Chapter 21 #2
Alex, Peter, and Simon were grinning, and Bear slapped Drake on the back. Drake had shared what had happened with Ray—and they’d been concerned.
He had been, as well. Downstairs, he needed her in his arms before he could relax. She really was here. With him.
Now for her young friend…
He raised his voice. “I fear we have a problem to deal with tonight.” Once he had everyone’s attention, he explained, then Ray read Marisol’s text aloud.
“Call the police?” Bear asked.
After a moment, Peter shook his head. “We have no knowledge of an actual crime being committed. Even worse, the club rents a different house each month, and we don’t know where tonight’s party will be.”
Ray’s mouth dropped open. “You really are investigating.”
“Well, yeah.” Hope bumped Ray’s shoulder, then her smile faded. “We started with the list of submissives who attended the university. From them, we got more people to talk with.”
“It’s a frakking mess, Ray.” MacKensie pulled Ray over to the table to show her all the papers and explain what they’d uncovered.
Drake’s mouth tightened. There was not only a pattern of violence and abuse.
But the perpetrators were clever. Victims were drugged on ecstasy, reducing inhibitions.
When they wised up to the gang rape, they were given another drug.
Rohypnol or ketamine to destroy their ability to fight back.
To fragment their memories. Due to the ecstasy, most of them wondered if they’d asked for what had been done to them.
Over the years, the very few who’d reported to the police had learned there wasn’t enough evidence. Traumatized, some dropped out of school. Some left the area, even the country. Too often here in the US, a woman wasn’t believed. Or law enforcement would act as if she’d probably asked for it.
Unacceptable.
Drake’s jaw tightened. How could a man consider himself honorable if he didn’t protect those who couldn’t defend themselves?
At the table, MacKensie was explaining what they’d learned about what happened at some of the BDSM club parties. At the end, most left, but a few Doms would stay to clean up and close down the house. None of the regular members thought it was unusual since the equipment belonged to the Dominants.
The targeted submissives were always new to BDSM and the club. They only knew the so-called Dom who brought them. There were several “recruiters.” The past members said there were often newbies getting drunk and becoming overly affectionate with the Doms. No one paid much attention.
But they did report Blaize was often there.
Drake handed Ray a glass of juice and put an arm around her. “My friends. How are we going to find Marisol? Anyone have an idea?”
They all shook their heads.
“Not all of the club members are criminals. Unfortunately, as a result of everyone wearing masks, we’re not positive who the bad ones are.” Peter grimaced. “We wouldn’t even be sure of Blaize except he has a distinctive scar bisecting one eyebrow—and it shows above a mask.”
The knowledge still stung. Blaize was in this up to his neck.
Ray frowned. “I don’t remember anyone having a scar.” Drake could see she was thinking she might have been wrong.
“You wouldn’t have seen it. The scar happened around three years ago,” Alex said. “Whips can be dangerous if a Dom loses focus.”
“He cut himself?” Ray snorted.
Drake grinned at Alex.
“Frak,” MacKensie said as she pocketed her phone. She’d been calling the few people who they knew were current members. “No one is answering.”
“They probably don’t have their phones with them. Crypto made me leave my cell in the car that night,” Ray said. “Club rules.”
Unsurprising. Most BDSM clubs and groups were vigorous about privacy.
“What about Blaize?” Hope tapped her chin. “Didn’t the women say he usually arrives late—near the end of the party?”
Drake tilted his head. “Perhaps we could follow him to the party location?”
“Tailing a car at night is more difficult than you’d think,” Simon said. “And Seattle has insane traffic patterns.”
“He might not be planning to go,” MacKensie pointed out. “People said his attendance at the parties is sporadic.”
“Wait…” Leaning against Drake, Ray fidgeted with her rings before she looked up at him. “Calling Blaize wouldn’t work—he’d be super suspicious—but if I saw him, I bet I could get him to take me.”
Drake frowned. Why did she sound so certain? “As it happens, I know where he’ll be”—he glanced at his watch—“right about now. Now explain this plan to me.”
“He, ah… At the convention.” Her voice carried brittle anger. “He…he asked me out on a date.” She shook her head. “I turned him down…but what if he thought I changed my mind?”
Turned him down. Of course she had. Ray’s loyalty was as fierce as a lioness with a cub. Drake pulled her closer.
She pulled in a breath. “So, if I accidentally ran into him, he might take me to the party.”
