His Secrets (3 page)

Reaching for the door, I glance over my shoulder at Sara. “Stay in the car. I’ll come around and get you.”

She nods and I get out, shrugging out of my leather jacket and leaving it inside before handing the keys to the man who greets me. “Keep the car close,” I instruct, sealing the deal with a bill large enough to bypass the club policy that says otherwise. Isabel likes people to stay awhile, and uses every means possible to make it happen.

I round the hood of the 911 as another man opens Sara’s door, and I’m there to offer her my hand, pulling her to her feet and bringing her hips to mine. “Leave your jacket,” I tell her, slipping it from her shoulders, the cold November wind gusting her long hair around her bare shoulders. “They’ll make you check it and I don’t want anything delaying our departure.”

Handing the jacket to the attendant, I let him shut her door. Sara shivers and I run my hands over her arms. “Remember what I said,” I say, my voice low, intentionally commanding. There are too many things inside that could go wrong. I need her with me on this. “Don’t talk. Don’t even look at anyone.”

She offers me a weak smile. “This would be a really bad time for a ‘master’ joke, right?”

I lean in close to her, pressing my lips to her ear, inhaling the floral, sweet scent of her. “I’m not your master, baby. I’m just in charge.”

Her hand settles on my cheek and her low, sexy laugh tightens my groin and makes me want to strip her naked. “In bed,” she reminds me, stating her limits as I expected she would. “You’re in charge in bed.”

I draw her hand into mine, letting her see the heat in my gaze that’s for her alone. “Which is exactly where I wish we were right now,” I say, watching her cheeks flush as if I haven’t thoroughly licked and fucked her many times over. It’s this mix of sweet and sexy that somehow grounds me, keeps me steady and right in ways I wasn’t sure were possible again, before Sara.

I tenderly brush my hand down her hair, then lace my fingers through hers and lead her up the ten brick stairs. We easily fall into step with each other, united as we approach this place.

At the top, the familiar, aging doorman is dressed in his finely tailored black suit, guarding the double castle-like wooden doors to ensure that only those Isabel approves enter.

“Monsieur Merit,” he says, inclining his head.

“Monsieur Augustin,” I acknowledge. The flex of Sara’s hand in mine tells me she doesn’t miss our familiar greeting.

“Will you and your companion be visiting Madame Isabel?” Monsieur Augustin queries, and I don’t miss the way his gaze flickers briefly over Sara, nor the interest she stirs in him. And I know why.

I manage, “Yes. We will.”

“I’ll let her know you’ve arrived, then.” He punches a button on the wall and the doors open.

Together, Sara and I enter the elegantly decorated foyer, a gray-and-white marble floor beneath our feet. The ceiling is low, glittering with some sort of jeweled lights, and several tall wingback chairs are to our left and right. This room, as in all the high-end clubs, shouts of a spa getaway, a luxurious escape. For some who take it all in its proper dose, it is. For others, like me, it’s the facade that hides a drug we take too far.

Sara turns to me. “This is where—”

“Yes,” I say tightly, my eyes meeting hers, holding nothing back. We’re here now. We’re seeing this through to the other side of hell and back. “This is where Isabel beat me.”

“Monsieur Merit.”

I glance up at the sound of my name to a boy who’s no more than eighteen, wearing a fitted, expensive suit, his dark hair sleek and combed back from his baby face. The me of yesterday. No doubt he’s searching for solace from who knows what, and Lord help him for finding Isabel.

The kid motions to the elevator, sounding formal, looking out of place. “This way to Madame Isabel.”

We follow him down the typical Parisian narrow hallway to an elevator that he uses a code to open. Inside, he punches a floor number that punches me in the gut, for it leads to a room Isabel knows I never enter.

The doors close and Sara turns to me, worry for the boy etched in her lovely brown eyes. I quickly pull her against me, pressing my finger to her lips. “Shhh,” I warn softly. “You can’t help him, and if anyone thinks you’ll try, they’ll expel you from the club.”

She inhales and then lets it out, saying, “I already hate this place,” before turning to face the doors again, stepping close to me.

“That makes two of us,” I reply, sliding my hand to her waist in silent reassurance, fighting the urge to drag her out of here and protect her. Eyes wide open, I remind myself. I am protecting her.

