Chapter 22 #2
This was what he got for letting his cousin into his BDSM club. Margo had sworn that she’d follow the rules, show him respect, and that she’d be an obedient, quiet sub.
All. Fucking. Lies.
He swore if the idea of it didn’t make him break out in hives, he’d have put her over his knee a long time ago.
Although he wasn’t in charge at the moment, was he?
Perhaps he should let Church know about her disrespect.
“None of that is important,” she said frantically. “It’s Lemon! She’s in the green room.”
He shot a look at Rock.
Fuck.
Lemon was banned from private rooms. They weren’t as closely monitored as the public areas. Unattached subs like Lemon weren’t allowed in those rooms without the permission of a monitor, himself, or Quaid.
So how the fuck had Lemon, who struggled to tell anyone no, been allowed into that room?
He jumped up and rushed to the green room with Rock next to him. Church seemed to appear out of nowhere.
“What’s going on?” Church asked as Quaid also ran up.
“Lemon,” he bit out.
They rushed into the green room to find the tiny brunette tied to a St. Andrew’s Cross. There were several red marks on her bare back.
Only he and Quaid knew about Lemon’s history. And he wasn’t sure that they knew all of it.
Just what she’d shared.
He’d been reluctant to let her become a member. But the thought of where she might go to search out what she needed . . . who she might trust . . . yeah, it had kept him awake at night .
So he’d allowed her in on the provision that she was to be fucking supervised at all fucking times.
Whoever was meant to be watching her was in trouble.
“Stop,” he said firmly, stepping forward.
The Dom holding the whip turned to him with a scowl. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing interrupting my fucking scene? I’ll have you kicked out of here!”
“Really,” Slade drawled. “You’re going to have me kicked out of my own fucking club, are you?”
Church and Margo rushed to help Lemon who was shaking. Probably from a mix of adrenaline and shock.
“Who the fuck is this douchebag?” Slade demanded.
“Roger St. Clare,” Quaid replied. “Of those St. Clares.”
“Christ.” The St. Clares were almost as rich as the Churchill family. But they were complete dicks. He now had a vague recollection of Roger from school. He’d been several years younger, though. “How did he get in?”
“My money is as good as anyone else’s,” St. Clare boasted. “Better, actually.”
Slade groaned. What a complete dick. “Rock will escort you. Quaid, look into who let him in.”
Quaid was on his phone and he winced. “He joined two months ago. About the same time as . . .”
As they’d lost Indie. Well, that they’d pushed her out of their lives.
Things had been . . . bad back then and he’d trusted other people with the club.
Not Church, he’d been away at the time with the twins.
No, they’d let Alaistair help with their workload.
He wasn’t a bad guy, but he didn’t have a good mind for managing a BDSM club.
“Want me to talk to Alaistair?” Quaid asked.
Slade nodded. “Just tell him that the St. Clares aren’t welcome here. How the fuck have I not noticed you in here before now? I thought I would have seen your name on the list of new members.”
Roger shifted his weight from foot to foot. “You can’t demand that sort of information from me. ”
“Jesus, what do you think this is? A police station?” Slade asked. “You don’t have fucking rights.”
“He belongs in a police station,” Margo muttered.
Slade shot her a stern look. He was grateful that she’d come and gotten them, but that did not mean that he needed her interference right now.
Lemon was leaning against her, looking dazed and confused.
“I don’t think he’s been here much,” Margo added. “I would have noticed him.”
“I’ve been here twice and both times have been terrible experiences. That will reflect in my rating of this place,” Roger told them.
Motherfucker.
He was going to have to go through and vet everyone that Alaistair had let in.
Speaking of . . . Alaistair rushed into the room, his face pale. “Lemon! Where did you go?” That answered the question of who was supposed to be minding her right now.
“Obviously, she came here,” Margo said dryly.
“Shit. Sorry. She ran off on me,” Alaistair explained.
“You’re supposed to be looking after her,” Church barked. “That means she stays with you at all times.”
Lemon let out a small squeak of fear and to his surprise, Church lifted her into his arms.
“She was your first duty and you failed her,” Church said darkly. “I’m putting you on probation. No more monitoring, no more watching over the subs.”
“Uh, you can’t do that!” Alaistair protested, glancing over at Slade as if he expected him to tell Church off. He was turning red. With embarrassment or anger?
Slade wasn’t sure. He’d known and trusted Alaistair for years. However, maybe he’d made two errors in judgment.
Church was in the right and it seemed like he had things well under control.
Which freed Slade up to deal with St. Clare .
“Actually, he can,” Slade said. “Church is in charge of Club Slade for the foreseeable future.”
“Fine, then you can’t kick me out,” Roger said, turning to Church. “I’m sure that James is much more civilized and understanding about these things. After all, she didn’t say her safeword. In fact she indicated that she wanted this. I still don’t understand what the problem is.”
“All unattached subs, those with pink bands, are only allowed to play with you if you negotiate with the Dom looking after them for the night,” Church informed him coolly. “That’s a fundamental rule of the club and one that you broke.”
“Well, she broke it too!” Roger protested. “You cannot kick me out!
Slade had had enough of this up-himself bastard.
“Just did, douchebag,” Slade told him. “Rock.”
Rock walked over to St. Clare who gave him a nervous glance and stepped away. Guys like Roger relied on their money in order to intimidate others. But he was soft and a coward.
“You’re not kicking me out, I’m leaving! This club is shit anyway.”
Rock followed Roger out as Slade turned to Church who still held Lemon.
She was staring up at him in wonder.
Hmm.
“Lemon, look at me.” Slade knew he had to be firm with her or she wouldn’t pay him any attention.
Her gaze shot to his. Her real name wasn’t Lemon, of course. But she couldn’t stand to hear anyone call her by her name anymore. He’d called her that once and had to guide her out of a panic attack and wrap her up tight until she’d fallen asleep.
She’d slept in his office for two hours.
“Lemon, you can’t play with Doms unless your minder says so. Understand? That’s a rule.”
Lemon whispered something to Margo .
“She wants to know if you’re going to punish her?” Margo asked.
The trouble was that Lemon always thought she needed punishment. That’s why she wanted to be hurt.
As penance.
“You’ll be punished but I’ll do it,” Church said while Margo looked at Lemon in worry.
“I don’t think—” Margo started to say.
“Margo, Church has this,” Slade told her. “Where is Pete?”
Pete was her Dom. But he never seemed to have control over her. Margo was a wildcard.
“You know . . . I’ll just go find him.” Margo left hurriedly.
Church sighed. “I’ll send someone after her. I’m starting to think that you might have stitched me up, leaving me in charge of this place.”
“Welcome to the madhouse.”