Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

“You need some time to cool off,” Simon had said.

DeVries growled. He was gonna gut his boss.

In the entry, he saw Dixon, not Lindsey, behind the desk. Probably for the best. DeVries held out his membership card. Behind him, several other members entered, forming a quiet line.

Dixon took the card by the corner in a blatant show of reluctance, swiped it through the machine, and shoved it back.

Ignoring the insolence, deVries pocketed the card and walked away.

“Have a nice night,” Dixon said and added under his breath, “You bastard.”

Hell. He couldn’t ignore the deliberate rudeness. He grabbed the young man’s chain harness and yanked him over the desk.

The submissive yelped.

With one hand, deVries lifted him by the harness, holding him up like a puppy being punished. “You get to wear a gag in your insolent mouth until your time at reception is done.”

He dropped the white-faced submissive to the ground hard enough to hear his bones rattle. “Am I clear?”

Dixon went to his knees. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

DeVries took a ball-gag from his toy bag and tossed it at the sub. Still pissed off, he glanced at the line of members waiting to enter. Three submissives hit their knees. Two Doms nodded approval. One guffawed.

From behind deVries, Xavier said, “Is there a problem here?”

DeVries turned.

In his usual black jeans, vest, boots, and white shirt, Xavier studied Dixon, who made an I’m-screwed-so-bad whimper.

Mood lightened slightly, deVries answered Xavier. “Nah, no problem.” He nudged Dixon with his boot. “Get back to work, boy. You have people waiting.”

The submissive scrambled up. Fastening the gag straps behind his head, he hurried behind the desk.

Xavier watched him for a moment and motioned toward the main clubroom. As deVries fell into step, Xavier said, “You look a bit battered.”

DeVries shrugged. The bar fight last week had been fairly satisfying, well worth the bruises, which were mostly healed now. “I’m good.”

“How was Montana?”

“Fucking cold.” His irritation returned. “I’m going to murder Demakis and toss his body in the gutter.”

“Simon overreacted.” Xavier’s smile faded, and he gave deVries a level look. “As did you. The girl only did what she thought was right.” Lindsey must have shared with Abby. The Dark Haven community gossiped worse than people on a naval base.

Stopping at a table, DeVries put a foot on a chair and rested his forearms on his thigh. “I know. Took a while to realize it, though.” Maybe he wouldn’t kill Simon after all. Being halfway across the country had kept deVries from showing up on Lindsey’s doorstep and yelling at her…more than he already had. Fuck, he was a dumbass sometimes. “Given she lied about her identity, I figured she’d lied about our relationship too. But—she’s a crap liar.”

“She is.” Xavier leaned a hip against the table. “She’s hurting, Zander.”

Lindsey hurting. At the sudden stab deep in his chest, deVries looked down, half expecting to see a blade jammed between his ribs. He drew in a measured breath. “She has some righteous concerns. I am a sadist; she’s not a masochist.”

Ever since returning from the merc job, his sleep had been filled with gory, violent nightmares. Sure, he could cope, but he also knew a good S/M session would relieve the feeling. It was why he’d come to Dark Haven this evening. “I can live without, but—”

“But Lindsey sees your need. A submissive’s greatest desire is to fulfill your wants. If she can’t, she’ll feel like a failure.”

DeVries ran his hand over his short hair. “She already does.”

“Did you determine what you can do?”

“No.” He scowled. “Or my ass would have been here, no matter what Simon wanted.” The thought of losing Lindsey was a twisting ache in his gut. He missed her sweet body beside him. And how she strained to be polite in the mornings, despite her grumpiness. Her need to feed him. Her ability to listen so hard everything else apparently faded away. Her easy laughter that could turn into the cutest uncontrollable giggles.

Yeah, he fucking missed her.

“I can see her point of view as well as yours.” Xavier didn’t say anything further; the sympathy in his gaze was enough.

“Is she here?”

“No. She hasn’t been in since that night.”

Hell. Dark Haven was the source of most of her friends. “I should never have touched her,” he muttered.

“At one time, I thought that. Now”—Xavier frowned—“I’m not so certain.”

As DeVries jerked up his chin in acknowledgment, he spotted a submissive kneeling a few feet away. “HurtMe, you here for a reason?”

The blond man lifted his head. “For you, Master.” His almost purring voice was an invitation.

“I’m in the mood to push. To make you scream.”

HurtMe bounced in place. “I can take it. Please use me, Master.”

“Don’t call me Master. Go find a cross downstairs.”

“Yes, Sir.” HurtMe rose. Hesitated. “The Victorian nook is empty.”

What was wrong with the man? “People who want privacy use theme rooms. I got no need for privacy.”

HurtMe’s face fell. And he ran downstairs.

“What got into him?” deVries wondered.

Xavier frowned after the masochist. “Later, maybe we should talk about him and his assumptions.”

***

A man’s screams drew Lindsey across Dark Haven’s dungeon.

A couple of steps behind, Rona followed, having insisted on accompanying her to the club. After finishing his meetings, Simon planned to join them later.

“Crom. Someone is sure having a time tonight,” Rona muttered.

The sound of the masculine howls of anguish sent goose bumps down Lindsey’s arms.

Surrounded by observers, the St. Andrew’s cross at the foot of the stairs held the poor victim. HurtMe was getting his wish all right. His entire back was reddened from a heavy flogging. Diagonal cane welts ran down the backs of his thighs. In a few spots, the skin was torn, with blood dotting the long lines. His balls were clamped, and weights hung from them.

Rona frowned. “Surely the top didn’t leave him hanging there. Xavier would have a fit.”

“I don’t see him, though.” Dark Haven had strict rules about never leaving a bound submissive alone. A few seconds later, she realized the standing observers had concealed a man who was taking something from his bag.

The top was deVries. Every blood cell in her vein jumped with yearning.

She took a step back. No. He’s not mine. As the joy drained away, she sagged slightly, feeling the heaviness return. She needed to leave. Lindsey turned to Rona and found someone had tugged her off for a private conversation.

As deVries shook out a heavy flogger and took his position, Lindsey’s mouth went dry. Just look at him. Sweat darkened his faded black T-shirt around the arms and neck. Pumped-up from the exercise, his biceps and shoulders strained against the fabric.

Oh God. Lust tangled with longing. He’d held her with those hard arms. She knew the salty taste of his skin, the growling sound of his voice, the scent of him from the fresh soapy fragrance on his chest to the intoxicating musk of his groin. Her craving for him wrenched her insides.

But he—he didn’t need her. He wanted a masochist. And maybe HurtMe had told her the truth. The minute deVries returned from Montana, there he was with HurtMe. The pain was a knife sliding beneath her skin and gouging right to the bone.

As if to show what she couldn’t possibly give him, the scene continued. When deVries struck, the thick strands of the flogger hit HurtMe’s shoulders with a bone-shaking force, and the masochist whimpered.