Chapter 7

Colette whimpered as she peeled the bandage off.

Blood had soaked through the large rectangle of gauze taped to her left side. The long cut sliced from her lower rib on the front, curved around her side at an angle, and ended just above her hip.

She'd used tape and glue to close the wound, but she hadn't done a good job, thanks to the angle.

Landon tossing her around hadn't helped, and by the time she finally made it back to the hotel the gauze was soaked. Luckily she'd covered the gauze in a layer of plastic-backed bandages, so her white dress had survived.

The bathroom counter was covered in boxes of medical supplies—large boxes of bandages, ointment, and sterilizing wipes—as well as several small, unopened packs of super glue.

She stood sideways to the mirror, raising her arm so she could see the entire length of the cut. It was only open in a few places, with about half of it still glued shut.

Wetting a pad from a carton of sterile water, she started cleaning the wound. Dissolving and wiping away dried blood caused fresh blood to flow. With a curse she grabbed the black makeup towel and tucked it into the band of her underwear to catch the dripping blood.

She was sweating despite standing mostly naked in a cool tiled bathroom by the time the wound was cleaned, dried, and had stopped bleeding enough for her to redo the glue.

Reaching across her body with her right hand, she pinched the skin together, then placed a thick line of fast-drying super glue along the cut. It stung, and she gritted her teeth. She counted to thirty, then counted again, needing the glue to hold.

She'd have to make sure Landon never saw this.

Or you could tell him. Show him what Damien did to you. Let him see that you barely escaped.

She snorted at her own thoughts. No, she'd give Landon and Interpol enough information to go after Damien and his organization, but she was going to keep herself out of the story as much as possible. She'd carefully imply that Damien was after her because she'd stolen something from him—all without actually admitting to anything, of course.

She wouldn't tell Landon what Damien had done to her…or what he'd threatened to do once he got his hands on her again.

* * *

Colette stared out the car window. "No." She sat back in her seat.

Landon, seated beside her, twisted to face her, his knee brushing hers.

It was the first physical contact they'd had since yesterday, and his touch tingled through her.

"What do you mean ‘no'?"

"I mean no. I'm not getting out of the car."

"Missus, you okay?" The cab driver met her gaze in the mirror.

"I'm fine, but I'll be staying in the car, thank you."

Landon snorted.

Colette pointed to the window. More specifically the neighborhood outside the window. "This looks like a place one goes to get murdered."

"Haringey's not as bad as all," the driver said, "but you're welcome to stay and I'll drop you somewhere else."

"We'll be getting out here," Landon said, opening his door.

Colette rolled down the window. "You can get out. I'll find a nice hotel."

Landon closed the boot. He had a duffle bag on his shoulder, his small roller bag in one hand…

And her larger suitcase in the other.

He hefted her bag with one arm. Impressive, it was heavy. "Get out or don't. Either way, I'm taking this."

Shit. There was nothing incriminating in her luggage, but that suitcase also contained everything she had right now. She didn't dare go back to either of her apartments to get clothes, since Damien might have people watching her residences.

She could purchase new items, but having to get a whole new wardrobe, shoes, toiletries… Ugh.

Colette opened the car door.

"Missus, you sure?"

"Yes, thank you."

She stepped out of the cab, closing the door behind her. She was always going to have gotten out of that cab—Landon was, after all, her best protection from Damien—but this location was not inspiring, so her reservations were real.

Though they were in London, they were in an industrial area, and she was rather surprised there were any areas like this left in a city where real estate was at a premium. Directly in front of them was a tall fence made of corrugated metal, a rusty sign proclaiming it a scrap yard. She could just see the top of a building beyond the wall in the dusty gold light of later afternoon.

They were in the Haringey Warehouse District—she'd heard Landon say that to the driver at the airport. Since Landon hadn't been talking to her, she'd read up on the area on her phone on the drive. Once an industrial center, the area was now known for communal-style living in converted warehouses, and fighting redevelopment. Residents were battling to keep the area from being gentrified into oblivion.

The area where they'd been dropped off looked like it was still fully industrial. There was one three-story older brick warehouse to her left, but its windows were all broken, and there was accumulated debris on the top step that made her think no one had opened that door in a long time. The other buildings she could see looked like they'd been retrofitted at some point, because while there were hints of old red-brick walls, there was plenty of concrete and metal too.

Landon hauled their bags onto the footpath. Colette followed him, turning to watch as the cab drove away.

"We'll give it a minute," he said.

"Before you have me shredded by a scrap metal shredder?" Colette rapped on the metal fence.

Landon looked over his shoulder, then back to her. "You have no idea what happens at a metal recycling facility, do you?"

"No."

"Were you imagining…giant paper shredders, but for sheets of metal?"

"Wouldn't that make it easier to deal with?" She cocked her head and blinked with exaggerated slowness.

He almost smiled. "No, it would make dangerous metal confetti."

