Red Handed (12 page)

“Oh, she knows.” Gracie folded her arms over her chest. “I'm certain this is one of her ploys for attention. She's a brat, not a pain slut.”

Danielle admired how Cole immediately took charge of the situation, but it was clear he didn't have time to worry about her well-being at the moment. She pasted on a fake smile and stepped back from him. “You obviously have your hands full with the club, and I'm fine to get myself to my room, so I'm going to go—”

“You'll wait for me,” he said firmly. “This will only take a moment.”

Gracie glanced between them and seemed to pick up on the tension. “I'd be happy to take her upstairs, Master.”

He hesitated. “Thank you for your offer, but I'll see to her myself.”

Danielle didn't know much about after-care, but to her, his behavior reminded her of someone insisting he walk his date to the door. At this point, she didn't see why Gracie couldn't fulfill his Master obligations toward her.

Dressed in a see-through black mesh dress, Cassandra sauntered up the stairs with what appeared to Danielle to be a triumphant grin. As soon as the troublemaker caught sight of Master Cole, she schooled her expression into one of remorse. As she had earlier in class, she dropped to her knees in front of him. “Master Cole, I'd like permission to scene with Anthony Rinaldi.”

“Permission denied. Please stand.”

She tossed her long red hair over her shoulder as she complied. “May I ask why?”

Cole remained calm, calmer than Danielle would be in the same position. She didn't understand why he indulged her behavior. “As your Master, I don't have to explain my decision to you, but since you're a trainee and this is a learning experience, I will. Rinaldi is a sadist and not the kind you read about in your BDSM romances.”

She raised a brow. “Then why is he a member?”

From the dungeon, two men climbed the stairs, Michael trailing behind them. The taller of the men wore a black business suit and was built like a football player, while the other, an older man with graying brown hair, was dressed casually in jeans and a Polo shirt. Which one was the sadist?

Answering Cassandra, Cole didn't seem to notice Rinaldi's approach. “I've known him for a number of years, and he's been a member of Benediction since day one. So long as he follows the rules, a sadist has just as much of a right to membership as any other person. However, unless you're a masochist with a high pain tolerance, this is not a man to tango with.”

“Cole,” the older man said smoothly, offering a hand. “I wasn't aware you were running a dance studio.”

Michael's phone rang, and he answered, motioning to Cole with his hands that he was needed elsewhere. At Cole's nod, he headed toward the kitchen.

Cole eyed Rinaldi's outstretched hand but didn't shake it. “Anthony. I'm told you tried to negotiate a scene with my slave trainee. You're aware you need to obtain prior approval, yes?”

Undeterred by Cole's rejection, Rinaldi winked as he dropped his hand to his side. “You and me, we go back a long time. I figured by now, you'd trust me.”

Danielle sensed an undercurrent of animosity in Rinaldi's words. Cole remained calm, but his hands twitched as if he was keeping himself from saying what he really felt.

If Rinaldi didn't follow the rules, why wouldn't Cole terminate his membership?

“My decision has nothing to do with trust,” Cole said in much the same way he'd told her he didn't bring slaves to his bedroom. “Everyone, including Benediction's original members, must adhere to our policies. Cassandra is not a masochist, and as her Master, it is my role not only to see that her limits are honored, but to know when to add limits for her own protection.”

Rinaldi tilted his head and ruminated for a moment. “Fair enough.” Then to her horror, he turned to her. “I don't recognize you.” His assessing gaze slid down the length of her body. “I don't suppose there's any hope this one's a masochist? What's her name, Cole?”

Cole shoved him. “You will never fucking touch her. Don't talk to her. Don't even look at her. You're not worthy to breathe the same air as her, and you're certainly not worthy of learning her name.”

Danielle froze. Why was he so protective of her?

A sick grin turned Rinaldi's otherwise unremarkable face into one of a psychotic. “No worries. I can see the girl means something to you.” He smacked his cohort on the back. “Let's go find us a masochist. I'm itching to cause some pain.”

