Take Her

  A Dark Wall Street Mafia Romance

  The Moth & The Monster

  Book 1

  Cassie Alexander

  Copyright © 2024 by Cassie Alexander

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  * * *

  www.cassiealexander.com

  Published by Caskara Press.

  Cover by The Bookbrander.

  Book design/formatting by Jackie Kranz & PR Publishing Group in conjunction with Midjourney V6 ALPHA, Canva, and Magnific.

  Used with permission.

  With sincere apologies to Jorge Luis Borges this time.

  Most men were monsters, but they got to live in denial of this fact.

  I did not.

  Author’s Note

  Cassie here—and I’m going to ask you what I ask at the front of all of my books now. Do you trust me?

  * * *

  Take Her is a high heat, angsty thrill ride with very strong mentor/student dynamics, but there’s never one point in it when the characters are not aware of that, nor fully participating in them.

  * * *

  Also, it ends on a cliffhanger that will make you want to throw your e-reader or paperback against the wall. (Please don’t though. Your wall didn’t do anything to deserve that from you.)

  * * *

  To my newer readers: my longterm readers will know that I’ve got you, and that all the suffering along the way will be worth it. Read their reviews on my other books. It will take three books, but I promise you an HEA that’ll make everything leading up to it worthwhile.

  * * *

  For my beloved longterm readers: thank you for following me into my first contemporary novel. I’m so excited to bring Rhaim and Lisane’s story to you in this new way, and there’s plenty of Easter eggs to Bend Her, Break Her, and Make Her in it for true fans to find.

  * * *

  Happy reading, and remember you’ve been warned, I’m not at fault for any wall-damage. <3

  * * *

  Xoxo,

  Cassie

  Contents

  1. Rhaim

  2. Rhaim

  3. Rhaim

  4. Lia

  5. Rhaim

  6. Lia

  7. Rhaim

  8. Lia

  9. Rhaim

  10. Lia

  11. Rhaim

  12. Lia

  13. Rhaim

  14. Lia

  15. Rhaim

  16. Lia

  17. Rhaim

  18. Lia

  19. Rhaim

  20. Lia

  21. Rhaim

  22. Lia

  23. Rhaim

  24. Lia

  25. Rhaim

  26. Lia

  27. Lia

  28. Rhaim

  29. Lia

  30. Rhaim

  31. Lia

  32. Rhaim

  33. Lia

  34. Rhaim

  35. Lia

  36. Rhaim

  37. Lia

  38. Rhaim

  39. Lia

  40. Rhaim

  41. Lia

  42. Rhaim

  43. Lia

  44. Rhaim

  45. Lia

  46. Rhaim

  47. Lia

  48. Rhaim

  49. Rhaim

  50. Lia

  51. Rhaim

  52. Lia

  Love Her, Coming Soon…

  Also by Cassie Alexander

  About the Author

  1

  Rhaim

  The very first thing I noticed about her were her ankles—because the shiny catsuit she was in was an inch too short to cover them.

  They were a stark white in the darkness of Vertigo’s debauched basement rooms where anything—and anyone—could be bought.

  I’d been sitting at the well-stocked bar sipping wildly overpriced whiskey and idly watching the door for company, because despite paying my membership fees it’d been a long time since I’d bothered to come down here. The bouncer remembered me, as did some of the other patrons, and I gotten more than one welcoming nod plus a few hopeful stares. But the people who still knew me knew what I liked best.

  Being alone.

  It wasn’t that I was a voyeur—on the contrary—but that I didn’t enjoy any of the burdens being a committedly good dom required. Building a relationship, trust, having a flair for public exhibitionism, a tolerance for aftercare—I was just as aware of my own flaws as I was of everyone else’s currently in this room.

  Which was why when she came in, in her too-short shiny black catsuit and her strappy black heels, I would’ve bet a stack of hundreds that her fetish costume had come from the Halloween store.

  It wasn’t that she wasn’t beautiful—she was; the catsuit left no doubt of her figure, which was just curvy enough to grab while being taut enough to bounce a quarter off of—but she was anxious, and I didn’t recognize her, so that meant that she was not for me.

  I wanted a sure thing, with someone who already knew I was an asshole.

  That didn’t stop her from trotting up to me at the bar, like a nervous yet still-sexy filly. Her long, dark brown hair was in a high ponytail, and it splashed in waves down around her shoulders, giving her a somewhat pony princess look.

  All she would need to complete it would be a bit in her mouth, hoof-boots instead of heels, and a propensity for crawling.

  “Hi,” she breathed, flashing me a smile.

