Forsaken: A Fallen Siren Novella (8 page)

“We?” asks Maitlan.

Zack pulls a set of keys from his jacket. “I’m going to drive her.”

* * * *

Maitlan’s directions put the club in the middle of Manhattan. Even with traffic, it’s a simple commute. In twenty minutes we’re pulling past the address and driving into a nearby alley between two closed businesses. Although the sign above our parking spot threatens to tow away any car, with the exception of those belonging to patrons, there’s little risk of that with government plates.

He shuts off the ignition. “My costume’s in the glove compartment.”

I pop it open; pull out a studded collar and leather leash.

“Once we’re inside, take me off leash. That way I’ll be able to maneuver more easily should something go awry.” He flips off the interior lights before opening the driver’s door.

“Nothing’s going to go awry,” I assure him.

We’re enveloped in darkness. I can barely see the outline of his body. A pair of shoes gets tossed into the front seat. Trousers follow, then the remainder of his clothing. Finally, he tosses me the keys. “The alley up ahead that runs perpendicular butts up against the back of Elysium. I say we take it instead of the main street, it will allow us easy access to the side entrance Jennifer told us about.”

“Agreed,” I slip the keys inside my bag, step out of the SUV. My eyes are adjusting somewhat. I can see that Zack’s no longer alongside the car.

It rained a short while ago. The streets are wet. Manhattan is abuzz. I look back to see cars whizzing by in front of the alley. But above the din of the city, I hear the cracking of bone. My stomach churns. I step closer to the sound. Hear the tearing of sinew. There’s a faint outline of a dumpster up ahead. I know what’s happening behind it—a human skeleton is being mangled. Ripped apart. Joints severed and reshaped. Muscle shredded, then knit back together. Until, finally in an explosion of blood and gore—the wolf emerges. The monster inside the man. I turn back around, try to block out the sounds of what I know must be a torturous transformation, focus on the traffic whizzing by. Then, quite suddenly, I feel something wet against the back of my hand. Hear a gentle whimper. The headlights of a car in the alley across the street shine on us. Bright light reflects off white fur. Zack’s wolf is beautiful, its head reaches almost to my waist. Reflexively I reach down and run my hand over its coat, which is full and thick, the edges of its ears are darker, as is a patch between his eyes, a section around his haunches. Those areas appear more of a light grey. But it’s the eyes that catch my true attention and hold it. They’re eyes I’ve seen before, as blue as an arctic sky.

The car pulls out into traffic. Once again we’re shrouded in darkness. I fasten the collar around his neck, don’t bother with the leash. It’s dropped into my bag. “We didn’t discuss what I should call you,” I say softly, lifting its head. “How about Cerberus?”

The wolf tilts its head as if considering the matter. I start walking. Cerberus remains by my side, vigilant, alert. “Because your loyalty rivals the Hellhounds’ that guard Hades gates. Let’s go, partner, this is going to be one entrance Eve Devlin will never forget.”

Chapter Seven

With Cerberus by my side I ring the bell to the side entrance. It’s nondescript, no address, not even a light overhead or alongside. We have to wait only a few seconds before the door opens. The brightness that suddenly floods the streets makes me take a step back. I shield my eyes.

“I take it you’re the new Domina?” A man with the stature of a body-builder fills the door. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. He’s obviously expecting me, but his eyes reflect surprise then trouble upon seeing the wolf. “We don’t allow dogs inside.”

Cerberus bares his teeth.

“He doesn’t come in, I don’t come in.” I glance down and in a clipped tone say, “Behave yourself.”

The wolf sits, lowers his head in deference to my command.

“We’re a team,” I add.

“Miss Eve isn’t going to like this,” he says with a frown, then steps back so we can enter.

I flash him a brazen smile. “She’s going to love what we can do for her clients.”

The man leads us down a dark hall, through a door, then up a short flight of stairs. At the top, he pauses before sweeping aside a thick, velvet curtain. On the other side is a reception area with a hostess stand and a coatroom. The floors are marbled, the walls wood paneled. To the left is a room with a long bar, reminiscent of one I used to frequent at the Waldorf back when I last worked in New York. That seems like a lifetime ago.

It
was
a lifetime ago.