It felt good to tease and banter, but before she could continue the volley, Landon looked at his watch and nodded.

"Okay, let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"To the club."

Maybe this was tradecraft, and now a different cab would pick them up and take them to the real location. Her hope for that faded when Landon started walking, rolling both their bags.

The scrap metal facility sat on the corner of the block, so they walked along its fence before turning the corner. The height of the fence had blocked the view, which was too bad, because if Colette had seen this street her mind wouldn't have gone to crime documentaries and horror films.

The narrow road was lined with three- and four-story brick warehouses, that showed their age, but weren't run down or derelict. It looked like an area where one would find metal-work artist studios, microbreweries or distilleries, and people gathering to plan a revolution.

A few of the warehouses stood alone, but most were like row houses and shared a wall with either of their neighbors. Tiny strips of dirt, most barely a meter wide, along the front of the buildings boasted black iron fenced with brick posts, as if sometime in the past there'd been hope of these being proper little gardens.

Half way down the short block, one warehouse stood out, like a cut and polished stone among a scattering of raw gems. It was three stories, with evenly-spaced, multi-pane windows. The upper cross piece of each window frame was white stone, while the lower frame was dark-gray brick. The stone steps up to the front door were clean and tidy, the brick aged and weathered, but not spotted with patches of black from soot or grime.

The door, set off to the right side rather than in the center, was surrounded by a casing made of the same white stone that topped each window. The peaked pediment had a ledge running along it, and that small lip of stone helped draw the eye away from, if not exactly hide, the security cameras mounted above the door.

"Why couldn't we get dropped off here?" Colette asked as they, predictably, stopped in front of the nice warehouse.

"Best to be cautious."

"But isn't it…obvious?" she asked slowly.

The bottom floor was elevated above street level. Landon started up the stairs and Colette trailed after him. "Isn't what obvious?"

She stuck her hands in her pockets, hiding her nervously clenched hands as she paused on the landing, looking back over her shoulder. "Pretend someone is following us."

"According to you, someone is."

"If the people looking for me managed to find our cab and learn where we were dropped off, it wouldn't be hard for them to figure out this is where we are." She pointed at the building. "It's the only location that looks habitable."

"Only because you didn't go the other way." He pointed back up the street the way they'd come. "If we'd turned right rather than left, we'd see three or four residential buildings, a hostel, and a few small houses that used to be for factory foremen."

"Ah."

Landon set down the suitcases and leaned against door frame. "Do you think I'm bad at my job?"

"No, I think you're good at your job. It's why I came to you."

"Then you don't trust me."

"I do," she lied. "It's why I came to you."

It wasn't a full lie, because she did trust him.

To a point.

But he was the law, and she was a criminal, and at the end of the day they would both be loyal to their respective side of that line.

"You say you trust me, but think I'd bring you someplace where it would be easy to find you." Landon arched a brow. "Either you think I'm stupid, don't trust me, or both."

Colette blinked, shocked that he'd backed her into a verbal corner. "I…" She blew out a breath. "I'm sorry. It's been a long week."

That was something normal people said, right? People with traditional jobs said things like that on a Friday afternoon, then squandered their meager free time doing chores.

Landon's face was shadowed in the gold light of late afternoon. "The reason I had the cab drop us off around the corner has nothing to do with protecting you, and everything to do with protecting Club Alibi."

She raised a brow. "Protecting it from…?"

"Becoming a tourist destination. People love, and tip Black Cabbies well, for information on locals-only and secret clubs."

"Ah, you don't want it to be like Torture Garden."

Landon's brows rose, but as his mouth opened to say something the door opened.

Colette jumped, her nails digging into her palms.

"The lady knows her clubs." The man standing in the open doorway wore loose pants and an unbuttoned dress shirt that left most of his chest exposed. His hair was the gold-toned light brown of someone who'd probably been blond as a child. He had a narrow nose and high cheekbones. He was partially backlit by the lights in the club, and his eyes appeared to be the same golden-brown of his hair, but were probably hazel.

"Torture Garden is hardly an underground secret any more, though it always has amazing performances." Colette automatically made the words teasing and flirty, drawing out the last word suggestively.

"And the queue is always mad." The man returned her smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Her instincts were screaming at her that whoever he was, he was dangerous.

"Are you going to move so we can come in, or keep posing?" Landon grumbled.

The man's smile turned into a smirk and he stepped back.

Landon motioned for her to enter first. Taking one hand from her pocket, while leaving the other one in place so she could hide her nervous fist, Colette walked past Landon, into the warehouse.

"Welcome to Club Alibi," the golden-eyed man said. "Are you going to be a good girl?"

* * *

Landon snarled silently at Andrei, who was standing way too fucking close to Colette.

Landon put his hand on her shoulder and she jerked in surprise, his touch seeming to break the freeze Andrei's words had put her in.

