CHAPTER 1
Jerico
There’s a lot of moaning coming from The Orgy Room, which is par for the course. I step in to take a peek, and there’s not an ounce of shame when I say the view of all those people fucking and writhing and orgasming never fails to arouse me. Perhaps I’ll end up here tonight.
It is my favorite room here at The Wicked Horse Vegas. It’s not where you see the kinkiest shit—that would be The Silo Room—but it is where the lust permeates the air so thickly there’s a wildness that sort of inhabits you when you join in.
It overtakes you.
Possesses you.
Then frees you.
Yeah… I’ll be back here tonight.
I make my way back to the foyer and push open the heavy double doors to The Social Room. The sound of the sexy music, moaning, and flesh slapping against flesh is totally muted here, and it looks like nothing more than an upscale bar. It is a long and rectangular room with a bar running along one wall in Brazilian rosewood trimmed in chrome. There are no stools at the bar—standing-room only—but there are several velour seats and couches done in muted colors of taupe, cream, gray, and brown. This room is sedate, elegant, and designed to encourage conversations over a cocktail or two.
To keep in line with the elegance of our decor, there is a dress code. It’s not overly stifling, but it is enforced. Most people dress up because they want to be noticed and can afford the best clothes. A one-day membership is five hundred dollars… so that pretty much weeds out the tourists who can’t afford to look like they belong in a place like this.
After being passed my preferred drink of vodka on the rocks from one of the bartenders, I move down to the end of the bar. As owner of this club, I watch everything. Because of my background in military special ops, I observe details others wouldn’t, even if they were sitting right in front of them.
It’s still early—just past nine PM—but there’s already a hefty crowd here for a Wednesday.
Movement at the entrance catches my attention, and I see Helena exiting the elevator. The Wicked Horse sits on the 46th floor of the Onyx Casino. To get into the club, the patrons have to make it past security on the first floor to gain entrance to the elevator that comes right to The Wicked Horse.
Helena is absolutely stunning. She’s wearing a simple, yet no doubt expensive, red dress that’s molded to her body. It is so expertly tailored that it is in no way sleazy. Black heels, bare legs, and chocolate hair that flows down her back. Her skin is golden, her eyes an expressive light brown, and she’s probably the most beautiful woman in the club right now. Not going to lie—it makes my dick stir when she locks eyes on me before moving my way with a sexy swing to her hips and a knowing smirk on her mouth.
We are going to have fun tonight.
“Jerico,” she murmurs as she reaches me, leans in, and accepts a light kiss to her cheek.
When she pulls back, I tell her, “You look gorgeous. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
“Steven has not been traveling as much and when he’s home, he gets all my attention as you know,” she says before turning to the bartender to order a glass of wine.
“How is Steven?” I ask, because Helena’s husband is also a member here. They are big-time swingers and like to switch partners, which is pretty much what constitutes our regular members. Most people in here are in committed relationships, but they like a little debauchery in their sex lives. Steven doesn’t mind Helena coming here on her own, nor does she mind if he does. Their relationship is very odd, but it totally works for them.
“He’s tired,” she says as she turns back to me with clear worry in her voice. “I wish he’d cut back on his travel, but you know he’ll never slow down.”
I nod in understanding. When you love what you do, it’s not like a job. Steven is a diamond broker, and Helena is an attorney. Both are locals here in Vegas. They’ve been members since the doors opened, but they aren’t in here often because they work their asses off.
The bartender sets Helena’s wine on the bar.
“Put that on my tab,” I tell him.
The bartender nods, and Helena smiles at me as she takes her glass in a perfectly manicured hand. I know from firsthand experience those nails like to scratch backs while lost in desire. “Thanks, love. That’s sweet.”
Taking a slight step in so I can lean closer to her, I murmur. “Will you join me tonight?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she says with a grin above her wineglass as she looks at me with hot eyes.
Chuckling, I lean back and pick up my vodka to take a sip. “You’ve been here all of thirty seconds.”
She laughs, too, and we make idle chatter as we have our drinks. Helena likes at least two glasses of wine before she goes to one of the rooms, so she’s loosened up. A few regulars come up to us to say hello, and we mingle with them a bit. But eventually, Helena takes her last sip of wine and sets the glass on the bar. I’d stopped after one vodka because I don’t like anything dulling my senses.
Placing a hand on my chest, Helena closes it around my necktie, just below the knot. She gives it a playful tug. “Want to tie me up with this thing?”
“I was thinking of locking you up instead.” My voice is husky as I start to imagine what I want to do to her.
“Lock me up?” she asks with genuine interest.
“We installed some stocks over in The Silo,” I tell her, watching her eyes flame with even more interest. It’s become my new favorite toy. We used reclaimed wood and cast iron to have it made so it looks positively medieval. I had read once that stocks were originally used as a form of physical punishment involving public humiliation, and well… having sex in public while being locked up tight by your head and wrists can be totally humiliating to some. “Thought I’d lock you in it and let you suck my cock for a bit. After that, I think I’m going to fuck your pussy, then your ass. Going to own every piece of you tonight while you’re unable to move.”
