Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

CLARISSA

C larissa sat in the passenger seat of her SUV with its tinted windows while her bodyguard, Hank Schaffer, slowed as they approached a manned gatehouse. A chain-link fence with barbed wire at the top surrounded several dozen acres that housed four warehouses: one for The Covenant and two for Trident Security. The fourth one on the far side had been converted into penthouse-sized apartments for the three Sawyer brothers and their families. Also on the property were training areas and a helicopter pad for the security business.

Hank rolled down his window and nodded at the armed guard who scanned a small sticker on the SUV's windshield before waving them through the open gate. It was about a quarter of a mile drive through a wooded area before they reached the parking lot. Instead of finding a spot, Hank pulled up to the bottom of the stairs leading up to the entrance to the club and stopped, putting the vehicle into Park. He exited and rounded the front of the SUV before opening Clarissa's door and offering his hand to help her climb out.

The parking lot was almost full, which wasn't surprising since the Slot Scene Spectacular would start in about forty-five minutes. Usually, Clarissa would run "fashionably late," but not on a night like this. Showing up late while a club full of Doms and subs were waiting for her so they could start the event wouldn't go over well. It would result in her being publicly punished in front of all of them by Ian Sawyer, the head Dom, and probably, again, by whichever Dom she ended up with for the night. Not how she would like to start the evening.

"I appreciate you driving me tonight, Hank," she said while trying to calm her nerves. She had no clue why she was suddenly so anxious about the event—maybe it was just the threat of the unknown. Who would she be paired with, and what types of play would they end up with when the disc dropped into a slot? She was only allowed to select three types on her red limit list—things she refused to participate in—that would result in a do-over. The Dom she was paired with would also be given three red limits. Scat, body fluids, and needles were on her no-fucking-way list, but they were also not allowed at The Covenant. She was also terrified of breath play because it restricted the airflow to her lungs, cage play due to a moderate case of claustrophobia, and fire play—or anything else that had the potential to scar her permanently. There were a few other kinks that she preferred not to do, but three was the limit tonight. Everyone's kink was different, so some things she didn't like, others might be into, and vice versa. Landon had been one of the few Doms she'd ever met whose limit list had matched hers to a T.

No. She'd promised herself she wouldn't think of him tonight, but whenever she was in a club, it was hard not to. Their scenes had always brought them closer together—more than anything else in their lives. They both craved the power play of the lifestyle. His dominance and her submissiveness had been like yin and yang—two halves of a whole. She hated that she still missed him, even though he'd cheated on her.

Despite being an efficient and sometimes strict Dom, Landon had a romantic side to him that pulled at her heartstrings. He was the kind of man who would leave little love notes for her around the house—in her coffee cup, between the pages of a script she was reading, or taped to the steering wheel of her sports car in the garage. At least once a month, when she wouldn't expect it, he would send her flowers or her favorite candy that she rarely treated herself to. Hell, the man even loved to go clothes shopping with her when she needed a spectacular dress for an event. However, since he would never say something looked awful on her, he hadn't been much help, at least at the beginning of their relationship. But she'd learned his "tells" over their time together—his eyebrows arching, his head not tilting to the side, and him standing and gesturing for her to spin around again when she put on a dress he loved. Ninety-nine percent of the time, she would love it too and end up buying it.

Ugh. Stop thinking of that two-timing rat bastard!

Hank smiled at her. "No worries, Clarissa. I'll park on the other side of the lot. Call me when you're ready to leave. I've got a new book to read, and I have to check in with Maura. The girls are at that slumber party tonight, so I don't need to rush home."

"Tell Maura I'm sending her and her mom lots of positive vibes," she replied, turning toward the staircase. She preferred to have her bodyguard drive her to and from BDSM clubs in case the subspace she hoped to achieve sometimes lingered and took her attention off the road. She had thought he wouldn't be available tonight because his wife was in New York with her mother, who'd broken her arm earlier in the week. When surgery was needed to repair it, her daughter hopped on the next flight out of Tampa. Since the couple had twin twelve-year-old girls, Hank had stayed behind. With his daughters at a sleepover party that night, he'd offered to bring Clarissa to the club while he drove her and Luna around when they'd gone shopping earlier. The man had worked for Clarissa for over seven years, and she loved him like a younger brother. Over time, his family had become her family. She'd even spent the past Thanksgiving with them when her own sister, her husband, and their kids had come down with the flu. Some celebrities might balk at spending time with an employee's family, but Clarissa happily accepted the invitation and warm welcome.

Wrapping her lightweight coat tighter around her body, she approached and climbed the stairs to the club's main entrance. Her high heels clicked with each step she took. The well-guarded and secure compound afforded the club members privacy. Security measures had been doubled after Remi's and Gray's ex-girlfriend broke a non-disclosure agreement and revealed they were club members, along with Abigail, as revenge for them dumping her. The press and lookie-loos had descended on the compound by the dozens for several weeks but hadn't gained access due to the existing security at the time. However, the owners decided to make it even more difficult for outsiders to catch a glimpse of anyone entering the club. The fence line had been extended further down the road which led to the two businesses and living quarters, with the gatehouse moved to its current location. More sensors and cameras had been added in the surrounding woods, and several armed guards with trained canines now roamed the compound.

At the top of the stairs, one of the club's security guards stood sentry and opened the door for her. "Good evening, Ms. James. Welcome."

