Could she be jealous?
If she were planning on leaving when her job was done, she’d have no need to be jealous…
“No. He’s… discriminating. Some might even say impossible to please. He has… discerning tastes.”
I definitely don’t imagine that look as she purses her lips and rolls her eyes. “Does he, then?”
First she’s jealous, now she’s offended. I can’t get her to The Underground fast enough.
I keep my tone sharp. “In minutes, we’ll be entering The Underground. While we’re there, you’re my slave. You’ll obey or be punished. You’re there to serve. You do not question me, talk back, or disobey me with even a thought, never mind an action. Do you understand me? This is important, Nicolette, because this isn’t just a group of men and women. There are monsters in there. People that would hurt you. Men with the ability to end your life and dispose of you without leaving a single trace behind.”
I watch as she swallows and finally nods. “I do. Of course. Yes, I understand.”
I reach for her. I cup her jaw in the palm of my hand. The look in her beautiful eyes softens my tone before I even realize it.
“Nicolette.”
I love you.
I can’t risk her running away. I can’t risk her being scared. She needs to know now, before anything else happens, that she can trust me.
“Yes?”
“Do you trust me?”
She leans closer to me, stunning in her disguise. Her eyes, though. Those are the eyes of the woman I love.
“Of course I do.”
I lean in to kiss her when my phone buzzes.
“We have to go,” she whispers.
I glance out the window as a woman walks with purpose to our car, dressed from head to toe in black and red.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Nicolette
It seemedfor a short time there that everything slowed down. When he cupped my jaw. Asked me if I trusted him. Leaned in as if to kiss me.
But we’re on now. And I have a job to do.
He said she was sexy.
Does he think I’m sexy? Does he also have… how did he put it… discriminating tastes?
As we walk side by side, I realize that there’s more than one couple here that could be going to the same place we are.
One woman wears a subtle leather kitten collar, a slim chain hidden in the palm of her partner’s hand. Another couple, their arms entwined with one another, wear shiny black leather latex that molds to their beautiful, muscled bodies.
Which of them, if any, are part of the Lyon family?
“Right there ahead of us,” Fabien says in a low whisper only I can hear.
The tall, leggy blonde wears black and red as he said, if you can call what she’s wearing clothes. The top is no more than a thin, lacy bra, paired with a form-fitting black leather skirt that’s so short I could see the curve of her ass, if she didn’t have hair so long it covers her. Her shoes are easily two inches higher than mine, and she’s got a flaming red fire tattoo on her upper right thigh.
Could’ve told us what to look for, I reason.
