"Lovely, so I'm a commodity," I quip. Angie Tennyson's sarcastic tone is back. One skipped dose and I'm finding my way back to reality. Only I fear reality is going to feel like a hard slap in the face.
"We all are, darlin'. But there are worse ways to live. Like the streets."
Blake and I had quickly bonded, but selfishly, I'd never asked how he came to be part of Freestone's underground world. "How did you end up here?"
Blake reaches for some mascara and spins the chair to face him. He stoops down in front of me. "For obvious reasons, my extremely religious, conservative father kicked me out of the house. Said I was a sexual deviant. I had to do what I could to survive. My low point came when I nearly died after some creep I'd offered to blow kidnapped me. He had his way with me and then dumped me out in the desert. Turned out to be a lucky thing. Mr. Freestone's limo was heading back to the underground complex. The driver spotted me. They picked me up, nursed me back to health and here I am in all my glory. Fat and happy and I have a place to belong."
A place to belong. That is where the inconsistencies muddy the waters. I'm here to uncover the hideous world Freestone has created, only it seems part of that world includes taking care of young people society has otherwise discarded. The fear Blake exhibits when he worries about breaking the rules seems to stem more from his worry that he'll lose his newfound home and not from some insidious danger he faces if caught breaking protocol.
My eyes shut as Blake finishes my makeup. I use the moment of quiet to get into a better state of mind. I'll need to be the submissive sex object while trying to uncover mysteries and salacious details about Lace Underground. The hardest part of it all will be ignoring the irritating side effects of skipping my dose of nectar. There are seconds when it feels as if tiny ants are dragging feathers along my skin. The thudding pain in my head and stomach have only just begun. I have no doubt they will intensify as the night goes on. I've seen more than enough junkies in the throes of withdrawal to know that things are going to get rough. I have to stay strong, keep my wits about me and still pretend to be floating on a blissful erotic cloud.
As I wait for Blake to finish, I think about the last few days sitting in the room going nearly out of my mind waiting to see Kane walk through the door. The feelings I have for him when I'm drugged border on mad obsession. When the amber liquid is coursing through my veins, all I can think about is his mouth on me, his fingers and cock inside of me. I'm more than subconsciously aware of the manic cravings I have for the man. There is nothing I can do to stop them when I'm high on nectar. The question is—how will I react to Kane when I'm not drugged? How will I react when I'm more Detective Tennyson than I am Tawny Smith, his Sweet Sin?
29
Maddox
The interrogation room in homicide is empty. "Damnit." I walk into the desk area and find Detective Young, a twenty year homicide veteran who is always cranky. Guess two decades of murders can do that to a guy.
I head to his desk. It's even more cluttered than mine. "Hey, Young, I need some info."
"What do I look like, Maddox? A fucking telephone book?"
"Telephone book? Is that one of those big paper weight things you old timers use to look up names and addresses?" I grab an empty chair from the next desk. It scrapes the gritty floor as I position it in front of his desk and sit down.
"Why are you sitting in front of my desk when I haven't invited you to sit there?"
"Told you, I need some information. Who is on the murder case for the dumpster body?"
Young finally looks up from his work. He has permanent angry creases across his forehead, and his nose is sharp like a bird's beak. "I am. There's your information. Now run along, kid. I'm busy."
"So the boyfriend confessed?" I ask. Persistence is both my strong suit and the habit most likely to get me in trouble.
Young makes a show of tossing his pen into a somersault. It rolls across his paper pile. He leans back. "You are a fucking pest, you know that? No wonder your partner left town. Where's Ten at, anyhow?"
I shrug. "Not too sure."
His brow has some long gray hairs in it that wiggle as the brow rounds over his eye. "Is she undercover?"
"Not too sure," I say again.
He reaches for his pen.
"Look, I assume you got a solid motive for the murder. Did the jerk say anything about why he slit the girl's throat?"
Young squints at me, trying to figure out why I'm interested. "This has something to do with Ten?" It's a question.
