Savage Desires (Black Rose Doms Book 3)

Chapter 1

It”s been almostthree years since Damon Savada disappeared. He”s popped up a time or two over the years but always manages to evade me. Everyone has told me to let it go, that I”m wasting my time and allowing life to pass me by while I spend my days chasing ghosts. Maybe I am, but I can”t stop now. Something keeps driving me forward beyond my need for vengeance.

I look through the scope of my rifle, scanning the area around the Savada estate. Dominic Savada is well-known and feared as one of the most ruthless Italian mob bosses ever born. He”s made many enemies, though none dare challenge him. When his son Damon joined forces with Nelson Grant and his house of horrors, Dominic disowned him. He might be ruthless, but he does not condone hurting women and children.

The moment we showed him proof of Damon”s dealings in human trafficking, he disowned him. Stripping him of his status within the organization and stealing away his inheritance, leaving him both broke and a pariah among his peers. I thought it would be easy to seek revenge for what he did to Rose, but he disappeared like dust in the wind.

The word in the underground is that Dominic is sick, and the vultures are circling. One of those vultures is the prodigal son, ready to return and ascend to the throne. Unfortunately for him, Dominic has already named his successor. Romeo Cassella has been Dominic”s loyal right-hand man for over twenty years and is just as ruthless as his boss. Maybe more so because he”s the one who carries out Dominic”s orders.

Dominic doesn”t mind getting his hands dirty, but Romeo relishes it. Damon would have to be a fucking idiot to go against him, but he”s never been the smartest when it comes to making decisions. He probably expects the organization to crumble while his father is on his deathbed so he can swoop in and take the reins. What he doesn”t know is that Romeo has been silently in charge for the last year while Dominic has been secretly being treated for cancer. He”s terminal, and the doctors have only been able to delay the inevitable.

Damon will be in for a shock when he realizes that the organization that”s been loyal to his family for four generations will be under entirely new leadership. The Savada name will live on as a tribute to the founders, but Romeo Cassella will be at the helm.

I scan the area again before breaking down my rifle and returning it to its case. I make my way to my car and head back to the city. I”ve been awake for thirty-six hours, and it”s time for me to crash. I”m nearly home when my phone rings through my car”s speakers.

”What?” I bark.

”What”s got you so grumpy, handsome?” a feminine voice purrs.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. ”Hera,” I warn.

Her breathy laugh fills the car. ”You”re no fun anymore, Kisten.”

”I”m assuming you”re calling for a reason other than giving me shit.”

”You would be correct, but it”ll cost you.”

Hera is a mercenary. She goes where the money goes. She has no moral compass and would rather slit your throat and spit on your corpse than smile at you. She”s an assassin and a spy and everything in between. So when she says it will cost me, I”m not surprised. We may be friendly, but we are far from friends. Hera doesn”t do friends. She does enemies and those that will become enemies.

”The usual?”

”Yes.”

”Consider it done. What do you have for me?”

”Yuri Ivanov.”

”What do the Russians have to do with anything?”

”Your little friend Damon has made some new friends. Big friends. Big friends who want to take over dear old Daddy Savada”s throne.”

”How do you know this?”

She tsks. ”I don”t kiss and tell. You know that.”

”So Damon has weaseled his way into the good graces of Yuri. What does he think he will gain by doing so?”

Hera laughs. ”Not what he wants. Yuri is the king of the double-cross. He”ll use Damon up and spit him out. Until then, you”ll want to spend some time at Mecca. I think there is something there that will interest you.”

Mecca is a BDSM club. Unlike Black Rose, it isn”t exclusive. There are no memberships or rules. The only security is a bouncer at the door, and his only job is picking the prettiest women out of the dozens that try to get in every night. Most don”t even realize what they are getting into when they go there.

