Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
He liked Li O’Donnell. He would have to figure out a way to let the man know his brother was sliding into trouble.
“But the reward is worth the risk.” The reward being keeping the world safe from dirty bombs. “I agree with your assessment, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the logistical support. My last contact put me up in a motel room I shared with a goat. I’m not fucking joking. A goat wandered in and I couldn’t get the fucker out. I finally named him Sir Goats A Lot and he became my roomie. That goat had gas. Lots of gas. I like it here better.”
“I can only imagine.” Rene took a sip of his own Scotch. “It’s much more comfortable here.”
One day he would have his own club. When he closed his eyes he could see it. Industrial, with clean lines and moody lighting. He liked The Collar, but it was old school, done up in reds and golds, velvet lining some of the walls and some incredible art. He wasn’t into art. He wanted the subs of his club to be the artwork.
Of course in his more morose moments, he knew he would never have that club. He would go out in a blaze of glory and then be a random star on a wall at Langley. Because that was how operatives went out. There was a bullet with his name on it waiting somewhere out there.
Or a knife. Or some poison. God, when he thought about it, he kind of craved that bullet.
The blonde was back along with her brunette friend. They waited a few feet from him, and he rather thought they would have stood there a good portion of the night. Well-trained subs. He wanted to be done with business. He wanted to not think for a while. When he went back to his room, he would have to think about what had happened with Alex and Eve, and how John Bishop was dead. He had to consider the fact that his younger brother thought he was somewhere in the Middle East because Sean had no idea he’d been recruited into the CIA.
When he was alone, he would have to try to sleep and dream of all that blood on his hands.
So he waved the subby duo over. Yes, they would do. He could have one sit on his face while the other sucked his cock, and that would be a lovely way to end the day.
Until the nightmares kicked in.
He patted his lap and suddenly he had one on each knee. So much soft skin and soft voices and perfect obedience. Why was it starting to get boring?
“Dare I ask for names, or should I call you slave one and slave two?”
The brunette giggled. “You may call me anything you wish, Sir.”
“You can call me yours,” the blonde replied, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Bridgette and I will do anything for the Master.”
He bet they would. They wouldn’t question him for a second. They would follow all the rules and never think to defy him.
Wasn’t that supposed to be what he wanted?
The music shifted from an industrial beat to something that had Tag sitting up a little straighter. That sweet guitar riff followed by the thud of a drum always called to him. “Guns N’ Roses. Sweet.”
Paradise City. Well, the grass did seem greener and the girls were pretty. He agreed with Axl on that one.
“I heard you were a fan. I had the manager put several of their songs into the rotation,” Rene replied. Then the Frenchman’s eyes widened and he sat up straighter. “There’s trouble on two legs.”
Tag looked up, and it seemed like the whole room had gone perfectly still. Every person in the lounge had turned, their eyes on the newcomer. He could hear the music playing, but his whole focus had shifted to the woman who’d just walked into the lounge.
Five nine or ten, with breasts that would be more than a handful and hips like fucking Jessica Rabbit. She wore a black corset and thong, her dark hair brushing the tops of her breasts. He would bet her hair wasn’t naturally so dark, but it looked good on her and contrasted with crystal blue eyes. And she wasn’t playing innocent like the other subs. No, she boldly looked around the lounge, her eyes searching for something.
Sub? She was likely a Domme with that stare, and for the first time in his life he considered bottoming if it meant getting into that woman’s thong.
“I wouldn’t, Tag. Her name is Charlotte Dennis, but she’s got ties to the Denisovitch syndicate. I think she might be a daughter,” Rene warned. “I let her in so I could watch her. There are several rumors about her I find troubling.”