I Spy a Naughty Game (22 page)

Read I Spy a Naughty Game Online

Authors: Jo Davis

Tags: #Erotica, #General, #Sexual Dominance and Submission, #Erotic Fiction, #Fiction

BOOK: I Spy a Naughty Game
6.25Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“Blaze, that’s enough! He’s down!”
Hands grabbed him, pulled him off the fallen man. He pushed to his feet to see Emma standing beside one bouncer, Thorn, who was crouched over Shawn. The other bouncer, Tiny, laid a hand on his arm.
“What happened, man?”
“Vincent had Shawn against the wall and was choking him, about to rape him.”
“He’s lying,” the asshole hissed through his split lip. “The little whore is mine.”
“Shut up,” Tiny said, delivering a kick to Vincent’s side. “Tell it to the cops.”
“Jesus Christ, I don’t think he’s breathing,” Thorn said, voice rising in panic. “Adam!”
“What the hell is going on?” Adam Langley, manager and head D/s master, jogged toward them, long black coat swirling around him.
“Master Vincent was choking Shawn, wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Blaze informed him, heart lurching.
Adam dropped to his knees beside Shawn and gathered the sub into his arms, black hair falling over big violet eyes filled with worry as he smoothed a fiery lock out of the sub’s face. “Shawn? Can you hear me?” Gently, he kissed the boy’s lips. “Breathe, baby. Come on, please.”
Shuddering, Shawn heaved a deep breath and coughed. A collective sigh of relief went up, and Blaze tucked Emma into his side. “Thank God.”
“I was so scared,” she whispered.
So, apparently, was Adam, who clutched the sub against his chest and murmured into his hair. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” he croaked, then coughed again.
“How long has this harassment been going on?” Adam demanded.
Shawn answered in a small voice. “A few weeks.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” When the sub cringed, Adam relented, but glared at the group in general. “Well, it damned well won’t happen again! That fucker is not to set foot in my club,” he said to Tiny. “Make sure everyone knows. And call the police.”
“Done.”
Adam gazed at the sub, his expression softening. “Seems you need a keeper, boy. And I’m just the right master for the job.”
“I-I didn’t think you wanted me.”
“You were wrong . . . and so was I.”
“Yes, sir.” The adoration on Shawn’s face said it all.
Well, damn. You had to love a happy ending.
Now, if Blaze could just save the world from annihilation and walk away with the girl? He’d get his rock-star cousin to write a frickin’ song about it.
Ten
R
obert Dietz sat at the head of the table in the shitty little rat hole of an abandoned house and glared at his men. His top commanders, who’d failed to ensure that his headquarters was safe. Now he was stuck in this hellhole until another, better place could be secured, an almost impossible task when facing a ton of heat.
Yes, Ross would pay dearly for this—and much sooner than he believed. Even now, death was staring his nemesis in the face, waiting to collect another soul. He’d thought about ordering his man to take care of the AWOL Agent Foster as well, but decided she wasn’t worth it. The woman was of no importance, and her death would signify nothing.
Unlike Ross’s.
Oh, how he wished he could be there to witness the man’s demise in person, but that would be a stupid risk. He took only calculated ones.
Right now the most calculated risk of all was when and how to transfer the weapon to their foreign contacts, therefore making him an extremely rich man. The dictator overseas was getting restless and pissed, and they couldn’t afford to wait much longer. But neither could they make any mistakes.
Drawing himself up, he treated each man to a deadly stare before beginning. “Gentlemen, the clusterfuck at the estate was completely unforgivable. First, you allow a federal agent to hide among our ranks, and then you practically hand him our asses on a silver platter with apples in our mouths.”
Each man squirmed, no doubt sweating over who would take the fall. Allowing a small, humorless smile, he went on.
“Every one of you is to blame, yet none of you are willing to accept the responsibility. That, my friends, is plain bad business. Therefore, I believe it’s time for a demonstration—something simple to remind each of us the importance of paying attention.”
With that, he stood. Removed a pistol and a long silencer from inside his coat. He screwed on the silencer and calmly walked around the table, making certain his steps were slow and measured, like heartbeats echoing in their ears.
“Musical chairs, the Russian Roulette Edition,” he said. “Who wants to play?”
No one moved. Or breathed.
Finally, he stopped beside the chair of one of his men, a large man named Garr. Placing the muzzle to the man’s temple, he let the seconds lapse into minutes as Garr panted, sweat rolling down his fleshy face, too mired in terror to breathe.
Then he pulled the trigger—which snapped with a hollow click.
“Oh, my. No bullets. Well, waste not.” He met each pair of rounded, horrified eyes. “Now do I have your attention?”
Murmurs and nods in the affirmative met his question. As did the stench of Garr’s bowels.
Lesson learned.
Unfortunately for Ross, the next round would be loaded.
“Damn, I’m tired and hungry,” Michael Ross complained. “Can we discuss the rest of the details over dinner?”
Emma glanced at Blaze and Bastian, shrugging. “Fine with me. I could eat.”
The other two men agreed. Their final meeting with Michael had dragged on into the evening, and by now—almost seven o’clock—they all needed a change of scenery and some food.