"Just need to know if there was any mention of where the girl had been. I know she had disappeared from the streets before she ended up dead."
Young sighs in resignation. "He says she told him it was top secret and that she'd been sworn to secrecy. But he managed to smack it out of her with his fist. He's a real nice guy all around. Can't wait to put him in front of a jury. Anyhow, she said that she was part of a secret club, a sort of high end prostitution ring from the sound of it. But she didn't work out so they dropped her back onto the streets."
"She didn't work out?" I ask. "How so?"
"How the fuck should I know, Maddox? Maybe she wasn't putting out for the clients. Anyhow, it was enough to make this kid jealous with rage. So he slit her throat and tossed her like garbage. Now go away." Young returned to his work.
I stand up and push the chair back into place. A high end prostitution ring. Fuck. The only light of hope was that they dropped the last girl back on the streets when she didn't work out. If that was the case, I was sure Ten would know exactly what to do to get herself out. I just needed to teach myself patience and wait it out. Right.
My laugh echoes through the hallway as I head back to my desk.
30
Angie
I feel almost like a tiny kitten who has just opened her eyes for the first time as I walk several hesitant steps behind Blake to what I can only assume is the main entertainment room. As we near two large mahogany doors, I can hear music and voices mingling behind them. A pair of aspirin has done little to squelch the pain in my head, and I have to consciously avoid rubbing my skin. As I learned just after Blake finished dressing me, the more I rub the more the invisible critters crawl. The idea that a person could rub their skin raw during withdrawals now seemed perfectly plausible.
Blake stops and looks back at me. I hate the constant look of worry I've seen on his face since I decided to skip an injection. "Are you ready?" he asks but seems unsure himself.
"Yes, let's rip the bandage off." I add a smile to reassure him I can pull this off. It's the first time I have had any shred of confidence since I walked into the place. Maybe it's just because people from the outside world are waiting on the other side of the door to remind me that it all still exists. Or maybe it's because effects of the nectar are fading fast, leaving me a clear thinking human for a change.
Blake opens the door. A handful of the people look up to see who has entered. There are at least a dozen young women, some wearing skimpy lingerie, some in satiny bras and underwear and some completely naked. My extremely short, sleeveless dress looks like a priest's garment compared to the others.
About ten men are sitting in various places around the room with their highball glasses and important looking suits and ties. Their formal business attire is nearly comical considering the room is dotted with scantily clad and naked women. Some women sit on laps. Others are draped provocatively over arms of leather chairs or backs of upholstered settees. The only stark contrast to the sensual festivities are the two guards, one at each side of the room. Each one is well over six feet tall and with shoulders to match. They are dressed head to toe in black and standing still as statues with arms crossed as they watch the party in front of them. Blake had mentioned that the members were kept in line so that none of the women got hurt.
A table is overflowing with sumptuous dishes of lobster and prime rib. My stomach curls up to remind me how empty it is, but at the same time, my appetite hasn't returned.
A
pretty woman with pale blonde hair piled up on her head and a butterfly tattoo on her right breast sashays across the room to us wearing only the leather cuffs and anklets. She stops and licks her lip as she looks me up and down. "My gosh, Blake, she looks ready to go to confession."
"I was following orders," he says quickly, apparently hoping I'll miss the comment. Orders can only come from one source. That I learned on day one.
"Really? Guess he doesn't want anyone else looking." The woman continues the topic, making Blake fidget. He reaches back and grabs my hand. "Excuse us, Eve. I'm going to get Tawny a drink."
Blake hustles me away.
"Am I not supposed to talk to anyone?"
"Not Eve. She's toxic." That's his only comment about Eve. He hands me a whiskey sour. I crinkle my nose at the drink. He leans closer. "Darlin', you're still in pretty solid shape, but you're going to start missing that last dose more and more. And I don't want to get in trouble."
I stare angrily at him and gulp the horrid tasting drink like a kid finally giving in and finishing the glass of milk that came with dinner. I wince as I pull the glass away. "God, that's strong."
