In the past, he’d have Nolan with him to handle the situation but Nolan was no longer available. His twin brother was too busy being respectable to bother with Vince and their investments presently — including Malvagio. But Vince didn’t have time to grouse about Nolan. With each passing second that the mystery girl went unaccounted, he felt certain they were all barreling toward something bad.
Emma Winters realized she’d bitten off more than she could chew the minute she locked eyes with Vince Buchanan, if even for a second, but she couldn’t find the way out of this cursed place to save her life. In hindsight, her grand plan had been pretty reckless but it’d seemed like the only answer at the time. Now? She just wanted to get out this rotten place before she ended up like her younger sister, Lana. She tried to make her way toward what she believed was the exit but suddenly, she was waylaid by a big man wearing a laconic smile and a carnal light in his eyes. “You look delicious,” he said, reaching out to finger a fat curl and tug on it lightly. “Do you belong to someone?”
The solicitously asked question was no less disgusting but from what she knew of Malvagio, everyone belonged to someone and if she were to say otherwise would mark her as being an outsider and blow her tenuous cover. She forced a tremulous smile and pretended that she was indeed someone’s property. “Of course. My Master is coming. I was told to wait here,” she answered.
“And who is your Master?” he asked, sliding his finger along the curve of her jaw. “Perhaps he would be of a mind to share his lovely pet.”
“He doesn’t share,” she said quickly, shuddering at the thought. “In fact, he’s very jealous. Very possessive.”
He arched his brow at that. “Possessive and yet he brings such a pretty thing here? Seems an odd way to cherish a possession as lovely as you. Surely, he knows that Malvagio has a reputation for debauchery at its finest level. And with that comes a certain…permissiveness with fellow Malvagio members.”
“Yes, well, he’s odd that way.”
He advanced, crowding her personal space in a way that made her intensely uncomfortable but she tried not to show it. Fear had a way of making people do stupid things and Emma couldn’t afford to be stupid here. “What if I told you, that I think you’re lying…that you have no Master and therefore are fair game.”
“Y-you would be wrong,” she said, lifting her chin. “In fact, my Master is…Nolan Buchanan.” She threw the name out there in the desperate hope that her aggressive suitor would back off but when the man’s slow smile widened with feral intent, she knew she’d picked the wrong Buchanan.
“Now I know without a doubt you’re lying,” he said, pushing her hard into the darkened room. She stumbled on a gasp but tried to dart past him — no matter she was blowing her cover big time — but he was too quick. “Where are you going, little lamb? We haven’t even begun to have fun.” He flicked the lights and the room illuminated through a series of slow, dim recessed lighting. Emma shrank back when she saw what looked like a medieval torture chamber with whips and chains and leather restraints. He turned the lock and returned to her, his smile the scariest thing she’d ever seen. “You see, I know the Buchanans very well. And I know that Nolan hasn’t taken a sub or slave to Malvagio in months, which means you don’t belong to anyone, let alone Nolan Buchanan.”
“Let me go,” Emma demanded, hating that her voice trembled. She was in deep shit. “Okay, fine, you caught me. I’m not a Malvagio regular but that doesn’t give you the right to terrorize me. If you don’t let me go this instance, I’ll start screaming my head off.”
“Please do. I love the sound of a woman’s screams. Particularly screams mingled with pain and fear.”
Pain? Hell no. Emma made one last effort to escape, running past him but he scooped her up as if she were made of air and slammed her down on the table, knocking the wind from her lungs and momentarily dazing her. She fought for breath while he quickly secured her tightly to restraints that dangled from the ceiling, then slowly lowered the table flush with the floor, leaving her dangling. She hung like an offering, her legs spread obscenely but no matter how she thrashed, she couldn’t free herself. Emma caught the glint of something in the dull light and she realized he was holding a thin blade. Oh God…”What are you doing?” she asked, opening her mouth to scream. “Stop! Stop! Please! Someone help me!”
