Crack!

I stand outside the door of a cell deep in the basement of The Manor. The distinctive sound of a bullwhip meeting flesh sends shards of fear through my guts. The low moan of pain can only belong to one person . . . Sasha. I tuck my Glock into the back of my jeans and pull a knife from my shoulder sheath. I balance the heft, ready to throw.

“Where is he, bitch? Tell me, and this all ends.” A man’s voice cuts through the deathly stillness. I send a silent nod to Brian and Connor. Both hold black belts in Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Both know how to kill silently. I took out the guy guarding the entrance to this particular dungeon. One open-hand strike to the back of the neck, and he dropped like a stone, spine shattered.

I shore up the dam of emotion threatening to burst. Time enough for that later. I listen intently for signs of another guard. Crack! An unintelligible word slides out on the groan. “What was that? I don’t hear you.” I hope to God that voice belongs to Viper.

“Compound. At the compound.” I barely recognize Sasha’s voice through the pain.

I grasp the door handle with my left hand and burst through the door. In a split second, I take in all I need to see. Naked Sasha chained to the ceiling. Viper holding her head back, almost to the breaking point. Viper’s bullwhip and bare lower arm dripping blood. Shock covers Viper’s face as he turns toward me. “What the—” I throw, low, aiming for the liver. One-and-a-half spin. The blade sinks into the soft flesh below Viper’s right ribs. He drops to his knees.

Sasha’s head lolls on her chest. Whatever used to be between her legs now looks like ground meat. Mutilated genitals. Bleeding from her anus—I don’t want to think about why. I release the chains and guide Sasha to the floor. Her pulse is low and thready. She’s cold and clammy. Shock. I tear my jacket off and wrap it around her. I hear Connor’s near-silent steps behind me.

“What do you need?”

“My bag. Medivac.”

“Got it.”

She’s in danger of bleeding out. I pull off my T-shirt and wad it into a thick ball I press between Sasha’s legs. I gather her in my arms and press down tightly. Her eyes open a sliver, then startle open.

“Jaden. No. Viper—” She struggles in my arms.

I clamp down hard. She moans and falls back against my chest. “Kill . . .”

“Shhhh. It’s okay. I got him. You’re safe.”

Her eyes close. She takes shallow breaths. Please God, don’t let me lose her. Where the fuck is Connor?

He’s back in minutes with my medical bag. “Next?”

“Run the IV.”

I move Sasha to the floor. Replace the T-shirt with sterile gauze pads. Apply pressure.

“Medivac’s about five minutes out. We’d better get her outside.” Connor picks up my bag. He jerks his head toward the moaning figure on the floor. What about him?

“Let him bleed out.”

It’s the witching hour; that magic time around two a.m. when only the faint sounds of sleep and coupling drift through the stillness. I limped into the house almost an hour ago, battered and more than a little below my A-game. The Medivac team took one look at her injuries and took Sasha to Women’s College Hospital. Touted as one of the world’s leading centers for sexual reconstruction surgery, they’d lived up to their reputation. We’d stayed until they stabilized her and took her into surgery.

Kat took one look at me and led me to their private dining room. In short order, her bartender brought me a pitcher of Stoli Doli, which, except the occasional cold beer, is the only alcohol I drink.

I cradle my drink, letting the aroma of the fresh pineapple soothe. I’m bone marrow tired. My mind swirls over the evening’s events. Reconnaissance revealed a total of four guys—Viper, two of his goons, and some guy wearing a lab coat. Connor and Brian took care of these three. The “doctor” had been a surprise. He’d spent his last moments on earth giving excuses for being a defrocked physician helping keep Viper’s victims alive to withstand more torture. Viper . . . well, good riddance. I’d find the head of this operation without him. I have no energy to waste on this earth’s detritus.

Sasha’s shackled and bleeding body swims into my mind. I shake my head violently. Wince at the pain. Down another shot of the Stoli. I will not think about what they’ve done to Sasha. The hospital assures me she’ll make a full recovery, but at what cost? I gulp another shot, determined to make my way past shit-faced into oblivion.

Rayne. I need Rayne. She’ll understand this pain. She’ll make it all go away. This certainty makes no sense, but I can’t get rid of these thoughts. I lurch to standing and carefully put one foot in front of the other. It isn’t so bad if I concentrate. I find Connor in his office nursing his favorite scotch.

