He turned his attention to the floorshow, sickened by the meager attempt to display a flogging. The young man strapped to the cross couldn’t be more than twenty-one. The kid flinched as the henchman reeled back, grandstanding for the crowd.

  Crack!

  The leatherman slapped the bullwhip across the floor, creating an echo as well as cries of pleasure. It seemed everyone was ready for a hard punishment.

  He chuckled and scanned the perimeter of the expansive room, recognizing more than one patron. If only friends, family and co-workers knew where their husband, attorney or minister was at this moment.

  Groups of people clapped and whistled, egging the leather clad dude to whip the young man. He grew disgusted. This wasn’t anything but a showcase of bad behavior. He finished his drink and ordered another just as the whip sliced across the boy’s naked flanks.

  “Jesus.” The girl’s exclamation was one of disdain. She bit her ruby stained lip and hovered against the bar.

  “This isn’t what the lifestyle is about,” he said with no inflection. He didn’t bother to look in her direction, but he sensed she was keenly aware of his presence.

  “I hope to hell not. I mean…” Nervous laughter skittered from her mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  He glanced in her direction. “I think you understand. This is a club full of wanna-be’s, those unable to handle true forms of domination and submission.”

  She remained quiet as she studied him. After a few seconds she smiled. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Then why are you?”

  “I…I don’t know actually. I heard this was a hot establishment.”

  “You mean you scoured the Internet, determined to find a place you could be yourself. By day you’re a perfect PTA mother but you fantasize about so much more.” As the words dripped from his mouth, she became captivated.

  Blushing, she fanned her face. “Hardly perfect.”

  “Then you’re telling me that all you want to do is go home and crawl underneath the covers, forgetting your inner desires, needs sweeping through you every day?”

  “What?” Her question was a whisper.

  He turned toward her, concentrating on the tattoo of a heart decorating her shoulder. He loathed those who violated their bodies in any way. Adornment was meant during servitude. Still, she was unversed at the requirements of a true D/s lifestyle. “You long to have a man in charge and always have. Conventional relationships are boring, unfulfilling. Isn’t that true?”

  She hesitated briefly but inched closer. “Yes. How did you know?”

  He leaned forward. “I can read your thoughts. I know your deep longings. I understand.”

  “Do you?” She turned her face toward him. Her eyes shimmered. “I just…”

  “Would you like a drink?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he motioned for the bartender. “Red wine, your favorite indulgence.”

  “How did you know?”

  When she inched closer, she drank in her cheap cologne. She was trying far too hard to fit in. “I observe. I notice things. I know people. That’s my business.”

  She opened her mouth as if to question but remained silent.

  Yes, she could be a good slave after all. “And you’re desperate to learn. Aren’t you?”

  “You can tell?”

  He waited until her wine arrived. Fingering the glass, he pushed the stem toward her and closed the distance. “Yes.” He allowed the single word to drip of innuendoes. She was hooked.

  “You’re a Dom?” She reached out with a shaking hand.

  Leaning over, he offered a warm smile. “I’m much more. I can teach you many things.” This was almost too easy.

  She managed to take a sip of her drink.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Um…Betsy.”

  Of course, she hadn’t given her real name. “Well Betsy, you’re a lovely young woman.” She was at least in her mid-forties.”

  “No one has ever told me that I’m lovely,” Betsy said and looked down.

  He took his index finger and lifted her chin. “You’re beautiful. Don’t allow anyone to take away the woman inside. You deserve everything you want.” He traced her mouth, drawing the tip across the seam.

  Purring, she parted her lips.

  As he placed his finger just inside her mouth, he concentrated on the ragged pulse in her neck. The taste of her would be sweet indeed. “Would you like to go somewhere and talk?”

  Her breath skipped. She took a gulp of her wine. “I don’t know.”

  “I understand.” He turned away.

  “I would like to learn. I mean if you don’t mind teaching me things.”