  I took a moment to stare her down before responding, hoping that it might quiet any further attempts at conversation. “Hello,” I said, and turned away from her, observing the rest of the room while shielding myself with my drink.

  That didn’t stop her from tapping me on my shoulder.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  The music was loud enough I could pretend to ignore her. Or I could show her my true nature and just get up and walk away—I owed no one my time.

  She tapped me again though, more insistently, not catching the hint. “Um, this seat—was someone else—” she asked.

  I looked back with a sigh, caught her shifting slightly as she anxiously pulled down the sleeves of her suit, and I realized her predicament. Her store-bought catsuit was too tight—the only safe place she could get away from the torture of her heels was beside me, at the bar, with its higher stools she could lean on—because if she sat down in that get-up, there was a good chance it would rip.

  “I suppose it’s free,” I said, gesturing to it with the drink in my hand.

  Her smile—showing off the best teeth Daddy’s money could buy, I was certain—somehow turned even brighter. “It’s my first time here,” she confessed.

  “I had guessed,” I said slowly, then remembered the club’s rules and narrowed my eyes a bit. “Where’s your minder?”

  Only friends of friends could get into this place and you had to sign off on whoever you brought, at least for the first time. It helped keep the community safe.

  She fluttered a hand over her shoulder. “He went to talk to someone.”

  “And abandoned you?” I questioned the man’s judgment at once.

  She gave a soft laugh. “It’s not like there’s murderers down here.”

  I cocked one eyebrow up at her. “How can you be so sure?” Her eyes widened, and it was my turn to laugh. “I apologize. That was a sorry attempt at a joke. Have a good night,” I said, standing and picking up my drink for a location change.

  Her expression spun on a dime, looking a little stunned. “Would you like to know a secret?” she quickly asked, over the thumping bass.

  And apparently, I had invited this on myself, by being kind. “Not really,” I said, begging off.

  “I don’t have a minder,” she said, pressing quickly on.

  “Well, then I’ll have to be speaking to Vertigo’s membership coordinator about that, because I’m not paying as much as I do to be having conversations here with casuals.” I took a step back, attempting to extract myself. She was pretty, but I had a suspicion the whiskey in my glass was older than she was.

  “I just knew the password,” she said, and then added at a slightly louder volume. “Do you want to know what it was?”

  “No,” I said simply, turning around to walk away.

  “It was, ‘I’m gorgeous and I like to get spanked,’” she called after me, at a pitch where everyone at the bar could hear.

  I paused at that. It was clear she wanted my attention.

  And while I didn’t want to give it to her . . . she still had it.

  “Ignore him,” said another man’s voice from behind me. “He doesn’t play well with others—but I can show you a good time.”

  I slowly turned, and saw Clark—a trust-fund type, far closer to her in age—circling in on her like a shark. Her warm brown eyes were filled with panic, until she noticed me noticing, and then she kept her gaze on mine l
ike I was her savior.

  And I realized that was why she was here, and what she wanted—the same as most people in the place.

  Saving.

  And it’d been a long time since I’d been in a situation where I could save anyone.

  “Oh, come on, Rhaim,” Clark complained as I strode back. “Everyone here knows you’re rusty⁠—”

  “Fuck off, Clark,” I said, without taking my eyes off the woman. “Daddy issues?” I guessed and watched her cheeks flush even in the club’s dim light.

  “Yes,” she admitted, the tip of her tongue furtively peeking out to give her full lips a nervous swipe.

  “As long as you cop to them,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  “Uh—Lia,” she said, after a moment’s panic more.

  I knew what it was when she said it. “That’s your real name, isn’t it?” I asked her, mystified.

  “Was it not supposed to be?” she asked.

  Her password story might actually be real at this rate. “We usually leave our real names upstairs. For instance, the guy who sells weed on the back deck calls himself Madman23—and I’ve never met his older brothers one through twenty-two, or his younger brother, twenty-four.”

  I was making conversation with her now, pretending to be personable, a little to piss off Clark, who was still watching, but more to calm her, and she gave me a slow smile in return.

  “What should I call you, then?” she asked, swinging her mane of a ponytail over one shoulder provocatively.

  I cast an appreciative eye over her entire body, before staring her down again. “You are gorgeous,” I agreed. “But did you mean what you said?”

  She rose up eagerly on her toes and nodded hopefully, so I downed my drink and set the glass on the bar behind me, before offering her my arm. “In that case—you can call me sir.”

