Chapter 25
25
I nara
I whirl on my boots and, before I can second guess my method of attack, walk into the Roy mansion.
The foyer has a chandelier bigger than Ivan’s car. The place is all marble and gilt woodwork and smells like the lobby of an expensive hotel. There’s no one around, but the laughter of guests drifts to me from the right.
I move deeper into the cavernous space. A part of me wants to run up the massive staircase and start to explore. Rex is hiding any number of things in the endless rooms of this place. Maybe I can find something and slip away before even having to talk to him.
“Can I help you, miss?” A ruddy-faced gentleman appears. He’s in a tuxedo with a red cummerbund that exactly matches the red carpet. Age has turned his thick mustache and the fringe at the back of his head pure white, and he’s half a foot taller than I am with a broad barrel chest. The way he stands, ramrod straight, reminds me that there was military service in his background.
Guess I have to do this the official way. I pull out my badge. “Detective Ramos, here to see Mr. Roy.”
He takes my badge and examines it carefully. “Ah, yes, Detective. He’s been expecting you. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Hamish Hitchcock.”
I nod in lieu of responding. “We spoke on the phone.” This is the man who manages this massive palace. He’s also the one who raised Rex. I scrutinize him but can tell very little information. His face is bright red in contrast with his hair, and his shoes are polished to a mirror shine.
He could be the one who taught Rex how to present a pretty facade to the world. Society loves to trust and follow a tall, white cis man in a nice suit.
As if making a point, Hamish waits silently for my study of him to end. He returns my badge and pivots on his heel. “Right this way.”
He leads me in the direction I do not want to go—straight into the party. I brace myself and stride after him down a marbled hall into a vast ballroom. People—mostly unbelievably gorgeous women—mill about, holding glasses of champagne. Hamish walks down the center, parting the crowd like Moses parted the Red Sea.
I get a few second glances, but everyone is too involved with laughing and having a lovely time to stare at me. Or they’re too polite. I see some faces that look strangely familiar, but everyone’s so glammed up and airbrushed I’d have to get really close to know where I’ve seen them before.
“What is this event?” I ask Hamish.
“An after party for the Miss Olympus beauty pageant. Filming ended yesterday.”
I nearly trip on my boots. “So all these ladies?—”
“Were this year’s contestants. Or past contestants. A few celebrities.”
That explains the familiar faces. I feel even more grubby in my work clothes. Everyone here is camera-ready, and I’m not even wearing makeup.
By the time we reach the end of the room, I feel like we’ve walked miles. And maybe we have.
“Is this the main ballroom?”
“Not at all,” Hamish says in his too-proper-for-the-Queen tone. “This is the third largest. Suitable for more intimate events.”
“Right.” Rich people and their mansions. I will not let this intimidate me. I will not.
It doesn’t help that I can feel Rex watching me. Like a spider studying the fly in its web. He’d have security cameras throughout his house and a secret lair where he could surveil everyone to his heart’s content.
He’s waiting for me. And when I reach him, I don’t know what he’ll do. It makes my heart beat faster.
My shoulders relax when we exit the ballroom by a small door in the corner and enter a dimly lit hallway. Hamish pauses and appraises me in a way that makes me think he made me walk through the party on purpose. He wanted to see whether I’d emerge from the gauntlet of high society with my head held high.
I give him a long stare. Yes, Hamish, I know you think I’m not good enough to be here. Any woman in that ballroom would make a better date for Rex than me. But I don’t want to date Rex. I want to arrest him.
Hamish must pick up on some of my silent conversation because he straightens further and harrumphs.
I wave a hand at the hall. “Shall we?”
He presses a panel and uncovers a hidden keypad. After keying in a code, he leans down and allows a blue light to scan his retinas.
Goosebumps break over my arms. This is some high-level security.
Paranoid much, Rex?
The door yawns open, leading to another dark hallway. “Where is Rex?”
“Mr. Roy is in his office. This part of the mansion is off-limits to most guests.”
I guess I’m not most guests. I roll my lips together so I don’t snark at the snobby butler.
“Alfie will see you the rest of the way.”
“Who’s—”
A little robot exits an alcove and rolls up, not much bigger than a robot vacuum cleaner. “Detective Inara Ramos,” it says in a recorded, gender-neutral voice. “Follow me.” It reverses gears and speeds up the hall.
Hamish closes the door behind me, and the lights dim even further. This isn’t ominous at all.
I follow the little robot, feeling the shadows close in on me. I’m getting close to Rex’s lair. Of course, he has all the security and tech a nerd can dream of.