  “I can give you a full education on the art of S & M.” Yes, the words chilled her.

  Betsy looked over her shoulder and fingered the leather tie on her corset.

  Her nipples were hard, pressing against the thin constraint. “I can unlock the girl hidden behind years of pain and sorrow.”

  A single tear slipped past her lashes. “You do understand.”

  He used his knuckle to wipe away the salty bead, willing her to watch as he brought his finger to his mouth.

  She blinked twice then her eyes opened wide. “You’re a fascinating man.”

  The apprehension in her voice was mixed with a hint of excitement. He waited before he answered. Rising to his feet, he held out his hand. “I’m exactly the man you need to set you free.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then come with me. We’ll talk away from the pomp and circumstance.”

  A nervous tick appeared in the corner of her mouth. She accepted his hand and sighed. “I’d like that.”

  He smiled, tossed a fifty-dollar bill on the bar and led her through the crowd toward the back entrance, his grip firm. He didn’t need anyone remembering his face or his appearance at the club. Given his long strides, he dragged her toward the back. She mewed but didn’t resist, even though she stumbled over her feet. He was exhilarated. Tonight would be delicious.

  “Hey buddy, where do you think you’re going? I don’t think she wants to go with you.”

  He heard the voice, the tone more like a growl, and was incensed. Pushing Betsy against the wall, he rubbed his thumb across her lips. “Wait for me. Our adventure begins soon.”

  “Of course, Sir.”

  Turning, he reacted without thinking, rage coursing through every cell. He wrapped his hand around the man’s thick neck, shoving him into the men’s bathroom.

  “Fuck!” The man flailed, his hands slapping at his aggressor. He wheezed, his face turning beet red.

  He smiled as he tossed the asshole against the sink, delighting in the way the man’s head hit the glass. As shattered shards cascaded down around the bouncer’s shoulders, he grinned and advanced. “You’ll learn your manners.”

  The man screeched and dropped to his knees. Blood oozed from a gaping wound.

  Using the strength of his upper body muscles, he yanked the man off the floor as he turned on the water.

  Gurgling and slapping as his assailant, the bouncer struggled to free himself.

  “Manners, dear boy. Manners.” He shoved the man’s face into the water, holding him down as the fight continued.

  “Rrrrrr!” The man slapped his hands back, hitting air.

  He kept his hold, digging his fingers into the fleshy skin of the man’s neck. His blood pressure skyrocketed given his anger. Adrenaline added to his strength, and he no longer had to fight to keep the man’s face under water. When the bouncer stopped moving, he stepped back and wiped perspiration from his brow. The evening was a celebration. He turned his gaze toward the broken man. His eyes were open wide, a look of terror mixed with a hint of understanding.

  As the body slumped to the floor, he could only see red. Rage rushed to the surface and he was unable to breathe. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Control. You have to have control. He could hear the mantra. Tonight was supposed to be his and the asshole had ruined everything. A full release was necessary, and he knew exactly what he had to do.

  CHAPTER 7

  Montana looked over what little information he’d gathered regarding the murders. Candace Williams did indeed lead two lives. With Jade’s confirmation, and what he believed was a strong connection with Dr. Blade, he suspected the case had far reaching tentacles, ones worth covering up. While she was a legal assistant for a prominent law firm, she certainly couldn’t afford to live in Windsor Farms on her salary. Hence work at Club Noir.

  “Everything is a damn dead end,” Grant said as he tossed a file across his desk.

  “Yeah. Every aspect of what we touch or see is too clean.” He looked at the picture of Candace’s mutilated body. “This girl has a story to tell, and Mistress Jade knows more than she’s telling us.”

  “You need to bring her in for questioning. You saw her face. Smug. Emotionless. She’s hiding a hell of a lot. Bet my badge on my gut feeling.”

  “I doubt she’ll budge. I know there’s a secret to this club, something that is much more involved that kink.”

