The Song Bird (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (6 page)

Instead of cowering, however, Eugene Behr laughed. “Money talks, Braddock. And it won’t even take that much to kill you or Masters. And then I’ll have her back, as well as your so-called club bank.”

“You’re done here,” Jason informed him. “Consider your membership revoked.”

“You can’t bar me! I’ve paid my dues.”

“Your money will be refunded. Ellis, get him the fuck out of my sight.”

Ellis grabbed Behr’s arm and hauled him away.

“You’ll pay!” Behr yelled. “Let go of me! I want my property! Do you hear me, whore?”

Jason pulled her into his arms as he kicked the door closed with his foot. He walked to the bed and sat down, pulling her onto his lap as he inspected her wrist.

“Bruised,” he muttered darkly. “That bastard.”

“I’m okay. I’ve been hurt worse,” she said. “What did he mean by making whores disappear? It sounded like…like he’d done it already.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past that man,” he answered, but he didn’t meet her eyes, and she had the strangest feeling he knew the answer to her question, only he wasn’t sharing.

Though she didn’t want to make her floor round, Jason stayed right by her side and held her hand as he escorted her through the waiting crowd, standing next to her like a bodyguard as she received well-wishes and praise. Men followed as she visited through the club, smiling as she visited next to each gambling station, poker, roulette, and many other games she didn’t recognize. One man asked her to blow on his dice.

She thought the night would never end. She had gone from such a wonderful feeling, singing in front of a captive audience, to being terrified at the hands of Eugene Behr. Finally, her purgatory ended. Jason placed his hand in her lower back to escort her back to her dressing room, where he kissed her forehead and left her.

Avilon came to a halt as she opened the door and saw Eli Masters waiting for her near the armoire, his light eyes staring at her with blue fire. Avilon squared her shoulders and shut the door behind her, moving to sit behind the vanity, where a washcloth sat beside a washbowl full of clean water. She dipped the cloth into it, wrung it out, and wiped her sweating brow.

“Is your wrist okay?”

“It’s fine. See?” She flexed it for him.

“You changed the song.”

“At the last moment, I thought the song would give a greater impact. It was written by Mozart, by the way, so you should still feel cultured.”

She met his gaze in the mirror and saw him cross his arms.

“Do you constantly not do as you’re told?”

“I’ve learned I never accomplish anything if I allow people to lead me into what they believe is right.”

She saw a ghost of amusement flicker over his face. “And the dress you’re wearing? You have an armoire full of choices.”

“I didn’t have time to alter them.”

She saw him uncross his arms as he made his way to her. Immediately, she rose from the vanity to face him. She thought about standing her ground, but something wicked glittered in his eyes. Unnerved, Avilon backed up until her shoulders hit the wall behind her. Eli advanced until he placed his hands on either side of her head, trapping her.

Avilon flattened herself, her pulse quickening as his unique scent hit her nostrils—distinctly male, a hint of spice and strong soap with a trace of sweat. She lifted her chin. “Mr. Masters, you owe me. I sang four songs, so by our agreement, you have to answer four questions.”

“Very well,” he replied, his voice deep and rich. His eyes roamed over her face caressingly, but he didn’t pull away. “What’s your first?”

She swallowed and had to actually think of what she was going to ask him. “Do you remember a woman with dark brown hair, brown eyes, about my height?”

“You’ve just described the majority of the white women in San Francisco,” he answered with a touch of amusement. “Brown hair, brown hair, standing what, five foot five in bare feet?”

“Granted, but what about six months ago? Surely you remember those girls.”

“As I recall, of the eight girls working for me, there were six with the exact same likeness.”

“What were those six names?”

“I don’t recall. But I can get Jace to pull the accounting ledgers.”

“You don’t remember the names of the women working for you? Very well, then. Yes, please,” she said. She rolled her shoulders. “I can’t believe it’s been so hard to find her. I thought I’d come here and Amelia would welcome me with open arms.”

“What did you think would happen once you found her?” he asked quietly.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe return to New Orleans or start over somewhere new. I just wish I knew why she came here, why she took a job as a…”

“A whore?” he finished.