“Where’s Rayne?”

Connor gives me a level stare, his gray-green eyes study me. “I’ve set you up in your usual suite. Go sleep it off. You can catch up in the morning.”

I lean against the doorjamb as the room starts to spin. “I need to see her now, man. Where is she?”

Connor sighs. “I put her in the Crimson Suite right next to you.”

I stagger off in search of Rayne. I spend a lot of time at their beach house, as they call this mansion, so I can find the Burgundy Suite—my rooms—blindfolded. The thick carpet absorbs the noise of my stumbles. I hammer on the door of Rayne’s suite, then lean against the wall and take a deep breath. Maybe she won’t answer. Maybe she’ll tell me to go to hell. Maybe . . .

A sleepy-looking Rayne answers the door without her glasses, black curls a riot around her face. She squints up at me, frowning.

“Did you get Summer?” She sticks her head out and glances down the hall. “Where’s Sasha?” She takes another look at me. I’m surprised she doesn’t pass out cold from the liquor fumes. My face must say it all.

“I’m not talking to you.” Rayne turns and walks into the room.

I stumble past the doorjamb and make my way through the bedroom.

Rayne picks up her glasses from the bedside table.

“No.” I don’t want any barriers between us.

Rayne raises an eyebrow but puts the glasses back on the table. She looks adorable standing there in her oversized T-shirt and nothing else. My cock hardens as I drink in her smell.

She points to the door. “Out. You can just fuck right off. You lied to me. We’re done.”

“I never lied to you.”

“No?” Her eyes blaze with fury.

I don’t have the strength for this. I sit on the bed and let my head sink in my hands.

“Are you okay?” Her voice matches the concern beaming from her eyes. She tilts her head in that way she has when she crawls inside my brain.

I shake my head. I reach for her but stop short of touching her. I will never coerce or take a woman against her will, and drunkenness is no excuse. She gazes at me, her expression inscrutable. She pulls her nightshirt off and takes my hand.

I gaze up at her, stupefied. I’ve seen parts of her as I examined her, but this is the first time I’ve seen her naked. She’s more beautiful than I’ve imagined. My cock bounces to attention, pulsing with the need to be inside her.

I pull her closer and run a finger from the small indentation in her neck straight down her torso, stopping at the mound of curly black hair framing her sex. Even with alcohol pulsing through my veins, I can’t ignore the tension in her body. I search her eyes for signs of distress. She gives me a slight smile but holds her arms stiffly at her sides. Watching, I retrace the path my finger took. Her breath catches as I circled her small, firm breasts, taking time to trace circles around the deep brown areolas circling two large nipples. I can’t resist the temptation as they harden into raspberries just waiting for me to suckle. That is all the sign I need.

I love making a woman respond, watching her excitement build. Rayne’s history raises that bar several hundred feet, and I’m determined to make my way past her indifference to discover the sexual diva reaching out to me from deep within her. I suck those ripe nipples until I hear a quiet moan. I pull my head back and motion for her to lie on the bed. I shed my clothes and quickly sheath my cock with a condom.

Rayne’s eyes shine with interest as she watches. She lies back with arms over her chest and thighs plastered together, as if she’s ashamed of her body. If I were a little less drunk, I’d spend time showing her just how enticing her small compact body really is. Right now, I need her body to obliterate the vision of Sasha, bloodied and beaten, hanging from the ceiling. I shove the thought to oblivion and focus on Rayne’s pert little body. I nudge her thighs apart, and with a sigh, she yields, opening herself to me. Just like that.

I pull her arms above her head, my hand closing around both wrists on her tiny frame. I tighten my grip. Rayne closes her eyes, and a small smile touches her lips. I slip my fingers between her legs, surprised to find her slick with lust.

My sweet little Dracaena whispers, “Take me. Make me forget.”

I lean my forehead on hers for a beat. Gratitude fills me. She gets me.

I drive into her, buried to the hilt. Holding my weight with my arms to avoid her injuries. God, she’s tight. She makes a small sound. I still. Is she all right? She wraps her legs tightly around my buttocks and arches into me. That’s all the sign I need. I lose my mind in her as rush after rush rolls through me with each thrust. Nothing exists but the pulsing and surging radiating through my cock . . . and Rayne.