  “That’s a bit vague. Want to give your old partner a hint?”

  “Not yet. I need to put some pieces together.” He had a suspicion the club was a front for another type of business.

  Grant raised his eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Guess I gotta trust you. Club Noir?”

  “No, I mean the subversive scene behind Noir. Mistress Jade is hiding something significant. Maybe clients. Maybe more.” Montana had traced Candace’s phone records. She’d received late night calls on a regular basis. None of the numbers he’d been able to trace. They were no doubt throw away phones.

  “All the more reason to bring her in.”

  Montana debated. “Not yet. I don’t want to tip our hand.”

  “What hand? We have nothing but two dead bodies. This list Ms. Devereaux provided is interesting. Did you take a look?”

  Montana chuckled. “Reads like a who’s who of power in Richmond. My guess is that every one of the men will say they’ve never been to the club.”

  “No doubt. What do we do?”

  “There didn’t happen to be Mark Ramos name on that list, was there?”

  Grant wrinkled his brow. “No. From what I’ve been able to find out about the guy, he wasn’t rich. Club Noir isn’t the kind of place he’d be able to get into. She said he was new. Perhaps he had some special invite.”

  “Well, there has to be more of a connection than the love of all thinks kinky,” Montana said quietly.

  “There always is.”

  A ringing phone interrupted their conversation. As Grant took the call, Montana studied the pictures for the hundredth time. The kills had been calculated, but he knew he was missing something. Once again, his thoughts drifted to the doctor. He needed to find out the identity of the patient who’d rattled her. Coincidences he didn’t believe in.

  “Yeah, I got it. We’ll be there.” Grant hissed as he hung up the phone. “Make that three or four.”

  He eyed Grant. His partner’s face was grim. “What? Where?” Two days had passed with little additional information. They were working on a Sunday, trying to get ahead with no clues, no witnesses and no acceptance into the world of kink. He’d used every snitch he’d worked with while being undercover to try and ascertain any scrap of evidence or knowledge, but no one was talking.

  “A restaurant worker found a girl’s body on the banks of the James. She was tied to a makeshift cross.” Grant rose from his desk, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  “This doesn’t sound like our killer. He or she handled the previous kills in private.”

  “I don’t know the specifics partner, but from the little I heard, I think our guy is mixing up his methods of killing.” Grant folded a piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket.

  “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

  “She was cut to ribbons. Least that’s what the officers reported.”

  Apprehension had remained buried in Montana’s gut since his meeting with Doctor Blade. His cop instinct had warned him the monster was just warming up. The man inside, the undercover cop, screamed the kills were getting personal. “Location secured?”

  “Yep. They’re waiting on us,” Grant grabbed his jacket.

  “Why do they think it’s the same killer?” He knew the answer.

  “The asshole left a calling card.”

  “Perfect. I’m not certain I want to know.” Montana clipped his gun into his holster.

  “From what I heard; you’ll have to see to believe.”

  “And number four?”

  “Some guy in a kink club. Had his face bashed in and was drowned in the sink before he was tossed in a dumpster.” Grant shook his head. “It’s gonna be a rough week.”

  Destiny sat cross-legged on her couch, staring at the screen of her laptop. She sipped coffee and dragged the throw across her legs. Even the flannel pajamas weren’t able to keep away the chill. She’d gone over both Michael and Candace’s files several times. There was no glaring information or red flags, but her instinct remained on high alert. Mark Ramos’ held little interest either. She had a feeling Candace was the key.

  “What were you hiding, Candace?”

  She sat back, easing her head against the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling. Her mystery lover hadn’t whispered to her for two days. While she was grateful, she was also anxious. Had she managed to push him out of her life, or did he lie lurking in her inner shadows, waiting to pounce? She shifted and her panties dug into the crack of her ass. Shaving. She’d reminded herself to shave her pussy clean that morning. Why? Was she really being an obedient servant to a ghost or a fantasy?