The bar area is filled with leather sofas and chairs. Large oriental rugs warm the room. There are bookcases and racks containing newspapers, undoubtedly from around the world. There’s a bartender behind the bar. Two gentlemen occupy chairs, one smoking a pipe. Beyond that I glimpse a dining room, its tables covered with crisp white cloths, fine china, and delicate crystal.

“This way,” my guide says, leading me past the hostess.

The lithe blonde barely spares me a glance. Her attention is drawn instead to my wolf. She bends over burying her face in the top of his head, giving him a scratch behind his ears and a nice view of her ample breasts.

“Cerberus,” I say. “Come!”

He breaks away and follows at my heels. “Speaking of names, I didn’t get yours,” I say to the back of my escort.

“Nigel,” he replies.

“Seriously?” I ask him.

He pauses in front of a large double door. “You can call me Duke.” He raps twice, then turns the knob.

In the center of the office, a woman sits behind a Queen Anne desk made of mahogany, her face obscured by a fall of dark hair, paging through what looks like an old ledger. Is that the ledger Maitlan wanted Zack to steal? Perhaps. She doesn’t bother to look up when we enter. Which is fine by me. It gives me a chance to check out the room. The walls are a dark green. Tall windows, framed in taupe velvet, look out onto the street. Two chairs in matching upholstery are positioned in front of the desk.

“Take a seat,” she says absently, turning her attention toward a computer monitor. “Domina Sirena, is it?”

Finally I have her full attention.

“Cerberus, lay,” I say softly.

The wolf curls up at the base of my feet.

Eve rises. Hands on her desk, she leans over to take in the view. “Mistress Darkness said nothing about a dog.”

“Wolf,” I say. “I can assure you, he’s completely under my control. A model of obedience.”

The dark hair is sprinkled with gray. Her face round, cheeks full. The makeup is subtle. The clothing is classic, black slacks and turtleneck sweater. Eve Devlin isn’t a flamboyant madam, dripping sex. Nor is she a glamorous society woman. She’s all business. Her steel blue eyes fix upon me with the intensity of a laser. Her lips press into a frown.

“Is he really a full-blood wolf?”

I nod. “Arctic wolf.”

“You say he’s tame, yet you’ve named him after a Hellhound,” she says.

“I said he’s obedient, within my control. I wouldn’t call him tame.” I reach down, give Cerberus a scratch behind the ears. Her eyes follow my left hand. I reach into the top of one boot with my right and palm the bug.

Eve takes her seat once again. “So, you and Jennifer met where?”

“Sarah Lawrence,” I say, matter-of-factly. “We both majored in anthropology.”

Her face remains stoic. “Is that right?”

I cross my legs, lean back in my chair. “I went on and got my masters in archeology at UCLA. Just accepted a day job as a conservationist at the Natural History Museum.”

She leans forward in her chair. “And yet you’re here.”

 “Living in the city is expensive and I have school loans to pay. Plus…” My eyes connect with hers. “I enjoy the work.”

She picks up a pen. “Your real name?”

“Patrice Carney,” I say.

It’s scribbled into the book.

“Address?”

I ramble off Jennifer’s.

The book closes with a snap.

“Are you a police officer?”

“Yes, I’m an FBI agent.” My tone is flat as I climb to my feet. I position one hand on her desk, use the opportunity to curl the fingers of the other underneath the top and place the bug. “Cerberus here is my partner. An ancestor of his was cursed. Now three nights a week he turns into a wolf. I’d show you our ID’s, but we didn’t count on needing them to get into your dungeon. Are we going to do this or not?”

For the first time, Eve smiles. Her eyes roam my body. “I like you. Your first client is waiting downstairs.”

She picks up the phone on her desk, punches a few numbers. “Nigel, please come back and escort Domina Sirena to level two, dungeon six.” She hands me an iPad. “Louis is new. Here’s his profile. You also have a nine o’clock. Since you’re late, I suggest you give Louis something a little special. You’ll leave that with Nigel at the end of the night. He’ll pay you. In cash of course. Any questions.”

I pick up my bag and head for the door, iPad in hand, wolf at my heels. “Not my first rodeo,” I reply.

“Obviously not,” I hear her murmur.

* * * *

Level two turns out to be the lowest level of a basement that looks like it might span the entire building. Nigel hands me a key and lifts his chin. “Down that hall. Number 6. He’s waiting.”