  * * *

  Lia took it and we walked through the rest of the floor at a stately pace. Vertigo had installations in certain rooms that they took pride in, sometimes holiday themed, others just represented common kinks, but they went to elaborate lengths to make them special for scenes, all the better to draw crowds in when a theme changed.

  I’d already walked the premises earlier in the night out of curiosity, which was why I knew exactly where I was taking her, in her silly catsuit, and on her teetering heels: a throne room.

  It was done up to look like it was from that ridiculous dragon show on television, and it contained someone’s massive, beautiful antique chair that’d they’d sacrificed at the altar of sexuality. It had all sorts of blunted swords artfully laced to the back of it, with winding layers of suspension rope wound around the front, a comfortably padded seat, and wide leatherbound arms—real leather, unlike the outfit she was in—with two women playing on board.

  “Oh,” Lia gasped as we entered, and I suspected from the way she’d been looking around en route, she hadn’t made it past the bar.

  I should’ve wondered why—I was good looking but not magnetically attractive. I’d kept myself up—for a long time I’d had nothing to do but work and work out—but I was well aware God hadn’t blessed me with the same charisma he had others. My boss liked to tell me that my gruffness was part of my charm, but if it was, he was the only one who thought so.

  Nero Ferreo liked me because I was his living pit bull, both in person and on paper. He enjoyed having the plausible deniability that came from having someone else do all your dirty work, and I enjoyed pretending like it was all his fault that I had to do it, like I didn’t enjoy it in the least.

  I’d started off with him thirty years ago, when we were both much younger men, on the cusp of our “industry” evolving, away from the racetracks and docks and into finance. And when wetwork shifted to deskwork, I was one of the few men who worked for him capable of making that change. You’d think a bunch of bookies would be better at doing math, but no . . .

  But I still sometimes needed avenues to pursue my long-denied baser nature, which was how I’d found out about Vertigo myself, years ago, first as someone else’s friend, and then as a member, once I could afford it.

  I had no idea how she’d really gotten into this place, but since she was here, I was going to give her an evening to remember.

  I waited for her to return her focus to me after surveying the room. The women on the throne weren’t wearing much more than electrical tape and glittering diamond chokers, riding something purple and silicone between them, with one of the club’s photographers nearby.

  Lia’s jaw dropped once she parsed that. “They take pictures here?” she said, gawking at me, before practically hiding behind my back.

  “Yes, but you’d have to pay extra.” I chuckled, but gave her cover nonetheless. “Some people want to commemorate the occasion, and they may only get to come here once a year. Which is also why we’re patiently waiting our turn for them to finish.” She believed me enough to creep forward again, watching the couple on the throne before giving me a guilty look, which I waved away. “They wouldn’t be doing it in public if they didn’t want people to see, so go ahead. I’ll be right back,” I told her, briefly leaving her to negotiate with the other members who were watching the show in line.

  I didn’t expect her to last more than ten minutes, and while I had no idea who she was, many people would’ve known me here in real life no matter what name I gave them so I’d never bothered to lie about it—and outside of these walls, I was the kind of man you wanted to owe you favors.

  So it was nothing to gladhand a few fellow pervs, allowing us to cut—and I was happy the show was still going when I returned, because Halloween-store Lia and I needed some time to talk.

  “We’ll be next,” I informed her, coming back to stand by her side.

  Her lips parted at that, and she took in a thoughtful breath, nodding deeply, like she was preparing herself to go on a frightening rollercoaster ride. Her eyes were still on the women, who were chasing after pleasure, which gave me the freedom to look at her. Her ears were delicate pink shells, closely set against her head, and the angle of her neck was swanlike.

  “Have you ever done anything like this before?”

  “No,” she breathed, without turning.

  “How do you know you like it, then?”

  Her amber eyes flickered up at me. “College is a time for experimentation,” she said, with a hint of a tease, before sobering. “But this seems a bit more real.”

  “It can be.” The thought of someone else her own age trying out things on her they’d only seen in porn disappointed me. Why would you take a thoroughbred to a children’s party? “So let’s both do our homework.”

  At that, I had her attention again, and if I were honest, traitorous parts of myself liked it.

  “I want you over my knee, but I only intend to touch you from here,” I said, indicating a height beside her hip, “to here.” I sank my hand down to outside her mid-thigh. “Will that be all right with you?”

  She bit her lips and then nodded.

  “Words, please.”

  “Yes,” she said, and swallowed. “You can touch me.”

  It was my turn to nod. “Did you have a safe word you wanted to use?” I asked, and when she didn’t respond quickly enough I added, “Like a code word in case you’d like me to stop?”