Submissive on the Run (1Night Stand): Carnivore Club Page 3

  Joss’s stomach churned.

  Leaning forward, Nate placed his elbows on his thighs. “Get out of here. He’s been collecting those sneakers since we were ten.”

  Eight, but who was counting? “I don’t know why Luke even wanted them.” Three could play the third-person references game. “He doesn’t believe in shoes without stitched leather soles.”

  “Some of the rarer models fetch a mint on eBay, and I’m in the market for a new car.” Luka erased a scuff on his glossy wingtips with the pad of his thumb. “Better yet, think of all the things I can make him do to earn those shoes back, one pair at a time. I’m pretty sure a certain someone will be willing to post wiener pics on Twitter.”

  Having the entire world glimpse grainy photos of his dick didn’t bother Joss one bit. No point tipping his hand, however. “I’m your fucking lawyer. This past year, you’ve needed me to defend you in court, sue for damages, and file for a restraining order. It’s a matter of time before you come begging for something else.”

  “You forget Luke’s current sub isn’t as crazy as his ex.” Angling his broad frame away from Joss, Nate asked, “What favor forced Mr. Scrooge to cough up his pride and joy? It had to be huge.”

  “That’s the thing. It wasn’t. I paid for and sent an invitation. It took all of five minutes.” With a jerk of his chin, Luka indicated the red envelope on the coffee table. “Since he has a matching card, I’m guessing someone is orchestrating a hot date.”

  Nate snagged the invite. His dark eyebrows rose as he pulled out the card. “Isn’t this the escort service he hooked you up with a few weeks ago?”

  “Stop calling it an escort service.” Luka threw a glance over his shoulder, as if expecting his sub to materialize behind the seat. “Naomi and I are together because of it, remember? Insulting Madame Eve will get me in all kinds of trouble.”

  “Pussy whipped,” Joss muttered under his breath. “If I’d known they’d get this serious, I would’ve never shelled out the dough for his stupid one-night stand.”

  For once, their mutual friend seemed to share his chagrin. “Yeah. If I hadn’t been at the collaring ceremony, I’d have figured she’s the one wielding the crop. Considering how this killjoy turned out, why the hell are you lugging the envelope around? It’s a scourge on bachelorhood.”

  “It’s also an easy way to gain access to the Carnivore Club on the down-low.” And to trap a certain stubborn submissive in a sealed room. “They run a tight ship at this Vegas joint. I want my visit to be a surprise.”

  “You’re pretty full of yourself, but isn’t the cat carrier a bit much? She’s not going to move to a different city with you after one date.” Luka’s lack of confidence grated.

  “The carrier is plan B”

  “Plan B?”

  “While I keep her occupied, you are going to break into her apartment and steal the cat.”

  Nate crossed his arms. “If this works out, you’re going to need couples therapy. And if you think I’ll participate in cat-napping, you’re delusional.”

  “It’s not cat-napping per se. More like cat-borrowing. I’ll threaten to take the thing with me and see if she calls my bluff. And yes, you’re going to help. You owe me.”

  “I really fucking don’t.”

  “Fine. If you do this, I’ll owe you.” From Nate’s expression, the man was tempted. “You want me to owe you. You’ve wanted me to owe you for decades.”

  Luka chuckled. “We should play along. I want to find out how this ends. I’ll put a hundred bucks on the woman kicking Joss’s ass.”

  “We don’t need more than one person to grab a damn cat,” Nate grumbled. “Besides, aren’t I paying you to do a job?”

  An architect, Luka had been hired to redesign the offices of a tech startup Nate had acquired. The project entailed regular trips to Sin City. “And when I finish for the night, I’ll swing by to watch a DM smack him upside the head.”

  “So mystery girl is a dungeon monitor. I’d always pegged his type as petite brunettes.”

  “Oh, it is. But I’ve watched this particular petite brunette literally crush a man’s balls. Wouldn’t mind a repeat performance.”

  “You do realize I have a black belt in Jujitsu,” Joss drawled. “Show me some respect, or I’ll triple my retainer.”

  He might as well have not spoken. “We’ll meet up at the club after you’re done cat-napping and I’m done with work.”

