Dangerous Games (Riley Jenson Guardian #4)(29)

I looked over my shoulder, just to ensure the kid or someone else wasn’t headed my way, then walked over to the card reader. I peered in through the glass, looking for cameras, then swiped the card. The reader beeped, the light flicked to green, and the door buzzed. I opened it up and slipped inside.
The big room was empty and silent. There were four doors leading off it, one of them open, revealing what looked to be a well-appointed staff lounge. Not the type of room that would hold many secrets—not the kind I was after, anyway.
I walked across to the first closed door. Opening it cautiously revealed a small corridor and several offices that were obviously occupied, given the feminine chatter coming from them. I moved on to door number two. Nothing but a large storeroom. Door number three was keycard locked.
I swiped the kid’s card through the slot, but the little light stubbornly remained red. Obviously, Raj didn’t have clearance for this area. 
I stepped back and studied the doorframe, looking for alarms and wondering if I should risk breaking open the door. As I did, a bell rang.
Adrenaline surged and, for half a moment, I was certain I’d been sprung. My damn heart seemed to lodge somewhere in my throat, beating a million miles an hour.
I stepped back, ready to flee to cover, then realized the ringing was actually a phone. Amusement at my own jumpiness swept through me, but it didn’t last long. Because when the phone stopped ringing, footsteps became audible.
They were approaching from behind the locked door.
Someone was coming out.
This time I did turn and run—but just to the nearest hidey-hole, which happened to be the storeroom. But I left the door open enough to peer through.
The locked door opened, and a big blond man dressed in black stepped out. He had a coiled black whip in one hand, and a twisted bit of material in the other. I stepped back into the shadows as he approached, but didn’t close the door, figuring a moving door would catch his eye more than a partially opened one.
He didn’t stop, just strolled past and into the office area. I glanced back at the door that had been locked, saw that it was still closing, and ran like hell toward it, squashing my breasts against my body with my hands so they didn’t brush the door as I slipped through the vanishing gap.
The door closed with a soft click that seemed to echo ominously. A long, dark corridor lay before me. Other than the soft sound of my own breathing, nothing seemed to stir. The air was still, hinting at age and mustiness and something else, something I couldn’t quite place.
Something that had chills running down my spine.
I rubbed my arms, and wished I had something warmer than a robe on. Cold had never been a friend of mine, though right now I could pretty safely say the goose bumps flitting across my flesh were due to fear more than the chill.
I wrapped the shadows around me, just in case someone came out into the corridor unexpectedly, then padded down the hallway, following the scent I couldn’t name.
Other scents soon joined it. Sweat. Blood. The hint of jasmine. Unless there were two ladies wearing the exact same scent, then Jan Tait was close by.
Doors loomed in the darkness. Four in total, two on the left, two on the right. I sniffed the air, trying to catch the direction of the jasmine scent. It seemed to be coming from the first door on the right, but it was hard to tell because that unknown scent almost overwhelmed everything else. And that scent was coming from the second door on the left.
It was, I thought, a little bit of desperation, a lot of death, and a mix of male and female. The death scent reminded me a little of Gautier, but even then, it wasn’t quite the same.
And with the mix of scents came odd mewling sounds.
Another shiver crawled across my skin. I reached for the door handle to my right. There was no way in hell I was tempted to investigate that other room or the scent emanating from it, because it just felt wrong. I might be a werewolf, I might often tread where only fools usually dared, but I wasn’t a complete idiot. Not when I was alone and without backup, anyway.
I carefully opened the door and peered inside. The room was in complete darkness, and the only sound to be heard was the soft panting of breath. Jan Tait—or whoever it actually was—was alone in the room.
I slipped inside and closed the door, then switched to infrared. And discovered what looked like a medieval torture room. There were racks with rough wooden wheels and thick ropes, chains attached to cuffs dangling from the ceiling, a huge wooden wheel straddling a deep water trough, and rough ropes attached to wall rings.