I wake around the butt crack of stupid, naked, with my hand resting on one of the globes of Rayne’s delicious ass. What the fuck? My head pounds like a son of a bitch, and it takes a minute before it all comes flooding back—Sasha, the hospital, the Stoli, Rayne . . . Rayne. I suppose I should have some remorse for killing Viper’s minions, but I don’t. I can’t help but feel good about ridding the world of several more cockroaches. I prop on my elbow and pull my cell phone from the bedside table. Five a.m. Shit. I need ibuprofen and coffee in large quantities.

I manage to collect my stuff and get out of the room without waking Rayne. I walk through to the adjoining room and switch on the waiting coffee maker. Thank God for Connor and Kat’s hospitality. I grab a couple of ibuprofen from my toiletries bag, willing my hangover away.

Serves me right. I don’t drink much, but when I do, it’s to get stinking drunk. I’m quite proud of my ability to maintain control while inebriated. I remember each and every moment of what happens while in this dubious state. Today, that’s a curse. I’d screwed Rayne. Without regard for her needs. Just like the fuckers who’ve crawled over her in the past. I berate myself while I shower off the detritus of the previous night, which includes Rayne’s scent. This will not happen again.

I settle on my laptop and hail Joker. No Summer sightings. I contemplate raiding Viper’s summer home to look for clues. I give my head a shake. Two of my cardinal rules: Never involve family. Never make it personal.

Speaking of personal, it’s long past time for me to log into my cover job. People only know me as the go-to guy to test security systems be they the government or corporations. They don’t need to know there’s a dark side to who I am. Only a few close friends who support me know the truth, and I wish to keep it that way.

Several hours blow by before I realize I’m starving. I stretch, about to call the kitchen, when I spy an egg salad sandwich, pickles, and chips on the sideboard warming tray. Kat’s done it again, ensuring I get my favorite food. Sweet.

I feel much better after eating. Time to go find Rayne; I’ve avoided her for longer than good manners allow. I wonder whether she thinks I’m her latest acquisition just because we fucked. Now begins the dance—keep her at a distance while enjoying her body. The body I refuse to touch again. Yeah right. I worry about getting into something I can’t live up to. It won’t be long before we both realize we are quite different people, especially since she’s not part of the lifestyle.

I am what some call a Dom, although I think of myself as more of a Top. Connor has been quick to point out this particular character trait. Once I got past the stigma attached to kink, I found the Top title suits my sexual proclivities exceptionally well. I have no interest in controlling a woman outside of the bedroom, but my satisfaction meter goes off the charts when a little kink is thrown into the mix.

Rayne has made very clear her independent spirit and lack of sexual interest. Her sexuality is a bit of an enigma—her mind protests, but her body obviously does not. At least not with me. I try not to let that little ego boost affect me.

The house is quiet in the afternoon. Generally, Kat and Connor spend their downtime planning Kink School. They’re committed to ensuring no one involved in their world will suffer from ignorance. To play at the Masquerade, one has to complete the training program. Most rooms are empty after a quick circuit of the house. I circle back to Connor’s office.

I tap on the door and let myself in on his invitation. “Hey.”

Connor swivels his chair around to face me. “Hey, yourself. Finished your work?”

“Enough to keep things going for now. Have you seen Rayne?”

“Yes. She’s with Kat in the playroom, helping plan the Spanking 101 class.”

“How’d she find out about that? She’s fragile and not into kink.”

Connor’s eyes widen as he does a double take. “Huh. You’d never know it.” Connor is the only person I know who’s more taciturn than I am.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she may be fragile, but learning more is all her idea. She badgered Kat into teaching her. She’s a determined little thing.” Connor stands. “Come on. I’ll take you to her.”

I hesitate, unsure whether I want to interrupt.

“I’ll take you to the view room. She won’t even know you’re there.”

Their playroom viewing room is similar to those in the playrooms at the Masquerade. Kat stands in front of Rayne and two Subs, demonstrating how to use a riding crop. Each of the women has a crop. Connor turns a dial and sound pipes in. “I’ll leave you to it.”

I sink into the large armchair—large even for my frame. Connor is right. Rayne peppers Kat with questions as they go through several toys—a paddle, a whip and several floggers. Kat explains how a Dom would use each implement and how a Sub might react.

“How do you know if you’re a Sub?” Rayne asks.

“That’s something usually discovered through exploration and self-examination,” Kat says. “Have you ever played with a Dom?”