“Alfie?” I ask to see if the robot responds. It chirps encouragingly. “Does Rex use a lot of robots around the estate?”
“That’s classified, security level nine. Override code: Swallow.”
“Swallow” is my submissive avatar. Rex told Ivan to help me in any way he could. Maybe I have security clearance in his home, too.
I can do all sorts of things with that access.
“Answer: yes,” the robot continues, “Over twelve hundred robots or android functions are enabled around the estate.”
I don’t know what that means, but I know that’s a lot of tech. I try to think of more useful questions. I can’t believe I’m interrogating a robot.
“Is this Rex’s only office?”
“Negative. This is the one in closest proximity to the Blue Ballroom.”
I would ask more, but the robot halts outside a polished wooden door and squeaks out some sort of code. The door opens automatically.
I can hear Rex’s murmur inside. Prickles break out over my skin. I can’t help but be affected by him. I wish I could inoculate myself against him because the more exposure to him I have, the worse it gets.
“Thank you, Alfie.” It never hurts to be polite, even to a robot.
The office is really a wing of several rooms. I wander through an impressive library, following the deep rumble of Rex’s voice.
He’s with someone, but it’s not until I’m just outside his open door that I realize he’s entertaining several people.
A rail-thin woman with dark skin and a wealth of shining black hair stands in the middle of the room. Her dress looks like it’s covered with diamonds, and she’s wearing a tiara high on her proud head. The second guest is in the corner. I can’t see her, but I can hear her bubbling giggles in contrast to the Diamond Diva’s rich and husky laugh.
And then there’s Rex, standing behind his desk, his usual whiskey glass in hand.
He sees me standing at the door and gives me a slow, satisfied smile. He’s movie-star-stunning in his black tux, and I have to wait for my heart to stop flipping in my chest. Giddiness runs like champagne through my veins at the sight of him.
I force myself to step inside the room. Floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound books line the walls, and the Chesterfield chairs in front of the desk and the couch in the corner are all mahogany leather. This is a man cave. And it smells entirely like Rex.
The Diamond Diva turns gracefully and hits me with a dazzling smile. The lady in the corner is equally lovely, a stunning Rubenesque blonde in a ruby-red dress. Both of them smile at me like I’m a cameraman, and their teeth are coated in Vaseline.
“Inara,” Rex greets me like an old friend. “It’s good to see you. Champagne?”
I hold up my badge like it’s armor. “I’m here on business.”
“Ah.” Rex sets down his drink. “Ladies, would you mind giving Detective Ramos and me a bit of privacy?”
They both murmur politely. I step aside as Rex comes out from behind the desk to shake their hands and congratulate them on their pageant win, promising to put his people in touch about their next meeting. The blonde leans forward to give Rex an air kiss, and her movement puts her impressive cleavage on display. My fingers lock into fists despite my best intentions.
To distract myself and take back some control of this meeting, I lean back on Rex’s desk and take a moment to sift through the papers stacked on the blotter. There’s a glossy, brochure-like proposal for a women-run television network, complete with descriptions of the programming. Mostly talk shows and reality shows about models.
I sense the moment Rex closes the door, and we’re alone. The hairs on my arms rise.
I force myself to act casually. “Did I interrupt something?” I smirk. Sorry, not sorry.
“Not at all. We were just finishing up.” He comes close enough to kiss me, and I hold my breath, waiting. I fight my disappointment when he only reaches past me to pick up his drink.
I lift the brochure. “Business proposal?”
“A rather good one. I’m half tempted to invest, even though it will compete with my other networks.”
“Competition is good.” I try to sound offhand, but he’s watching me so closely that my color rises. Can he tell I’m jealous? I can smell the womens’ lingering perfume cloying over top of his woodsy scent.
“Sometimes. I prefer a monopoly.” Now I know he’s not talking about business.
“You would.” I roll my eyes and ignore the happiness that makes my heart weightless. I slap the brochure onto the desk. “So that was the winner of the Miss Olympus pageant?”
He nods. “And the runner-up.”
I suck in a shaky breath. No wonder they were so stunning. I couldn’t compete with them on looks if I tried. “I’ll make this quick so you can go back to seducing the most beautiful women on the East Coast.” My voice wobbles a little.
“Little bird,” he murmurs, and even though he’s a foot away, I can feel his heat as if he’s pressed against me. “I wasn’t seducing them.”
I snort. “Right. It’s a good thing this place is so big. You can host the whole cast for a sleepover.”