"Good, drink some more. I've got to go. Mr. Freestone doesn't like me hanging around the club events."
"So you're leaving me out here alone with the wolves?" As I finish my statement, I catch a rude tongue lick being cast my direction from a small squat man sitting on the couch. There's a brunette on his knee dressed only in satin panties. He's clutching her waist as if he owns her. At the same time, he's making lascivious gestures across the room at me. The brunette doesn't seem to mind. She laughs when she catches him with his tongue out. She smiles my direction and then leans and whispers something into his ear. Whatever she says seems to excite him.
I look away from the couple and catch Blake just as he's about to turn away. "Where is Mr. Freestone? I thought I'd see him tonight." I hope I'm only imagining the slight desperation in my tone. I've been trying hard not to think of the man. Not having the nectar has helped some, but suddenly I wish he was standing in the room.
"He'll be here soon, which is why I have to go."
As he speaks, a man, who looks fortyish and like the kind of guy who wakes on Sunday morning to make pancakes for the kids, strolls past us. He has playfully bound his necktie around one of the women's eyes. She is giggling as he leads her out of the room.
"Avoid the squat guy with the brunette over there. They are hatching a plan for a threesome. You're part of that number." The mention of the threesome should be the stunning part of his comment but something else has gripped me.
I grab Blake's arm before he turns away. "So that's it then? He's grown tired of me after all. Is that why I'm here? You can tell me, Blake. I can take it." I know the last sentence is a lie, but I try to make it convincing.
"If only that were the case," Blake says quietly before pulling free from my frantic grasp.
My only friend vacates the room, leaving me alone in the middle of what seems to be nothing more than a high end brothel, but with one magnificent perk—the women are buzzing on a powerful aphrodisiac. Paying customers are hanging out, getting drunk and deciding which woman to whisk off for the night. I wonder just how much the fee is to be part of Kane's private club. My mind is still muddled but I know two men were bludgeoned to death in their expensive houses. Were they ex-members who threatened to reveal the entire scheme? It seemed that they'd keep quiet just to keep their own reputations intact. What exactly did they do to get their heads bashed in and who did the bashing? Was it Kane or one of the muscular body guards at each side of the room?
"You must be the new little treasure Freestone's been keeping to himself," a voice says from behind. I turn to face the man. He's middle aged with a paunch to match. His dark moustache looks almost fake as if it's been stuck there with a piece of tape. He looks me up and down in a way that brings a bitter taste to my mouth. I'm clearly not drunk enough. It's easy to see why the nectar is a necessity. The man has apparently been eating something with garlic. His breath is so strong it makes my eyes water.
"I'm glad he's finally decided to share you with the rest of the club. I saw you and decided to swoop in before anyone else moved first."
"I think I'm here strictly as Mr. Freestone's guest."
A laugh comes from the other side of me. It's toxic Eve. "What makes you so special, honey?" she sneers. "If you're at the party, then you're here for the club members. Besides, I'm surprised you kept his interest this long. You're far too skinny and just not that pretty."
Blake's one word adjective seems to fit just right. I raise my glass and wink at her with a silent toast. "Must be other qualities then," I say before gulping back the rest of the drink. Seems I'm going to need it.
"I'll say. Plenty of qualities." The man leans closer and put his hand against my back. I'm in a cloud of garlic, and his breath isn't his most repulsive feature. Eve walks away feeling apparently victorious with her insult.
I reach back for another drink and hand him one too. With any luck, I can get him so drunk he'll spill club secrets. If Kane has dumped me into his parlor games, then I plan to make quick work of things. After all, I'm here to find actionable evidence and get out. If he's grown tired of me, then I've grown tired of him. Just as the silly, weightless thought coasts through my head, the large mahogany doors open and Kane steps into the room.
Everyone goes on with their conversations and flirtatious skits, but his presence changes the atmosphere in the room. Shit, he's one of those guys, one of those people who can enter a crowded, active room and pull all the heat and energy toward him. Like a magnetic core in the earth, Kane is at one end of the room, but he is instantly the center of the party. Or is that just in my mind?