  Nate steepled his fingers. “I don’t see any other choice. Our unfortunate, potty-mouthed friend needs all the support he can get. The man’s track record with women is a lifelong series of slaps in the face—at least from the ones who hadn’t researched the Bradlee Trust in advance. Too bad he has some sort of radar for detecting gold-diggers.”

  Since Joss needed the pair around for his scene to play out, he offered a token protest. “Please. I’ve gotten real good at catching slaps before they hit. Don’t you have something better to do?”

  “Can’t think of a single one.” Luka loped to the bar for a Scotch refill. Good friend that he was, he returned with an uncapped Blue Moon for Joss. “While I hate messing up my sleep cycle, the prospect of watching you crash and burn is too tempting.”

  Accepting the beer, Joss quirked an eyebrow. “Not gonna happen. When I really want something, I always get it. I really want this runaway sub back.”

  ***

  “Didn’t your shift end six hours ago?” Kim paused at the small table in the employee locker room, where the Carnivore Club’s part-time bartender had set up two laptops, three tablets, and five different smartphones.

  Sumona Mehta, referred to by most dungeon monitors as Moni M, so as not to be confused with Moni B, nudged a pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses up her nose. “All I need in life is free Wi-Fi and power outlets.” She reached for a giant mug emblazoned with NERD-GASM. “Oh, and a sugar delivery system.”

  The hot chocolate left a smear on the resident geek’s white teeth, the color a shade darker than her mahogany skin. Black curly hair escaped her tight braid, puffing out to form a somewhat lopsided halo around her heart-shaped face. Her oversized T-shirt displayed the police call box from Dr. Who.

  Kim pointed at the oversized duffel on the floor. “Someone’s settling in. Are your parents hounding you to register for Shaadi.com again?” Quick to adapt to the digital age, the Indian subcontinent’s diaspora had taken the screening process for arranged marriages online.

  “Geesh. I’m twenty-three, not thirteen. I have bigger problems than Mom’s daily dose of matrimonial pressure. One would think a genius IQ and PhD from Cal Tech would broadcast my lifelong goal of spinsterhood, but no. She’s determined to marry me off before I hit the officially on-the-shelf mid-twenties.”

  After checking her watch, Kim settled on one of the vacant seats. “So, you’re here because your mom staked out your apartment?”

  “I wish.” Moni heaved a sigh. “I’m dodging a rich white guy who won’t take no for an answer.”

  Intriguing, especially since the woman’s dating experience seemed confined to the virtual variety. “A hot rich white guy?”

  Moni wagged a finger. “Don’t go around spreading rumors. He’s interested in my patents, not me.”

  “Your pants? Please, tell me more.”

  “No, my patents. When my dodgy former business partner sold his half of our startup, he neglected to mention I own all the intellectual property. Based on the emails and voice mails I received, the pissed-off buyer found out a few days ago.”

  “Okay, my interest level tanked.” Kim slumped. “This story was better before it turned all geek.”

  Her friend laughed. “If it helps, I googled the buyer. He’s hot, assuming you’re into broad chests, dark hair, and big blue eyes. He’s also six-foot something.”

  Though her type had narrowed to a very specific, equally tall, green-eyed blond, Kim made a show of fanning her face. “Who isn’t into that? Anyway, if he’s calling, I’m sure he’s willing to give you bi
g bucks for those patents. Why don’t you call him back?”

  With her finger, Moni drew a circle above the array of smartphones on the table. “I need them for my Kink-dar.”

  Kim suppressed a wince. “I still think you should come up with another name.”

  “Meh. I invent. Branding isn’t my thing. Once it’s done, I’ll pitch it to some venture capitalists, and someone else can deal with trademarks. Anyway, I want to see this through. Imagine if every sub and Dom could get an alert whenever their kink-mate is nearby. Won’t it make life so much easier?”

  “I think there’s more to compatibility than a limit list, but what do I know?” Her sex life had wallowed in the gutter for close to a year. “Anyway, my shift’s starting. Have fun with your…err…coding thing.”

