Boston Avant-Garde 5: Bellicoso (5 page)

His sac flexed as his balls tightened against his body. Pressure gathered at the base of his spinal column. For the first time in longer than he wanted to examine, he didn’t fight it back. Awareness lit his nerve endings on fire. A fiery haze of lust wound its way through his limbs. Harder, faster, his hand slapped against the base of his shaft as he stroked his cock toward completion.

His orgasm erupted in a stream of ejaculate that seemed endless. He opened his eyes, watching the thick white fluid mingle with the water before disappearing down the drain.

Better the drain than the womb.

The familiar taste of regret was bitter on his tongue. He’d intended to put the woman from his mind altogether, not savor an imagined encounter with her. What the hell was wrong with him? Worse, he suspected the softening in his muscles was because of his little fantasy.

A fantasy about a woman.

Shame curdled his stomach. Remorse, disillusionment, and resolve were his constant companions. He had made his choice long ago. Never again would he give a woman the opportunity to hold power over him or his destiny.

Why then did his brain keep sliding into images of Selena?

Malachi straightened, holding his breath as he strained to catch a sound coming from outside the bathroom. Someone was pounding on the exterior door. The sound of their banging echoed throughout the suite. Stepping from the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and flung his wet hair away from his face.

The stone was cold beneath his feet as he padded to the door. He was surprised to see Owen’s solemn face through the peephole. The dim lighting burnished his dusky complexion to a dull copper color.

Malachi glared at Owen. “Did the club fall apart in the last hour or something?”

“I know I’m bothering you.” Owen’s tight expression was enough to tell Malachi exactly what was going on. “The Mistress is requesting your attendance in her chamber.”

The Mistress hardly deserved the title. Seraphina de Medici was a bully who had let the power of owning Triptych go straight to her pretty head. Malachi grunted, dreading what the hell-bitch could possibly want at this time of night.

“What do you want me to tell her?” Owen asked.

This was only one example of Seraph’s ongoing exhibition of power. Having one of the club’s minions summon Malachi like a dog instead of just texting him like a normal person. Malachi heaved a sigh. “Tell her I’ll be up as soon as I get dressed.”

Owen nodded, leaving Malachi to his introspection. Just as there had been an ulterior purpose to the method of her summons, there had been an unspoken message behind his response. Malachi knew Owen would relay it exactly as it had been said.

It was all too easy to remember the days when Malachi would have been tripping over himself to present his nude body for Seraph’s perusal and subsequent use. Not anymore.

He pulled on a pair of jeans, fastening them with unnecessary force. Really it was too bad he didn’t own a belt that included a padlock on the buckle. It would have made his point quite nicely. He pulled on a clean Henley instead.

Letting his door slam closed behind him, he took a deep breath to reestablish his equilibrium. It was a damn shame Seraph had demanded an audience just as he was getting over the jolt Selena had given him.

At least I have one ally in my battle against Seraph.

He cracked a smile as he stalked barefoot down the long hallway. In all their long years working for Seraphina de Medici, she’d never discovered that her favorite plaything and the head of her personal security had bonded in a way that undermined any remaining loyalty they might have once held toward her. Empires had toppled because of less, and Malachi hoped one day Triptych would follow suit.

Few people realized the maze of corridors beneath Triptych could house all five of the managers and a good portion of the staff. It had been Malachi’s idea originally, to give the ventilation system a complete overhaul and renovate suites beneath the club to accommodate the staff members who worked what equated to graveyard shifts on a rotating basis. Malachi and Owen were the only ones who had permanent apartments. The others shared depending on when they were scheduled to work.

The hallway widened, the ceiling vaulting abruptly as he entered what they sometimes called the “presence chamber.” This section was aboveground just behind the main rooms. It had once been apartments allotted to the clergy who had served the former church. Malachi had the inane thought that the stone had probably seen nearly a century of debauchery.

Seraph’s latest submissive knelt by the door that led from the receiving room to Seraph’s personal quarters. The petite blonde was naked, a black leather collar snug against her white throat. Malachi’s gut clenched. With the exception of himself, Seraph’s subs were always blonde and usually female.