  “Ugh!” She took another sip of coffee and grimaced. Nothing tasted good to her any longer. She’d been unable to eat since Friday. Sundays were her day to relax, read a book or catch up on her favorite television shows. Today she had to work. She was compelled to find answers. Rising from the couch, she rubbed her arms and walked toward the window. The street was teeming with cars and walkers. The morning had dawned warm, and everyone had a special place to be.

  Except for her.

  Loneliness was a part of her life and one she’d learned to embrace or at least tolerate. This beautiful sunny day was different. She pressed her head against the glass and peered out onto a world she’d never been a part of. Who was she and what was happening to her? She shuddered and glanced over at her cell phone. While this was Sunday, she needed to find out if Michael was okay.

  After a few seconds of thought she grabbed her phone and pulled out Michael’s paper file. His employer’s name and number were listed among his other contacts. As a rule of thumb, she never contacted anyone associated with her patients. Their confidentiality was not only vital, but any leak of information could get her license taken away. This was different. He’d refused to return her calls and emails. She was terrified for his sanity if not his life.

  The concept frightening, she dialed Michael’s boss at his home number. On the third ring a woman answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Is Jeffrey Silver at home?”

  “I’m sorry. He’s on a skiing trip in Vale. Is there something I can help you with?” The woman’s voice was succinct and pleasant.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “I’m not certain,” the woman said after a hesitation. “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “I’m…I’m sorry. I’ll try and talk with Mr. Silver when he returns.” Destiny ended the call before the woman asked any additional questions. She groaned and looked at Michael’s file again. His father had been dead for several years and his mother lived out of state. Perhaps he’d gone to her house to recuperate. Michael hated his parents, or at least he’d said. Destiny suspected abuse, but she’d dropped the subject. Worth a try.

  She cleared her throat and checked the time. The hour would be very early in Seattle. Still, she had to try. The voice answering the end of the call seemed broken and tired. “Mrs. Cavanaugh?”

  There was no sound on the other end of the line.

  “Mrs. Cavanaugh, I’m calling about Michael. Do you have a few minutes?”

  Destiny heard a strangled breath.

  “Who are you?”

  “Mrs. Cavanaugh, I’m Michael’s psychiatrist, Destiny Blade. I’m sorry for the early call but—”

  “I haven’t gone by my husband’s last name in years. I never want to be reminded of that freak of nature.”

  The disdain in the woman’s voice was evident. “I apologize. You are Michael’s mother?”

  “Yes. What did he do?”

  “Do? He…” How could she answer the question? “I’m simply trying to get in touch with him and I thought he might be staying with you.”

  The woman laughed. “He knows better than to come back here.”

  The hair on her arms prickled. “Why?” The hesitation gave her goose bumps.

  “Because he’s a monster just like his father. Whatever has happened to my son is probably the best. Now, I ask you never to call me again. Do you understand? The boy is dead to me.”

  “But he might be in trouble. He’s a very damaged soul.” Destiny walked back toward the window. She was nauseous, her heart racing.

  “Damaged, Doctor Blade? Don’t fool yourself. The kid is evil. Spawn of the Devil. You’re best getting as far away from him as you can.”

  Destiny knew the call had ended but continued to hold the phone to her ear. Evil. There’d been no signs of something horrific until his display in her office. Michael had rarely talked about his family, even though she’d tried. She plopped back down on the couch and jerked the thick paper file into her lap. Page after page she read over, yet there was almost nothing about his family. Except for a single entry.

  ‘Patient mentioned he’s glad his father is six feet under and wished him a long time in Hell.’

  The concept was taken by the mother as well. Why hadn’t she remembered the words? She flipped through the remainder of the pages and checked her file on the computer. There was no other reference. She dropped her head into her hands. An entire and obviously particularly important section of Michael’s life she’d ignored, preferring to concentrate on his life today. What a fool she’d been.