Wallbanger (12 page)

Xander’s hand dipped beneath the fabric he’d
righted to cup her cheek. “Listen, if Sacha takes you on and things
get out of control, do what you have to do to come out of this
alive, okay?” She snorted at the feigned concern in his voice and
he frowned. “You might not believe me, Kizzie, but I have no
intention of getting you killed.”

Kizzie wouldn’t delude herself. She was
expendable; always had been. To Duquesne…to Connolly. If she came
out of this at all she’d be nothing more than a thorn in Xander’s
side. She’d know too much. “Not until
you
have to kill me,
Sir?”

He dropped his hand as though she’d burned
him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Don’t get to be you without burying a few
bodies, X.”

His response never came. Perfect. The last
thing she needed was to be scatterbrained on a mission, and Xander
had very nearly done that. She faced forward, catching Marchande
watching them in the rearview. Kizzie caught the smirk on the big
man’s face before the rear lights went out and the cab was again
plunged in darkness.

As the vehicle pulled up to the entry gates
of the chateau, Xander’s voice penetrated the many thoughts in
Kizzie’s head.

“At play parties like this,” he began, voice
ice cold, “the doors lock at ten, and don’t open again until three.
That’s five hours to either find info about Harvey and where it’s
located, or convince Sacha to keep you on. While we’re here, don’t
eat or drink anything I don’t personally give you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“We’re on Sacha’s turf, so keep your head
down and your ears open.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Make a good impression and you’ll be his in
no time.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Stop—”

“Is something wrong, Sir?” Kizzie
interrupted. She could almost feel the anger building from the
other side of the SUV. She angled her head to look at him as the
Rover stopped on the arch of the drive, but Xander was staring at
something outside the window.

To her left, the passenger door came open and
Marchande steadied her on the stilts she wore on her feet. The snow
had been cleared away, but the pavers were still a bit icy.
Freezing cold air focused her on the mission, wiping away the
errant, wispy ideas of normalcy.

Taking short, efficient steps, Kizzie rounded
the rear of the car and opened the door for her Master.

* * * *

He had to get his mind straight.

Xander stepped past Kizzie while she held the
car door. She persisted in finding ways to get under his skin, her
subservience being the latest in a long string of irritants. It
shouldn’t have bothered him—she was only doing what he’d
instructed—and, being a Dom, he should have been pleased. But
knowing it was an act gnawed at him. Criminal or not, there was a
code he lived by as a Dominant, and this charade shattered it.

Submission in any form was a gift, and all of
his subs had a choice whether to give him that gift or not. Kizzie
didn’t.

But she’s not your sub
—That wasn’t the
point. No fun in dominating someone against her will. He wanted her
to—

“Dobrii vecher, Xander.”

Sacha’s thick voice brought him clear out of
his thoughts. He wasn’t sure when he’d mounted the steps to the
chateau, or when Marchande had driven the car away. Sensing Kizzie
on the step below him, he pasted a smile on his face and extended
his hand, clasping the other man’s in a firm grip.

“Good evening, Sacha.” His gaze shifted a
hair to the two near-naked women standing behind the tall Russian.
Both wore nothing but ropes on their bodies, knots tied at various
intervals pressing into their skin, nipples erect from the cold
weather. A cord circled each slender neck, a black “S.S.” pressed
into a square of white leather dangling there. Kizzie discreetly
handed him a package, and he presented it to his host. “A gift, for
your hospitality.”

“Thank god it’s not vodka. You wouldn’t
believe
how many people bring me, a Russian, vodka!” Sacha
boomed a laugh and took the bottle of expensive wine. “Is this gift
for me too?” he asked in perfect English, eyeing Kizzie.

“You might get to play with her.” Xander
offered a tight smile. “This is Gigi. She sometimes requires a
heavier hand.”

“I can always use more puppets.” Sacha’s grin
widened as he stepped aside to allow them into the foyer. “That
brown skin will redden nicely.”

Xander barely heard, eyes on the men inside.
Just as Phil had told him, guards flanked either side of the room.
One stepped forward to pat him down, the other three with their
hands on holstered weapons.

“Is this necessary?” he asked, arms going out
to allow the man to do his job. He’d expected it but didn’t want to
risk Sacha’s suspicion by not feigning offense.