I”ve heard stories of how submissives are treated, and it disgusts me. Spending time there is the last thing I want to do. Hera wouldn”t tell me to unless there”s a good reason. Even without her telling me more, I can already guess why. Someone is dealing in women. Whether it”s trafficking or forced prostitution, I don”t know, but I”ll fucking find out, and heads will roll.

”Is that all?”

”Do I even get a thank you for all my generosity?”

I laugh. ”You mean for the information I”m paying an exorbitant amount of money for?”

”You get the family discount, handsome. Never forget that,” she says before the line goes dead.

A glance at the clock tells me it”s just after midnight. I should go home and sleep. Whatever is happening at Mecca can wait until tomorrow night. If they are dealing in shady shit, it”ll still be there tomorrow. Unfortunately, I won”t be able to sleep until I, at the very least, look around and see what there is to see.

One U-turn later, and I”m heading towards the other side of the city and the shithole that claims to be the best BDSM club in New York. The converted warehouse is painted black with a red neon sign with the club”s name hanging over the door. It”s tacky as fuck. There is a line wrapped around the side of the building with men and women waiting for their chance to be blessed with entrance.

Idiots.

I skip the line and walk right up to the bouncer. He gives me a once-over and opens the rope, allowing me to enter his house of debauchery. I hear protests and grumbles from the people who have been waiting, but I don”t waste my time worrying about them. I drop a hundred-dollar bill on the counter in the anteroom, where a bored-looking woman dressed only in a black leather bra and matching hotpants sits. She grabs the bill without looking up and points at the door.

Friendly lady.

The inside of the club reeks of stale beer and sweat. The club is busy, as expected. It”s a hodgepodge of people. Most of them are trying too hard to dress how they perceive someone who belongs to a BDSM club should dress. A lot of them look fucking ridiculous. Especially the small man walking around with a black leather mask on his face with a zipper on the mouth hole.

Some men drive big trucks to compensate for a small dick. Others wear black leather masks and strut around sex clubs.

I walk to the bar and order a whiskey neat. I find an empty table in the corner where I can watch the entire public area of the club. There are private rooms and a VIP area upstairs that will need to be explored eventually, but this will have to do for now.

A loud scream rends through the air, and the hair stands up on the back of my neck. I scan the room, looking for where the scream came from. Another scream rips through the room, and I finally find the scene that sounds like it”s going wrong. A large man is wielding a whip. I can”t see past him to see who is on the receiving end of his whip. He lets it fly again, and there is another agonizing cry of pain. A crowd gathers around the man, and I lose sight of him. When another scream sounds, and I hear the woman wailing for the man to stop, I can”t sit by any longer.

What the fuck is wrong with these people that they just stand by and watch someone torture a woman while she begs for him to stop? It makes me question why she”s not using her safe word to end the scene. Or maybe she did, and he”s ignoring it. I have no way of knowing if she consented to this level of pain or if he”s forcing it on her.

There”s only one way to find out, and I intend to do just that.

I push through the crowd just in time to see the man wind up for another crack of the whip. I grab the fall and wrap it around my arm. Catching the man off guard, I pull the whip from his hand. He whirls, looking for the culprit. His eyes land on me, and a spark of rage flickers through them.

Aw. Poor baby doesn”t like to share his toys. A little thrill of excitement goes through me. Maybe he”ll be up for a little fight. Not that he”ll win, but I could use some stress relief.

”What the fuck?” he snarls, jumping off the small stage and stomping over to where I”m standing.

”I believe your friend asked you to stop,” I say calmly.

”She”s no friend of mine,” he spits.

I shrug. ”The lady said stop.”

”She asked for it. She loves it.”

”Maybe so, but I”d rather hear that from her.”

I move to walk past him, and he grabs my arm. I raise my brow, looking from him to his hand and back again. He”s pissed and is doing a poor job hiding the fact. Anger is an emotion that should be honed like a gun loaded and at the ready. Something to aim and hit the target. This man-child is like a firework ready to explode and fizzle out.