“God,” Helena says on a breathy moan. “You are so damned dirty.”
“It’s why you like me so much,” I tell her with a smile as I take her by the elbow.
“It’s why I adore you,” she clarifies. “I wish you’d teach Steven some of that dirty talk. He’s amazing in the sack, but he’s way too quiet.”
“Yeah, I am not going to be teaching your husband how to talk dirty to you,” I tell her dryly as I turn her from the bar. “But if he wants to do a threesome with you and me, he can listen in on how I do it.”
“Now that’s a fabulous idea,” Helena says with a laugh as we turn to walk toward the doors that lead to a foyer beyond The Social Room. From there, we can access one of four rooms in which we can have every dirty desire fulfilled, but it’s The Orgy Room I want tonight.
Before we can even make it three steps, we’re stopped by a woman standing in our path looking at me expectantly.
She’s very pretty in a natural sort of way. Not a lush, exotic beauty like Helena, but more of a free spirit. I drink that in immediately, knowing it only from the look in her eyes. They’re a champagne color with thick lashes, but the message inside is that she’s slightly uncomfortable but ready to accept a challenge. Zooming out, I take in more. Tall but with the right amounts of curves, she wears a simple black dress that’s not overly sexy, but with her body, it doesn’t need to be. Caramel-colored hair sets off the whole package. Next to her eyes, it’s her best feature. Long and wild looking, like she just walked across a breezy beach, yet I know it’s how she actually styled it. It’s parted on the side, a very long set of bangs coming down over her right eye. It’s a very Veronica Lake sort of look.
“Mr. Jameson,” she says as she lifts her chin confidently even though I can tell she’s worried. Those eyes… so expressive. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you.”
Too bad she hadn’t shown up before Helena, because there’s no doubt I’d love to take this woman out for a spin. She’s a damn knockout with legs that go on for miles, an ass made to be slapped, and a husky, raspy voice that sounds like she’s been screaming in rapture for days.
Sadly though, I have committed to someone else right now.
“I’m sorry… but I’ve just made plans with this lovely lady,” I reply as I nod my head to Helena. “But perhaps after?”
The woman wrings her hands with worry, glances at the elevator and then back to me. Before she can respond, Helena adds, “Or… you could join us. Jerico loves some girl-on-girl action.”
The beauty’s eyes widen in shock.
“Um… no thank you,” she stammers to Helena before turning to me. “I apologize for interrupting you. I know this is incredibly rude, but this is important. I need a favor.”
“I don’t do favors,” I tell her truthfully, tightening my grip on Helena’s elbow. I’m immediately disappointed this woman isn’t going to end up in my bed. She’ll probably end up booted out the doors if she’s here to scam someone. “Now if you’ll excuse us—”
“My name is Trista Barnes,” she blurts out as we start to brush past her. “My brother is Jayce Barnes.”
I freeze in mid-step, the shock of hearing that name temporarily paralyzing me before it fills me with rage. Slowly, I look over my shoulder at her and I can’t withhold the menace in my voice when I say, “Why are you here?”
She’s takes a slight step back, indicating her wariness and yet I can’t do anything but glower at her simply because of who she’s related to.
Trista takes a deep breath and it comes out shaky, showing me her confidence level has dropped severely. “I’m in a bit of trouble, and Jayce said you could help me. He says you owe him a favor. That he wants to collect on it in the form of helping me. Please… I just spent five hundred dollars I didn’t have to spend to get in here to see you. I just need five minutes of your time.”
“Christ,” I mutter as I release Helena’s arm and scrub my fingers through my dark hair. I glare hard at the woman, hoping to perhaps frighten her into just leaving. I’ll even gladly refund her entrance fee. While I have no fucking desire to have anything to do with Jayce Barnes’ sister, I’m slightly impressed and maybe a little turned on when she lifts her chin up and holds my eyes. I love to watch a woman reach out for an inner confidence she’s not sure she has just yet.
Beyond pissed at myself because I’m actually a little intrigued, I turn my gaze to Helena and try to lighten my voice. “Rain check, okay?”
“Of course,” she says, laying a hand lightly on my forearm. I bend over and brush my lips against her cheek.
Helena is a classy woman. She even gives a small smile of encouragement to Trista before she turns back to the bar.
“Follow me,” I say to Trista tersely as I walk through The Social Room. I don’t even look behind me to see if she’s keeping up with my long strides, but she slips through the double wooden doors right behind me. We end up in a semicircle foyer that has the same paneled walls and Italian marble as the room we just came from. From here, there are five hallways branching off like spokes on a wheel, each closed off by an ornately carved wooden door. There are signs above each—The Waterfall Room, The Deck, The Orgy Room, The Silo—which is a nod to the original Wicked Horse in Wyoming. One is marked Private.
