Knox scrubbed his hands over his face. “Fuck, Gil. Why’d you bring this up now?” Then it clicked. He lowered his hands. “You know a trainer who’s looking to jump ship.”
“Yes. I’m worried once word gets out he’s ready to move on, people will start offering him the moon and the stars.” Gil leaned forward. “This guy needs a change, and the right offer will hook him more than a big offer.”
“Stop fucking around and tell me who we’re talking about.”
Gil paused. “I need your promise it doesn’t leave this table. Your solemn promise.”
Knox almost snapped off, “I prefer pinkie promises,” but he reined it in. “Fine. You’ve got my word.”
“Maddox Byerly.”
His jaw dropped. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No.”
“Why the fuck is he leaving TGL?” TGL—Tieg, Garvey, Linson—based in LA, culled only the best of the best for their MMA roster. They’d trained UFC champs, Bellator champs, Strikeforce champs, but their biggest claim to fame was Judson DeSilva, nine-time world champion. DeSilva had won three world championship titles in each division he fought in—an unheard-of feat. Different divisions had different training regimens because weight and size determined the level of physical activity. And who’d trained DeSilva in all three divisions? Maddox Byerly.
“He’s going through a messy divorce. TGL wanted to ‘brand’ him and then use that as a selling point to franchise TGL.” At Knox’s blank look, Gil clarified. “Like the Gracie Method in Brazilian jujitsu. TGL called it the Maddox Effect.”
“Jesus.”
“Maddox hates that corporate mentality. He wants to train individual fighters, not be responsible for a style of fighting.”
“How do you know all this?”
Gil’s lips tightened. “Because he’s married to—soon to be divorced from—my psycho sister, Roxanna. The split has been a long time coming.”
“Holy shit, man. He’s your brother-in-law?”
“I see the question in your eyes. And yes, Maddox was a long shot to bail ABC out of trouble, but it didn’t come to that. He’s aware of who Ronin is, even when he’s not fully invested in the martial-arts world. So I think the right offer, the chance to relocate and the guarantee he’ll be treated like an individual with autonomy and not a commodity would sway him.”
“You got any sway with him?”
“Some. I got along better with him than with my sister. I actually told him he was fucking crazy to want to be with her. So he knows it’s no bullshit with me.”
Knox’s eyes narrowed. “So why aren’t you aligning Maddox with ABC?”
“Because Blue can’t afford him. Ronin Black can. And if Maddox is under the Black Arts umbrella . . .”
“Then chances are good he’ll be working with ABC fighters too.”
Gil grinned.
“You’re a sneaky bastard.”
He laughed. “There is a devious mind behind these good looks, amazing physique, and Brazilian charm.”
“Snake charmer is more like it,” Deacon said, snagging the chair next to Gil. “What’s going on?”
Knox had gotten so sucked into the conversation with Gil that he’d forgotten Deacon’s dick move. “Where’s Shiori?”
“She went home. Her car service picked her up.”
“Why the fuck did you—”
Gil stood. “I’ve had enough drama for one night. See you guys in the morning.” Gil’s parting shot at Knox was, “Think about what I said.”
As soon as Gil was gone, Deacon started in. “I did you a fuckin’ favor cutting you off with Shiori when I did. You would’ve dry humped her right on the damn dance floor in front of everyone. And while that so what look in your eyes is charming as hell, keep in mind that other instructors from other martial-arts studios hang out here. After the bullshit Ronin went through with Amery, I can’t shake the feeling someone is still gunning for Black Arts. I hope I’m wrong, but in the meantime don’t bump and grind on Ronin Black’s sister in public where anyone can snap a fucking picture of it, okay?”
“I get what you’re saying, but it wasn’t like that between us. It was a nice change that we weren’t trying to knock each other out.”
“Fine. Great. It’s a fuckin’ relief to all of us who have to work with you two that you’ve learned how to deal. But don’t turn the fact you don’t want to kill each other into something more, something it ain’t, something it’ll never be, dig?”
“Why? Did she say something about me?”
“Christ, Knox. Did you really just ask me that? This ain’t third grade.” Deacon laced his hands together and placed them on top of his head. “How long’s it been since you were at Twisted?”
“Two weeks. Why?”
“Go tomorrow night. Beat the shit out of someone and get fuckin’ laid. Then I’ll bet Shiori won’t look so damn appetizing to you.”
Not a bet Knox would take. If he’d been insanely attracted to her even when he wanted to stuff her face into the mat most days, he suspected that attraction wouldn’t fade now.
But in Deacon’s world everything was cut-and-dried. So Knox told him what he wanted to hear. “You’re probably right. Let’s get out of here. We’ve got an early training day tomorrow.”