  “Wait, wait. Reception dropped this off for you.” After a bit of shuffling, Moni unearthed a red envelope from under one of the tablets. “Apparently, you have an admirer.”

  Reading the scribbled note under the sender’s address, Kim grinned. “Nah. I rescued a club member from a sticky situation with his ex a while ago. This is his way of paying me back. I hadn’t expected a Dom to bother with thank you cards, but….”

  Her brows snapped together as she read the text. Madame Eve cordially invites you to a one-night stand. Please meet your date in the Carnivore Club’s interrogation room at 3:00 a.m. This service cannot be exchanged, refunded, or gifted to someone else.

  “I’d already snuck a quick look,” Moni confessed. “You must have done some serious ball-busting. Rumor has it Madame Eve’s service is exclusive to people with money to burn.”

  Kim sighed. “I wish he hadn’t. I’m so not in the place to date.”

  “I didn’t see anything in the envelope about dating. Relationships are so pre-2000s. Why else would I slave away at this app? As for your plans tonight, it seems you are pre-paid for a scene with a compatible Dom. Why not go?”

  Springing to her feet, Kim shook her head. “The last time I tried no-strings sex, the arrangement extended into a several-month-long limbo before blowing up in my face.” She omitted the part about actual gunfire. “I’m not stupid enough to jump down that rabbit hole twice.”

  Moni arched her thick black eyebrows. “From the few hints you’d dropped, it seems like you attempted this arrangement with someone you knew—a friends-with-spanking-benefits sort of deal. Showing up in the interrogation room today is different. The Dom will be a complete stranger.”

  “I don’t do stranger sex.’

  “Then don’t have sex. Blow off some steam—dip your toe back into the pool, so to speak. God knows you’ve pined for your non-boyfriend for long enough.”

  The final blow hit her square in the chest. She hated how memories of Joss had ruined her for all scening. “I’ll miss Tiger’s feeding time—”

  “The cat is obese. He can survive for an extra couple of hours, if not a few days. I think you should give this one-night stand a shot. As far as safe environments go, the club can’t be beat.”

  Chuckling, Kim placed her hands on her hips. “Why are you so gung-ho about my date? Your sex life is even worse than mine.” She’d bet good money the nerdy sub was a virgin.

  “Hey, I have online sex on a regular basis, with the same Dom, and we’ve been exclusive for months—an eternity in millennial time. It’s as healthy as digital relationships get. Besides, Madame Eve has an insane hook-up to commitment conversion rate, or so I’ve heard. I need you to use her service and report back. It might help me perfect my app’s algorithm.”

  “So you’re sacrificing me on the altar of your coding glory?”

  “Pretty much.” Moni batted her long, sooty lashes. “Remember all those times you had me swing by your place to feed your damn kitty? I’m cashing the favors in.”

  To be fair, the woman had begged for pet-sitting opportunities and was responsible for Tiger’s excessive toy collection. “I don’t think—”

  “White Rabbit chewy candy. Half a pound. Brought from Chinatown to you at the beginning of your shift tomorrow. All you have to do is show up for this date, stay for at least five minutes, and give me the deets.”

  Kim’s molars clicked together. As far as bribes went, her favorite dessert happened to be a potent brand of catnip.

  Chapter Three

  Kim squinted as she shuffled through the elevator doors. The subterranean level housing the interrogation room had adopted a catacomb-like appearance for the week, with faux stone façades covering the hallway walls and grayish brown carpeting lining the floor. Perhaps to mask the temporary decor’s lack of authenticity, the sconces had been dimmed to their lowest setting and covered with black shades.

  The perfect lighting for capture games, or a nice long nap.

  Given a choice, she’d opt for the latter. Sleep-deprived, she’d struggled to keep her eyes open long before midnight. At 3:00 a.m., her waking fantasy involved a soft mattress, purring cat, and plush comforter. Heck, at this stage, a clean floor and rolled-up jacket would more than do. Yawning, she trudged to the section’s check-in station. If everything proceeded according to plan, she might set a record for shortest blind date.

  Upon discerning the hostess’ features, her mood tanked. Of course, the pesky control-freak wouldn’t leave their fact-finding mission up to chance. “Moni, why the heck are you wearing a dungeon monitor uniform?”