Although they could access the stairs if they went right, Rinaldi swaggered left. “Welcome to Benediction, Danielle Walker.”

An icy chill swept through her. Why had he asked Cole for her name if he already knew it?

Cole tensed, and his eyes darkened as he watched Rinaldi leave. Gracie laid a gentle hand on his arm and shook her head. “He's not worth it, Master. Let him go.”

Rinaldi disappeared from sight before Cole moved a single muscle. Then he turned to Cassandra. “We'll need to speak tonight about whether you're committed to Benediction and your training as a slave. Until then, you're to return to your room. You're excused.” Swallowing hard, Cassandra wisely kept her mouth shut and ambled toward the kitchen. “Gracie, thank you for your assistance. As a reward, I'll set up a scene for you with Ryder and Morgan.” As if nothing had occurred, he returned his hand to the small of Danielle's back.

Gracie beamed. “Of course, Master.” She caught Danielle's gaze and wiggled her eyebrow before galloping off to the basement.

With everyone now gone, Cole made good on his word and escorted Danielle to her room, his touch even more confusing now that she'd witnessed his attack on Rinaldi. “How did Rinaldi know my name?” she asked.

The fingers of his hand curled into her waist. “Word gets around when Benediction gets a beautiful new slave trainee.”

She didn't believe him, but why would he lie? Now at her room, she pivoted so her back rested against the wooden door and searched his eyes for the truth. “I thought you were going to hurt him.”

“I wanted to.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Because of me?

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of her head. “Because Rinaldi and I have a complicated history, and it's my responsibility to protect”—his gaze dropped to her lips—“all my slaves. You're safe here.”

She held her breath as his mouth inched closer and closer. At the last second, he stopped, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “Get some rest. You're going to need it.”

Leaving her wanting and confused, he turned and walked away, as if she'd imagined the entire moment. And although she was flooded with the urge to confront him on it, she let him go, knowing it was for the best.

Chapter Thirteen

A
RECTANGULAR, LIGHT
blue Tiffany box with a white bow tied around it sat on her bed as though it was her birthday.

She fingered the Tiffany locket around her neck and shivered, goose bumps developing up and down her arms. The sensation of being watched returned.

Could Cole have left her a present?

She couldn't remember the last time she'd received a gift. Tasha wrote her checks, and Roman took her shopping to pick out something she wanted, but a surprise gift? It must have been more than eight years ago. Before her father had been imprisoned.

This box looked innocent enough, but for some reason, it felt . . . ominous. She sat on her bed, picked it up, and shook it. The box was light, and she didn't hear anything.

She carefully untied the bow and slid it off the box.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and then the noise disappeared, almost as if someone had stopped in front of her door. Was it the person who'd left her the gift? Were they waiting for her reaction?

Her hands trembled as she slowly lifted the top off the box. Gasping, she dropped its bloody contents on the floor. Nausea choked her.

A finger
.

Discolored and gray, with dry, crusted, black blood coating the bottom where it had been severed from the hand, there was no mistaking the finger's identity.

The long red polished nail.

The faded scar underneath the knuckle.

The platinum and diamond wedding band.

The finger belonged to Tasha.
Had
belonged to Tasha.

Her belly churned, and she gagged. Rushing to the bathroom, she barely made it to the toilet before emptying all the contents of her stomach.

Why? She'd done everything they had asked. Gotten on a plane and left her life in Arizona behind. Convinced Cole to let her train as a sex slave.

How had the box gotten to her room? She'd locked the door.

Maybe one of the trainees knew something about how it had arrived. But what if it came from one of the other trainees? Was one of them working for the kidnappers? It would certainly make sense. Any one of them could be watching her and reporting back.

But what had she done to warrant Tasha losing her finger?

Her poor stepmother. She didn't deserve this. No one deserved this.

Danielle flushed the toilet and cleaned up at the sink, brushing her teeth and rinsing her mouth out with mouthwash. She couldn't fall apart. Not when Tasha's life was on the line.

