Freed (5 page)

I didn’t tense up. Not this time. This time, there was no fear. My anus stretched to accommodate him, then I felt his head enter. His hands gripped at my ass and he groaned out his pleasure. “Fuck, Jenny,” he said.

“Please,” I whimpered.
Please what?
I couldn’t tell. I was poised on the edge, waiting for just a little more to push me past the point of no return.

He pushed into me, just a little more. Inch by inch, taking me slowly, causing a strange, tingling pleasure as his cock filled every bit of me. His fingers rubbed at my clitoris at the same time. I threw my head back and cried out. He’d told me once that he wanted to hear me moan. I was
happy
to oblige.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gritted out as he buried himself to the hilt and held himself still, giving me time to get used to the feeling of him in my anal passage. His fingers danced over my nub.

“Fuck me, Sir,” I begged him. “Please.”

“What’s the hurry, Jenny?” he teased me, fingering the ties on my hands. “It seems you are rather tied up at the present.”

I rolled my eyes, grateful he couldn’t see the expression on my face. “I need you, Sir,” I said plaintively.

He chuckled. “Whining, really? A new low, don’t you think,
cherie
?” A hard spank punctuated that sentiment, then he slowly pulled his cock out, then stroked it back in. Every nerve ending sparked at that leisurely movement.

The thrusts gradually picked up speed. His fingers petted my folds and pinched my nipples; he gripped my chin and turned my head so that I was looking into his eyes, hazy with pleasure. As for me, each pass of his fingers over my clitoris caused me to whimper. Each stroke of his cock caused every muscle in my body to clench. I was at breaking point, wound up tighter and tighter with each push of his shaft.

Then he pinched my clitoris, hard and I shattered and in the distance, I felt him shatter as well.

***

His strong hands massaged each inch of exposed skin as the ropes were unwound. When I was free of the bindings, he carried me in his arms out of the playroom and into his bed, clambering in next to me. I clung to him, a little dazed by the intensity of what had just happened.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked me. “Water? Chocolate?”

He must have seen my expression brighten at the word
chocolate
because he laughed good-naturedly and swung off the bed. When he returned, he carried a tray, which held, apart from the promised chocolate, fruit, nuts a bottle of white wine and a couple of glasses. “You are so stereotypically French,” I teased him. “Do you ever drink water?”

He laughed. “Occasionally,” he assured me with a wink.

I rested my head against his shoulder and he fed me pieces of chocolate and strawberries and grapes. It was so surreal. This wasn’t even close to what I’d expected when I’d put myself up for auction in Bangkok. “Shouldn’t I be serving you?” I worried.

He looked surprised. “Did your previous dominant not provide aftercare?” he asked me, then his expression darkened. “Never mind, I already know the answer to that.” His voice softened. “It is my responsibility to take care of you,” he said.

“Which extends to providing chocolate?”

He smiled. “And anything else you need.”

I bit my lip before I voiced my request. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

His arms wrapped around me. When he spoke, his voice was serious and perhaps a little troubled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Alexander:

When I got out of bed the next morning, Jenny stirred but didn’t wake up.
Good
. Jean-Luc was going to visit today and I wanted to chat with him without being concerned about her overhearing our conversation. Plus, at some point today, I really did have to work. All week, I’d been distracted by Jenny. But though the stock markets were slower in summer, they still worked and I needed to as well. Without large infusions of money, all my plans would fail.

Jean-Luc was already waiting for me when I went down. “Am I late?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “I’m early,” he replied. “I couldn’t sleep.” He inclined his head in the direction of the stairs. “How’s the girl?”

“You tell me,” I responded. “What do you have on her cover story?”

I got a disapproving look in reply. Jean-Luc wouldn’t talk in the kitchen. Only in the soundproofed security of the study would our business be discussed. My lips twitched. “She was asleep when I left,” I defended myself.

“People wake up,” he replied. “Are you making coffee?”

“Remind me again who works for whom?” I asked wryly as I moved over to the coffee machine. It was Elodie’s day off and we were all alone.

“The last time I made breakfast, you declined to eat it.”

“The last time you made breakfast, it was a charred, burned, inedible mess. I would prefer to live.” I cracked a half-dozen eggs as I spoke, beating them with a whisk before sliding them into the heated skillet. I’d learned to cook in boarding school, sneaking down to the kitchens in order to escape the crushing loneliness and inadequacy I’d felt as a child. The cooks had been warmly kind to a little boy who had only known rejection. I was still grateful for their generosity.

