Chapter 7
Genevieve
“What the fuck happened?” I demand, stepping into the suite.
In the far corner, Corinne’s arms are wrapped protectively around Carissa, and Liam is crouched with the two women, icing his own blossoming black eye. Ethan, second-in-command of my security team, stands sentry over them, his gun drawn, hanging at his side.
When my phone started buzzing in my bag, I snuck a peek to find ten or so panicked texts from Corinne.
I didn’t hesitate in telling Julien that I needed to leave.
The gracious senator insisted on escorting me back here, but I drew the line at him accompanying me past the foyer.
Now that I’m seeing the extent of the damage done to this room—and my people—I’m glad I chose to come alone.
The limited furniture is upended, tossed around the space haphazardly. The sheets on the bed are torn and bloody, making my blood pressure rise further, and the feathers within the pillows are scattered across the mattress.
This was what I was afraid of.
Center stage in the room, Milton Torres is on his knees, hogtied with rope and held at gunpoint by Marcus, my head of security. His eyes are bloodshot, leaking pathetic tears, squawking behind his makeshift gag.
No one answers my question, so I shift tactics, ordering, “Corinne, can you and Liam take Carissa to my office?”
They all clamor to their feet and glide toward the door. When Corinne starts to move past me, I catch her arm and murmur, “And call Doctor Lukas.”
Ethan ushers them out, following protocol, and when the four of them are gone, I sigh. “What. The. Hell. Happened?”
“Milton here.” Marcus gestures to the man bound on the floor with the barrel of his SIG Sauer P226. “Beat the living shit out of Carissa, disregarded her safe word, and blocked her from the panic buttons. The motherfucker was going to kill her, I’m sure of it.”
“How did he end up like this?”
“She was finally able to get to the panic button beneath the bed frame. Liam happened to be walking down the hall as Ethan rushed here ahead of me. The two of them subdued the maniac, and Liam tied him up while Ethan checked on Carissa.”
I blow out a breath, but just as I’m about to comment, Marcus adds, “I think your boy Liam might have a future in security if he decides he’s ever interested in a career change.”
I knew Liam was good with rope, more than simply dabbling in Shabari, but this is like nothing I’ve seen from him before.
Shaking my head, I move to the center of the room.
Squatting down, my evening gown pools around my legs as I become eye-level with the sniveling man prostrated on the hardwood floor.
“Why?” I get right to the point. The moment I yank out the gag, his muffled sobs cease. He glares at me, though, and if looks could kill, I’d be a dead woman.
Luckily for me, looks can’t kill, but guns can.
Slipping my hand beneath my dress, I pull the small double-action revolver from its holster around my ankle.
When Milton doesn’t reply, simply scowling at me, I press the snub-nose barrel of the revolver to his temple. “You know the rules, so I trust you know what happens when you break them.”
Just as my finger hovers over the trigger, he snarls, “They’re going to take you out.”
“Maybe, but too bad you won’t be alive to see it.”
His wicked smile disappears the moment I pull the trigger.
“Are you staying here tonight?” Corinne asks lowly as Doctor Lukas looks at Liam’s eye in my office now that Carissa is sedated in the clinic down the hall.
My office resides on the twelfth level but takes up half the floor with my adjoining suite, where I entertain my personal clients. Still, it’s the only office on this floor, outside of Corinne’s, though she spends more time in my space than hers.
I chose to make the rest of this floor functional, outfitting it with an exam room and a conference room.
“Yes, I’ll sleep in my playroom.”
“I’ll bring you some clothes.”
I touch her arm, smiling softly at my friend. “Thank you…for everything.”
She nods, muttering, as if lost in thought, “He assaulted her, Gen.”
My chest tightens. I trust the people who work for me to be smart, to trust their guts, but I should’ve stepped in this time and refused to let anyone take Milton as a client. The blame for what happened to Carissa is entirely mine.
As if sensing my inner thoughts, she states, “This wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”
Instead of answering her, I turn and announce, “I need to speak with Marcus. Excuse me.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I’m gone before she can catch me, stepping into the hallway, out of view of the half-glass wall.
Leaning against the plaster, I inhale deeply, then let it out slowly, repeating the process a few times. The pressure of this job isn’t something I anticipated when I became a Madam nearly ten years ago.
I wanted to create a safe environment for people to pay to play. I wanted to develop a place where the workers would be safe and secure, and so would the clients. A place where you’d be free to explore kinks and fetishes that the rest of polite society might balk at or shame you for.
Everyone thinks that I started this business for the secrets. The secret keeper was what they called me, and while it’s true, I do keep secrets, that’s not what motivated me to start this business. It’s simply what keeps me from being arrested.
Perhaps I should’ve opted to go the sex club route, and I suppose I still could, but where would my people go to find jobs? Besides, this is my family, and this building is essentially my home. I won’t abandon them.
“Allison.” Doctor Lukas drags me from my thoughts, and I push off the wall, moving to face him.
“Carissa is still resting peacefully, and I’ll be back to check on her tomorrow.
It doesn’t appear that there was any internal damage done, but I’d like to keep an eye on her.
Liam’s eye will be swollen and sore for several days but should heal with no lasting effects. ”
“Thank you so much, Doctor. I appreciate you coming on such short notice.”
The handsome doctor nods, though there are heavy bags under his eyes that I don’t recall noticing when I saw him in my playroom last.
“It’s my recommendation that she take some time off.”
“Of course,” I agree. As much as she needs.
That night, as I pull the sheets up over my body, I find my mind circling back to Milton. I killed a man tonight.
Another one.
And I felt nothing but cold indifference.
I wish I could claim that the blood on my hands has seeped through my skin and into my soul, but it hasn’t.
I regret nothing. I feel nothing. I remember everything.
Closing my eyes, I block out the sight of Carissa’s terror-stricken face and the smattering of wounds covering her skin.
I force myself to go somewhere lighter, happier, somewhere like the gala…
speaking with Ford. That’s where I beg my mind to hover.
And it works, for a while anyway, until Milton’s last words slip into my mind.
Something tells me that his statement carried some weight, that he wasn’t just using his dying breath to attempt to scare me.
They’re going to take you out.
Not if I get them first.