As they walked toward Deacon’s car, he said, “What were you and Gil talking about? It looked intense.”
He could bounce the idea of hiring Maddox Byerly off Deacon, but he wanted to run it by Shiori first. Get her financial take on it. “His sister is going through a divorce. He just needed someone to talk to.”
“Thank god it was you and not me who got roped into that conversation.”
“One of these days, Deacon, the idea of talking things out with someone won’t send you running toward the nearest strip club for validation that you’ve got balls.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
CHAPTER THREE
SATURDAY night Shiori walked into the main lounge area of Twisted like she owned the place. The immediate buzz of interest fed her ego, which hadn’t been stroked in so long she’d almost forgotten that feeling of power.
The first man to approach her was Merrick McBride, the club’s owner. He clasped both of her hands in his and kissed her cheeks. “Mistress B, it’s an honor that you’ve joined us.”
“Thank you.” She looked around the space—a horseshoe-shaped bar, a large meet-and-greet lounge area with couches, chairs, and floor cushions. The hallways that led to the private playrooms allowed for a separation of casual conversation from serious play.
Master Merrick gave her a slow perusal. For tonight’s fun and games, Shiori had donned a platinum wig and a cream-colored lace mask. She’d gone for the traditional Domme look in clothing: a black leather vest with burgundy laces up the front, a pair of hip-hugging burgundy leather pants, and four-inch black platform booties.
She fought the urge to fiddle with the gold band adorning her wrist, which denoted her Domme status at the club. “Do I pass inspection, Master Merrick?”
His hungry gaze met hers. “You are stunning. You’ll have subs falling at your feet tonight.” He cocked his head. “I’m curious about the mask. When I did your background check, I was told that’s always been part of your persona at the club in Tokyo.”
“So why would I continue that here in the United States when there’s a slim possibility someone will recognize me?” She leaned in. “Besides the fact I’m Ronin Black’s sister?”
“Your brother hasn’t been here in ages. Which is unfortunate for me, from a business standpoint, because we have some of our biggest crowds when he gives demos.”
“I imagine the bakushi master is a huge draw to show off his rope skills. He’s been through a lot of changes in the past several months, but I’m confident he will return to do demos at some point.” Ronin’s wife had put off any discussion of Ronin doing bondage demos while he was on medical restrictions due to injuries. But Shiori kne
w now that he’d been cleared by his doctors, his need to teach would force that issue between them—sooner rather than later. “I assume you mentioned my pending membership to my brother?”
Master Merrick shook his head. “I merely verified you’re his sister. It’s against the rules to divulge members’ names—real or the personas they choose to use.”
Shiori touched the mask. “Which is why I wore this. It’s become such a part of Mistress B that I felt naked without it.”
“It adds another layer of mystery to the exotically beautiful Mistress you already are.” He kissed her hand again. “Anytime you decide you want to test your limits on whether you might be a switch, you let me know. I would love to tear that mask away and see the real woman beneath.”
Her belly did a slow curl. She touched Master Merrick’s face. He was beautiful, the epitome of an all-American guy with his classically handsome looks, athletic body, and easy charm. He definitely had that Master’s way about him—where she felt the pull to do what he commanded. “You are a dangerously sexy man, Master Merrick. You almost make me question my orientation.” She smiled. “Almost. And I promise if I’m ever in the mood to be topped, you’re the first man I’ll call.”
He laughed. “I’ll hold you to that. Now, would you like me to introduce you around?”
“I’ll take you up on that later. Right now I’d like to have a glass of wine and get the lay of the land, so to speak.”
“Understood.” He turned and crooked his finger at a young man poised at the end of the bar. “Tell Greg to pour Mistress B a glass of my private reserve.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
“I rate the private reserve on my first night?”
“I imagine a woman of your stature doesn’t drink house wine.”
Her stature. There was another reminder on why she’d chosen the mask and become Mistress B. Then no one knew her as a corporate executive and an heiress to billions; they saw her as formidable for an entirely different reason. She flashed Master Merrick a frosty smile. “My stature in the club is Mistress B, and I’m perfectly content drinking house wine. But I do appreciate your gift as a one-time-only welcome gesture.”
His eyebrows rose. Then he smiled. “Understood. And I see that you and I will get along very well indeed, Mistress.”
After Master Merrick handed her the glass of wine, he took his leave.
Shiori sipped her wine. This definitely wasn’t the house special. She looked around and realized she was still getting curious stares. It would be interesting to see who approached her first. When she turned, she realized part of the reason for the attention she’d garnered was the young submissive sitting at her feet. “You may look at me,” she said softly.
He tipped his head back and gazed at her with wonder.
Oh, how she’d missed that. “What’s your name?”
