Guillermo’s Coming
GUILLERMO’S COMING
Triumph
“Atlas, do you copy?”
“Affirmative,” his assistant replied.
“Something’s wonky in the Hall of Mirrors. Panel 118 is jammed. I think it’s at the source because I can’t get it to reset from here. Can you check it out?”
“On my way,” he replied over his headset.
Triumph muted his headset and sat back in his chair.
As he leaned back, he felt the chair lose its balance and begin to tip backward.
He barely managed to pitch himself forward in time before both he and the chair toppled ass over teakettle.
Swearing quietly, he made a mental note—for the eighty millionth time—to put in a requisition for a new one, but he knew he’d probably forget again as it was low on his checklist of shit to do.
Somehow, he was able to focus on the work of running the club, yet everything he did was tinged with thoughts of her.
The dance floor, an outdoor area under a rainbow-colored circus tent, was packed, the guest DJ pumping up the crowd. He imagined her dancing, grinding her ass against his dick, her arms up in the air, moving to the music.
The Lion’s Den—the bar you could see but couldn’t seem to get to unless you knew the exact location of the hidden hallway—had only one open velvet couch, and that would likely be taken by the couple currently at the small bar.
He pictured her lounging across the deep-burgundy material, crooking her finger at him to come sit with her.
The Magic House was a bar and showroom combined.
The illusionist performed every hour on the hour with a thirty-minute show, and it was currently filled with a bachelor party of about fifty guys, mostly in their thirties.
He envisioned her walking up the center aisle, drink in hand, headed straight for him.
The aerialist was mid-act, thrilling a small crowd of approximately twenty people with her unconventional apparatus, a Victorian lamppost. He saw her oohing and aahing over the performer’s movements, her eyes alight with excitement.
The comedian, contortionist, and juggler were about to take their respective stages, with nearly every seat filled with excited patrons. He envisioned her sitting in the back row, her knee bouncing with energy as she waited for the lights to dim further.
Couples worked to navigate the Funhouse, the newest addition to the club, complete with the Hall of Mirrors, which Atlas, his assistant, was now leaving after repairing the jammed panel. His brain worked in overdrive as he daydreamed about holding onto her as they navigated the barrel roll.
And, as always, the arcade was packed to the gills with people riding the adult-themed carousel, playing the typical carnival games for prizes, standing in long lines for food-truck fare in the facades along the wall, and being entertained by the clowns with the naughty balloon creations and suggestive behavior.
There, she was everywhere, laughing and having the time of her life. No worries.
Another sold-out night, one in a long line of sold-out nights, and while he knew he needed to be here, he wanted to be with her.
He heard the chirp of the doorbell outside the main control booth. A glance at the camera monitor showed it was Tripoli and Glennon.
He checked his phone. Had he missed her text? Nope, nothing there.
He hit the door lock underneath his desktop to admit them.
His eyes looked down into the aerial act’s room, watching as the barker warmed the crowd up for the pole act.
He trained the camera on each face in the circular room, taking extra care not to miss anyone.
The club was at capacity, as it was most nights, and he couldn’t afford to miss a single photograph.
Not when Guillermo, Cesar, and their goon squad were still out there in the wind.
They shouldn’t be able to get in. His security measures were ironclad since Tilly’s kidnapping at The Library, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.
“How’s it going?” Tripoli asked as he shut the door behind them.
“Slow, but we’ve managed to match every guest to their ID and ticket, with the exception of this room. More than a few doubles here, but I’ve been able to kick out the doubles faster.”
With a last keystroke to upload the final photograph, he turned… and just about swallowed his tongue.
Glennon stood directly behind him, next to Tripoli.
Whatever the hell she was wearing was downright indecent and fucking gorgeous at the exact same time.
The hot-pink silk hugged her body, from its off-the-shoulder sleeves to the shirred material hugging her torso to the miniskirt that fell mid-thigh.
Normally, he preferred deeper jeweled tones, but the color made her shine.
He couldn’t even speak he was so mesmerized.
Tripoli interrupted his train of thought about sweeping her down to the infamous alcove he’d told her about. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Outside?”
Whatever he wanted to say, he didn’t want Glennon to hear. Or he was worried about how he’d react to it in front of her. Either way meant it wasn’t good. Tripoli wasn’t normally so cagey.