The floor is covered in stone, as are the walls. My boots click loudly as I make my way down the hall. I scan the information Eve provided on Louis, no last name listed. Profession: Self-Employed. I make note of his safe word, his list of no-goes. There are to be no marks on his body when he leaves. No cutting. No needles or hooks. Claustrophobic? No. What does he want? To be restrained, at my mercy. He sent some photos depicting mummification. Perfect.

I slide the skeleton key into the lock and then push open the door.

“About time!” Louis calls out. He’s young, mid-twenties. Dressed in baggy jeans and a black T-shirt.

I drop my bag on the floor then stride over to him, swing my arm back, and slap his face, hard.

His eyes widen.

“You’ll speak when spoken to. You’ll get attention from me when I want to give it. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Domina!” I bark. “Say it.”

“Yes, Domina,” he repeats, lowering his head. His shoulder length dark hair falls in front of his green eyes. When I say nothing more, he glances up briefly. The eyes flick to the wolf, then back down again.

Even in the dim light of the dungeon, I recognize the young man. His poster is plastered on the walls of millions of teenaged girls worldwide. His concerts are sellouts. He has a clothing line and a new reality TV show. He’s been in and out of rehab. Perhaps now he’s looking for a new high.

“Strip. Do it quickly.” I’m aware that the clock is ticking.

The lad pulls off his T-shirt in one fluid movement and tosses it onto the floor. The tennis shoes are kicked off. Boxers and jeans are pulled past his narrow hips without his having to pause to unzip or unbutton. He’s left standing in his socks.

My riding crop cuts through the air with a high-pitched
whoosh
as it moves to point at his feet.

He scrabbles to remove the last remnants of clothing, hopping first on one foot, then the other to pull off his socks. His cock is partially erect. When I pull my handcuffs from my bag, it gets even more so. The dungeon is equipped with everything a Dominatrix could want or need. I make my way over to him, my riding crop poking the center of his chest. Pushing him back until he’s just where I want him.

“On you knees. Lower your eyes. Hands out.”

He obeys my commands. He’s rock hard now. Within a matter of seconds I have him in cuffs. A chain attached to a pulley is looped through them. A few yanks, and Louis’ body is stretched before me, arms held high above his head, toes just touching the floor.

“Suck me,” he begs.

That earns him another slap. Clearly, he wasn’t filled in on the rules. There’s a roll of duct tape on a nearby table. I cut off a six-inch strip using a pair of surgical scissors and place it over his mouth. A second strip over his eyes.

“Come, and you will be punished,” I hiss in his ear before picking up a large roll of plastic wrap. His body gets a quick dusting of power. I place some cotton padding between his ankles and knees. Then, I begin wrapping, circling around him from the legs up. He said on the form he wanted to be at my mercy, and I show him some—I leave his cock unbound and coax him to take a deep breath as I reach his chest.

Within six minutes, I’m close to finishing the job. Louis is covered in plastic wrap up to his collarbone. I lower his arms. His hands go to his cock. I don’t bother to scold him. Instead I bind his arms in place just out of reach before grabbing the tilt table and securing him to it. It takes ten minutes for me to completely imprison him in plastic. He’s immobile, safe.

“Come, and you will be punished,” I remind him before slipping a cockring over the tip of his weeping penis. “Submit, and you will be rewarded.”

While I’ve been busy, so has the wolf. But now his restless pacing has stopped. He eyes Louis warily. I check my watch, Torres should be with Eve now. I reach for the bag and head for the door. Cerberus covers the sounds of my leaving with a vigorous shake. With no time to spare I head away from the stairs and back to the elevator that the clients use. Since appointments are booked on the hour, it should be empty. And with the key Zack gave me, I can switch it into Firefighter service mode and go straight to Eve’s apartment. No need for a special code. No need to pick any locks.

The elevator rises three floors above reception to open in a hallway. Eve’s living quarters are spacious. Two bedrooms, two and a half baths, kitchen, dining room, living room, and office. I wouldn’t say the space is lavishly decorated, but the furnishings are elegant, the overall décor tasteful. I swiftly move from room to room planting the devices as quickly as I can, aware that Louis is waiting, that Torres will only be able to hold Eve’s attention for so long. In the corner of the living room is an old-fashioned roll top. It looks like it’s used more for storage than a desk. It’s piled with papers and books nearly to the top of the open tambour. I place the last bug there then race back to the elevator and down to the dungeon.