Silent seconds tick by, and too soon, the elevator doors open. A scowling Tristan is leaning against the wall directly in front of us, his tattooed arms crossed in front of his T-shirt-clad chest, his long, light brown hair a wild mess barely contained by a tie at his nape. He cuts a look at Sara before fixing me in a contemptuous stare and saying in French, “One woman destroyed isn’t enough for you? Is she Isabel’s consolation prize?”

Lacing my fingers with Sara’s, I speak in clear, hard English. “Don’t push me, Tristan. You won’t like where it takes you.”

I cut to my right down another long narrow hallway to the doorway at the end, and enter what Isabel likes to call the “Hive”—a name meant to signify Isabel as the queen bee who knows just how to sting her followers. It also allows spectators, if the price is right. I was never her damn follower, and I damn sure don’t like being watched.

I hit the buzzer. “Open up, Isabel.”

“You may enter. Not them.”

“Open the damn door,” I growl.

A pause, then she says, “Very well. You will all remain confined to the observation booth.” The door buzzes open and I glance over my shoulder at Tristan, motioning to him with my head. I don’t look at Sara, or I’ll talk myself out of letting her witness the shit that awaits us inside.

Shoving open the door, I lead her inside the tacky room of white tile and white-velvet-covered walls, which Isabel once explained was meant to be some sick virginal reference. There’s a door to our left that I know is locked, and directly in front of us is a floor-to-ceiling one-way mirror, allowing us to view the “play” room, which is more white-on-white.

The door slams shut behind me and Tristan steps to my right, with Sara on my left. We all gaze forward and I swear to God, I feel physically sick. If I’d thought leading Amber into a world of painful beatings as an escape was bad, where she’s gone since then without me is a whole new level of nightmare. Tension slides down my spine at the sight of a completely naked Amber, her arms tied over her head and connected to a ceiling hook with tight red ropes. The same ropes bind her thighs and ankles. Huge welts mark her brightly tattooed arms, breasts, and belly, while heavy weights dangle from the clamps tightened around her nipples. Directly in front of her is the dungeon stock, meant for her head and arms. I know just how badly Isabel will beat her once she’s in that thing. I’ve welcomed it. I’ve begged for it, and I hate myself for letting that be me, and for turning Amber into this.

My gaze lifts to the bitch I had let stay in my life far too long. Befitting her virginal theme, she’s dressed in a white leather outfit that barely covers her hips and breasts, her long blond hair touching her shoulders. The sight of her sickens me. Her chin lifts rebelliously as if she senses me looking at her, and before I can react, her wrist flicks wickedly, bringing the whip down hard against Amber’s back. Amber buckles with the pain and I hear Tristan curse as Sara gasps.

I walk to the glass and press the intercom button on the small black box attached to the surface. “Touch her again, Isabel,” I warn tightly, “and I swear to you, you’ll regret it.” Isabel’s eyes glint with rebellion and her wrist cocks back again, stirring white-hot anger in my chest as I add, “We both know there are many ways I can hurt you. Don’t make me go there.”

Laughter bubbles from her lips, muted by the glass. She turns and offers me an unwelcome view of her bare backside as she hits the intercom button behind her and challenges me in a hushed French whisper, “Come in here and give me something better to do with my whip. You know you need it as much as I do. Tell Tristan he stays out there, or I’ll have security remove him and forbid him entry into the club ever again. You can bring your new girl toy, though. I can’t wait to make her scream.”

She punches a button, and the door buzzes open. Then she turns back to face me, her lips curving into a smile. Tristan pushes through the door and is already inside the Hive, crossing the room toward Amber, who responds with a vicious verbal attack.

“Fuck you, Tristan. Fuck you! I told you not to come here. I told you I didn’t want you here. I don’t want you, Tristan. I don’t want you.” Tristan tries to reach for the rope above her head, and she squirms and shouts, “Get back. Get back!!!”

Isabel curses him in French and then reaches for the phone to call security, while Amber begins to scream my name, tears streaming down her face. “Chrisssssss!” she shouts with such venom it snakes into my soul and rips another hole to go with the rest. “Chrissss!”

Sara’s hand comes down on my arm and I pull her in front of me to face the window. “Look at her, Sara. Look at her. This is what I brought you to Paris to see.” Then I turn her to face me, one of my hands on the glass by her head, the other on her waist. “My secret wasn’t about the shooting. That’s what I let you believe, but no more.

“My secret was about how the shooting was the final blow, when it seemed like people were dying because of me. I was spiraling out of control, and I landed in hell—where I dragged Amber, rather than being the man she needed me to be.

