“You look tired.” She handed his card back. “Are you all right?”

Yeah. Warmhearted as could be.

“No.” With a brusque nod, he turned away. Tonight he’d delve into the darker side, indulge his need to give pain, erase the bitterness of the last mission. This one couldn’t take what he needed to dish out. Few women could.

Only males held up well when deVries got this needy.

As he walked into the club, he glanced back and saw Ethan Worthington lean over the desk and run his finger over Lindsey’s play collar.

Not surprising she smiled a welcome. The Dom was intelligent. Well-liked. And had more money than God.

Looked like the lucky bastard would be the one to enjoy the sweetie. Well, more power to him.

Jaw tight, deVries shoved through into the main clubroom, feeling as if he’d like to kill someone. Again.


“I DON’T ENJOY a lot of pain,” Lindsey said to Sir Ethan, trying to concentrate on the conversation and not watch deVries stalk through the door. God, the way he moved was like a timber wolf on the hunt. Powerful and deadly.

Sexy as hell.

And he didn’t like her. Oh, she had thought different at the Fourth of July games. He’d sure acted growly when he’d been called away. But later, back in San Francisco, when she reminded him of her debt, he said he’d collect her ass if he wanted. His dismissive attitude showed he had no interest in her whatsoever.

Way to make a girl feel like a scrawny chicken not even good enough for the stew pot. He hadn’t even noticed her sexy costume sewn from less than a yard of furry fabric.

“Lindsey.” With one finger on her chin, Sir Ethan drew her attention back. His clear blue gaze was perceptive…and understanding. “Do you really want to play with a sadist?”

“I… No.” God no. Especially not one like deVries…who didn’t want her.

***

An hour later, Xavier strolled out of the main clubroom into the reception area. Several inches over six feet, with Native American dark coloring, black eyes, and black hair in a braid down his back, the owner of Dark Haven never failed to make Lindsey sit up straight and lower her gaze. Somehow, he gave a whole new meaning to the word dominant.

A step behind him, his wife, Abby, had flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and reddened skin around her wrists. Obviously they’d already had a scene.

Xavier smiled at Lindsey. “Work time is over, pet. Go find someone to play with.”

As he picked up the new member applications, Lindsey stood up and stretched. “Sounds good. Thank you, my liege.”

Sitting down in the chair Lindsey had vacated, Abby tilted her head. “How are you doing? Are you ready for a girl’s night soon?”

“I’d love it.” She’d have to skip lunch for a day or two to afford it, but girlfriends came far, far higher in the priority scheme than food. “Next weekend?”

“Rona said she was busy on Friday. Can you do Saturday?”

Lindsey nodded.

Abby patted Xavier’s bottom. “Your receptionists are going to be on strike next Saturday.”

He raised an intimidating eyebrow. “That means Dixon will have to take the desk for a shift.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll leave us a mess. Nonetheless, we’re still taking the night off.”

“You’re definitely a stubborn little fluff.” Xavier bent to capture his wife’s lips.

Lindsey smothered a sigh of envy. Once upon a time, she’d thought she’d have a loving husband, a family. A home.

As Xavier headed back into his club and Abby turned to greet an entering member, Lindsey glanced at the desk. She’d left it bare except for one stack of papers. If Dixon took reception, disaster would ensue. The cutest submissive in Dark Haven, Dixon considered himself a lover, not a secretary, and never filed anything.

However, huge paper piles were a piddly price to pay for a weekend night off and a chance to drink without having to work the next day. Abby was a professor at a small college, and Rona did hospital administration.

Back before her life had gone to hell in a handbasket, Lindsey had been a social worker. And had loved it.

Now she was a receptionist—and her temp job would end this week. Job hunting wasn’t easy, even though the fake ID she’d bought last spring passed muster. But when she’d fled Texas, she realized what the lack of her college transcripts and past employment recommendations would mean.

She was stuck in minimum-wage jobs despite her years of education.

Come to think of it, education sure hadn’t helped her pick a good husband. He’d taken her in completely. She closed her eyes at the memory of Victor’s sneer. “Why would I want a cunt like you when I can fuck sweeter meat?”

