Saving Micah (Sequel to Conquering Jude) (12 page)

He straightened as he saw the one of the men who’d accompanied Wasterson exit the restaurant.
Probably fetching his master’s car.
Crossing the busy street, he followed the man into the private lot nearby. Walking silently for a big man, another leftover habit from the uncle who’d taught him how to hunt across the vast plains of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, he tracked his prey.

Standing with his back turned to Sampson as he unlocked the door to the luxury car, the guard never saw the huge fist clip him behind the ear. Catching the man easily with one arm, he grabbed the keys dangling from the guard’s fingers before they fell to the ground, Sampson thumbed the trunk release. It only took a moment to gently hoist the man inside the trunk.

“Sorry, buddy.” He closed the trunk after snapping off the emergency release cord on the trunk lid. It wouldn’t do to have the man open the trunk from the inside at an inopportune moment.

After adjusting the seat to accommodate his longer legs, Sampson drove the car to the front entrance of the restaurant. Moments later the back door opened and his prey slid in. As soon as the door shut, he hit the automatic locks on the car – locking the upstart third generation New Orleans’s royalty in and his other guard on the outside. At the sound, the man who looked to be in his early fifties looked up and his jaw dropped. Evidently he hadn’t thought Sampson would be as bold as to kidnap him in the middle of the day let alone right off the street in full view of the tourists flooding the French Quarter for Mardi Gras when he’d refused to meet with Brigit.

“You’re not Eric!” Jason Wasterson III accused before reaching for the door. “What the hell have you done with him?”

Ignoring the pounding of the second guard on the passenger door window, Sampson put the car into drive and pulled out into the heavy lunch crowd. “Relax, he’ll be fine. He’s just taking a nap in the trunk.” He smoothly accelerated, heading back towards
Bête à Bon Dieu
. He flicked on the radio. “So you might as well sit back and put your seat belt on, Wasterson. My Mistress would like to speak to you. I suggest you use this time to come up with an excuse as to why you refused to give her the information she requested. She’s not happy I had to come and fetch you.”

The pompous little prick in the backseat actually looked like he was going to piss himself. He tried to hide his fear. “I’m not her damn slave to come at her beck and call like you so obviously are. I don’t know where the bitch got her delusions of grandeur, but she’s not the queen of New Orleans. The worst she can do is revoke my membership at that pissant club of hers.”

A low growl built in Sampson’s throat. The man had a fucking death wish - and if it hadn’t been for Mistress’s order to bring him back, he’d have dumped him in the bayou and fuck the information he might have. “I’d watch your tongue, Mr. Wasterson, especially if you want to keep it. You don’t need it to tell her the Domme’s name.” He gave the man an evil grin. “Because Mistress had plenty of paper.”

The man wisely shut up and silence filled the car, other than the softly playing music. Honestly Sampson thought as he drove, it was much better that way.

It was less than a half hour later when he pulled up to
Bête à Bon Dieu.
Turning the engine off, he pocketed the keys before retrieving the idiot out of the backseat. He was tempted to club the man when he started to scream.

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll do it for you,” he threatened. Wisely, Jason took his advice and didn’t struggle as they moved up the walk. As they approached the club, Mistress Brigit appeared in the doorway.

“Take him to the Inquisition playroom, Sampson.”

“But…but…please…I…you can’t do this to me…” Jason tried to pull away from the hold Sampson had on him.

Brigit gave him a haughty look. “Then perhaps you should’ve come the first time I asked.”

The man began to scream. With a sigh, Sampson tapped him sharply on the chin. Catching the man in his arms, he met Brigit’s eyes. “Sorry, Mistress. I couldn’t let him scream his fool head off.”

She brushed the loose hair flowing over his shoulder, her gaze affectionate. “Of course not. Take him to the Inquisition room. Strap him to the wall. He’ll give me the answers I want or wish he was never born.”

* * * *

Sitting at his desk, Jackson Levough drummed his fingers on the polished surface as he wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder while waiting for the most defiant sub he knew to answer her damn phone. Across from his desk, Caelan Doherty lounged in a leather chair, with an intense look of concentration on his face. In his hands, he held an electronic tablet from which he was studying a list of possible suspects Mistress Brigit had just emailed him. It seemed she’d gotten only one thing out of the man who’d given Micah’s attacker a guest pass to the club. While the drunken fool couldn’t remember who’d invited him, he still had the email invitation. Jackson had been able to retrieve the long list of the recipients who’d also received it, which he’d split with Caelan.

Covering the mouthpiece of the phone, Jackson prodded his friend and fellow Dom.

“Any luck with yours yet?”

Caelan glanced up, his frustration evident as he sighed. “No,
damneigh
, this is impossible. Most of the emails on this list are using IPs located in Georgia and Alabama, not New Orleans where the party took place. Most of them are anonymous email accounts, so I’ve narrowed it down to the person who organized the party…a Madame Svoboda – a local Birmingham woman who fancies herself as...” Caelan cocked his head. “…‘the Proprietress to the World of Sin’?” He looked up at Jackson. “What the hell has this woman been smoking?”

Jackson’s brow furrowed. It wasn’t uncommon for people to travel for a party, but across two states for one arranged by some “Proprietress to the World of Sin?” What the fuck was going on down there?

In his ear, Rena’s voicemail picked up once again. This was the third time he’d attempted to locate her. It had been three hours since he’d last seen her at the end of her shift. Now he wanted to see if she’d help him with this mess. She was a whiz with computers. He sighed before leaving a message for her to call him then hung the phone up. He turned his focus back to Caelan.

“You’re kidding me, right? You just made that shit up.”