Now she had to figure out what to do with the finger. She couldn't keep it here. But she couldn't bear to throw it away in the garbage either. What if she needed it later as evidence? Surely when Tasha came home, they could contact the police and start an investigation.

Her breathing calmed, and her hands steadied. She could do this. She'd take the box outside and find a safe place to hide it.

She stepped out of the bathroom and into her bedroom just as the door to her room clicked shut. Frozen, she scanned the room, immediately noticing the package and the finger were gone.

They'd been in her room while she was in the bathroom, oblivious, only feet away.

The nausea returned as she raced to the door and flung it open. She stepped into the hall and found it empty. It had to be one of the trainees. There was no way anyone else could've gotten away so quickly. She scanned all the closed doors. Which one hid the trespasser? Did they know what they had delivered?

The door across her hall creaked open, and looking polished as ever, her red hair flowing over her shoulders, out came Cassandra. She smirked as she noticed Danielle. “Need help packing your suitcase? If you need a ride, I'd be happy to call a taxi for you.”

There was no mistaking the fact that Cassandra was a class-A bitch, but had she left the box in her room? Could she be working with the kidnappers?

“I'm not the one who Master Cole is planning on speaking to about her commitment,” Danielle said, curling her shaking hands into fists at her hips.

Surprise registered in Cassandra's eyes before she concealed it. “Oh, that? You obviously don't know how things work around here. I'm what's known in the BDSM community as a ‘brat.' I make trouble because the Masters get off on punishing me. If you knew anything about BDSM, you'd get it.” She raked her gaze down Danielle's body. “You're a poser. I don't understand why Master Cole allowed you to train.”

Danielle took a steadying breath. “I don't have to explain myself to you, nor do I answer to you.” Instead of retreating, Danielle stalked closer to her, lowering her voice and speaking nonchalantly. “And you're not a brat. You're a selfish little girl playing adult games. Those Masters who you believe get off on your behavior? They see right through you.” She twirled around and went back into her room, shutting the door.

Standing with her back against it, she spied a pill bottle halfway under the bed. Had that been there before?

She scooped it up. There was no label, but it was definitely a prescription pill bottle. She held it up to the light and saw two pills inside.

Her cell phone rang.

Trembling, she went to the nightstand and lifted her phone, not surprised to see the call was from an unlisted number. “Hello?”

“They're sleeping pills. You need to get DeMarco to bring you to his bed, and then you can drug him in order to search his residence for the box.”

“Where am I supposed to hide the pills when I'm walking around half-naked all the time?”

He laughed. “A Tiffany box for a Tiffany girl. Hide them in your locket.”

She wiped the tears from her cheek. “Why did you cut off Tasha's finger? I've done everything you've asked.”

He hesitated. “
Tick-tock
. We thought we'd remind you of the seriousness of the situation. Don't get too comfortable with DeMarco. He wouldn't help you even if he knew.”

“I need assurances that Tasha's okay.”

“Well, you're not going to get it. Just be grateful we didn't send her whole hand.”

The call went dead before she could say another word.

Pacing the room, she dumped the tiny oval pills in her hand. She checked the identifying markings and looked it up on her phone's web browser.

The results popped up immediately. It was a sedative used to treat insomnia and dissolved in water. She read over the information, including the dosage instructions. Two pills were more than generally prescribed, but it wouldn't cause any lasting health issues.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Her stepmother had taken sleeping aids for years without any problems.

The message from the kidnappers had made it clear. Time was running out.

After checking that the door was locked and turning out the lights, she quickly undressed and padded naked to her bed, then slid beneath the sheets, drawing the blanket up to her chin. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but as exhausted as she was, sleep eluded her.

She didn't feel safe. How could she when the lock on the door couldn't prevent someone from breaking into her room?

Hours passed, and the sound of the voices of the trainees returning to their rooms ceased. Eventually, her limbs grew heavy, and she closed her eyes.