He looks amused. He’s enjoying this. “You don’t have to believe me. You can ask them. It was all business. Besides, the runner-up has a thing for Miss Olympus, and both of them have a thing for St. James. If his spies are any good, I’ll bet he sends a helicopter for them within the hour so he can entertain them at Empire for the rest of the night.” He advances on me, and I realize my strategic mistake. With my back to the desk, it’s too easy for him to come close and cut off my escape.
My pulse is wild in my throat.
“As to a sleepover, I’m sure Hamish has offered accommodations to everyone. But the best thing about owning a mansion is keeping your guests well out of your way, in their own separate wing.” He reaches out to toy with a tendril of my hair. “Are you jealous?”
“No.” I lean to the side, dodging him, and he blocks me, trapping me against his desk.
“Tell the truth.” His dark eyes pin me, so I turn my head.
“I’d just hate for you to miss your party,” I lie to the floor.
“Oh, Inara,” He rasps into my ear. “I’m right where I want to be. Fighting with you is better than sex with anyone else.”
Tingles rush over me.
I risk touching him and plant my hands on his chest. He lets me push him back, smirking like he knows I need space to get my thoughts in order.
“Why are you here, little bird?”
Right. I’m here to stop him by sacrificing myself fully. But as much as I want to, I can’t give in too easily. I reach for my anger, the sense of injustice. “I’m here because I saw the news and read the paper. By the time I got to work, three entire murder investigations were shut down.”
His expression shutters. He’s not my mystery dom. He’s Rex Roy, billionaire above the law. “And?”
I knew this wouldn’t be easy. I square off with him to show him I’m here to fight. “You’ve crossed a line.”
* * *
Rex
“You did it.” She bares her teeth at me, her eyes sparking. “You interfered with an investigation.”
Does she know how glorious she looks, challenging me? I want to wrap her hair around my fist, drag her to my dungeon, and punish her for mouthing off to me. I want to gag her, flog her until her back is painted red. Put her on her knees, chain her to the floor, and fuck her mouth whenever the fancy takes me.
Instead, I half turn away to freshen my drink. “Allegedly.”
“What?” She glares at me, chest heaving, fists clenched at her sides.
“You can’t prove anything.” I leave my drink on the bar and return to tug her leather jacket down her arms.
She tries to jerk out of my hold. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to pat you down. I need to see if you’re wearing a wire.”
Color flares in her cheeks, but she nods. I have the pleasure of removing her jacket and molding my hands to her back and front, touching her in all the ways I wanted to this morning. She’s not wearing a bra or panties, and I can smell her sex, pungent as the perfume of a freshly opened flower. I let my hand shackle her ankle for a long moment.
She’s not unaffected. The moment I release her, she stumbles back.
“There,” I say, all innocence. “Now we can speak freely.”
“Oh, can we? Are there no cameras in here?” She makes a show of looking around. “Nothing to record your dark deeds? And here I thought you kept watch of everything.”
“As much as I love watching you on camera, some things are better left to memory.”
“And there he is.” She looks at me coldly, like a cop viewing a suspect. “Rex Roy, heir to a fortune. Playboy. Philanthropist. All those people out there, dancing and partying, they have no idea what you really are.”
She’s trying to wound me, and as much as I love our sparring, this does sting. She’s right. I’ve spent my life alone, surrounded by people who will never understand what I am. I keep my bland billionaire mask fixed in place to bait her. “And what am I, Detective?”
“A serial killer. Someone who thinks he’s above the law and who rigs the justice system like it’s his own personal slot machine.” Red spots appear on her cheeks. “You tampered with evidence.”
“Allegedly.”
She stares at me, her shoulders rising and falling with her rapid breaths. “How could you do this?” Her appeal weakens me. She feels this injustice deeply. The deaths of her parents gave her the gift of great empathy, while the deaths of mine taught me that justice is a fraud.
“You killed three men and framed a random gang. Innocent men will go to jail.”
“Innocent,” I snap. The beast inside me refuses to be baited any longer. “They’re far from innocent.” I loom over her, crowding her as if the physical intimidation will force her to bend. “Shall I show you their rap sheets? The list of hate crimes they’ve carried out or planned?”
She faces me, unmoved. “You tampered with evidence.”
Now that I’m close enough to feel her silky breath on my face, I let my voice drop to a purr. “Evidence that was for your eyes only.”
She closes her eyes. She knows I manipulated this outcome from the very beginning. I almost feel sorry for my little bird, so small and fragile, trapped in thorns she can’t fight. “And you expect to get away with it.”