“A small precaution,” the Russian said
jovially. “You understand.” He handed the wine to one of his
henchmen. “Put this in my office and return to your post.”

The goon touching Xander pulled the phone
from his pocket. A cursory glance at the unresponsive display and
he handed it back. Done with the pat down, the man advanced on
Kizzie.

“Not her,” Xander said firmly. He caught
Sacha’s gaze. “You know better than to touch a collared sub.”

“What happened to the other one you had,
Xander? Pretty little bitch. What was her—?”

“She’s no longer my sub.” He removed Kizzie’s
cloak, leaving her in the collar, skimpy outfit and boots.

“I don’t think she can hide much in that,”
Sacha laughed, then to Kizzie, “Take off the shoes.” Kizzie didn’t
flinch. “Your bitch doesn’t listen.”

“Because she’s
mine
, Sacha. You want
the boots off, you ask me, not her.” It wasn’t a small matter; it
was a blatant test of power. Had Kizzie responded, Sacha would have
determined Xander didn’t have control. First test passed, the
tension eased from him a bit.

As for Sacha, he determined the man didn’t
have any of the finesse his father did, more accustomed to getting
things by brute force. It was why Xander loathed having to work
with him on Harvey. Sacha would no doubt try to change the terms
Nikolay had established. But he’d find himself against a steel wall
where Xander was concerned.

“Have her take the boots off, please.”

He paused a beat, whispered a command in her
ear. Kizzie bent over, hair falling forward and goods on display
around the little thong she wore, making slow work of unfastening
the stilettos. One bare foot touched the ground, and she repeated
her tease with the other. More than he’d expected, and Xander shut
off the emotion it roused in him. By the look on Sacha’s face, he
definitely enjoyed the view.

“Oh, I’m going to like this puppet.”

“I thought you might.” Xander noted the
guards blocking the door, standing like bouncers outside of a club.
Their job: keep the people in for the next five hours. A sound came
from deeper in the house. “Care to give me the tour?”

The other man sniffed, rubbed at his nose
before guiding them toward the first playroom. A scene was already
in progress, a woman shackled to a St. Andrew’s cross, her back to
the small crowd gathered in the area. The same rope-and-tag collar
Sacha’s subs wore hung from her neck. The Dom in the situation
wielded a heavy paddle, striking the woman across her upper thighs.
Any noise she made was done around the bit gag in her mouth.

“One of my puppets,” Sacha said proudly. “You
can play with her, too, if you’d like. Or any of the others. Yank
them any way you want; pull their strings. No difference to me.
Won’t even charge you.”

“Thank you for the offer, but—”

“Will you be sceneing, tonight?”

“No,” Xander said, “Just here to watch.”

Sacha sucked a disappointed breath through
his teeth. “Pity. I remember how good you are with a whip. I’d like
to see your bitch jump.”

The paddle connected with a sharp smack and
Xander winced. This guy had no business here, had no idea what he
was doing to the girl. By the way she slumped on the cross she was
either in subspace—which he doubted—or was sniffing whatever kept
Sacha’s nose itching and couldn’t feel a thing. The bruises would
be nasty in the morning.

A heavy exhale and he angled his head to
check Kizzie’s reaction. The last thing he needed was her
protective instinct to flare. She stood behind him, just to the
right, peeking at the actions taking place. By the stiffness in her
stance she wasn’t enjoying this, and he wasn’t either.

“You might want to check her,” Xander said.
“Your sub looks hurt.”

Sacha glanced at the girl and then called to
the sceneing Dom. “Get her down from there.”

“Any other rooms going?”

The small group left the first area and
entered another, all the while Xander making note of his way
through the complex. The interior was huge, doors and other
corridors flanking either side of the wide main hallway. A look in
one room revealed a man thrusting and bucking against the
unresponsive body of another dazed girl; leather tag shifting to
and fro against her skin.

She appeared drugged—not surprising to Xander
since it was the same way Sacha ran his prostitution rings. The two
subs trailing his host seemed to be the liveliest of the few he’d
seen so far. The one of East Asian descent appeared a touch more
alert; the European one wore a blank expression.