“Why do you think I left you when Dylan died? I didn’t want to drag you to the whip with me. I did this to Amber. Fuck—I was what Amber is. And no matter how much I try to control what’s around me, I can’t ever guarantee I won’t be her again.”

The color drains from Sara’s already pale face. “Are you saying . . . were you whipped again . . . after Mark’s club . . . ?”

“Several times while I was away for Dylan’s funeral, and trying to help his parents survive losing him. Before losing Dylan, I swore I’d never need that kind of thing again—but obviously I did. And what if there’s yet another next time? What then, Sara?”

She twists my shirt in her fingers, a promise in the depths of her eyes that I’m not sure she can keep as she vows, “We’ll deal with it.”

“Or we drown in hell together. And the worst of this is that I can’t even be honorable anymore and walk away—and not just because I love you. Over and over, I told myself to scare you away and get you the hell out of this world. Instead I led you into it, and now you’re in too deep. I see it in your eyes and taste it in your kiss during your tormented moments. I’m the only damn thing keeping you from going too deep—and yet I’m the one most likely to drag you there anyway.”

She shakes her head. “No, Chris—”

“Yes, baby. It’s true and we both know it. So you think long and hard about what you see here today, and where you’re headed. But if you run, run fast. Because I’m going to come after you. That’s just the kind of bastard I can’t seem to help being.” I push off the wall and leave her there, walking into the Hive, a place I’ve never escaped. But for Sara, there’s still time.

Part Four

Games

As I enter the Hive, Amber instantly tears up, a sob escaping her throat, her head dropping between her shoulders. And, as much as it shreds me to know how truly lost she is, anger dominates my mood. Anger at myself for letting this happen. Anger at Isabel for feeding Amber’s behavior. And anger at Amber for not fighting for more than this misery. But I don’t go there. She’s Tristan’s woman to save, and Isabel is my problem to handle.

I move toward the battle between Isabel and Tristan, placing myself between them, facing Isabel. She glares at me, her eyes cutting like blue diamonds. “I told you he wasn’t welcome here. This is my club and my rules. He will be removed.” She tries to step around me, toward the intercom on the wall.

I shackle her arm and she whirls around, surprise replacing the anger in her eyes. “Amber’s his woman,” I say. “Don’t even think about interfering with him taking her out of here.”

She smirks, arrogance and hatred in her eyes. “That’s the biggest joke I’ve heard since you not needing the whip. She’s more mine than she was ever his.”

“You make it about you, Isabel—but to the rest of us, you’re just one of many who can handle a whip.”

Fury fills her face and she slaps me. I grind my teeth against the sting but I don’t flinch. My lips quirk with amusement. “Another reason you’re nothing more than a whip. You have no real control.”

She slaps me again, and I’ve had it with the bitch. I capture her waist, lifting her and, ignoring her protests, I set her in front of the dungeon stock. “Down,” I order, using my knees to buckle hers and shove her to a squat.

“What are you doing?” she demands, trying to turn, but I brace her shoulders with my hands, locking her down. Panic lifts in her voice. “Chris, stop! What are you doing?”

I lift the top half of the dungeon stock and, pressing my hand to the back of her head, shove her neck into the chamber, then drop the top into place. A moment later I’m kneeling in front of her and, too gently for what she deserves, I grab her hair, tugging her face upward.

“You can’t do this,” she hisses.

“I just did. And if I find out Amber is let back into any of your clubs, I’ll use my substantial financial resources to shut them all down.”

“And then where will you be,
mon amour,
when you need me again?” she taunts.

“I told you: anyone can hold a whip, Isabel. You were just the one I didn’t have to have sex with.”

“Piece of shit!” she blasts in English. “You aren’t the only one with resources. There are powerful people who come to me, who’ll protect me. They’ll make you pay for this.”

“They might blink at your threats, but I won’t. After what I saw today with Amber, even if I let you stay open, we’ll be discussing the terms in which you operate.”

“I discuss nothing with you.”

“We’ll see about that. We’ll let someone know you require assistance after we’re out of the club without interference. Feel free to scream for help, though no one will hear in this soundproof room. Poetic justice, considering you try so hard to get people to beg for mercy—don’t you think?”

“She came to me wanting the same escape you begged for, and I gave it to her. What have you given her?”

“You,” I say. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

I push to my feet to find Amber has been cut free and Tristan is standing in front of her, his big body covering hers. I return to the exit, where I’ve left the woman I love to witness this insanity.