Kane's blue eyes seem to land directly on me. No sweep of the room or nod hello to anyone else. His intense gaze is directly on me. My nipples harden instantly as if he can see right through the dress. His jaw is set hard. It's obvious he's angry but that doesn't stop garlic breath from calling across the room to him.
"Hey, Freestone, finally let this little ruby out of the treasure box. Think I'll be the first to break her in."
I'm frozen to the spot, too drawn in by his gaze to look away, but I sense the room has fallen noticeably silent. My garlic scented friend drops his hand from my back. The aroma lightens as he shuffles away.
Two women approach Kane and engage him in a conversation. He speaks to the them, but his gaze is still riveted to me. I feel heat rising up my body along my throat and neck, filling my cheeks with a blush. My head is nearly clear of the nectar, but it seems the physical sensations are more permanent.
I turn back to the bar and pick up a drink. Kane's arrival seems to have made me a sudden wallflower. No one approaches me. In fact, it seems a wide berth is being made just to avoid getting near me. My undercover mission for the night has flopped. I peek back over my shoulder to see if he's still engaged in his conversation, and I silently chastise myself for caring. One of the women sidles closer to him and is going out of her way to press her naked breasts against him. There is no damn way I should be jealous, yet all I can think is that he'll take her to bed tonight instead of me. And I'll be left to die in a cloud of garlic as the man pants and grunts over me on the mattress.
Suddenly, the dress and ponytail work. I'm sixteen again and vying for the attention of the cutest boy at the dance. I walk to one of the men who still seems to be without a match for the night. He's tall, with ramrod straight posture and gray at the temples. He reminds me of Mr. Drucker, the high school chemistry teacher. I had a crush on the man with his pocket-sized periodic table and white lab coat. And his laugh. It was a great booming laugh.
I add a little extra sway to my hips to make the skirt of the dress flip flirtatiously around my thighs. I don't need to look back to know my movement has caught Kane's eye. My pussy tingles at the thought of him watching me move toward another man. Only for a split second do I remind myself that I'm in an investigation a
nd not a pawn in a wild sex game. The reality falls easily away and is replaced by the latter. I want to be a pawn in his game. My head is clear but Kane still has control over me. All my thoughts center around him. All my actions are to garner a reaction from him.
"Good evening. I'm Tawny," I say politely and then follow the greeting up with a none too discrete lick of my bottom lip. It seems the gesture has done its trick. His gaze drops directly to my mouth.
"Hello, I'm Chad." His hand is large and warm as it wraps around mine. "So you're the new girl?" His voice falls off on the last word and his attention is drawn to someone behind me.
"Yes, she is." Kane's voice sends an instant shiver through me. It is dry and sharp, letting me know he's not happy with me. "If you'll excuse us," he tells Chad. "Miss Smith was just about to leave." I've never heard him use my alias surname before. It reminds me of my dad using my middle name when telling me that I'd done something wrong. Kane doesn't take hold of my arm to lead me away. Instead, he loops his finger through the ring on my wrist cuff.
My feet hit the floor fast and hard as Kane drags me along toward one of the guards. My heart is beating in my throat. His anger is palpable. "Please escort Miss Smith back to her room."
"I thought I was invited to the party." I face him but his cold glare makes me turn away. When I get the courage to look back at him, I find that he's walking away. Beneath the white shirt, his shoulders are tight with tension. His arms are straight at their sides with hands balled in fists.
Like a palace guard, my escort doesn't look down at me. I follow behind him through the party. Eve looks pleased to see me being led out of the festivities. I have no doubt that she has been watching the entire scene play out, including Kane leading me around by one of my leather shackles like I was his prisoner. I am his prisoner. And some dark part of me, a place that has been awakened by the nectar and by the man himself, is thrilled to be his captive. But it seems I may have just flirt teased my way out of the Lace Underground and out of his clutches. That might just be a good thing. The longer I stay here, under his control, the more I lose my grip on reality. The more he pulls me into his seductive world.