"No. This is weirder. It's a group of rich ass men –"
"It's what?" Jenna asked. She liked precise definitions.
I almost said "Kinky billionaires." But I didn't want to tip my hand.
And I was hoping I was wrong.
"They're like millionaires or something," James said.
I bit down hard on my lip.
"They get together and they – " he paused with the word fuck clearly lined up to exit but thought the better of it. "They have like orgies and stuff."
And now he sounded ten again.
"Wait, what?" I asked. Because how many of these things could there be?
He spat out details then, about a bunch of rich guys who met in different houses around the valley and hired hookers – "Prostitutes," Jenna corrected; she was going to make someone a truly irritating wife someday – and had sex auctions and everything.
Shit.
"If they're all consenting, who the hell cares?" I asked. "Is there money changing hands for services or are they all in it for the fun?"
That won me a curious look from Julie, who seemed rather offended by the whole thing. I ignored it.
"It's not all consenting," James said, sitting back, satisfied. "Some of the girls are being sold."
"Then it is trafficking," someone said.
"No, but it's illegal. They're not selling them outside their own group."
There was silence for a moment, then two people said at the same time, "That doesn't make any sense."
Tell me about it, I thought. And then, Oh, Cole, damn it.
It took very little work to get the details out of James, all that he had. Which were all of them. When the raid was going to take place (in about a week). And why (because it's illegal to sell people, of course, weren't you listening, Brooke?). And because someone had gotten inside and knew where they were meeting next.
Some crazy compound out in the middle of the fucking southern Nevada desert, all rural and nowhere and super high tech anyway. Amazing, right?
Damn it, Cole.
I had a number for him but he didn't pick up. Of course he didn't. He was the billionaire CEO of an international pharma company. But I hadn't picked up his calls, so he wasn't going to pick up mine.
Because the billionaire CEO of the big pharma company was apparently twelve.
I didn't know how to get there. It wasn't like I could get a cab and tell it to take me to his house. I'd been taken there in a variety of ways, none of them convenient.
I'd been taken there blindfolded in a black SUV.
I'd been taken out of there blindfolded in a black SUV, unaware because I'd been drugged unconscious.
I'd been taken there from Seattle by helicopter because Kie wanted me to get there fast so I could watch her decide whether or not to kill St. Martin. Or me. Or both of us.
I'd run there once from Vegas itself.
Looked like I was going to have to do that again. It made me feel silly. But I could drive around the desert for some time without finding him. Those people not from Nevada have no idea how vast the state is and how much of it is unpopulated, beautiful and barren. I could run the distance in a couple hours and find the compound. I couldn't drive there or I'd have rented a car. But the area was completely rural, undeveloped and beautiful. I loved running there. I couldn't bear to be the person driving over the native plants. And maybe a tiny bit of me was stalling on getting there and asking in person, What the fuck, Cole?
What the fuck, Cole.
Sir.
10
Cole
There are two ways to deal with failure.
Ignore it. Or address it.
I'd chosen to address it.
There's an etiquette, a rule of behavior, for kinky groups as much as there is in any other facet of society and I'd screwed up with the new dinner party club. Probably not enough that they'd cut me out. Even if they did, there were more than enough millionaires in southern Nevada and undoubtedly with strange tastes and interesting pastimes, that I could form a new group if I did get booted.
The millionaires, by virtue of only being millionaires, would be more than delighted to party with a billionaire. The sadists and Doms and owners and Masters would be delighted to wine, dine and share their pets. Their slaves and subs and insignificant others.
That didn't mean I didn't want to make amends for my behavior. It wasn't my place to punish someone else's sub.
So we were planning a dinner party. We were. Because through a stroke of genus or desperation, not wanting to do it alone, not wanting to attend it alone, and thinking it would be nice to have someone there who could at least have some say in my deportment if the anger surged, I thought of Chloe.
Her divorce from Claude had already gone through. Nevada is the divorce capital of the U.S. - all those movie stars in the forties and fifties throwing their rings in the Truckee River outside the courthouse in Reno. That was northern Nevada. For whatever reason, in southern Nevada we were more known for weddings.
But the process was swift. It should have dragged out even in a community property, no fault divorce state but when you're worth several billion dollars as a mega well known plastic surgeon and your severance package for your wife is so generous it all but screams remorse, the court doesn't argue for long.
Plus, he could afford to buy a judge or two.
Chloe had kept the house. She'd kept me too, as much as either of them had kept friendships.
I was willing to bet she'd kept the lifestyle, too. It was Claude she didn't want to keep and no one was surprised by her actions. On first meeting Claude presented as sweet, gentle, polite. Get under his thumb though, for a play session or more likely because he made arrangements with another owner, and there was another Claude. Dark. Dangerous. Not at all pleasant.
Annie had run from him, stolen his Bugatti and left it unlocked and the keys in the ignition and called me. She'd pretty much left Chloe the same way: Unlocked and ready to go.
I thought Chloe, having chosen to run to something rather than away from her home, might like an invite back into the society she'd enjoyed. I'd enjoy her company too, since Claude had never shared her directly like that.
It sounded like a good arrangement to me. It sounded good to her as well. So we'd been putting our heads together and a few other things were getting closer to getting together. I figured the night of the party she'd spend the night. Possibly whether she liked it or not. She was coming as my guest. I might make sure I enjoyed the ride.
The caterers were arranged for the evening. The usual maid service would do a two-day intensive on the house ahead of time. Security was being trebled by both my forces and those of the other billionaires. We needed to protect everyone coming against bribery, blackmail, kidnap and Kie.
"What haven't we figured out?" Chloe asked, stretching. She was a beautiful woman, kind of fairy-like in how slight she was. I was always surprised by her height. She was taller than I expected because she was so diffuse, so – ghost-like.
Not today. She'd changed over the past few months since she threw out Claude but kept a significant portion of his money. And his house. And sold the cars that had been left to her to start a charity for abused women and children. She was vibrant and somehow more colorful and when she stood up I anticipated her height.