I pull away to give her space. “I know I will. I’ve done it before.” I don’t like that I can manipulate the justice system so easily. But if it can be manipulated, I might as well be the one doing it.
“How did you do it?”
“A bribe here. Bit of blackmail there.” I glance back to watch her face as I crush any flicker of hope. “Jordan resisted for a long time, but he has a daughter he’d do anything for. And she has a bright career ahead of her because of the scholarships that the Roy Foundation has given her. It’s so easy to manipulate people when they care for someone else.”
Her eyes are full of pain. Does she grieve her beloved justice system? Or the man she hoped her dom would be?
This is who I am. The world says I must be ruthless to survive and thrive, so ruthless I will be.
It’s time we stop pretending.
“Why did you come to me, Inara?”
“You say you fight for justice, but you’re making a mockery of it. I can’t be complicit. Any more than I already am.”
“You’re not complicit.”
“You have taken over my life. Every aspect. I thought about it. . . going to the lead detectives, telling them everything I know. All the surveillance, all the times we met. Everything you said.”
Rage courses through me at the thought of her offering up those precious, private moments to a bunch of career-hardened, cynical cops.
“I won’t let you do that. It would mean the end of your career.”
She gives a half shrug. “I’d sacrifice anything for justice. Even myself.”
“I won’t allow it,” I vow. I’ll do everything to prevent her from wrecking her own life.
“It wouldn’t matter anyway. Who are they going to believe? A crazy lady who thinks she’s psychic? Or you, a paragon of society, wealthy beyond belief, and a major donor to the force.” Her eyes have dulled, lost the spark she had at the beginning of our fight. I’ve crushed something in her. “Congratulations, Rex. You’ve won.”
The triumph rolling through me at her admission dissipates at her lifeless tone. She grabs her jacket and turns on her heel, heading for the door.
I’m across the room before she can take more than a few steps. She reaches for the door handle, and I slap my hand on the sturdy wood, holding it shut. Now I’m the one breathing hard while her face holds no expression.
“Rex, I’m not going to fight anymore. It’s over.”
“It’s not over.” There’s no winning unless I’ve won her. “You’re not leaving.”
She tugs the door handle. “Let me go.”
“Never.” I pull her back, and she gives me only a token struggle. The beast is pleased, but a more careful part of me wonders if she planned this. Did she come here to sever our relationship? Or is she playing another game?
Either way, this ends the same. I wrap my hand around her throat. Her pulse jumps, proof that she’s not as unaffected by me as she’d like. “You forget, little bird. You don’t have a choice.” I draw her deeper into my office. “ You came to me . Remember what I told you?” I seize her hands, pinning them behind her. She sucks in breath but doesn’t fight me. If anything, she leans closer, stilling as I rasp in her ear, “You are mine. It’s time I show you what that means.”
* * *
Inara
I feel the smooth bracelets around my wrists before I hear the click. Handcuffs. I know exactly what they feel like. These are different, though, padded with leather to make it easier on my wrists. I test their give and find them no less sturdy than department issued ones.
His hand clamps on the nape of my neck. My nipples harden under the soft jersey of the dress. As quickly as he subdues a victim, he’s got the upper hand. I could fight until my skin chafes and I fall at his feet, but for what? Years of practiced kink work against me. The bondage sends me to a place of calm.
Or maybe I just want to give in to him.
His hand tightens around my arm, keeping me close, keeping me safe. He guides me forward, holding me in case I stumble. I’m lightheaded and easy to maneuver.
It’s as if everything in my life has been leading to this moment. All the pain and trauma have driven me into this man’s arms. He has all the control, and I have none, and I can finally, finally rest.
The corner of his office holds an ancient oil painting of a monstrous figure with black, bat-like wings. He tilts the frame until there’s a click and soft whir, and the bookshelf slides away to reveal a hidden door. Just like in the private room at Empire, he’s rigged this place with all the secret passageways he wants.
The room we enter is dark, but a few paces inside and hidden sensors trigger a cascade of soft lights. I pant like I’ve run up the mansion’s grand flight of stairs.
This place is a cavernous play space lit by wall sconces and glowing chandeliers. Every few feet, there’s a sturdy spanking bench or St. Andrew’s Cross. The rows of whips and floggers on the wall are twenty times what’s available to Rex at the club. There are wardrobe-sized cases and chests of drawers lining the walls, which probably hold more toys or implements of torture.
“Welcome to my dungeon.” His fingers tighten on my strained shoulders, holding me fast. He’s got me now.
And I know there’s no escape.