”I have no quarrel with you. I just want to ask the girl if she”s okay to continue, and then you may have your little toy back,” I say, waving the whip under his nose.

He doesn”t immediately release my arm, but something he sees in my eyes has him slowly removing his hand. I know what that something is… His death. A painful, long-suffering death. My purpose in life might be saving women and children from human trafficking rings and other unsavory situations, but what I truly excel at is doling out death.

I want to pat the dipshit on the head and call him a good boy, but I refrain. I need to not draw too much attention to myself in the club if I want to figure out what it is that Hera thinks I need to see, but I”m doing a shit job at that. Stopping a scene with half a dozen onlookers is not how to keep a low profile. Oh well. What”s done is done. I can”t sit by while a woman is being tortured.

I turn my attention to the woman who is chained to the wall. Instead of the typical leather padded cuffs, her thin wrists are encircled with thick metal. Her arms are above her head, her knees bent as if her legs cannot hold her weight. Her head is hanging forward, and she”s entirely still. The closer I get, the more details I can see. Her back is covered in whip marks. Some are barely kissed pink, and others are red and livid… then there are the ones that have blood seeping from them. I”m guessing those are what resulted in her screams.

I quicken my steps and kneel down beside her. She doesn”t acknowledge my presence.

”Are you okay?”

When she doesn”t respond, I brush her blonde hair off her face and see that she”s unconscious. Ice-cold rage fills my veins. It takes every ounce of my control to not turn that rage on the asshole that did this to her. It”ll have to wait, though, because taking care of her is more important right now.

There will be time for justice later, and I never forget a face.

I quickly free her from the shackles, catching her in my arms before she falls to the ground. The man yells that I can”t intervene, that she”s his to do with what he wants and that I”m breaking protocol. His threats fall on deaf ears. It”s not until he grabs my arm and tries to take her from me that my control slips.

”If you want to keep your hand, you will remove it.”

He laughs. ”I”m not afraid of you.”

A smile spreads across my face, one that”s reserved for people like him. It”s a smile that says I will destroy you and enjoy every second. That I will make you bleed and bathe in your blood. I”ve been told it”s unsettling…

His laughter dies, and he steps away. ”Good boy. Maybe you do have two brain cells to rub together.”

His back stiffens, and his fists clench. He”s running through his options right now. I”ve intervened and taken his woman. I”ve threatened him, and now I”ve insulted him. He wants the fight I”m picking, but there is also a hint of fear mixed in with that anger. I relish that fear. I want to nurture it and make it grow until he only knows fear. Unfortunately, this is not the time nor the place. I push past him, and he lets me go.

I carry my burden to the only empty couch in what is supposed to be the aftercare area but appears to be used for fucking instead, if the occupants of the other couches and chairs are any indication. This place really is a sham of a club. They are everything that is wrong with the BDSM community. Places like this give the lifestyle a bad name and make it dangerous.

I sit on the couch, resting the woman”s head on the arm. I brush her hair from her face and take in her features. She”s beautiful—everything from her pert little nose to her plush lips and eyelashes so long they kiss her cheeks. I wonder what color her eyes are. I want her to open them so I can see them.

”Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

She stirs at the sound of my voice, then whimpers. I immediately realize that holding her like this will cause her even more pain. I quickly lift her small body and turn her so we are chest to chest, and she”s straddling my lap. Her head rests over my heart, and she lets out a little sigh.

”Come on, my beauty. It”s time to wake up.”

She nuzzles against me for a moment before bolting upright. The sudden movement makes her suck in a breath and cry out.

”Shh. It”s okay. Take it slow.”

She blinks a couple of times before she realizes where she”s at and that she”s sitting on my lap. She quickly uses her arm to cover her small breasts, obviously uncomfortable with her nudity. Which doesn”t make sense since she is obviously stripped bare for a public scene.

”Wh-who are you?”

”My name is Kisten.”

”H-how did I get here?”