I veer to the right, taking the private hall that leads to my office. It’s the last door on the right, sitting adjacent to my apartment door. In fact, my office connects to my apartment by an interior door that leads right into the kitchen, so my home-to-work commute couldn’t be any shorter.
There’s a security pad on the wall. I punch in my five-digit code after angling my body so Trista can’t see, then I push the door open and step back to let her go in first.
I gave the designer free license to decorate my office and apartment however she saw fit as long as she didn’t use the colors pink or green. She did a superb job, going with an industrial design I really liked. The ceilings are exposed steel beams with air conditioning ductwork painted in black to match. The floors are done in light maple, and my simple desk has a roughly finished wooden top with iron legs. There’s a light blue rug with a wavy pattern in cream as well as two chairs done in gray leather. One wall houses a set of built-in cabinets that hold my records on The Wicked Horse, which aren’t all that interesting or secretive since this business is about as legit as they come. Only in Vegas, right?
As such, I don’t have any locks on the cabinets and I don’t use the safe built into my wall. The security pad outside the door is plenty for what’s in here.
Now my other business, The Jameson Group, is a different matter since I do contract work for the government, and by government, I mean CIA. That’s next-level top secret and remains secured at my other offices in the business district across town. But since I’ll soon be retiring from there at the ripe old age of thirty-five, I prefer to focus my attention on this new endeavor. Who would have thought Jerico Jameson, one of the most sought-after private security contractors, would end up leaving that business to open a sex club?
I know my parents—God rest their souls—would have never seen this coming.
“Take a seat,” I order Trista, pointing to one of the chairs. I round my desk to do the same. Placing my elbows on the tabletop and steepling my fingers in front of my mouth, I take a harder look at the woman who just turned what was promising to be a very good night into a really shitty one.
I don’t see any of Jayce in her. His hair and eyes were dark brown. Trista’s hair is lighter… almost a bronze color. She’s got high cheekbones and a slender nose. Jayce’s face was round with a wide nose. Trista’s eyebrows are perfectly arched while Jayce’s sat rather flat. I remember everything about that douche.
“You don’t look like your brother,” I observe as I lean back in my chair and place my hands on the armrests.
“Different mothers,” is all she says. “But we grew up together.”
“Why did he send you to me?” I ask the question again, expecting a better answer than a favor.
“I’m desperately in need of money,” she explains quickly. “I don’t know what favor he owes you, but he said you had money and you’d help me in exchange for wiping the slate clean between you two.”
I have to struggle not to snort my disbelief. The slate would never be clean between us. I hate that motherfucker so much he could be standing in front of me dying, with a drink of water the only thing to save him, and I’d pour it out on the ground beside him.
“He said he saved your life once,” she says quietly, as if she needs to remind me why she’s sitting here.
It’s true… and I hate the reminder.
That bastard saved my life from certain death, and I owe him big time. While pinned down in a firefight with insurgents from the Nazwad district of the Helmund Province, I took a bullet through my leg that nicked an artery. Jayce had thrown me over his shoulder, ran through a hail of bullets, and got me to a Humvee that held our field medic. The medic was able to hold the bleed and give me a unit of blood until the chopper came in to pick me up and take me to a field hospital. I was dangerously close to dying, but three more units of blood and stitching up my artery brought me back from the brink of death. Had Jayce not gotten me out of there, I wouldn’t have made it to the hospital. I was weak, disoriented, but completely grateful when I told him as he sat beside my bed, “Jayce… buddy… I’m not sure how I can ever repay you, but if you need anything at all, you come to me and it’s yours.”
It’s been almost ten years since then and he’s never asked for that favor, so I just assumed he knew to keep his distance from me. I’m sure he knew I’d probably attack him on sight, not to kill him, but to beat the shit out of him. I’d hurt him badly if he were standing in this office right now. He knows it because I’ve already done it once before, but it wasn’t enough to dull my fury at him.
Given the circumstances, it would probably be totally acceptable if I were to even consider the debt paid already and kick his sister out of my office. It’s true he saved my life, but when I caught him fucking my fiancée about four years later, I didn’t kill him. That fucker was invited by me to join The Jameson Group because I trusted him and he’d saved my life. But whenever I was on a mission and Jayce was off duty, he was apparently banging Michelle stateside. I didn’t kill him, but I should have. I stopped after I broke a few of his ribs and knocked some teeth out. By my reasoning, not killing him means I saved his life. So we should be even, right?
In fact, I should tell her that right now. Inform her to tell her brother to suck my dick—that I wouldn’t help him or her if their lives depended on it.
But I don’t.
Because two things strike me at once.
The first being an attack of conscience. I might be a mean son of a bitch and a ruthless leader when warranted, but I don’t ever renege on a promise. I owe him a favor, so he’ll get it.
Second, it occurs to me I could indeed help Jayce’s sister. She says she needs money and with a loan of funds, a repayment plan is in the cards. Add in the fact she’s fucking gorgeous as hell, and well…
I have an excellent idea on how she could repay me.
A way that would not make Jayce happy at all.
Let’s just call it a little bit of sweet revenge.