Like Selena.

“Hello, Jessica,” Malachi said.

“Mistress is waiting for you.” The sub didn’t lift her gaze from the floor. “Please enter.”

There was just enough sauce in Jessica’s voice to let Malachi know she felt superior to him in station. Her tone didn’t bother him. The only emotion he could muster was pity. The poor kid had no idea who she was messing with. Seraph wasn’t a Dominatrix to be trifled with. The bitch
always
demanded her due.

With a sense of dread that rivaled a trip to the dentist, Malachi pushed his way into Seraph’s chamber. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“It’s whatever time I want it to be.” Seraph didn’t bother to look up from her laptop.

Voluptuous was an understatement when applied to Seraph. Of Florentine descent, she had the body of a fertility goddess from a Renaissance-era painting. Her sheer peignoir revealed a great expanse of olive skin, lush hips, and generous breasts. Her long, dark curls were swept into a careless chignon, and she wore just a dab of color on her lips to emphasize their pout.

She was curled on a red and gold chaise longue, presumably doing some kind of paperwork on her laptop. To Malachi’s surprise, there was a familiar presence stationed in the shadows behind her. His partner had been away on business, and Malachi hadn’t realized the man had returned.

The iridescent white apple on the back of Seraph’s laptop screen brought Malachi back to reality. It put him in mind of the gift a wicked witch had once used to tempt a fairy-tale princess. He had long ago learned to shun any fruit offered by this particular evil queen.

Very carefully, he allowed his gaze to flicker upward just enough to catch the eye of the man standing behind Triptych’s Mistress. Any lingering unease drained right out of Malachi’s body. Courage seeped into his soul. He didn’t belong to Seraph anymore. The still figure returning his regard had given him back his dignity.

“I’m here. What do you want?” Malachi kept his stance deliberately relaxed and his tone mild. It would do no good to let her know he was irritated. That was tantamount to admitting weakness.

“Demon, I’m tired of you lurking back there.”

Seraph’s words were directed at the man who’d been head of her personal security detail for more than fifteen years. Demon was the English translation of his name, and Malachi had never known him to go by anything else.

As if he were a part of the darkness, Demon melted out of the shadows. Malachi drank him in, savoring the sight of the man who was mentor, friend, and lover. As far as Malachi was concerned, there wasn’t a sexier man on the planet. He longed to spend some time with his lover. The ten days Demon had been gone had started to feel like a decade.

At five foot eleven, Demon was tall for a man descended from a long line of Han Chinese ancestors. He was packed with lean muscle and light-footed as a cat. His dusky golden skin paired with a shock of shaggy black hair that hung in his face and obscured eyes so dark they often seemed to be absent of color. Malachi had teased him once about his hair blocking his line of sight. Anyone who’d ever tried to sneak up on Demon quickly realized he didn’t need to use his full field of vision to sense you coming.

Dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, he sauntered toward Malachi. When he got closer, he gave Malachi’s bare feet a pointed look. “Nice footwear.”

“Some of us were in the shower when we were
summoned
.”

The flash of sexual heat in Demon’s eyes made Malachi’s nerves tingle with anticipation. Ten days was a long time.

Long enough for you to get distracted by a woman in a red dress.

“You act as if being summoned is the worst thing you can think of.” Seraph finally looked up, pegging Malachi with a hard glare. “Watch your tone. Don’t tempt me to lay a few lines across your backside.”

He hated that her words could still draw a ripple of awareness from his muscles. Beside him, Demon’s quiet presence sent a wave of strength and encouragement to Malachi’s psyche. Years of conditioning at Seraph’s hands had been almost impossible to put behind him, but he had. And he would continue to do so. “Funny thing, Seraph, is that you no longer get to use a whip on me. Ever. In fact, you can throw all the threats you want in my direction, and I’ll tell you the same thing I have been for the last ten years.”

“What’s that?” The only clue to her burgeoning temper was the rise and fall of her full breasts.

“Go fuck yourself. You’re not my problem anymore.”

