“The whole dress thing is completely unnecessary,” I scowl, “I’m not putting that on.” Even as I’m saying it, I’m holding the dress against me and stepping over the mirror above the dresser.
Damn it, the dress is beautiful. It’s a delicate white silk, with a long skirt and a slit that bares half my left thigh, dipping low in the back and showing more of my cleavage than I’m used to.
“It’s daring, but not sleazy,” Marcus pronounces. “You are going to wear the hell out of this dress!”
“This is a business meeting!” I snap, “I’m not going there toplay.”
“Part of business is playing the game sometimes,” he shrugs. “Wear it. Who knows?” He winks at me salaciously, “It might help your bargaining power.”
I can’t explain to Marcus that the negotiation for this particular deal is done. But Mr. Blue seems like a man who enjoys his games, so I’ll just wear the dress and hand over the statue. Part of me is dreading my return home and pretending to be shocked about Uncle William’s tragic demise. At least it’s done. It’s behind me and I can concentrate on helping Zed step up and take his rightful position as head of the family.
I’m a murderer. I ordered Uncle William’s death. It’s just as bad as if I’d pulled the trigger himself.
“Let me come with you,” Marcus says, his teasing grin disappearing. “I’m clear that you know what you’re doing, but this feels bad. I’ll just be there as your bodyguard.”
Back in college, Marcus got slapped by an ex-boyfriend and cried over his black eye for two weeks.
“I love you for wanting to help,” I say, kissing his cheek. “But as weird as this is - and I admit it - I am safe, I promise you. I’ll just… wrap this thing up and we’ll go dancing tonight, all right?”
He is not convinced, I know this. Finally, he reluctantly nods, fussing over me while I change.
The black SUV pulls up to the condo exactly at ten. Kyle, the man who drove me here from the club, opens the door for me, nodding politely. “Good evening, Miss King.”
“Hey, Kyle,” I smile weakly. Despite Marcus’ enthusiastic protests about how “fire” I look, I feel exposed in this dress, the cool air raising goosebumps on my bare shoulders and back. The door shuts with a ‘clunk!’ that tells me this car has armored doors and windows.
There’s no conversation on the way to the club. What am I going to ask this man? “Hey, Kyle what were you up to this week while your boss was killing my uncle?” I watch Glasgow’s glowing entertainment district pass by, the crowds thinning until we reach the quiet, dark area where Dante’s Inferno looms over the street.
He pulls into the back, where Mr. Blue escorted me out of the private exit last time. There are some expensively dressed guests heading through the glossy black door and I sit for a moment, trying to work up my courage.
“Miss King? You’ll want to don your mask now.”
“Hmmm? Oh, yes, thank you,” I smile weakly as I loop the silver mask over my face.
Other guests stare at me as I step out of the elevator and realize I’m on the wrong floor. There’s no full-blown orgy happening here, there’s an array of bondage equipment; leather benches with straps and restraints, a St. Andrew’s cross, and other items that I’m not completely certain of their purpose. One becomes clear when a naked woman seats herself on a padded chair with a large hole in the middle. Another woman slides under the chair and begins some impressively enthusiastic oral sex.
“It’s a Queening seat.”
I cringe as the man behind me murmurs into my ear, so close that his body heat radiates off the bare skin of my back. Mr. Blue smells like cedar and scotch tonight, materializing out of the darkness like smoke. Looking over my shoulder, I stare into his pitch-black eyes. He’s watching me speculatively.
“Sitting on someone’s face can be more comfortable with the seat, but I still prefer the old-fashioned way,” he says, his deep voice low enough not to distract from the show. “The feel of a woman’s thighs around my head, muscles quivering as I make her come? There’s nothing sexier.”
A deeply unwelcome bolt of heat shoots through my center. “I’m happy for you,” I say dryly. “But really, don’t feel like you have to share.”
He chuckles, taking my arm and leading me back to the elevator and the top floor, where the office is. Infuriatingly, he doesn’t seem in a big hurry to conclude our transaction, walking over to the glass wall that spans the length of his office.
“Come here.”
Gritting my teeth, I walk over as slowly as I can. “I’m very interested in concluding our business, Mr. Blue. Can you just-”
Chuckling, this gorgeous lunatic shakes his head. “You know who I am.”
“I don’twantto know who you are,” I say, holding on to my fraying temper. “This transaction is-” Whatever I’d planned to say disappears as I see the full array of what the club has to offer. There’s a huge, colorful playroom filled with toys for Littles and their Daddies. A long row of private rooms. One of the doors is open and I can see a massive wooden four-poster bed, luxurious furnishings, and a wall covered with whips and restraints. There’s a bank of monitors showing other floors in the building. I recognize the level devoted to orgies with raised platforms filled with cushions, and another where an attentive audience is watching a Dom tie up his submissive, dangling her from the ropes attached to the ceiling. Her eyes are closed, a blissful little smile on her face. My gaze halts as I spot a stairway descending into darkness and I can just see the flicker of torches.
“So, that’s the dungeon, I’m guessing,” I croak, “did you go full Medieval or…”
He chuckles, putting his hands in the pockets of his coal-black suit. Just like his soul, no doubt. I could swear I saw a flicker of demonic fire in his ebony eyes.
“LikeThe Divine Comedy, there are nine levels of hell in Dante’s Inferno,” he says, his voice getting deeper, thicker with arousal. “But the bottom two are set aside for primal play.”