She flinched at the word. “Must you use such a vulgar word?”

“No reason to sugarcoat it.”

“Just don’t. Please.”

He stared at her, those light eyes assessing her. She wondered what he saw in her.

“You’d be okay with accepting the person Amelia is now?”

“Of course,” she replied softly.

“Why?”

“Because I love her.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. But she saw the hard edges of his mouth soften and the tight lines around his eyes ease.

“And that’s all?” he finally asked. “Love?”

“What else do I need?”

His long fingers brushed away the wayward curls lingering at her temple. “Very well.”

“Thank you. Now for my last question—”

“I’m sorry, but you’ve already asked me four questions.” Just like that, the tenderness fled, and the cockiness was back.

“What? No, that didn’t count!”

“A question is a question, sweetheart.”

“Oh, you’re such an infuriating man!” She pushed against his chest, trying to move him, but Eli Masters was a mountain of a man. “Why won’t you just tell me what I need to know so I can continue my investigation?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Investigation? Into what, your sister’s lifestyle? I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but girls like her leave all the time. They move around, head to different places, and they sure as hell don’t leave forwarding addresses. Your sister probably found some man dumb enough to pay for her private services and is living with him right now.”

There was something in his tone, something deep and dark, that made her pause. His voice had twisted, becoming a little shrill, while the look on his face, in his eyes, was a dark pit of bitterness. She stopped pushing against him, and her hands rested against his chest.

“If it was that simple, then why the mystery?” she asked, her own tone softening. “What theft made you fire them six months ago? What makes your long-term employees scared to talk about it?”

He sighed in exasperation. “I fired them because they lied about stealing a personal belonging from a client. End of story. No mystery, no big revelation.”

She would have taken the explanation at face value, but she saw the barest tightening of his lips and somehow knew that he was lying.

“No, Mr. Masters. I don’t think I believe that entirely,” she replied. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what goes down in your club when you know every facet, every nook, and every corner of what makes this place breathe life. You had a crystal chandelier personally sent from England. You had a Pleyel piano brought in from France. This club takes up over half a block with meticulous details of architecture I’m sure were to your specifications. This isn’t just a club for you, Mr. Masters. It’s your mistress. So don’t insult my intelligence by saying you don’t know my sister. A man like you doesn’t rise to power by not knowing everything around him.”

“I am who I am by knowing when to lay low and keep my mouth shut,” he muttered, “something you should learn. It’s a bigger picture, Avilon, more than you can imagine.”

Several emotions struck her at his words. Fear at his warning, satisfaction that she had managed to get him to admit to knowing more, frustration that he had blocked her yet again. But all of it faded as she watched him lean down to capture her mouth with his.

For a moment she did nothing, too overwhelmed by surprise. This wasn’t some innocent kiss, exploring for the first time taste and texture. No, Eli Masters took her by surprise, stormed past any protest she might have given to sink himself into her. His tongue swept into her mouth, twining with hers in a sort of odd dance. He moved his hands from the wall and cupped her face as he possessed her mouth with smoldering demand.

Dazed and slightly confounded by his aggression, she reached for him. Her mind tried to throw up a warning, but it was a little too late as a surge of pleasure traveled straight down her spine. Her body was moving independently of her thoughts, molding to the hard planes of his body as her nerves lit with sparks of sensation.

Vaguely she felt him remove his hands from her face, felt them travel over her body before settling on her rear. He gripped her, pulling her into his groin. Even through the layers of clothing, she felt his hard ridge, large and long, pulsing against her. She had the overwhelming urge to grind into him, to part her legs and pull that incredible hardness into her soft core. It was a feeling so foreign and alien to her that it shocked her thoughts back into place. She pushed him from her. Caught off guard, he stumbled back. When he went to reach for her again, she ducked away and opened the door.

“Please leave,” she said, panting. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.

“You don’t really want me to go,” he told her, his voice harsh and gritty with desire. “You’re staring at me like a doe in heat.”

“Get out, Mr. Masters!”

