It had taken less than two weeks for her to get him to hand in his letter of resignation. She’d continued the relationship until he formally stepped down.
A few more assignments like that and she’d finally realized she was never going to be called to the altar. The members of the Trinity Masters were some of the smartest and most powerful people in the country. They wanted and deserved elegant partners who elevated them—not a woman who could, and would, seduce a sixty-five-year-old man or break in to a bank.
Tasha thought she’d escaped her former life, but all she’d done was trade one master for another. That had been hard for her to accept, but she finally had, knowing that she would never be deserving of a trinity of her own. At least she was unlikely to be killed or imprisoned doing these jobs.
With some difficulty Marco shed his slacks and pulled on jeans. She watched the muscles of his thighs flex as he lifted his ass off the seat.
When he stripped off his shirt, Tasha had to look away. Something about Marco affected her in a way she didn’t understand. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen beautiful men naked before.
“What’s the plan?” he asked when he was dressed.
“Get out.”
Tasha went to the passenger side and examined Marco head to toe. The slim jeans were okay, but the shirt was clearly meant to go with the black one-button suit he had in his bag. It was starched and pressed.
She grabbed the hem and crushed it in her hands.
“What are you doing?” Marco asked.
“You look like you just took off a tie.”
Tasha unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled them up, then she ran her hands up his chest, wrinkling the fabric. She tried to ignore the way he felt below the fabric—warm and firm. She jerked her hands back, rubbed them on her thighs and then ran into the liquor store. She kept her head down and used cash to buy a pair of cheap sunglasses. She ripped the tag off and handed them to Marco.
“Let’s go.”
“What’s the plan?” Marco repeated.
“Not sure.” Tasha slid into the driver’s seat and drove them to the club. The building was nondescript gray in the afternoon light. Tasha got out and motioned for Marco to follow. They went around to the side of the building where she found an entrance marked staff. Before she rang the bell, she took her hair down and unbuttoned Marco’s shirt halfway down his chest.
“Follow my lead. The less you say the more people will fill in the gaps for themselves,” she whispered. Marco nodded, his gaze searching her face.
The door opened, metal hinges creaking.
“Yeah?” The man who stood in the doorway was middle-aged and fat. He looked like a rumpled accountant. A stack of mail was under his arm.
“Are you Nero?” Tasha asked, getting the name from the mail he held.
“And who are you?”
“I heard you might be looking for someone.”
Nero rubbed the top of his balding head. “I have audition days, you should come back then.”
“I’m here now.” Tasha scooped a hand through her hair, dipped her chin and looked up at him through her lashes.
Nero examined her head to toe—there was nothing sexual in the way he did it, which was unexpected and a little unnerving. “Okay, come in.”
Tasha and Marco followed Nero through the door into a dark hall. There were doors to a stockroom, the bathrooms and an unlabeled one that they headed for. She could see a section of the club at the end of the hallway. The house lights were on and a uniformed crew was cleaning the dance floor and raised dancers’ platforms. The unmarked door led to a good-sized office.
“Sammy, these two just showed up.”
Another man sat at one of the two desks in the office. He was clearly related to Nero, though he was younger and had hard, dark eyes.
Sammy looked Tasha over, eyes narrowing as he examined her. His gaze was definitely sexual.
“We don’t take guys.” Sammy waved at Marco.
“He’s my boyfriend,” Tasha said. “He’s just coming with me to make sure nothing bad happens.”
“That’s a good idea,” Nero said absently as he sat at his desk and started sorting mail.
Sammy snorted. “If he doesn’t want anything to happen to you then maybe he shouldn’t let you be a stripper.”
“This is a strip club?” Tasha sneered slightly. “I thought it was
somethin’ else. Sorry.”
“Wait a sec,
blondie. If you’re looking for better money than glitter and titty tassels then you’re in the right place.”
“Cool. I’m Ashley.”
“I’m Sammy. Me and my brother own this place.” Sammy swiveled his chair, leaned back and crossed his arms. “Strip down and let me have a look.”
Tasha heard Marco take a step forward. She tossed a smile over her shoulder. “It’s okay, baby, this is how they do it.”
The dark glasses obscured his eyes, but she could tell from the way his head moved that he was looking between her and the men. Tasha willed him to go along with it—struggling to ignore the unfamiliar feeling in her belly. She wasn’t used to having someone with her, wasn’t used to someone objecting to her doing whatever she had to do. Marco nodded once, folding his arms. He wasn’t relaxed—she could see the muscle in his jaw flexing, but for now he was playing along.
Tasha stripped out of her leggings, slowly peeling them off and turning as she did it so they got a good view of her ass. Next she pulled off her top, letting it slide slowly down her arm before dropping it to the floor.
Sammy rocked in his chair, nodding. “You’ve got a nice body. You done kinky before?”
“Yeah, I know how to be a good girl.”
Nero chuckled and Sammy reached into a drawer and tossed her a pair of handcuffs. “Put them on.”
Tasha locked her hands together in front of her and held out her wrists. “How do I look now?”
“Good.” Sammy leaned forward, grabbed the chain connecting the cuffs and yanked.
Tasha was pulled off-balance. Rather than catch herself, she let herself hit the floor, falling hard on her knees. Bowing her head, she held up her wrists like an offering.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Marco growled.
His tone made her shiver, but she raised her voice and said, “
It’s okay, baby. He just had to check and make sure that I knew how to be a good girl.” She tossed her head and looked at Sammy though her lashes. “Am I a good girl?”
“Oh yeah, Ashley, you are.”
Nero looked up from his paperwork. “Have you worked in one of our clubs before?”
“No, but my friend told me about you, said it was the best place.”