  Though clad in a white button down, red vest, crimson armband, and black pants, the woman’s curves and diminutive height guaranteed her status as the least intimidating DM in Carnivore Club history. Kim had shouldered the title for about two weeks, until she’d face-planted a six-foot-something troublemaker in the middle of a bar full of exhibitionists. In fights, well-timed maneuvers and speed trumped brute strength, assuming the willingness to do real damage.

  For this reason, she’d followed up the takedown with a hard stomp on the balls, eliminating the threat until hotel security arrived. The decision had cemented her reputation as a staff member with whom one should not fuck.

  One person must have missed the memo. “I traded shifts with Billy.” Moni’s crocodile smile bared two rows of gleaming white teeth. “Good thing, too. You’re in blatant violation of the dress code. You can’t initiate a scene in uniform. It’s against the rules.”

  “Which is why I ditched the branded accessories.” Kim gestured at her arm and torso. “On the topic of rules, your traipsing around in that vest is worse. You’re a bartender. If a situation got sticky, what are you going to do, make everyone a drink?”

  “Not a bad idea. Besides”—the temporary DM patted her enviably lush butt—“a crap load of cardio-kickboxing classes went into this booty. My high kick is a thing to behold.”

  When Kim scowled, the geek hastily added, “Geez, tone down the cranks, would ya? I convinced the real monitor to leave for fifteen minutes—enough time for me to enforce basic club etiquette. You’re a sub. Cleavage is required. Chop, chop.”

  “For the love of— Fine.” Too sleepy to argue, Kim tugged at the top buttons of her uniform. She didn’t have much in the way of breasts, and her sports bra reduced cleavage to a mere technicality. “Happy?”

  Tapping a laminated black card on her palm, the self-appointed enforcer clucked. “You’re cheating, but let’s move on. It says here submissives may cover no more than forty percent of their bodies while on this floor. You’re hovering at around seventy. Pull out your shirttails and tie them under those tata-tamers. By the way, who invented that bra? Sadists?”

  “Could be.” Having devoted a significant portion of her workouts to abdominal exercises, baring her midriff didn’t strike Kim as a huge deal. When her friend’s eyes widened at the sight of her four pack, she patted her tummy. “I have non-existent boobs and buns. It gives me fewer body parts to focus on.”

  “Since my ass inflates if I even smell chocolate, you get no sympathy. Speaking of butts, I’m afraid those pants must go. The shoes, too. With chases going on, we’re enforcing a barefoot poli
cy. Best to keep the floors as clean as possible. Lots of members get their faces smushed on this carpet. Even with steam-cleaning between rounds, footwear is a no-no.”

  “There’s a reason I don’t like coming this far below ground.” With a shudder, she yanked off her boots. “Some of the role-play veers into creepy territory.”

  “Liar. You completed a profile on my app, remember? I know all your kinks. Capture games are one of your faves, though you’ve never tried one out. Tonight’s as good a time as any.”

  “I thought user data was private,” she sputtered.

  “Not in the beta testing phase. Didn’t you read the fine print? Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m the last person who’d judge.” With a cluck, Moni retrieved the boots. “Bedroom tastes are just that—tastes. My favorite ice-cream flavor doesn’t say anything about my psyche. Neither does my limit list. On an unrelated note, take off your pants.”

  “I’m not meeting my date in underwear.” Kim huffed. “The bottoms stay.”

  Like a magician, her friend whipped out a pleated skirt from behind the check-in station. “Good thing I’d planned around your prudishness. Get with the times, lady. Tis the age of ‘Free the Nipple’ campaigns, and you live in Vegas.”

  “Says the girl whose wardrobe consists of oversized T-shirts and baggy jeans.” After losing a brief staring contest, Kim wiggled out of her trousers. “You’re such a hypocrite.”

  “Hey, I’d bring on the sexy if I could. But I’m a female with coding skills. Most of my work-friends are man-children who never get laid. If they catch even a whiff of hotness, I lose all respect.” Flashing a wide grin, the woman lifted her palm for a high-five. “Did we ace the slutty cosplayer look, or what? You even have braids.”