He stepped up to Glennon, wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, and gave her a thorough kiss.
Fuck the fact that Tripoli was standing right there.
They were subject to his displays of affection with Francesca on the regular.
“Mmm,” he hummed. “Remind me to be more specific about how fabulous you look when I get back.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Tripoli rolled his eyes and headed out of the booth.
Once outside, Triumph dove right in. “What is it?”
“Before you get all excited, she already knows all of this. It’s why I brought her down before she could text you.
I went up to tell her. Hammerling called.
Cosmos’ guys managed to drive off Guillermo, but not before they’d begun a ‘conversation’ with Glennon’s parents.
They didn’t know where she was, obviously, but somehow, they figured out she’s here.
They filed a flight pattern on their private jet to San Antonio International. ”
“Why not tell us together?”
“Because I was worried how you would react in front of her. I wasn’t sure you’d hold your shit together.”
“Well, as you can see, I am. Fuck!” He ran a hand through his hair. “How did she take it?”
“Unemotionally, which I’m not sure I like, but I don’t know if that’s how she normally is or if she’s packing that shit down in order to not lose it altogether.”
“She doesn’t get rattled easily,” Triumph told him. “Do we know the goon squad’s ETA?”
“Hammerling has run some interference. That guy’s all right after all.”
Tripoli flipped his phone in Triumph’s direction and pressed play on a video. On it, two mechanics and the pilot stood under the nose of the plane. At their feet, they had easily twenty-five separate parts lying on the ground.
“Here comes my favorite part.” Tripoli snickered.
Triumph’s eyes went back to the video, and he barked out a laugh as the two mechanics looked at each other, shrugged, then began to put the engine back together again. If he saw that, it would keep him from getting on that jet.
“Not surprisingly, they’re going to put some parts back wrong.
The pilot is going to taxi, then abort due to ‘mechanical issues.’ By the time they get it back up and running, it’s going to be after eleven, which is the private airport’s curfew.
It’ll open up again at six a.m. Hammerling will try to slow them down a bit—put them down in the queue to take off—but it won’t be much.
We can expect them here by late afternoon.
On the low end, it’s a three-and-a-half-hour flight. If we get lucky, four and a half.”
“Got it. So she’s safe for tonight, but tomorrow…”
“Tomorrow night is a whole other ball game. Cosmos recalled everybody he could from his crew. They’re on their way from Chicago.
Cruz has called in as many of his friends as he can.
We’ll have the crazy cousins hanging out incognito inside the club.
Quint is going to do drive-bys when he can, maybe hang out close by, but he’s on duty tomorrow night. ”
“Tonight, she needs to let loose a little. Tomorrow, I’ll keep her upstairs until this is resolved. She’ll hate it, but she’ll do it.”
“I saw the notification go off and got your text. You showed her the panic room.”
“Yep, she’s good.”
Tripoli paused. “So…” He drew out the word, not finishing the thought.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Here it came.
He played stupid to see what Tripoli’s tactic was going to be. “So?”
“Beautiful woman.”
“Yes, there are a lot of them downstairs tonight.”
Tripoli punched his arm. “Glennon, you fuckstick. You know exactly who I meant.”
Good-naturedly, he grinned. “Yes, I did. And yes, she is.”
“Resilient.”
“Definitely.”
“Submissive.”
Triumph squinted at him. “And you know this because…?”
“Radar.” He paused again. “She’s like you.”
His teeth clacked together, and he swore he felt a tic in his jaw.
It rankled. He had to admit, Tripoli did have a sixth sense for this kind of thing, since he’d trained at The Library to mentor Dominants and screen new submissives.
The man was devoted to his wife, but it didn’t mean he liked the fact that his friend noticed.
“You gonna keep her?” Tripoli asked him.
“She’s not a dog,” Triumph ground out.
“Okay, let me rephrase. Is she gonna keep you?”
“You know, you can be a real piece of fuck when you want to be.”
Tripoli grinned unapologetically. “Can’t help it. I like her. And since you went down to Argentina, you’re different. All that drama and discomfort, yet you’re settled, despite the clusterfuck this is. She’s good for you.”
“I’m worried she’ll run,” Triumph admitted.