Treacherous waters.
Where his fucking feelings had turned into boulders.
"Yeah, I'm sure," he finally grunted, peering through the water at the monitors. A little plastic, a little H2O, and the world was suddenly a different place. Only … it wasn't. Only his view had changed. "Damn sure."
It was time to see things clearly again. To push the boulders back into the stream.
He took another long pull of the water. This time, pushed it away after setting it down. "So … you think she's all right?"
"As opposed to the ninety-eight other times you asked me, Mother Hubbard?" Reb came out of the Magneto pose to balance the opposite way, elbows propped on the desk, tiptoeing the base of the chair. But by the time he looked up at the monitors, his snark dissipated. "You know what? I think she's exhausted. First, we weren't exactly about hearts, candles, and Air Supply with her this morning. On top of that, after the details we've uncovered here … "
Rhett grimaced. "No shit."
Two lamer words had never been spoken-in light of the information relayed by the two screens. Rebel pointed at a picture from the Facebook page of a woman named Enya Sabine Monet, dated a little over two years ago. "This has to be the ‘Enya' she was referring to."
"Who clearly has to be her younger sister." The photo served as the no, duh for that. The shot, which looked like it was taken at a club or party, displayed Brynna and Enya along with another woman, only referred to as Nadine. They all wore black cocktail dresses, though Enya and Nadine had finished theirs off with fishnets and pleaser boots that wouldn't have left any dude at that party guessing about their end game. Brynn, with those incredible gazelle legs, didn't need any enhancements but the sleek black heels on her feet. As it was, Rhett shifted to readjust his fresh boner. Just imagining her in that dress, with those legs circling his waist and those heels digging into his back …
Focus, you wanker.
Beyond the erotic fantasy value, the picture was a revelation. Though Brynn and Enya stood on opposite sides of their friend, their resemblance was too striking to be ignored. Duplicate kitten eyes. The same high, defined cheeks. Their chins tapering to matching heart-shaped points.
"Beautiful girl." Rebel stated it as if rattling off mission intel, peering analytically at the monitor. "Looks happy, healthy, fulfilled. Lived about ten minutes from Brynna, and had friends as well as an active social life. According to her tax records, worked a good job as a special events manager at The Wynn-"
Rhett interjected with a low whistle. "Niiiice."
"But apparently, she was lying to a lot of people."
Rhett took that as his cue to click open another window. A page from a new social media site appeared, which incorporated element of the popular standard social sites, but with kinkier twists. Photos of Enya Monet also filled the screen-only it wasn't her name at the top of the page. Hestia Hyacinth was a different creature entirely: a woman who wore latex minis, training corsets, and leather accessories with D-rings for bondage hooks. Her blonde hair was hidden beneath wigs of various colors and styles. Her face was coated in glittering makeup and swirled decals that turned her into everything from a half-naked butterfly to an erotic zombie to a naughty schoolgirl, and everything in between.
"At the risk of being redundant," Rhett inserted, "no shit."
Rebel scooted in, a fascinated stare taking over his face. "Check out the dates. Her posts to Facebook faded as her entries on this kink site ramped up."
"Definitely fits." Rhett clicked another tab, opening up a detailed credit card purchase history. "Check out the other records I was able to yank."
Rebel leaned in again. "She went to a lot of the lighter D/s play clubs in town … "
"Until she didn't."
The guy's gaze flared. "Wait a second. Brick and Bondage Corp. Isn't that-"
"Max Brickham's company." Rhett offered the name of the Seattle-based Dom who owned Bastille, the kink club they frequented when they were back at base. Last year, Max had opened a second location in a subterranean bunker beneath the Nevada desert, halfway between Vegas and Henderson. Catacomb wasn't advertised or promoted anywhere in town-partly because it was successful without the fuss; mostly because it was known for the most hardcore BDSM play in the valley.
Rebel scooped up the pencil again. Tapped it on the desk in a fervent staccato. Rhett tried not to stare but failed. It was almost as fascinating to watch the guy think as it was to watch him fuck. "So she heard about Catacomb. And got in."
"Looks like it." Rhett scowled. "But we can only go by the receipt trail. Max is, as we both know, paranoid about security. His firewalls can be cracked, but it would take me three days minimum to do it."
"Don't bother." Rebel started scrolling deeper into the pages of "Hestia's" kink account. "I think we'll find what we need right here."
Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.
Rebel kept going, though some of the shots made him stop and zoom in before shaking his head, looking as stumped as a Jeopardy contestant who had no clue how to answer the Daily Double. Rhett had to admit, his friend's confusion was oddly reassuring. Rhett had seen a lot of the world, and that included BDSM dungeons from the tame to the bizarre, but even to a jaded guy like himself, the pictorial chronicle of Hestia's submissive journey was intense. The images depicted the woman in increasingly extreme D/s situations, including fire cupping, public whippings, and even a needle and thread session where the sides of her spine were pierced with eyelets then "laced up" like a corset.
The captions on the photos declared it was all for her Master Peter, a guy who looked like the love child of Billy Corgan and a Harajuku Girl, and did his part for the Vegas BDSM community by ensuring the camera loved him in all the right ways. From his rock star pout and shit-kicker boots to his kohl-lined eyes and multi-pierced ears, Peter baby was all about projecting the brooding rebel guy mystique. He apparently played that way, too. Rhett lost track of how many red flags he set off, all of them overlaid with one resonating word.
User.
His instinct wasn't soothed as Rebel continued scrolling. The pictures of Enya and her Dom were clearly all captioned by her, in language that made more alarms go off.
He is my sun, my moon, my stars.
I am his to rule forever.
His happiness is mine.
Next to him Rebel grunted. "His happiness?" he scoffed. "Does that guy understand what happiness is, beyond a popular Instagram account?"
The answer came with hardly any notice. Between one mouse click and the next, Hestia Hyacinth's profile relayed a dramatically different story. Gone was the cute and curious little subbie, as well as the lovestruck woman devoted to the will of her Dom. Gone were photos of the woman at all. Haunting images took over her feed, some borrowed from other sources, others taken with her cell. Moody landscapes. Pining poems. Shots of things like tumbleweeds, cloud-filled skies, lone swans on foggy ponds.
The captions to the images were just as desolate. Rambling and grief-stricken, the texts were filled with pleas and questions, begging Master Peter for an explanation of what offense she'd committed to turn him from her so suddenly. From the looks of things, diva-boy Dom had left her to hang, despite how she begged him for a phone call, a text … a chance.
Rhett pounded down more water. "Why do I suddenly wish this was vodka?"
Rebel cocked back his head, closing his eyes. "Asshole saved all the pretty for the camera."
"A lot more makes sense now. About what Brynn said."
"Truth." Reb straightened, taking in the images with newly scrutinizing eyes. "So what happened after that? These last pictures are dated nearly a year ago."
Rhett clicked open the window with his original search results for Enya's name. "I had more hits here … let me see if anything turns … "
"Whoa." Rebel voiced the polite version of what-the-fuck, as the monitor was filled with a certificate bearing the state's seal-then three words in ornate script.
Power of Attorney
It was easy enough to skim the legal mumbo-jumbo and locate the names of the key people on the doc.
"Enya gave Brynna her power of attorney?" Rhett frowned.
"And not to a parent?" Rebel countered. "Are their mom and dad around?"