He laughed and slid the blade under the tiny straps of her costume bottoms and cut them free. He did the same for her top. She was mortified to find herself naked and splayed on the table, vulnerable to his gaze and his touch.
“You have beautiful skin,” he observed, running his hands down the flesh of her belly, cupping her mound roughly. “And nicely bare. I abhor a hairy cunt.”
“Fuck you,” she said and he responded with a lightening fast crack across her face. She tasted blood. He squeezed her cheeks so hard her jaw popped and she blinked back tears.
“Now I shall have to punish you.” He went to the wall and selected a wicked looking paddle, testing its weight against his palm with a few slaps. Satisfied, he returned to Emma and without hesitation, landed the first, of what would become many, hits on her tender skin.
Heaven help me! She sobbed openly, begging him to stop but her sobs fell on deaf ears and in fact, he became more frenzied with his beating until Emma knew she would lose consciousness soon. Would anyone find her before he killed her? I’m sorry, Lana…I failed you.
Emma had known monsters prowled Malvagio…she hadn’t expected to run straight into one.
-2-
Vince pushed past people with little regard to their feelings or how rude he appeared, his one concern being to find the little interloper before she found trouble. There was a reason Malvagio was one of the most highly sought after clubs in the city — because you couldn’t buy your way in, you had to be sponsored and there was a strict privacy clause that was enforced most strenuously. It was similar to Fight Club rules. First rule of Malvagio — don’t talk about Malvagio.
And the knowledge that someone had circumvented their security gave Vince a bad feeling. Nothing good could come of this, of that he was certain.
He detoured to the dungeons and began systematically opening doors, ignoring the surprised gasps or stern glares from those interrupted from their play. At the last door, he found it barred from the other side. He rattled the door hard and slammed his hand against the thick wood. “Open up. This is Vince Buchanan…owner of this fucking club and you’re breaking the rules.” When no answer followed, Vince took a step back and planted his foot hard on the door, splintering the jam and sending wood flying. The room was his favorite, equipped with a full rigging system for suspension play and plenty of wonderfully wicked and debased toys to play with, insert or flog with. But what he saw filled him with dread. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered, going straight to the suspended girl lying limp and unconscious in the bonds. He quickly released her ties and she fell into his arms with barely a moan. She looked dead. Her blond hair fell like beaten summer wheat, crushed and damp, and raised welts marred her tender pale skin. Blood trickled from her swollen mouth and her right eye was blackened shut. She was tiny, barely five feet tall if he were to wager a guess, and not an inch of her naked body wasn’t scratched, bruised, or otherwise abused. Consent was a nonnegotiable club rule and one look at the girl told Vince all he needed to know: she hadn’t asked for this.
But he had a bigger problem — what to do with her? He couldn’t risk calling the hospital but she plainly needed medical attention. He fished his cell from his pocket and texted Laird: Code Red, dungeon 5.
While he waited for Laird, he took the time to really look at the woman. She’d called herself Josie, but he didn’t believe that was her name. No one at Malvagio operated under their true identities. “What were you hoping to find, little dove?” he asked in a low, curious tone. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths and a faint wince marred her forehead as if it hurt to breathe, even in sleep. His gaze dropped to her breasts, two perfectly generous handfuls with soft, dusky nipples fairly begged for a man’s mouth to suckle and tease and he wasn’t above enjoying the view even if the circumstances weren’t ideal. One might berate him for feasting his gaze on a woman who was clearly at a disadvantage but he never claimed to be a gentleman nor did he claim to play by the rules.
Laird appeared and frowned when he saw Vince holding the unconscious girl. “I see you found our little stowaway…” but his mildly amused expression changed when he realized the situation. His brow furrowed as the import hit him as quickly as it’d hit Vince. “What the hell happened here?” he asked, pulling his shirt from his own shoulders and laying it across her exposed body, openly wincing at the damage to her lovely body.
“I don’t know. I found her in the suspension rig, beaten until she lost consciousness. Look familiar?” he asked darkly, knowing Laird would know what he was asking. Laird swallowed and nodded.