Caelan shook his head, before tossing the tablet on the desk. “Take a look for yourself.” He stood and began to pace. “This is ridiculous – a woman with delusions of grandeur, a maniac Domme who’s abusing subs, and Jude and Olivia mixed up in the center of it. What a fucked up mess. If Master Alastair were here, he’d advise a thorough cleaning of the house – Mardi Gras or not.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But we can’t do that from Chicago. I say we say fuck it and go down there.”

Jackson scanned the tablet before squeezing the bridge of his nose in vain hopes of staving off the headache brewing behind his eyes. “But if we show up, both Jude and Olivia are going to go through the roof.”

“I know.” Caelan stopped in front of the window overlooking Lake Michigan. “Why the hell they are being so stubborn about this? They’re so far in over their heads, I’ve thought about reneging on my promise to Olivia and calling in Master Alastair to deal with the whole situation. He’s got connections with several of the clubs down south.”

Joining Caelan at the window, Jackson grunted. “Then she won’t speak to you for months and Jude will be a growly bastard to work with because of it. Why don’t we do one better?”

Jackson groaned. He should’ve realized Caelan would react this way. The animosity between his new friend and the woman assassin for hire was legendary. There was still talk of it at the club. India Edmunds, a.k.a. Ike, had left her mark on Olivia’s during her brief stay before Christmas. “Come on, man, I know she rubbed you the wrong way last month when she and her crew were up here, but this important.”

“That’s an understatement, Jackson,” Caelan growled before slapping his hand on the window frame. “If she would’ve pushed any harder, I’d have taken her over my knee – your friendship be damned. The woman has a mouth that just won’t quit, and one day she’s going to run into someone who doesn’t have the self-control I have.”

“That’ll be the day!” Jackson muttered under his breath. “Look, she’d be perfect for this job even though you don’t get along with her. She’s the type of person we need to infiltrate the kinky lifestyle down there. She can get answers.”

“But by what means, Jackson? This isn’t a situation she can go in shooting or blowing shit up. This will take finesse. Besides, even if I agree to this cockamamie idea, do you honestly think she’d take an assignment like this?”

Jackson wanted to punch Caelan. “For fuck’s sake, she’d be tracking down a deranged woman who not only attacked Micah once, but had the balls to do it again at a hospital of all places – where any Joe Blow, Dick or Harry could walk in. You don’t think this is going to interest her? She might not be part of the scene, but she’s not going to tolerate someone hurting a friend of Jude’s.”

Caelan sighed. “I just wish there was another way.”

Jackson placed a hand on his shoulder. “Me too. If it weren’t for the fact I knew White Hawk found them a safe house, I’d have been down there on the next flight – work be damned. It’s not as if we don’t have a competent staff …”

“White boy, why the hell are you blowing up my phone?” The question had Jackson spinning around.

“Where the hell have you been, Rena?” he asked the tall, strong black woman in the doorway. Her usual tri-colored braids had been swept up in a fancy up-do at the crown of her head. It made him long to remove all the pins until the heavy mass spilled down over her rounded shoulders.
Preferably bound naked to my pillory.
A growl erupted from his throat as he finally noticed what she was wearing. A gauzy skirt over a pair of dark leggings and a tight russet colored blouse combined with thick African-style jewelry attested to the fact she’d either been on her way out – or worse, had left a date to deal with him.

“I have a life, believe it or not, white boy. What the hell was so important that you had to blow my phone up on my first date in the past six months? I was actually hoping to get laid tonight, and believe me my date wasn’t happy when my phone wouldn’t stop ringing…”

Fury washed over Jackson and he snapped. The woman had blown hot and cold since he’d known her until he was tired of playing her teasing ass games. She wanted to give him her submission just as much as he wanted to accept it, but she was being stubborn because he wouldn’t bend to her will. He’d put up enough of these type of games from his ex-fiancée, and he’d be damned if he’d let another woman run roughshod over him. “Like hell you were…” he strode across the room. “…If you’re getting any sex, it’ll be from me or no one.”

Rena’s eyes widened. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Levough? I’m not yours nor will I ever be.” She shoved at his chest as he yanked her into his arms.

“Bullshit.” He bent his head, intent on showing the witch who’d been staying just out of his reach for almost as long as he’d known her, she was his. He froze midway when the pain radiated from his balls up to his testosterone-fogged brain. His eyes widened before his arms dropped, allowing her to slip away from him. He gritted his teeth and breathed - trying to fight the waves of agonizing pain.

“You little bitch – I’m gonna paddle your ass.” He gasped, leaning over, hoping it would ease the nausea threatening to choke him.

“You had that coming, Jackson...” For the first time since he knew her, there seemed to be a bit of hesitancy in her voice. “I’ve told you time and time again to quit man-handling me.”

The pain was just receding when Caelan came into view, placing himself between Jackson and Rena. “Cool down, buddy. You had that coming. She’s right. She’s asked you to keep your hands to yourself. I’m surprised she didn’t do more than that – she could’ve charged you with sexual harassment.”

“It’s not harassment, Doherty, if the victim is willing.” He glanced pointedly at Rena. “Tell him, Rena, how willing you were Ireland. How you begged me to pleasure you.”

Rena hissed and backed further away from the men. “A momentary lapse of sanity, white boy. It’ll never happen again. I work for you - I won’t get involved with my boss again.”

“Well that can be remedied,” Jackson replied, a plan forming in his head.

Her eyes widened. “You’re firing me?” Her hands went to her ample hips. “I’ll sue your ass. You have no justifiable reason for firing me.”

“Really? Assaulting your boss is grounds for termination.” He slowly limped back to his desk.

She trailed after him. “And if you claim that, I’ll tell my lawyer exactly why I did it. Either way you’ll end up paying me.” She kept a wary eye on Caelan who was watching the scene unfold with a rather bemused look on his face. Skirting around him, she stopped in front of Jackson’s desk.