My steps quicken, and just the idea that she won’t be there is absolutely gutting me. I yank open the door, and Sara is there immediately, looking haunted, her pale skin a striking contrast to her long dark hair.

We stare at each other, the air thickening between us, and I feel Sara like I do my own soul, and I need to protect her. Though I know that opening her eyes is protecting her, it’s all I can do not to throw her over my shoulder and carry her out of here.

“Stop it, Amber! Stop!”

At Tristan’s deep command, I turn to find a still-naked Amber running toward Isabel, clearly intending to free her. Tristan shackles her wrist and she whirls on him, raking her fingers down his face and then slamming a fist into his groin. Tristan grunts, buckles at the middle, and goes down hard to one knee. Amber sobs and sinks down beside him, curling into a fetal position.

Anticipating that Sara will try to help, I reach for her arm at the same moment she starts forward. “No, baby. I know you want to help, but she could hurt you. I need to deal with her.”

Her eyes meet mine and she says, “Just get us all out here, Chris. Just . . . do what you have to do.”

In that moment, she is strength and she is beautiful in that way she never sees, but I do. “Stay back and don’t let the door slam, or you’ll be locked out again.”

She nods and I move toward Amber.

Tristan has shaken off his pain enough to lift his head. “I’m done. She’s yours to survive, if you can.”

In that moment, I know Amber has played us all. She knew how to get Tristan to call me. She knew there was a good chance I’d bring Sara if I came here. And she damn sure knew she could push Tristan to his limit, forcing me into playing hero while Sara watched. For a moment I think we’re all enabling her by participating, and I consider walking out the door and leaving her here—but I can’t. Not when I played a role in creating her. But what she doesn’t know is that Tristan isn’t the only one at his limit. I am, too. I won’t allow her to continue on this path anymore.

I go to Amber and bend down beside her, picking her up and rising to my feet. She curls into my chest and whispers, “I’m sorry, Chris. I’m so sorry,” so that Tristan, who is the one who deserves the apology, can hear her. And I have never felt as shitty, or ready to shake sense into her, as I am now.

Trying to make this as easy on everyone as possible, I quickly leave the room and start down the hallway with its numerous doorways leading to playrooms. I cut to the left and head to Isabel’s private quarters.

Opening the door, automatic lights flicker to a dim glow as I shove through the sheer curtain Isabel uses for effect. Walking forward, I barely glance at the various “play” areas around the room, stopping at the centerpiece of the room—the massive bed, covered with white fur.

Setting Amber down, I drag a blanket around her and then step away. She sits up, remarkably dry-eyed as she lets the blanket fall away. Still manipulating. Still playing games. “Get dressed, Amber,” I order shortly, my eyes locked with hers. “When you do, we’ll decide how to get you home, where we’ll talk. I’m pretty sure Tristan won’t be giving you a ride.” Seeing how unaffected she seems infuriates me. “He deserves better than how you just treated him.”

Her chin lifts defiantly, not a tear in sight. “Like I deserved better?”

“Yes,” I say tightly. “Like you did. Only I didn’t do what I did to you intentionally. Evidently, the same doesn’t apply with you for Tristan.” Ready to be out of here, I start for the door.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” she cries out. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

I pause, hoping she means it, but I don’t know what to believe anymore. “I’m not sure it matters anymore. He’s pretty done from what I can tell, and I don’t blame him.” I continue toward the door.

She shouts after me, “You don’t get it! You don’t even see! I’m done! I’m the one who’s done!”

She has no idea how right she is. Somehow, some way, after tonight, I’ll make sure she’s done playing these games. I only hope that some semblance of the person she once was can still be salvaged.

Leaving the room and pulling the door shut behind me, I’m surprised to find Tristan standing there in the hallway, and concerned that Sara isn’t with him. As I glance around, he says, “She’s still in the Hive.”

I’m not comforted by Sara’s being left alone with Isabel, but he continues, “You need to know that I checked out with Amber a long time ago.”

My gaze traces the red, angry scratches down his cheek. “Then why are you still here?”

“Because I was sure I was the one thing that kept her from self-destructing. I’m not anymore, and I need out before I go down with her.”

He’s become who I was with Amber, or maybe it’s who he’s always been with her. Maybe that’s all she allows anyone to be. “Then get out before you do.”

“If only it were so easy.” His expression tightens. “She threatened suicide.”