Jean-Luc chuckled. He sipped coffee as I scrambled the eggs in the pan. When they were done, I divided the contents between us and we took the food into my study. We didn’t have much time before Jenny woke up and I had much to discuss with him.

“Okay, we need to debrief on three major things,” Jean-Luc held up his hand. “Let’s start with your girlfriend.
Sylvia
. When does she return to Paris?”

I grimaced. It was disgusting to play the role of Sylvia’s besotted boyfriend, but it was also necessary. I needed access to her files to take her down and the only way to do that was to get her to trust me.

Every time I was around her, I walked away feeling dirty. But I bore some sense of responsibility for her ascendance and I had to act. Three years ago, Sylvia had been a relatively small time operator. Her henchmen kidnapped vulnerable children from parts of the world torn apart by war and unrest and sent them to brothels around the world where they lived as indentured sex slaves, held prisoner against their will. As vile as that had been, her reach had been limited. There were plenty of players in the global slave trade and Sylvia had been jockeying to establish her place.

I’d inadvertently caused a power vacuum when I’d arranged the hit on Stanislav Durov without considering who would step into his place when he was killed. Without meaning to, I’d helped Sylvia by getting rid of Durov.

Utterly without conscience or empathy, Sylvia had increased her power dangerously since then. Unfortunately, this was the nature of fighting the slave trade. The vultures circled around the carcass of human misery and if you shot one of them out of the sky, another would appear to take its place.

As soon as I realized what had happened, I’d initiated my own counter-plan. Durov had been relatively easy. A bullet to the head and his empire had crumbled. Sylvia would be harder, because her organization had a successor waiting in the wings. If I killed her, another would rise in her place. No, with Sylvia, I needed to strip her of all of her resources.

Interpol. Tax agencies in many different countries. Every hidden Swiss bank account carefully tracked down. Each Cayman Island tax shelter uncovered. This operation, almost two years in the making, required the highest degree of coordination and secrecy.

“Next week,” I replied to Jean-Luc’s question. “She’s been doing her quarterly brothel tour, spreading fear and misery wherever she goes.”

Jean-Luc’s lips thinned with distaste. “I’ve heard she’s kidnapped a fresh set of unfortunate souls. From Tunisia, from Iran and Syria and from Georgia.”

I nodded. I did know this. Salim and Rachid had been especially livid about her activity in Tunisia. I’d had to soothe them in Bangkok, reassure them that I had a plan. They had still given me a warning. If I didn’t clean up this mess, they would act and the streets would be knee-deep in blood by the time they were done.

I had no mercy to spare for Sylvia. She didn’t deserve any. But I wanted to prevent all-out warfare. There would be too much collateral damage. Sylvia was completely capable of shooting each and every one of the slaves in her brothels to make a point about who was in charge.

“Did you notice that your girl is afraid of her?” Jean-Luc continued. “In the auction, when you were kissing Sylvia, I saw her watching, but she wasn’t looking at you. Her gaze was fixed on Sylvia and she was petrified. ”

“Really?” My voice was thoughtful. “Do you think they’ve come into contact before?”

“Well, Sylvia’s quite memorable, isn’t she?” Jean-Luc’s voice was cold. A very long time ago, Sylvia had been responsible for tearing his world apart. Jean-Luc wouldn’t rest until the Anliker sisters were exterminated.

In our operation, I was the planner. The waiting had chafed at Jean-Luc. I could understand that. It rankled at me too, especially given how much misery Sylvia caused every day she was alive. “Sylvia isn’t going to be a problem for very much longer,” I said. I heard the same coldness in my voice.

I didn’t want to think about Jenny being afraid. Everything in me ached to strip the fear from her eyes. I wanted her to be the way she’d been last night. Laughing and happy, sassing me in the playroom, until her breathing had quickened in arousal and only lust remained.

Jean-Luc nodded. He knew the plan. “Okay, let’s chat about Dylan.”

I exhaled. I detested talking about Dylan McAllister. He should have been dead a long time ago and it was to my everlasting shame that I hadn’t acted. I couldn’t think about him without feeling a hot flush of guilt.