Merde. Appalled, Drake gripped her shoulders, forcing her to face him. “Absolutely not.”
This is not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Drake was right to be worried.
Downstairs in the lobby of Drake’s building, Ray sat on one of the long benches with Peter keeping her company.
Simon and Rona were having drinks at the Pink Door and watching Blaize. It made her feel weird. If Marisol hadn’t canceled, they’d have been at the same restaurant with Blaize.
Waiting for a signal and location, Drake was in one car nearby, and he planned to pick up Simon if possible. In another vehicle were Alex and Bear.
If Blaize took Ray with him, both cars would follow. Peter would remain at the condo to send the cops and/or provide bail money if things went wrong.
No one could agree on exactly what to do.
As Simon had said, the situation was fluid.
They might call the police if needed. Admittedly, at a party, it might be difficult to prove who drugged a drink.
Also, for this kind of crime, the victims were usually the ones to suffer.
A nursing student sure didn’t need her reputation destroyed.
So the plan was she’d go with Blaize and hopefully find Marisol. The guys would provide backup if she had trouble getting Marisol out. After that, the Doms might stay and…chat…with the club members and or the offenders if it was obvious who they were.
If nothing else, Blaize was going to be in a world of hurt.
But first, she had to get Blaize to take her to the party. Would he still be interested in her? What if he had other plans for tonight?
No, no, it would work. We’re coming, Marisol. Hang in there.
She was as prepared as the others could make her. All their phones were connected with an app to allow the others to track her cell…as if she were a teenager.
Ray carried the tiny cell phone Simon insisted Rona carry for a backup. From the rueful smile on Rona’s face, Doms who ran security companies were excessively overprotective.
Drake had called a private investigator he knew who’d sped over to drop off the mini video and audio camstick Ray had tucked into the jacket she wore.
Her jeans pocket held her wallet and keys. Down in her sock was a lockpick set from MacKensie. The vet always carried a set. Ray shook her head, remembering Mac’s solemn voice last Monday as she told everyone, “Locked doors are bad things.”
Everyone had their own traumas, didn’t they?
As Ray sat with Peter in the lobby, the minutes ticked by.
“For heaven’s sake, how long does it take to eat a meal?” Ray whined under her breath. “It’s after 10 o’clock.”
Peter patted her arm. “Blaize likes to hear himself talk.”
Finally, her phone dinged with a text from Simon. “He’s walking out now.”
She rose.
Peter gave her a nod and disappeared. It wouldn’t do to have Blaize see him.
But she was on her own now. Gods. Fear shook her, and she stuffed it down. I can do this. For Marisol and all the others.
Giving herself a firm nod, she crossed the lobby and spotted Blaize strolling down the sidewalk under the building lights.
Girl, find your angry face. Hauling anger up from her gut, she stomped past the guard and shoved the door open with all her might. “Goddamn fucking stupid Dom,” she spat out in a loud voice.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Blaize pause. Pretending she hadn’t seen him, she turned and kicked the building. “I hate you.”
“Sounds as if you’re having a very bad night,” Blaize said from behind her.
Letting out a squeal, she jumped back and put a hand on her chest. “You—oh, it’s you. You scared me to death.”
“Sorry, subbie-girl.” He set a hand on her shoulder, totally infringing on her personal space.
Don’t cringe.
He glanced between the huge building and her. “Did you and Drake have a fight?”
“He’s a complete butthead, thinks he’s all that, and I’m done with his shit. Just done.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, pressing them upward—and he definitely noticed.
She summoned her cutest pout. “He can keep his stupid club too. I’m never going back there again.”
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry you’re unhappy.” He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit. Clean shaven with his light brown hair carefully swept off his brow, he was a good looking man…and utterly gave her the creeps. “Let me make it better.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Now how would you do that?”
He chuckled. “If you don’t like Chains, you should go to a BDSM play party with me. You’d have fun. Promise.”
It took everything she had not to run. To tilt her head and look intrigued. “A party? Really?” She frowned slightly. “I dunno. I went to one years ago, and it was bad, and afterward, I had nightmares forevah.”
His eyes took on a cruel gleam. His charming smile turned almost sharklike before his mask slipped back in place. He savored the knowledge he’d given her nightmares. “Now that’s just sad. But this one will be fun.”
Taking her hand, he pulled her to his side. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”