That hits me hard, Amber’s shouts of “You don’t understand” and “I’m the one who is done” taking on new meaning. “When?” I ask. “And has she ever done this before?”

“Tonight, and no, never before. I would have said something.”

“And the trigger was what?”

“When I told her I’d leave her and the tattoo parlor if she came here, and she knew I meant it. Was it manipulation? Maybe. But the bottom line is that she’s spiraling, and I can’t control where it leads.”

I inhale a heavy breath and let it out. “Then we have to check her into a treatment center. I’ll make calls and see if we can admit her tonight.”

“She won’t agree.”

“If we fear for her safety, I’m not sure she has to. But we need to get out of here before we can do anything. I’ll wait in the observation room in case you need me. Call or text me before you leave, and I’ll make sure Sara and I are gone before you pass through.”

“I’ll do my best,” he says, pushing off the wall. “But she’s not predictable.”

“Understood. I’ll be ready to move fast. Just do what you can.”

He gives a nod and then enters Isabel’s chambers, and I head to the Hive. Shoving the door open, I pause in the entryway, holding my breath.

Sara stands in the center of the room, directly behind the still-captive Isabel, and she’s holding the whip.

I slowly move forward, between her and Isabel. She doesn’t look at me. She just stares down at the thick leather that dangles to the ground, and I’m certain she’s thinking of the day she’d found me in Mark’s club being beaten, and then falling to her knees in front of me. She was never supposed to see me that way. She won’t ever see me that way again.

“Sara,” I say softly, a gentle command in my voice willing her to look at me.

Her gaze lifts sharply to mine. “You aren’t this whip. We are not this whip.”

My hand closes over hers on the whip. “I know.”

“No. You don’t.”

“Smart girl,” Isabel purrs. “Smarter than you,
mon cher
.”

Sara jerks back and steps around me, lifting the whip, her wrist cocked to use it. Grabbing her wrist, I insert myself back between her and Isabel, and in this instant I fear for Sara and for us, more than I ever have. “It’s not worth it. She’s not worth it.”

Her lips and hands quiver. “She needs to feel what she makes other people feel.”

“She won’t do it,” Isabel taunts. “She’s too weak and submissive.”

Sara takes a step forward, and I shackle one of her legs with my knees. “Don’t listen to her,” I warn. “This isn’t you, Sara, and you’ll regret it.”

She starts to tremble all over and her eyes glaze. “I just . . .” She presses her free hand to her face. “I just . . .” She looks at me. “She makes me . . . angry.”

“I know,” I murmur, taking the whip from her and dropping it to the ground, then lacing my fingers with hers and leading her toward the holding room.

“He’ll always need a whip,” Isabel snaps. “Anything else is a lie.”

Those words follow us into the other room, and I can almost feel the fear they create in Sara, but there is too much to say, and too little time, before Amber and Tristan become an issue. The instant we’re inside the private viewing room, I turn Sara to me.

“Before we leave I need to make a call here, where we’re not monitored, but we have to be ready to move. Tristan’s trying to get Amber out of here. He’s supposed to call me before they leave, but she’s still volatile. I can’t be sure we’ll have much warning.”

“Can’t you make the call outside?”

“No, once we leave, we’d need Isabel to let us back inside. Amber threatened suicide, Sara. We need to stay close in case Tristan needs us.”

She blanches. “Oh, God. Now it all makes sense. She’s acting out, crying for help, and I did nothing.”

“What? Sara, this isn’t on you.”

“Yes, it is. Even if it’s subconsciously, I sensed this in her. You and Tristan were too close to this to see it. I think I was the stranger who she thought might listen, and I didn’t hear her.”

I did this, yet she’s blaming herself—a prime example of a lifetime of self-blame working her over, and an example of why I’m so damn certain she’s a step from the edge I can’t let her take. I pull her to me. “This is on me, baby. Not you. Tristan was right. I stayed in her life out of guilt, and became a crutch, not a solution.” I kiss her forehead. “Watch for Amber.” I pull out my phone. “I’m going to get my attorney to arrange a treatment center for Amber, with check-in tonight if possible.”

“Good.” She steps to the window, hugging herself, the self-blame radiating off her, and I know I was right. Rebecca, and even the Ella situation, have influenced every interaction with Amber. She wants to save the world. I need to save her, right after I save Amber.

I dial my attorney, who thankfully answers and is quick to instruct me and then go to work. “Well?” she prods when I hang up.