Natural Law

So here he was. He wasn't his murderess's target profile, so it would be unproductive to position himself as bait. Obvious white collar professionals, Rodriguez and Myers also were pretty-boy types of slim build. Hooking up for a few casual nights with a well-connected Dom or two, those who could identify all the Mistress players in The Zone, that would help him to start narrowing down a suspect list.



"Ah, hell."



"Problem, hon?"



The waitress put his drink down on the coaster.



"Yeah, you could say that."



Violet had brushed off his suggestion of the accommodating Billy, and was now in dialogue with a tall, handsome blonde with Norse looks and interested blue eyes.



The waitress followed his glance. "Fair's fair, love. You passed her up. Can't be jealous now."



"It's not that." Though he ruefully admitted it could be, because he found he didn't like watching her with someone else at all. What was it about her? She cocked a hip, and the shift of that backside beneath the snug skirt distracted him so that he almost let the waitress get away.



"Hey." He caught her wrist. "The guy she's talking with isn't a regular, is he?"



"I think he's here on a guest membership like you, hon."



"He's bad news. His name is Jonathan Powell, and he was a regular at True Blue.



You can call down there. He's a vicious bottom. Likes to play with his Mistress's heads and screw them up. They revoked his membership." Mariah considered Powell. "I'll tell the manager right away, have him give them a ring. If your story checks out, we'll invite him to leave."



"Good." He rose and she intercepted him, placing a hand on his chest. "Hon, you let us take care of this, okay?"



Mac looked past her, watched Jonathan reach out, touch Violet's waist lightly, just a brush of contact as he spoke to her with properly downcast eyes and deferential expression. His blood temperature ratcheted up about twenty degrees.



"She's green, and there's her pride to think of," he said casually. "I think I can coax her away from him without making a scene, and that will make it easier for your staff to get him out of here before he tries to latch onto someone else."



Mariah studied him with a dubious expression. "Okay, big guy," she relented, stepping out of the way. "But you behave, mind? Doesn't matter what your intentions are, you spill blood in The Zone and you're out. Period. No exceptions."



"Got it. Breaking and gouging okay. Just no blood." He gave her a wink and moved away, but she watched after him a moment, undecided. She wasn't fooled by his charm. Something dangerous was brewing around that one. There was a misconception, sometimes even among new staff, that male subs were shy, non-aggressive wimps that wanted a woman to beat on them. The high-powered ones could be as possessive as any alpha Dom, and though she thought his story would likely check out, he was too focused on little Violet. Green or not, she'd caught his attention.



"Good for you, girl," Mariah murmured. "He's going to be a handful and a half." She noted how his eyes never left the figure of the pretty Dom in the black wig, the hunger as his gaze covered her naked arms, the nearly bare back of the tight dress she wore. Mariah made a mental note to hang around a bit after shift. If Violet got this hunk of prime real estate downstairs naked, she'd like to see it. Even across a crowded club, the heat between the two of them was enough that she felt it. She'd like to see how it stoked in the furnace of one of the playrooms.



* * * * *



Violet didn't really like Jonathan Powell. He was handsome enough, and smooth, but her mind was on the man who'd just blown her off. It would have been one thing if he'd been cutting. She could have called him an asshole in her mind and nursed her stinging pride with someone like the affable Billy, who had looked after her longingly as she went by his table.



But he'd been so courteous about it, so perfect, and all that had done was raise her desire to have him at her mercy to a level that had all her glands on high alert. She went for Powell because she could tell he was on par with the object of her desire. She wanted her interaction within sight of his table, had made sure he'd been looking when she did that little move with her boot. If she did get him in restraints, she was going to make him beg. It was pride, but it was more than pride. She had a good sense of humor about her overdeveloped competitive spirit, but this was way more. This was an instant, overpowering craving that had swept over her the moment she saw him and decided she had to have him.



She felt him behind her before he even spoke, knew from the energy pressing against her shoulders that it was him. And because of the frost that abruptly hardened Jonathan Powell's gaze, bringing out a coldness one didn't often see a sub display before a Dom. Definitely a competitor, then. She'd chosen correctly. Her blood heated.