"Thank you."

She stepped into the lobby, which was buzzing with activity. Members loved the special event nights at the club, even if they couldn't participate for one reason or another, and those were the busiest nights each month.

Clarissa greeted several people as she made her way across the lobby to the huge double wooden doors leading into the club. A massive mountain of a man smiled and opened one of the doors for her. Travis "Tiny" Daultry was a former professional football player and was now head of security for the club and the compound. He'd once told her he acquired his nickname as a joke when he was a baby since he'd weighed thirteen pounds at birth. God bless his mother for having a natural delivery. "Good evening, Ms. James. It's nice to see you again."

"Hi, Tiny. How's your grandmother doing?" she asked as she removed the long, lightweight coat that covered her new fet-wear. The security guard didn't even blink at her risqué outfit, but she wasn't offended at all. In her early forties, Clarissa worked hard to keep her body in shape for the roles she took. Almost all of The Covenant's staff had seen her and the other subs wearing far less clothing or nothing at all during their tenures there, so they were used to it.

The big man's grin broadened. "She's doing well as always. Can you believe she wants me to take her skydiving for her ninetieth birthday this April?"

"Really? Wow! Good for her."

"Yup. She said that if President George Bush could do it at ninety, so could she."

Clarissa chuckled. "Well, better her than me. You couldn't pay me to jump out of a perfectly good airplane."

"That's what my dad said when she invited him to jump with us. She stuck her tongue at him and called him chicken. I swear, the woman is a hoot."

"She sure sounds like it. I hope I'm just like her when I hit ninety, God willing, but I'll find somewhere safe on the ground to celebrate."

"If I'm still around, too, I'll expect an invite." He gestured for her to enter the club. "Anyway, have a good time tonight. There's still plenty of time before things start—you have about forty minutes."

"Thanks."

After passing the door he held open for her, she turned left and entered the stairwell that led to the locker rooms. She greeted several more people in the women's lounge as she put her coat, purse, and phone in a locker. No electronic devices were allowed inside the club. She then swapped her high heels for ballet slippers, which most subs wore unless they preferred to go barefoot. Since only plastic bottles of water were allowed in the pit, as the downstairs play area was called, and the garden, which was in a new addition upstairs, no one had to worry about broken glass while walking around.

Leaving the locker room, she returned to the bar where numerous Doms and subs milled around, chatting. Several smiled and waved at her, while others greeted her with a hello and small talk. She acknowledged each person, referring to the Doms by the title they preferred, while she eyed her surroundings, trying to spot Luna. Not seeing her, Clarissa moved through the crowd and accidentally bumped into a man, knocking herself off balance. "Oh, excuse me, Sir."

He grasped her arm to steady her. "Hello, Clarissa."

Oh shit. Well, it wasn't as if she didn't know he would be there that night. Mitch Sawyer was one of the owners and managed the club. He was also the one who'd threatened her with a suspension if she ever caused another ruckus like she did at the inaugural Slot Scene Spectacular when Landon had pulled her name out of the bucket. She'd gone into a rage and refused to scene with him. It hadn't been pretty, and she'd regretted her vile words and actions as soon as she'd left the club. Not because of Landon, but all the other members had been subject to and disturbed by her loud ranting.

"Good evening, Master Mitch," she said sweetly, hoping she wasn't about to get a lecture. She'd apologized to him and the other two owners the week following that embarrassing event and endured a public punishment for her behavior. Thankfully, Landon hadn't been there that night. It had been humiliating enough to have every Dom in the club paddle her ass while she'd been strapped to a spanking bench on the small elevated stage in the middle of the pit. She couldn't sit comfortably for almost three days after that, but she deserved it. Subs were supposed to show the utmost respect for Doms in a club, even if it was a cheating ex-husband.

The handsome, dark-haired man, who was only a few years younger than her, gently tugged on her elbow, drew her to the side, away from everyone else, and lowered his voice. "Listen, I know you're signed up for tonight's event. I'm warning you right now—if you cause a scene like last time, you'll be banned from the club. Understand?"

Her jaw dropped, and her head snapped back at his hardened tone and words. Even though he was a Dom through and through, it was rare for Master Mitch to be that stern and serious without a reason. Usually, it was his cousin Ian who made every submissive in the club shiver with apprehension with his unyielding authority as the head Dom. She thought she'd been forgiven for her actions after her public punishment and hadn't had any issues with the club manager since, so she had no idea what had prompted his threat. It was like he almost expected her to cause another scene. "What? I?—"

His eyes narrowed. "Is. That. Understood, subbie?"

"Y-yes, Sir, I understand."

"Good. Remember that in a few minutes."

He released her arm, spun around, and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Clarissa gaping after him. What the hell?

Okay, so she had been out of control at the first Slot Scene Spectacular. But it wasn't really her fault. Landon had been there, and they'd gotten paired up by a stroke of Fate. Seriously. What had the chances been of that happening so soon after their divorce while she'd still been licking her wounds? At least she didn't have to fret about that this time since Landon was in New Mexico. The Covenant's owners had nothing to worry about tonight.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. She still had time to kill before the event started, and when she spotted a few submissive friends standing together, she headed in that direction. As much as she wanted to have a drink right then, she never had alcohol before playtime because sometimes it upset her stomach. The last thing she needed in the middle of a scene was to puke on some poor Dom's shoes.