“Justin, Mistress.”
“Well, Justin. Why are you sitting at my feet?”
“Because I want to serve you tonight, Mistress.”
She took another long sip of the luscious red wine and considered him. He was young—twenty-two at the most. He had the blond hair, sharply defined cheekbones, and icy blue eyes she associated with a Nordic gene pool. He wore a tiny pair of black athletic shorts and the green bracelet that identified him as a submissive.
“I can strip so you can decide whether my body pleases you,” he offered.
“Tell me, Justin. Do you have a preference on whether you submit to a Master or a Mistress?”
“No, Mistress, no preference.”
Such a shame. She didn’t waste time with men who went both ways. She smoothed her hand over his soft hair. “I appreciate your honesty. You’re dismissed.”
He lowered his head, and his shoulders slumped. “Thank you, Mistress, for the consideration.”
She wandered over to the bar.
The bartender smiled at her and offered his hand. “I’m Greg.”
She shook his hand, noticing he didn’t wear a bracelet. “Mistress B. I’m new to this club, and I’m not exactly sure what that signifies.” She gestured to the black band around his biceps.
“The black bands are worn by security, although that’s a loose interpretation of what I do. I float between keeping an eye on the rooms to make sure the rules are being followed, to pouring drinks, to providing certain services to submissives as well as Masters and Mistresses.”
“‘Certain services’ sounds ominous.”
He shrugged. “It means sometimes I function as a third player in threesomes. Or mete out discipline. I intervene if a submissive uses their safe word in a scene. Pretty much jack-of-all-trades.”
“So is it like an apprentice level? Before you become a Master?”
“No. Black bands are their own station here. Not everyone aspires to be Dominant. Or submissive. We are the peacekeepers, and we keep the balance in check. We are neutral.”
“It’s the first I’ve heard of that kind of role in a club like this.”
“Merrick doesn’t define the club, except for the privacy policy. So the members run the gamut from hard-core pain sluts, to newly ‘out’ submissives who aren’t sure what aspect of BDSM appeals to them—although that’s usually limited to the Friday night membership—to dabblers in the lifestyle, to Dominants and subs just out for a good time, or on the flip side, Dominants and subs looking for a permanent partner. That means the membership fluctuates.” He grinned. “Which makes my job interesting.”
“I’ll bet. So are there any special events going on tonight?”
“A violet wand demo on the main floor. Besides that, just the usual.” He sipped from a bottle of water. “What specifically are you looking for tonight, Mistress B?”
“Are you asking because I sent Justin on his merry way?”
“I’m asking because maybe I can help you out.”
She smiled at him. “I’m interested only in hetero male subs, if you’re curious about me.”
He grinned back. “Never hurts to ask.”
Shiori finished her wine and slid the empty glass toward him. “Thanks for the info.” She adjusted her vest and headed down the hallway to see what awaited her.
* * *
KNOX twisted the handle as he swung, sending the flogger to reconnect with the same section of skin as the last three blows. The man made a loud “uff” of pain and his Master stepped in.
“He’s done.”
“Sir, I can take more,” the man in the chains protested.
Knox didn’t get involved in the argument. While he had a break, he grabbed the towel, mopped his face, and stepped in front of the fan to cool down. He uncapped a bottle of water and drained the entire thing in four long swallows.
Master Rand motioned to him to help unhook his sub from the chains.
As soon as the guy was freed, he sank to his knees. He wrapped one hand around the back of Knox’s calf. “Thank you. That was . . . what I needed.”
“Happy to help.” He watched as Master Rand hauled his sub to his feet and led him away.
One down; one to go.
He twisted his neck and shoulders, trying to ease the ache in the middle of his back. He’d need a massage after his last scene tonight. Master Angus expected that immediate explosion of pain from the first lash to the last lash. No buildup, just continual bombardment for fifteen minutes. Having a set time frame helped Knox keep his stamina. Wielding a whip for that long took its toll on him as well. Everyone expected a big guy like him to have superior strength and staying power, so that’s the image he maintained even if he could barely move the next day. He’d gotten smart and limited himself to three sessions in a night, so his skills were in high demand for those members who craved the type of pain he provided.
Stepping out of the hot box, Knox noticed a crowd had gathered in front of one of the open-use rooms. He meandered that way, thankful his height allowed him to see over everyone’s heads.
But he didn’t have the greatest view of what held the crowd enthralled, so he got closer.
A platinum-blond Domme in leathers was whipping Dex, a male submissive, with a short-handled whip. The instrument of torture wasn’t as interesting as where she was leaving marks. She’d reddened the area around both of his nipples and the skin below his hip bones. She’d stretched him out—a spreader bar between his ankles and his arms equal distance apart above his head. That