“We have a very good safety record.” Nero looked at Marco. “She’ll be completely safe when she’s on the floor.”
Sammy stroked her cheek. Tasha bit her lower lip.
“Oh yeah, look at that face. I bet you’ll make some sexy noises when you get whipped.” Sammy kept glancing up at Marco, as if checking to see what he’d get away with doing while her boyfriend was watching.
“Who recommended us to you?” Nero asked.
Tasha raised her cuffed hands, placed them behind her neck and arched her back. “My friend,” she whispered, breathing deep. Sammy’s gaze was glued to her breasts, which were nicely displayed by her black bra. “Jennie.” She mumbled the name, hoping the incomplete answer was vague enough that if Jennie walked in she could say that her friend told her about Jennie, or, if Jennie wasn’t here, that she could claim Jennie was her friend.
“Oh yeah?
Are you from Chicago?” Nero looked up and smiled. “I love the pizza there. How is she doing? I keep meaning to call Demario—he’s our manager at our club in the windy city.”
“She’s good, really likes working there,” Tasha said, hoping Marco was controlling his reactions. Another move to Chicago eliminated the possibility of coincidence.
“And why did you move to Sin City?” Sammy asked. He grabbed Tasha’s chin and forced her head up.
His grip on her jaw was so tight that she couldn’t answer.
“She came with me,” Marco growled. “Take your fucking hands off her.”
Sammy released her. “Listen, buddy, your girl is a glorified stripper, so if you don’t want me inspecting the merchandise then I suggest you marry her and keep her locked up at home.”
Before Marco could say anything else, Tasha rolled to her feet and bent over. Making sure her breasts were in his face, she whispered in Sammy’s ear. “I’ll come back later, alone.”
“Yeah, you will,” he panted. He pinched her nipple, squeezing hard enough that Tasha didn’t have to feign the gasp of pain. The action was hidden from Marco by her position.
“Nice to meet you, blondie,” Sammy said loudly enough that Marco and Nero could hear. He took some keys from the desk and undid the cuffs. Tasha pulled on her clothes, thanked Nero, winked at Sammy and then got out of there.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Marco started swearing.
“That fucking son of a bitch. How dare he treat you like that? I should have knocked his fucking teeth in.”
“You would be in trouble if you broke your hand.” Tasha hadn’t thought the moody, sexy musician would have a reaction like this. His anger on her behalf was strangely sweet. “It’s fine. I’ve had much worse.”
They were halfway across the parking lot when Marco stopped her. “What does that mean?”
She shrugged.
“Exactly what I said. I’ve done worse and had worse done to me.” Much worse.
Marco seemed on the verge of saying more, but Tasha didn’t have time to wait for him to come to grips with her methods.
“We need to go.”
Marco blew out a breath.
“Back to Chicago?”
“Exactly.”
*****
Damon looked up from the dining table as the door to the condo opened.
“Hello?” he called out, getting to his feet.
“Damon? You’re still here?” Marco, wearing jeans and a half-open and wrinkled black dress shirt, tossed his bag into a corner. With his dark hair and stubble he looked rougher than his normal easy polished appearance.
“Why didn’t you go to Vegas?” Damon asked. “What happened?”
“We did go.” Marco motioned over his shoulder as Tasha appeared. She was wearing what looked like black riding breeches and a sweater.
“That was fast.” It was just after eleven. They must have gotten on an early afternoon flight.
“Why are you still here?” Tasha pulled her phone and a small black box that might have been an external hard drive from her purse.
“I took some meetings with people from my old firm since I was in town. I have a flight back to L.A. tomorrow morning.”
Marco went to the drawer in the kitchen where he kept menus. The cookware and utensils Damon had bought when he lived here were still in the kitchen somewhere, but Marco never used them.
“Persian or Thai?” Marco asked.
“Persian,” Damon replied, attention on Tasha. She’d slid onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar and was staring at her phone. “Is either one of you going to tell me what happened?”
Marco tapped Tasha’s shoulder. “What do you want to eat?”
“We ate on the plane.”
Marco snorted. “That wasn’t food.” He tapped his phone, keying in the order.
“Excuse me.” Damon cleared his throat. “I need someone to tell me what happened in Vegas.”
Marco’s lips thinned. He jerked his head towards the hall. Damon’s nerves were humming as he followed his friend to the stairs and then up to the master bedroom.
“What?” he demanded when the door closed behind them.
“We found them—sort of. The redhead’s name is Sandra. She moved right after the party.”
“And?”
“She moved to Chicago.”
“She’s here? Why? That seems strange.”
“Actually, her roommate wasn’t sure if it was Chicago or Boston.”
“Boston? Fuck.” Damon ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t want that girl anywhere near the Trinity Masters’ headquarters.
“And the other girl, the one who took the video—”
“You found her?”
“Maybe. Tasha got us in to the place where she worked—a fetish club—and they said that she’d moved to Chicago.”
“Fuck.” Damon sank into one of the club chairs by the window. Marco took a seat on the bed. “They moved here? Are they stalking you or something?”
“I was thinking about this on the plane. The video was sent to you, but then they came to Chicago instead of going to L.A. where you are.”
“None of this makes sense. They didn’t even ask for that much money.”
The million-dollar blackmail demand was a lot—enough that Damon would have needed Marco’s help to raise the cash—he was a civil servant after all—but it wasn’t unreasonable.
“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” Damon said, but he knew it wasn’t. There was something very bad going on.
“I don’t think we have that much luck.” Marco rose and went to the closet, taking off his shirt and dropping it into a dry-cleaning bag.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Damon asked. It was totally unimportant, but he needed some time to let the new information sink in.