“Except that’s not true, is it, Malachi?” She set the computer aside. “I
am
your problem, just like you’re mine.” Seraph stood to her full height on five-inch heels that still left her two inches short of his shoulder. “We’re bound forever, you and I. Aren’t we?”

He ground his teeth until his jaw ached. It chafed his pride to admit she was right. Malachi knew no one understood why he continued to work at Triptych, why he allowed himself to remain beneath Seraph’s thumb. He hated her. Everyone in the city knew it. What nobody but Demon could possibly understand was why.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, Malachi.” Seraph gave an exaggerated tap of one bloodred fingernail against her lower lip. “And I’ve come to the conclusion that our daughter could use some discipline. I think it’s time to send her to a better boarding school.”

It took every ounce of his self-control not to snarl an immediate denial. Their daughter, Alisa, had been boarding at a good school in southern New Hampshire just a short drive from Boston. She came home every other weekend, but it wasn’t nearly enough time to satisfy Malachi. “What does Alisa have to say about this? She’s thirteen, old enough to voice her input about important decisions.”

Seraph dismissed their daughter’s feelings with an airy wave of her hand. “The girl is incapable of following the simplest orders. The only thing she wants to do is dance.”

“She loves ballet. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Malachi kept his tone carefully measured.

“You’re right about one thing. She’s not a little kid anymore. She should be ready to put this silly dance crap behind her and make some serious decisions about what she wants to do in life.” Seraph’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Which is why I want to send her to a girls prep school in Buckinghamshire, England. The academic program is unmatched, and their graduates go on to the best universities all over the world. Someday she’ll be running this club on her own. She needs to be prepared for that.”

Over my dead body.

The only thing that kept him sane was the presence of the man beside him. The fact that Demon hadn’t said a word told Malachi there was far more to this than Seraph was letting on.

Malachi took a deep breath to still his emotions. Letting Seraph see how much this subject pissed him off was a mistake. There was no way in hell he’d let his daughter get sucked into the world of underground clubs. He knew good people who ran Boston’s most elite establishments, but they’d come from jaded backgrounds. Most of them would have agreed with him. He wanted more for Allie.

“So what do you think?” Seraph crossed her arms and did her level best to stare him into submission.

“You want to know what I think about shipping my daughter to a boarding school in England?” He was stunned he was still capable of being civil. “I think it’s a bad idea.”

Seraph sneered. “You’d rather let her focus on dance and be some artsy-fartsy moron?”

“Allie loves to dance. If she wants to continue on and attend a liberal arts college, I’m fine with it. Besides, I don’t like the idea of sending her so far from home. I’d miss her.” There was no point in hiding how he felt. Seraph was already fully aware. It was her favorite weapon against him.

Her withering stare was ugly enough to turn a man to stone. A cunning smile twisted her features. “What are you willing to give me to get your way?”

“Meaning what?” But he already knew. A sense of panic rose in his belly, and Malachi wondered how much of his self-respect it would cost him to keep his daughter safe and happy.

Let the bargaining begin…

“You know what I want, Malachi.” Seraph’s voice was syrupy sweet. “You, naked, shackled to the tower, and ready for my pleasure.”

“Not in this world or the next.”

She tilted her head. “Me, fucking your ass with a strap-on.”

A soft rustle of fabric was the only indicator that Demon was affected by the blunt suggestions.

Malachi swallowed, his mouth dry. “Keep dreaming, you sick bitch.”

“Your mouth on my clit, making me come, and then your cock in my pussy making me come again.” The triumph in her eyes burned him to the core.

“I’ll think about it.” Malachi gave her body a cool once-over. “Truthfully the idea turns my stomach. And since we both know your word is worthless, I can’t even be sure you’ll keep your end of the bargain.”

“Maybe I’ll have Demon beat some obedience into you. That’ll soften you up a little.”

Malachi didn’t have to hear the words to know his friend abhorred being used like a pawn in Seraph’s power games. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. The two of them sparred frequently. While Demon was perfectly capable of incapacitating Malachi, he didn’t want to.

“Come on, Seraph.” Malachi flavored his voice with just enough seduction to turn her head. “You don’t want me injured.”