His fingers slid up her spine, starting at the lowest exposed point of her back, which was just barely above the soft dip between her buttocks, and trailed upward, stopping as a light touch between her shoulder blades.



"Mistress," he said softly in her ear. She didn't look at him, but she tilted her head away from him, a cold gesture in appearance, but which made the whisper of his breath flow down the side of her neck.



"I believe the lady was already engaged," Powell said. He was trying to remain within the rules of the house, but Violet clearly saw the rage simmering below the surface. He had been strongly interested in her overtures.



Did she want someone who blew her off one minute and was accommodating the next, or someone like Jonathan, who had been interested from the moment she stepped up to him?



And who had given her the creepy crawlies the first time he touched her waist. But that wasn't the point.



"I didn't give you permission to touch me," she said, still not looking at the object of her true interest. But she was not looking at Jonathan, either.



"No, Mistress," his voice drew back, as did his touch, and her skin screamed in protest. His voice lowered to a sensual murmur. "Forgive me." She turned on her booted heel, effectively dismissing Jonathan for the moment, but she knew he wouldn't move until he was sure he had been relinquished. A good sub would not insult a Mistress by walking away until he had leave to do so.



The big man before her now was just as overwhelming to her senses as he had been ten minutes ago, his scent filling her nostrils, flaring them with his heat, the wide expanse of his chest filling her vision, the soft neatly trimmed hair along that strong jaw, those firm lips, all inviting touch.



"Forgiveness has to be earned," she stated. "So what are you going to do to earn it?"



"Whatever Mistress demands."



Jonathan took a step forward, pressing himself against Violet's back, latching his hand onto her waist. "I think it's time you back off, Mac." Mac thought how pleasurable it would be to seize that wrist and break the finger bones one by one while Powell screamed for mercy. He glanced at Violet's startled face.



Even in a secure environment, it was unsettling to be a woman weighing less than a hundred and twenty pounds caught between two men with the potential for violence emanating off of them.



"I think you've made a mistake, Jonathan," Mac said coldly. "Most Mistresses don't take kindly to being topped by a sub. She's not that green." Violet closed her hand over Jonathan's at her waist. Mac had a moment of trepidation, then her fingers curled in his well-manicured ones, twisted, and put his hand roughly from her.



"You're making me uncomfortable, and I'm not interested any more." She glanced at Jonathan. "You can leave."



The blonde Norse god gave her a disdainful look. "I'd rather have someone who knows what she's doing anyway, rather than a little girl playing dress up. Little bitch cunt."



"Son of a  - " Mac started forward, but Violet lifted a hand so her knuckles slapped against his chest. He could have easily gone past her. Though Jonathan was beating a retreat, it wouldn't have been a bad idea to make sure he scampered all the way out to the parking lot. But there was another reason Mac didn't do that.



He swallowed. She'd got him. There'd been an unmistakable order behind her quelling gesture, and his body had instinctively reacted to her wish, voiced or unvoiced. The nerves quivered under his skin, recognizing it, and he forced himself to keep his voice rough, afraid of showing that to her.



"You should let me follow him and put his pretty face under a Bridgestone." She cocked her head, and there was so little space between them he ached with the need to touch her. "I think it's time you let me decide what should and shouldn't be done. Don't you?"



He stared at her. He was here on an assignment, but his assignment required that he be an active player. For that he needed a partner, a well connected one. She'd been here awhile and had made a lot of friends, if the waitress was right. The only problem was the one his sergeant had pointed out. Even though he ruled her out as his suspect because she was too inexperienced, she could definitely play with his head, distract him. He had enjoyed the company and demands of Mistresses, but she was a different animal from those he'd been with before. It was a fine line to walk.



He'd take it one night at a time. After all, he might blow it with her tonight and have to hook up with someone else. His gut clenched at the thought. He wanted this one. He wanted her.



"Yes, Mistress," he said.