God, she’d been blind. She remembered her daddy’s John Wayne quote. “Life’s hard. It’s even harder when you’re stupid.”

Wasn’t that the truth? Now she had a warrant out for her arrest and cops who would kill her before she ever made it to jail. Who had already tried. She glanced at the long scar on the back of her wrist.

Abby returned a man’s membership card. “Have a great night.” As he walked into the main room, she turned to Lindsey, and her forehead creased. “Are you okay?”

No. “Sure.” Lindsey gave her an only slightly twisted smile. “Saturday it is. Party time!”

After sharing a high five, Lindsey headed into the club.

On the main floor, tables filled the center of the room between the two stages. Members in leather and latex, corsets and chains, naked or fully covered, were socializing, dancing, drinking, and watching demonstrations. The dark wave music of Anders Manga reverberated through the huge room, keeping the dancers at the far end moving.

At one time, she’d loved to dance. Two-step. Line dancing. But that time was over. She stood for a moment, hobbled by despair. She couldn’t go home to Texas. Not when the head of her husband’s smuggling operation had turned out to be his brother, Travis—the police chief. Not when the corruption extended into other law enforcement agencies like the border patrol.

She exhaled slowly.

If she couldn’t go back, she had to move forward. If nothing else, the police officer’s death—as well as her husband’s—had taught her how short life could be and to fully live in what remained to her.

Here in San Francisco, she’d embraced that philosophy. Joined Dark Haven. Turned long-held fantasies into reality. She was no longer a novice in the BDSM lifestyle.

So where was Sir Ethan? Mistress Tara was demonstrating wax play on the right stage. On the left one, a Dom and his submissive were setting up equipment for their upcoming scene. Sir Ethan wasn’t at a table watching or at the bar near the far end. Or on the dance floor.

He’d probably gone downstairs.

She took the stairs down into the more intense environment of the dungeon. Here the music was punctuated by the sounds of impact toys like floggers and paddles, by groans and moans, harsh breathing, an occasional shriek.

To her disappointment, when she spotted Sir Ethan, he wore a dungeon monitor’s badge. He wouldn’t be able to play until he was off duty.

He gave her a wave and mouthed the word later. Oh well, he was worth waiting for. He was one of the best Doms in the club. Although he read her so easily it was scary, he hadn’t pushed when she’d said she didn’t want anything serious.

Too many of the Doms seemed to want to form a relationship—and what was with that? Didn’t they realize men were supposed to prefer keeping things light?

Shaking her head, she walked past a suspension scene where the Dom had flipped the submissive into head-down position to give him a blowjob. Lindsey bit her lip. Hanging in the air really took a sub’s control away. Adding oral sex into such a mix might be a bit much, and yet there was something wonderful about being able to please a Dom that way.

Farther down, a needle-play scene made Lindsey wince. The Domme had created a needle design on the submissive’s back that looked like fairy wings. Really painful ones.

Next, a gay Master was flogging two of his slaves, one and the other, working them both with an amazing skill, especially since one was obviously a needier masochist. But the Master seemed to be enjoying each.

At the end of the room was…deVries. Hell, she shouldn’t stop, but the sadist did such fantastic scenes that she loved to watch him, although the thought of taking so much pain made her sweat—and not in a good way.

As always, he’d attracted a number of observers, so she quietly positioned herself at the rear.

For some reason, his usual flogger was still in the bag, and he was using a violet wand instead. The male bottom, johnboy, was strapped down on the bondage table. Leather had been wrapped around his exposed testicles.

DeVries applied the wand here and there, obviously testing the bottom’s tolerance for electrical stimulation…and pain. After a few minutes, he used a cane on johnboy’s thighs, stomach, and chest, occasionally adding some light whacks to his penis and balls.

Lindsey realized her legs were clamped together in sympathy.

DeVries returned to the wand. Gradually, the bottom’s muscles grew rigid. He was groaning. Fighting. Sweating. Then as johnboy slid into subspace, his eyes glazed and his lips curved up, despite the way his body shook.

DeVries played him like a musical instrument, dropping the intensity before deliberately bringing him up to even more pain, over and over.

Heat curled low in Lindsey’s belly. Holy shit, she never, ever wanted pain like that, and yet she’d never seen anything so erotic in her life.