving as he scrutinized his feelings. By the time he returned upstairs it was close to midnight. He hesitated at the top landing. Jordan would be in the spare room where Rosa had settled her the first day of her arrival. Maybe it would be better to leave her alone for tonight; allow her to calm down before he explained.

  He was next to the bed gazing down at her sleeping form before he even realized he’d moved. The soft glow of the bedside lamp couldn’t hide the trace of tears on her cheeks. Jack’s heart missed a beat. He hadn’t misread her. She had developed feelings for him too. His heart swelled at the realization. The brush of his fingertips over her cheeks was softer than a butterfly’s wings.

  “I’m sorry, love, for being such a fucking asshole tonight, but you’re still not allowed to sleep in any bed other than mine,” he whispered into her ear as he picked her up and carried her to his room.

  She had become his lullaby at night. He needed her warmth and sweet smell to rock him to sleep. He settled on his back and drew her against his side. She curled into him with a sigh as she found her comfort spot with her face pressed against his throat and her arm wrapped around his body.

  Jack pressed a tender kiss against her forehead.

  “Yes, it’s time to move on.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You can’t afford to slip up, William. I haven’t gone through all the trouble to get you in with the Sixth Order, only to have all doors slam shut this soon. Watch your fucking step.”

  William winced. The warning in the voice that rasped in his ear was razor sharp. This was the one man he’d come to fear more than any other. A man who had boldly defied all boundaries throughout his entire life—even death. It didn’t matter that they had known each other since their sixteenth birthdays. He was the one with the power and wouldn’t hesitate to snip short William’s life thread.

  “I fucked up and I’m sorry. I need to redeem myself with Mr. Z and Dexter or I’m out.”

  The sound that followed was a marriage of a half-snort, half-laugh. “If by out, you mean of breath and into the jaws of a shark, you’re right. Don’t for one moment fool yourself to think they’ll allow you to walk away, William. When they’re done with you, you’re done. You should know that by now.”

  “What do I do? I’ve come up against a wall of propaganda. I can’t get past anything. I need to give them something to trust me. They’re busy with something, Boss, I know it. Something big. Unless I can regain their confidence in me, I won’t get any closer. It’s imperative that I’m involved with what they’re planning.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I overheard a phone conversation between Dexter and Mr. Z when I arrived for a meeting a while ago.” William hesitated briefly. “The Bratva was mentioned.”

  “The Russian mob?” Silence followed. By the sound of Boss’ voice, William detected his anger was rising.

  He sighed heavily. “Yes, so you can understand my concern. Dexter is furious that I still don’t have anything concrete to offer on the Clark twins. Precision Secure has security detail on both of them. I can’t get close to them.”

  “Send me what you’ve got. I’ll find something. If the Sixth Order is getting into bed with the Bratva, they’re inviting war with the entire US Cosa Nostra. It would end in a red sea of death and destruction.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Be alert, William. You’re my eyes and ears for now. Don’t fail me in this. I want to know who Mr. Z and Dexter Powell are. Their real identities. No one puts a hit on the Don of the mob and gets away with it. Fucking with the biggest mafia crime family in the US, the Occhipintis, even less.”

  The connection was summarily cut. William returned the cell phone to his jacket pocket. He leaned back against the stuffed bench of the booth. For the first time in days he relaxed. His gaze moved over the diners in the small Bistro. Monet prints, framed on the walls, combined with the light jazz music in the background offered a quaint atmosphere. He breathed in the deep aroma of the espresso the waiter placed in front of him.

  “Your cream cheese, smoked salmon bagels, sir. Freshly made this morning. Enjoy,” the server said with a smile. “Call if you need anything else.”

  William didn’t watch her leave. He hadn’t had breakfast and was starving. He dug into the decadent meal. It didn’t stop his thoughts from milling around. He had to find a backdoor to get to the Clark twins. If there was one thing the Boss had taught him over the years, it was never to depend on others for your survival. He also knew that he had fucked up big time. It wasn’t only the Sixth Order leaders he had to appease; he now had to prove to the Don of the Occhipinti crime family that he was worthy to be his Consigliere.

  Two days later . . .

  “Here it is! I found it.”

  William jogged back to where the hushed voice came from. Hank, his right-hand man crouched next to a slight incline on the bank of the Potomac River.

  “There.” He pointed to a steel door hidden under the roots of a willow tree. “We’ll have to hack away the roots. This thing looks like it’s rusted shut. We’re going to need some cutting tools to get through.”

  “Jubba! Get us cutting gear. Be quick about it. Time is of the essence,” William ordered one of the men who stood behind him.

  “Gotcha. Be back in a flash.”

  “Get those roots cleared in the meantime,” William ordered as he glanced around. “Keep the noise down. In a neighborhood such as this, the cops will be on us in a heartbeat.”

  “Sure thing, Bossam.”

  William climbed the river bank and looked around. The only hint of the hidden tunnel was a slight rise in the ground where it began, a hillock if you will, like a worm had burrowed under the tussock of grass.

  He still couldn’t believe his luck when the Occhipinti Boss had told him that some of the homes in this area were built on formations of houses from earlier eras, which in those years all had hidden tunnels. Most of those tunnels still existed and some were maintained by the owners. It had been an easy task to obtain the original architect plans under the pretense that he was an intended buyer of the current house Gideon Clark was renting. He was still humming with the pleasure he’d experienced when he’d found the tunnel had been linked to the house with a hidden door into the basement under the staircase. Chances were Clark didn’t even realize there was a backdoor into the house.

  Now they could get inside right under the noses of the security detail, who would have no clue what was happening inside the walls of the
house. The detail was in key positions all around the outside perimeters of the property and the house. Something which had been confirmed by the operations hub of the Sixth Order, using a stealth drone with heat sensors to verify. Gideon Clark was alone inside the house.

  Jubba returned within fifteen minutes, armed with an acetylene torch.

  “I figured if we needed to keep the noise down, it’ll be better to cut through the metal with a blowtorch,” he said with a cheeky grin. He was the youngest on William’s team and eager to impress.

  “Good thinking,” William said. “Get on with it. I want to get out of sight.”

  Jubba made short work of cutting open the rusted door.

  “We’re going in. Stay on us.” William tapped his earpiece.

  “Roger that,” replied Duncan, the operator in charge of the stealth drone hovering over the property to guide them and keep a watch for movement.

  They passed through the arch into the claustrophobic dank, river-smelling entrance. Once inside, the light died like it was being swallowed by a black void. The suck of the river against the paving stones and the slow drip of water from the low roof sounded unnaturally loud in William’s ears. He hated confined spaces. His flashlight cut through the darkness with a sharp silver beam. Crouched like beaten old men they made their way deeper into the tunnel. The beams of the various flashlights cast an ominous glow as it marked their slow progression toward their goal: To capture Gideon Clark in his own home until he caved in and gave Dexter Powell what he was after.

  Full ownership of Crown International.

  William’s headset crackled. “You’re approaching the entrance to the house. Another two yards to your right. Stop. You should be in front of it now,” Duncan guided him.

  “We’re here,” William barked, bringing his team to a halt behind him. “Fuck, another steel door. Get Jubba here with the blowtorch.”

  He struggled to keep his breathing normal. The dark confines of the tunnel were closing in on him. His skin tingled and he imagined thousands of tiny spiders crawling all over him. He usually wasn’t part of a capture team but this was too important to leave anything to chance. Suffering through claustrophobia was a small price to pay to ensure success.