Coming into another room, he witnessed a
puppet—as Sacha seemed inclined to call them—having hot wax dripped
on her. Unlike her sisters in this sad sorority, she flinched and
screamed, trying to move away when the multicolored liquid hit her
skin. Clearly it was too hot, but this poor excuse for a Dom had no
idea, or didn’t care. Pretending in the Lifestyle usually got
someone hurt.

Xander ignored the irony.

They continued through the house, coming upon
the largest and most crowded room. “I think you’ll like this room
the best,” Sacha said.

With what he’d already seen, Xander wasn’t so
sure. He followed the man to a set of chairs and took the offered
seat. Kizzie knelt at his side, resting back on her heels. Her back
was straight, head slightly bowed, hands in her lap. He stroked her
hair and she didn’t jerk.
She might pull this off after
all.

In the space before them, a thick wooden
plank was secured to a crossbeam, dangling horizontally from a
carabiner clip and a length of chain. At either end of the board
were two metal rings, each supporting durable, leather-lined
restraints. The blonde in the confines—one of Sacha’s tagged
marionettes—was face up, legs parted in a wide V; wrists similarly
spread and connected to the bindings as well. Apart from the ball
gag in her mouth, she was completely naked, pussy, anus, and the
fear in her eyes exposed to the many onlookers.

Dressed in black leathers, the thin Dom in
the circle had a bullwhip in his grip, holding it with a measure of
uncertainty Xander immediately noticed. He shook his head; this
wouldn’t end well.

With a menacing crack the Top struck the
girl’s buttocks, a glancing blow, and she jerked. The crowd seemed
pleased, and he mimicked the move on the other side, this time
connecting firmly with flesh. Blondie screeched, the sound dampened
by the gag. A dark welt bloomed in seconds.

The whip landed on her leg, bringing another
horrible moan and a matching red mark.

Sacha laughed. “Make her dance!”

The Top reared back, landing the tail on the
delicate skin of the woman’s cunt. Instinctively she tried to pull
her legs together to soothe the harsh sting, but there was no
getting out of the restraints until her temporary Master was good
and ready.

Kizzie stiffened beneath Xander’s touch. She
was probably on the verge of jumping in, and he couldn’t blame her.
This was not the way the Lifestyle worked. This was abuse, plain
and simple. The whip wasn’t for everybody. Sure it sounded good to
make it crack, but to get it to strike skin in a pleasant manner,
it took a great deal of skill and practice. When a Dom jumped into
it without that practice, as this brute in the circle had done,
they ended up with an injured sub unwilling to do it again. The man
had started off too heavy-handed, not giving the sub a chance to
feel the sweet bite of the tail. Now, less than ten lashes in, she
was bleeding from the cuts across her ass and legs.

He’d had seen more than enough, but the doors
wouldn’t open for a long while. Add to that he couldn’t offend his
host—the same host who had Harvey—and he was forced to bite back
his outrage.

A few strikes later the sub jerked with all
her might to be let out, and the Dom looked nervously about the
crowd of people. Realizing he’d lost them, he released the bottom
from her restraints, first lowering the wooden plank to the ground
via a pulley system.

“Go help,” Sacha ordered. His puppets left
their spot and helped the girl collect herself. “He could learn a
thing or two from you, Xander.”

“Can I still fuck her, Sacha?” the man
asked.

“Do what you want,” he answered. “It’s your
euro.”

Freedom was short, the Dom quickly yanking
the girl to her feet. She rolled unsteadily, trying to gain her
balance and breath, before being dragged through the door.

“Let’s talk.” Sacha stood, his dolls
returning to their place behind him.

Thankful it was over, Xander lifted himself
from the chair, extended his hand to Kizzie. She eyed it a brief
moment before accepting his help. He steadied her on her feet, let
the numbness he knew would be there work its way from her knees.
Then he turned to Sacha, who shook his head, disapproving of the
act.

“Too nice to your bitch. She’ll forget her
place one day. Or maybe you like beating her back into it, eh?”

“Lead the way,” Xander said, ignoring the
comment.

“I’ll show you how to treat these things,
Xander.” Sacha strode from the room, making the short walk to his
office. At the door, he said, “A demonstration.” He yanked the
European girl forward and threw her to the ground.