”In the club or in my lap?” I ask with a hint of teasing.

A haunted look fills her eyes. Beautiful, ocean-blue eyes. The look speaks of nothing but pain and torment. Instantly, I want to rain down a world of hurt on anyone who has ever dared harm her.

”Your lap. I shouldn”t be here.” She sounds panicked and looks around the club like she”s being hunted by someone.

”You”re okay.” I gently stroke her arm. ”I”ve got you.”

She whimpers. ”I”ve got to go. He”ll be looking for me.”

Another log tossed on the fire of anger burning in my chest. I will avenge this beautiful creature and enjoy every drop of blood the asshole that whipped her bleeds.

”Your boyfriend won”t be hurting you anymore.”

Her eyes flash with fear. ”M-my boyfriend?”

”The whip-yielding prick that whipped you until you passed out.”

She swallows thickly. ”Not my boyfriend.”

Somehow knowing that it was just some random asshole makes the whole thing worse. Is she so innocent to my world that she would allow just anyone to chain her up and whip her? Or is that what she asked for?

”Did he force you into that scene?”

”No. Not him…” she says, looking over her shoulder again.

”Then who?” If the asshole wasn”t the one who forced her into the scene, but someone else did, I have more than one person to make suffer. The devil on my shoulder laughs, more than happy to be along for the ride.

”It doesn”t matter. I have to go.”

She tries to hop off my lap, but her knees give, and if it wasn”t for me catching her, she would”ve fallen. ”Careful, beauty.”

I hold her steady until she finds her footing. She pulls from my arms and winces when the movement irritates the wounds on her back.

”You need first aid. That asshole whipped you bloody.”

She flinches at my words but shakes her head. ”I”m fine. Thanks for your help, but I really must go.”

A brunette wearing a black leather catsuit and knee-high boots strides quickly toward us. Fear flashes in my Beauty”s eyes. The newcomer smiles widely, but it doesn”t reach her eyes. No, those are cold and hard. She wraps a thin blanket around my Beauty”s shoulders as soon as she reaches us.

”I heard you helped my little kitten out of a pickle,” the brunette says with that fake assed smile still painted on her face.

”You really should do a better job of caring for your… kitten.” My blonde beauty flinches. I”m unsure whether it”s because I called her kitten or because I”m scolding the woman who is obviously in charge of her well-being. Either way, I feel bad for distressing her.

”Yes, well. Sometimes, kittens can be a little feral. Sometimes, they need a reminder of their place. Isn”t that right, kitten?”

”Yes, Madame,” she immediately responds.

”Let”s get you back where you belong.”

Before they can walk away, I gently grab her arm. She looks up at me, her blue eyes wide and fearful. ”Are you going to be okay?”

She looks at the brunette and back to me. I can see the indecision in her eyes, along with the defeat. Some part of her wants to tell me she won”t be. I don”t know why, call it instinct, but I have a feeling that this woman is why Hera brought me here.

”I”m fine. Thank you again for your kindness,” she says quietly.

The brunette grabs her other arm none too gently and pulls her along. My blonde beauty looks over her shoulder at me as she”s dragged away. I want to help her from whatever mess she”s in, but tonight is not the night. I need to know what”s happening here before I can do anything to help her.

Hera wouldn”t have sent me here for just one woman. She would”ve killed the whip-wielder and rescued the woman all on her own. Hera might be a sadistic sociopath, but much like me, she doesn”t condone hurting the innocent.

When I can no longer see the two women, I decide it”s time to go. I need to do some research and decide how to proceed from here. I silently vow to save my Beauty from whatever danger she”s in and set her free.

A wave of possessiveness burns through me at the thought of setting her free. I push that feeling away. No matter how beautiful and beguiling she is, I cannot keep her. I would break her, blackening the last piece of my soul. No, I”ll get her out of danger and set her free like all the women before her.

She”s nothing special.

Why does that feel like a lie?