Chapter Seven
Cash
Fucking hell.
What the fuck did that little minx put in that pie? Cash swung his legs off the sofa and had to hold his head in his hands. Fuck. It felt like the worst hangover ever without the alcohol part.
Brent and River were also coming awake.
“What the hell?” River groaned, holding his head as well.
“She drugged us, the little fucking she-devil,” Brent roared, but his fury was capped by a raging headache, one Cash was sure they all felt with equal measure.
“It had to have been that pie,” Cash said. Through his foggy brain, he remembered feeling incredibly sleepy directly after eating it.
“Where is she?” they asked collectively.
“Fucking hell, she drew a dick on your forehead,” River said, looking at Cash directly for the first time since they managed to rouse themselves from their unsolicited sedative-induced sleep.
“You have one, too,” Cash said. “Fuck, we all have dicks on our foreheads. And a calling card,” River said, analyzing the tiny text on Brent’s cheek. “Orchid X.”
Orchid X? Why Orchid X?
“We have to find her,” Brent said.
“Why the fuck would she do this to us? We’ve been nothing but fucking nice to her. Why would she draw dicks on our faces?” Cash grumbled as they immediately started to search their house for her, staggering about as they did so and coming up short.
Where did she go?
Not even god would be able to help her when they found her. And oh, they were going to take turns turning her butt a red so brilliant her ass would be seen from the fucking moon.
But first, they had to sober up. Whatever she slipped into her damn pie was meant to knock them out. Given their sluggishness, she’d fed them a fucking lot. But clearly, she’d underestimated their strength and their constitution. Jokes on her. But fuck. When they found her…
She really, truly had drugged them. It hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment thing either. This had been premeditated. She knew she was going to do this from the moment she knew her father had asked them to protect her, and they wouldn’t be able to say no when he called in a favor.
But where the fuck was she, and who the fuck was she with? There were only two ways she could have left their house: someone picked her up, or she took one of their cars. They gulped down copious amounts of water, followed by strong black coffee, then vigorously scrubbed her art off their faces with rubbing alcohol, all while they called up their camera feed to see exactly what Orchid X had been up to.
They discovered the stunning beauty, wearing a long black coat with a spank wish on her ass, had helped herself to one of their Lambos.
Gotcha.
The tracking device gave them a location where the car was parked.
What the hell?
By the time they slipped into their vehicle, with Brent driving, they were 100% completely awake and back to their super-alert selves.
What was she doing here , of all places?
A sex club? And not just an ordinary sex club either. House of Saber was a BDSM sex club, for fuck’s sake.
Something wasn’t right, and nothing made sense. Had she been taken there? By someone else? Cash’s blood roared with fury at the thought of Orchid being in the company of another man.
On a warpath, they entered the club, scouring the first floor for her. They didn’t need camera footage to see where she was. Orchid Rossini would stick out for them like a beacon of light no matter where she was. Okay, maybe no longer a beacon of light but a flaming hellhole for sure.
They went up to the next level and then the one after that. The level she should not be on at all.
But there she was. She looked nothing like their sweet Orchid… the one who cooked for them, played games with them, and looked at them with trust and awe in her eyes. And gratitude, so much fucking gratitude. Being just a good girl all around as she stroked their fucking egos.
No, the woman sitting at the bar, with a blue and green drink in her hand, who had spun her stool around to face the crowd of people, looked nothing like their Orchid, and yet they’d seen through her disguise in a second flat. And what the fuck was she wearing?
Her dark, rich, silky, chocolate-colored hair was covered with a blonde wig that framed her jawline. Her gorgeous hazel eyes were layered with thick, smoky makeup, and the soft cushions of her mouth were painted a crimson red.
They’d lived with her for six days, and they’d never seen her in that much skin. The black top she wore barely covered her breasts, leaving her shoulders, arms, and midriff completely bare. Her pleated leather mini skirt exposed even more skin, which glinted under the chandelier of the plush reception area of the third floor.
Her skirt was so fucking short when she uncrossed her legs and then recrossed them Cash caught a glimpse of her red panties. So did Brent and Cash.
So did every other fucking man in the room. They were just about ready to murder in plain sight when River, who had retrieved his phone from his pocket, stopped them. A heavy frown crossed over his face.
“Check your phone,” he said. Cash and Brent did as they were told.
It was a long text from Phil Albright, one of their highest-profile executives, who had gone off his head at a very public bar, took out his dick with the words I'm a dick printed on it in purple marker, and waved it around. Social media didn’t spare him. But Phil, who had been level-headed enough that they put him into such a prestigious ranking position, refused to explain what sent him over the edge. Until now.
In his text to them, Phil admitted to cheating on his wife with women he met at the rundown bar, ironically where he’d exposed himself. His wife became suspicious and hired a PI or something, and this person caught him out and sent pictures to his wife. Phil begged his wife for forgiveness, and she, together with the PI she hired, told him to humiliate himself at the very bar of his indiscretions, and she might reconsider divorcing him. The PI, or whatever the fuck she was, Phil’s words, was a young woman with blonde hair and a short skirt who went by the name Orchid X.
“Fucking hell,” Cash murmured. Orchid X was their Orchid. She who had shown them what a sweet girl she was. So demure, so shy, so eager to help, so fucking sneaky.
Everything she’d shown them had been a facade.
Jesus fuck, what was this girl doing to them? And they still hadn’t figured out what she was doing in a fucking BDSM club. They were just about ready to drag her out of the place and throw her into a glass cage in the house when a man approached her.
Fuck no.
She smiled up at him, touching his arm, and leaned a little too close into him.
Oh, this girl had met her match in the three of them; she just didn’t know it yet.