Michael pushed out of his chair. “Great! I’ll even buy. Think of it as a good-luck send-off for Mr. and Mrs. John Chase,” he said with a laugh.
For a moment, Emma stared at Michael. She hadn’t seen him laugh in ages, and it looked good on him. He was a damned sexy man, with all that sable hair artfully mussed and sticking every which way. Shaking herself, she got back to the subject. “Do I have to be Brandi? I’m
so
not a Brandi—sounds too much like Bambi.”
Blaze tweaked her nose, teasing her. “It’ll fit just fine when you get those blond bombshell hair extensions. You’ll be Brandi-licious.”
“Like Pamela Anderson,” Ozzie joked. “All that’s missing is the boob job.”
Blaze poked her playfully in the ribs. “And the oversexed, rehabbed rock star on her arm. Hey, maybe we should give Ash a call?”
Everyone groaned.
“What? I thought it was funny.” Blaze strutted from the office, inviting her to stare at his ass.
Ogling his fine body was one of her favorite pastimes; learning the ropes, literally, in his dungeon was the other. The man knew how to tie a wicked knot and torment her until she screamed, for sure. But she pushed away those yummy thoughts. If she didn’t, she’d never make it through dinner.
The six of them drove separately, except for her and Blaze, since they’d arrived together. They followed their boss to a nice steak and seafood restaurant and, once inside, were immediately escorted to a private dining area, away from prying ears. Michael must’ve called ahead. They settled around the table, and the waitress took their drink orders and left. Michael then set about grilling them again on their specific roles, their check-in and safety procedures—you name it. With regard to this assignment, the man practically knew the color of their underwear. But with what was at stake, he couldn’t afford not to.
What she found most interesting during the evening was the polite tension between Michael and Bastian. When Michael wasn’t looking, the pain-filled gaze Bastian slid toward the man made her heart clench as she wondered what on earth had transpired between them in the past. When Bastian became distracted by questions or comments, the look Michael directed at his friend and colleague was riddled with guilt.
Didn’t take a crystal ball to figure it out—Michael was straight. Bastian wasn’t. And whatever had happened between them had left a divide in its wake the width of the Grand Canyon. She felt sorry as hell for them both.
“It seems we’re all on the same page,” Michael concluded, and gestured to her and Blaze. “You fly to Washington, D.C., first thing in the morning. Get yourselves integrated with Dietz’s moneymen at the Velvet Underground ASAP and get us the information we need.”
“Easy as pie,” Blaze joked. “It’ll be
Rambo
meets
Die Hard
times two.”
“Minus the part about blowing up shit,” Bastian put in. “Remember that.”
Ozzie snickered. “At least you get the girl while we have to sit in the stupid van. Wanna trade places?”
“I think not. Can’t blame you for asking, though.”
By the time their meals arrived, the business conversation had turned to more relaxing topics, such as when the hell any of them would be able to take a vacation—somewhere around the twelfth of never—and who at SHADO was getting laid by whom.
Now,
that
produced an interesting reaction. Ozzie and Willis immediately grumped that they weren’t getting any, while Bastian’s gaze snapped to Blaze, and her lover winked in return. Michael’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he glanced between them.
Oh, boy, dinner and a show.
Ozzie and Willis didn’t even notice and Ozzie chattered away like a magpie on crack, making her wonder how her adorable friend ever became a covert agent. He’d definitely missed his calling as a gossip columnist.
“Damn, that was good,” Michael said, reaching for the bill. “I was starving.”
“You don’t have to pick up the tab,” Blaze protested. “We can pay for our own dinner.”
“Oh, you’re going to pay, all right. Think of this as a perk from me before I send you on a dangerous job.”
“Well, when you put it like that ...”
Their mood was optimistic as they left the restaurant and said their good-byes, then split up and headed across the parking lot to their cars. It was getting late, almost ten-thirty. The lot was nearly empty, the night clear. Emma reached for Blaze’s hand and was about to comment on getting packed for their early flight when a car screeched into the parking lot.
And roared straight for Michael.
“Look out!” she screamed.
Michael spun but had no time to react as the dark sedan braked next to him. An arm appeared out the driver’s window, the glint of a gun visible in the assailant’s hand.
Pop, pop, pop.
Three quick shots, their boss’s body jerking. Crumpling to the asphalt.
She was already running toward Michael as the sedan sped away. Barely heard Blaze’s voice yell, “I’m going after him! Stay with Michael and call McKay for help!”
His Viper revved to life and peeled out, but Emma’s focus was on Michael. Heart in her throat, she dropped next to him just seconds before Bastian and Ozzie ran over and did the same, encircling him. Willis fired off a couple of rounds at the fleeing vehicle, to no avail.
“Oh, God!” Bastian cried. He pushed aside his friend’s coat and ripped open his white dress shirt, rapidly being soaked bright red.

Other books

All for You by Lynn Kurland
Wild Swans by Patricia Snodgrass
The Visible Filth by Nathan Ballingrud
The Trouble With Love by Beth Ciotta
Black Site by Dalton Fury
Painless by Ciccone, Derek
Cowboy Girl Annie by Risner, Fay
The Amateur Science of Love by Craig Sherborne