It was from one of these that a woman dangled. Her toes barely even touched the floor, meaning her shoulders and arms had to be taking the brunt of her weight. The pain of it had to be killing her. But as my gaze slid down, I realized the shoulders weren’t even half of it. She was naked, her light brown hair tied neatly into a ponytail and a cloth, knotted at the back of her head, covering her eyes. The loose ends of the cloth trailed down her back, touching flesh that was bloody and raw. In truth, it didn’t actually resemble skin anymore, but freshly shredded meat. Her breath was shuddery gasps, and yet the cause wasn’t fear or pain, despite the mess her back was in, but rather arousal. It stung the air, as thick and as heavy as the scent of her blood. This woman, whoever she was, was getting off on the mess they were making of her.I shuddered at the thought, and walked forward. The carpet gave way to tiles that were icy against bare toes, and the sound of my steps whispered across the silence.
The woman shifted her feet, so that her weight rested more heavily on her arms. The moan that escaped was a sound filled with pleasure. “More,” she whispered. “I need it…”
I stopped behind her and studied the cuts. The welt marks evident through the raw mess indicated the whip I’d seen the man carrying earlier was more than likely the weapon used here. Which just might mean he was due to come back.
Meaning, if I was going to question this woman—or at least read her mind and grab the answers I wanted—I’d have to hurry. I lowered my shields, and slid swiftly into the woman’s thoughts.
Bad mistake.
Her mind was all pain and thick arousal, and the moon heat surged to life in response. Sweat broke out across my skin, and for several seconds, it was all I could do not to spin around, go find the nearest male, and fuck him senseless.
I wrenched free of the woman’s thoughts and took a deep, shuddery breath. Okay, so I’d have to get answers the old-fashioned way.
“Jan? Why are you doing this?”
“I need. I pay.”
I raised my eyebrows. So the Hunter’s Club did provide more than just gym and massage services. Interesting. “What do you pay, Jan?”
She twisted on the ropes, her wrists so raw blood dribbled down her left arm, heading for her shoulder. “Gold pass. Top of the tree. Please. No more teasing. Finish it.”
There was a desperation in her voice that had the chills galloping, rather than merely stepping, across my flesh. She wanted what they were doing to her. Wanted it, needed it. I rubbed my arms, and said, “I’m not here to finish it.”
She moaned and yet, oddly enough, her desire rose, sharp and tantalizing in the still air. I wrinkled my nose against the scent, not because it was horrible or anything, but because my blood was beginning to pound through my veins again, stirred to life by the seductive smell. I might not be attracted to the same sex, but the scent of desire was enough to set hormones raging when the moon heat was closing in.
“Tell me how people find out about the gold pass.”
“Hellion Club,” she gasped. “They realized I needed more.”
Needed to be brutalized, obviously. Needed to be cut into pieces and left hung up to suffer. Like she was just another slab of meat fresh from the slaughterhouse.
Another shudder ran through me. I might be sexually adventurous, but even I had my limits, and this was way, way past anything I could ever imagine wanting. And I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her—though I’m sure my sympathy would be the last thing she’d want. 
She obviously enjoyed what they were doing to her, so who was I to turn up my nose at another’s wants or needs? Hell, that was the very reaction I’d spent most of my life fighting.
“Who from the Hellion Club recommended you come here, Jan?”
“Maisie, the owner. She saw my need. Said she understood it.”
“And why did she recommend this club? Aren’t there others?”
“She said her brother specializes.”
Her brother. Another link in the chain, or just a coincidence? As I opened my mouth to ask another question, footsteps echoed in the hall outside. I waited, barely daring to breathe, hoping those steps would keep going right on by.
They didn’t.
As the door began to open, I sprinted across to the huge wheel and slid in behind the cover of the water trough.
The man who came in was the man I’d seen carrying the whip earlier. But behind him was Jin. He must have taken a shower since I’d last seen him, because he looked fresh, and no longer smelled of sweat and sex and jasmine. Or maybe it just seemed that way because the tall whip carrier’s scent was all blood and sweat and musky man, and it was powerful enough to overwhelm any lesser scents.
The two of them stopped just behind the woman. Jin raised a hand and casually slapped the woman’s beaten buttocks.
She moaned, as if in pain, and yet the scent of desire sharpened tenfold.
“What do you want, Jan?” Jin slapped her again, harder this time. As the woman whimpered, he breathed deep, as if sucking in the sound.