He stared at her for a moment longer and then walked to stand in front of her. His light eyes were liquid heat. “I’ll go. But don’t delude yourself into thinking you don’t want me, that you don’t want what’s between us.”

“I…can’t.”

“You will,” he said and then left, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

With everything that had happened, it took her a long time to fall asleep that night.

Avilon tossed and turned, and when the cleaning crews arrived, she bolted upward. The half dozen Chinese women worked through the club, scrubbing and cleansing the previous night away. In her opinion, they couldn’t do enough to expurgate the evening’s events. She still felt slightly ill at the memory of Eugene Behr. She had seen much in her travels, but none so evil as the banker’s abrupt personality switch. And to know that he also knew Odell felt very strange. She fervently hoped Amelia had had nothing to do with him.

Feeling tired and strung out, she rose and prepared for the day. She had a lot to accomplish before singing in the evening, least of all taking one of the horrid dresses left over from the last singer and transforming it into something she wouldn’t mind wearing.

Not having any other garments, she donned her one dress. She was glad the fashion had faded from the hooks and eyes buttoning in the back to favor an easier jacket bodice over a chemisette. Before, panels over the shoulder had gathered into a blunt point at the dropped waist, and it had been easy to fasten while traveling with her aunt, but when Verity Chambert had passed away, Avilon had had to learn a different way of doing everything. Flounces were still a bothersome hindrance, but a necessary evil. At least they kept her legs warm enough.

She left her room and headed for the stairs, needing to talk with Annabel. She couldn’t get her words out of her head, that Eli Masters and Jason Braddock liked sharing women. What exactly did that mean? The logistics had been explained, but the concept still boggled her, especially now that her body had reacted so strongly to both men.

Wasn’t it sinful? Wasn’t it deplorable to want two men? And how did two men not become jealous of each other while…while…the sharing was happening? She marched up to Annabel’s door and knocked softly. She waited a few minutes, but heard nothing, so she rapped again, a little louder this time. Abruptly, the door was yanked open, and Annabel stood there. Her red hair was nothing but knots, pointing in all directions, and her makeup had smeared down her cheeks. She peeped out from one edge of her sleeping mask

“Oh,” Avilon murmured. “I’m so sorry for waking you.”

“It is eight in the morning,” Annabel said with an annoyed, sleep-roughened voice. “Go away.”

“Of course. I suppose I’ll see you later today—”

Annabel shut the door, cutting Avilon off.

She supposed she should have expected that. The working girls stayed up until the club shut down at four in the morning. Avilon felt bad for having interrupted Annabel’s rest. With a sigh, she headed back down the stairs to her next goal, retrieving her personal belongings from the Sisters of the Sacred Heart.

She was able to slip through the kitchens and out the back without having to talk to anyone. She didn’t see Jason or Ellis since there wasn’t a delivery so early in the morning. The only people were the cleaning staff, who didn’t seem to give a whit who she was.

The morning air was still chilly, and she wrapped her cloak around her tightly as she retraced her steps back to the shelter on Vallejo Street. She could hardly believe all that had happened to her in the past forty-eight hours. So much hadn’t exactly gone as planned, though she didn’t doubt she was on the right path to finding Amelia.

She had failed her sister once. She wouldn’t do it again.

The walk took her about an hour, the exercise warming her up considerably. The rolling streets made her pause often to catch her breath. She had thought herself in fine physical shape, but the streets of San Francisco were an altogether different type of entity. When she finally found herself standing in front of the mission and boarding house, she tried to blank out the fact that she’d have to walk back carrying her valise.

She knocked on the front door, and a second later it was opened by Sister Faith, much to Avilon’s displeasure. Of all the nuns she had traveled with, Sister Faith had been the most annoying. She had taken her name from the young girl who had lived sometime in the third century who had refused to make pagan sacrifices even under torture. The poor girl had been killed on a red-hot brazier, a martyr to Christianity. Avilon could see how Sister Faith had been drawn to such a legend. The woman was long-winded every time she gave a blessing, as if personally taking it upon herself to verify the holiness of the meal.