However, I did have some news for Jean-Luc. Yesterday, I’d received a carefully encrypted email from one of his guards. Someone within Dylan’s organization was willing to switch allegiances. After the untimely murder of Ivan Klimov, it had taken two years of the most careful baiting for me to attract another defector, but I had finally succeeded. I showed Jean-Luc the message I’d received from Daniel Schneider.

“Why now?” Jean-Luc worried out aloud. “Schneider’s worked for Dylan for over a decade. Why defect now?”

“Because the net’s tightening around Dylan,” I replied. “He’s running out of money. Bethany’s family is supposedly hiring detectives. Interpol is closing in, asking uncomfortable questions about missing women. He doesn’t know it yet, but an arrest is only weeks away. However, he’s always had good instincts about trouble and he’s ordered a clean-up. Anyone who has ever worked for him has a bounty on their heads.” I smiled with grim satisfaction. “One of the targets is a former lover of Schneider’s.”

I was Dylan’s financier. I paid the bills. The killings had been arranged through me, or so Dylan had thought. The reality was that each kill was reported back to Dylan while I moved the targets to safety. Jean-Luc knew that – he had played a role in that operation.

I did what I could to atone for the fact that I’d been unable to put a bullet in Dylan’s brain, but I hated my weakness. As a result of my shameful inability to pull the trigger, three women had endured hell at Dylan’s hands.

Jean-Luc looked sympathetic, as he did every time we talked about Dylan. As much as we’d disagreed on many things, this had been the one topic he’d never questioned me on. He understood. “Is he planning a run for it? Flee Hanoi the way he fled Abeokuta?”

“He doesn’t have enough cash,” I replied. I couldn’t bring myself to kill Dylan McAllister, but there were many other ways to ruin a man. Money was a very effective weapon. I’d made sure Dylan didn’t have any available funds. I’d also systematically removed anyone who had ever helped Dylan. Stanislav Durov had provided Dylan shelter in Tbilisi, and so Durov was dead. Sylvia had arranged the last two women to be kidnapped for Dylan. She wouldn’t live past the end of the week.

“I’m going to reply to Schneider,” I said, making up my mind. “He wants a million. I’ll make him a counter-offer. See where it goes.”

“Suddenly protective of your money?” Jean-Luc asked dryly.

“It’s the expected thing to bargain,” I replied. “I can’t appear too eager. Daniel doesn’t know who I am or why I want the information.”

“Why do you want the information, Alexander?” Jean-Luc probed. “After all, you’ve found most of Dylan’s former slaves. Where you can, you’ve made amends.”

“Where I can,” I echoed. “I’ve never been able to find Ellie Samuelson. Two of the girls whose bodies we located, we just know a name. Claire Bectell. Wendy Zhang. Those girls had families, loved ones. They deserve closure. If a million dollars will reveal more information, I have to spend it.”

“You aren’t responsible for Dylan’s actions.” Jean-Luc’s voice was gentle.

I shook my head. This was not a subject about which I’d permit conversation.

“Okay.” Jean-Luc didn’t continue to make his point. This wasn’t a new topic for us. We’d argued it to death and on this, I wasn’t going to bend. “Now, Jenny, or whoever she really is.”

“Her cover story’s definitely fake then?” Of course, I’d known that. It hadn’t stopped me from hoping otherwise.

“It is. But Jenny Fullerton is a real person.”

“Identity theft?”

“No police reports have been filed, so most likely, she sold her identity to your girl.”

“Who is she then? Are you making any inroads into finding out?”

Jean-Luc shook his head, clearly frustrated. “Her cover story is well designed, but a story like that can’t withstand detailed scrutiny. Yet I still have no clue who your girl really is. I’m not giving up yet, of course. We are monitoring her calls and I have a twenty-four hour tail on her. I will figure this out.”

I raised an eyebrow, impressed. Jean-Luc had been at work for a week and he had nothing to show for it. This never happened.

“What about the sister that she calls? Who is she?”

“There’s a real woman on the other end of the phone line,” he replied. “But she’s not a sister, there’s no resemblance, and she isn’t suffering from leukemia.” He shot me a look. “Alexander, you must be careful around this woman. She isn’t working alone.”

No, she wasn’t. It would take a team of people to put her cover story into place and maintain it.

I decided not to tell Jean-Luc I’d spent the night with her nestled in my arms. He’d kill me for such lamentable lack of security, but sometimes, it was necessary to operate on instinct. Every instinct of mine told me I didn’t need to be overly concerned. When the time was right, the truth would reveal itself.