"Stop it," Landon told Andrei, using his hold on Colette's shoulder to tug her away from him. "Get the bags."

"I don't know that he should stop," a new voice said.

Just fucking great.

The last thing Landon needed right now was Rolf.

The senior Interpol agent appeared from the end of the long hall that ran the length of the building. Doors on the left had once led to the factory floor, while the iron spiral staircase at the end of hall—tucked into the back corner of the building—led up to the higher floors.

The hall itself was a mix of elegant and industrial. The brick wall on the right was actually the exterior wall. The exposed brick was suitably distressed with age, and marked with the occasional hole or scrape where something had once been bolted to it.

The left, interior wall was plaster, painted a deep slate-gray that looked black unless the overhead lights were on. The lights themselves were industrial style—black piping and large white bulbs in black guard units that made it look like the lightbulbs were in bondage.

Colette had recovered from her shock. The corners of her mouth were pulled up in that constant half-smile, but now instead of looking inviting, like she wanted others to share in the joke, it gave off the impression that she was laughing at, not with, the person she was smiling at.

Yesterday, she'd smiled like that at Anu while systematically playing the Interpol director.

Andrei was about to get his ass handed to him.

"She'll need to understand the lifestyle," Rolf said, his footsteps echoing as he walked closer, "and expect to hear that kind of language, if she's going to be here."

Damn it, Rolf was going to fuck up the verbal beating Andrei was about to get. Landon widened his eyes at the other man, hoping he'd get the message and shut up.

"I can teach her not to freeze when I call her a good girl." Andrei looked Colette up and down.

"Lifestyle?" Colette said, that smirk-smile gone, her eyes wide and worried as she looked back and forth between Rolf and Andrei. "What do you mean?"

For a moment, she was the girl he'd met years ago—the nervous intern. Looking back there had been flashes, moments when it was clear she was playing a part, but he hadn't realized it at the time.

"You didn't explain to her what this place is?" Rolf asked with a frown.

"She knows." Landon propped a shoulder against the wall, prepared to enjoy the show.

"I thought this was a safe house." Her voice wavered like she was on the edge of tears.

Rolf looked stoic. Andrei was studying her, but his shoulders were slightly hunched with a hint of discomfort.

"It's a club." Rolf didn't mince words. "In particular, it's a members-only BDSM club Monday to Thursday, and a public nightclub Friday to Sunday."

"A what club?" Colette pressed a hand against the base of her throat. Too bad she wasn't wearing pearls so she could clutch them.

"BDSM," Rolf said matter of factly. "In English, it stands for bondage, domination or discipline, submission and or sadomasochism." Rolf paused. "It's a term, not an acronym. If you were wondering."

Landon had heard Rolf's lecture on the acronym versus "term" issue.

"You mean a sex club." Colette sounded scandalized, her French accent thick.

"No. BDSM does not require intercourse."

"But it's fun when it does," Andrei added in a low voice.

"You think sex means intercourse?" Colette asked Rolf. Her voice lost the uncertain, scandalized note, and she'd dropped her hand from her throat.

Rolf and Andrei both narrowed their eyes.

"How very hetero-normative and penetration-focused." Colette tsked. "But I can't wait for you to teach me about the concepts of dominance and submission. Actually, there's a book I know of. Maybe you haven't read it, because it was written by a French woman, in French. Histoire D'O. Have you heard of it?"

Landon grinned, enjoying the look on the other agents' faces.

"And I think you mentioned sadism, yes? That was…" She paused, clicking her tongue while staring at the ceiling as if in thought. "Named for a French noble, yes? A Marquis?"

Andrei's eyes glittered in a look that was almost predatory. He took a step towards Colette.

Landon straightened, ready to shield her, but Colette walked over to Andrei.

No, not walked.

She strolled, her hips rolling with each step. She was wearing a short jacket over a cotton shirt with cigarette pants that hugged her ass. When she walked like that, her ass was mouth-watering. Landon wanted to take a bite, and feel it hot and red under his palm.

"I can be a very, very good girl," she purred up at Andrei.

Landon's dick twitched in his pants, while Rolf studied her with a calculating look.

Andrei had gone perfectly still. No hint of smirk.

Andrei was in Dom mode.

Fuck no. Colette was his.

"But you?" She looked Andrei up and down. "You'll never earn my submission."

All three men froze at that, because those were the words of someone who understood. Understood the lifestyle. Understood that submission was a gift given to the Dom, the power exchange itself built on a foundation of consent.

Colette knew exactly what modern BDSM was.

"Be careful," Andrei said quietly, and the words rumbled, his accent thicker than normal.

"Or what?"

Fuck.

Colette was going to get herself in trouble if she didn't back down. Andrei would never hurt a woman, not really, but he did not respond well to threats.

Landon had let this go on long enough.

"That's enough, Colette." He strode up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and pinning her elbows to her sides before yanking her back. Colette sucked in air and jerked, the sound sharp. He must have surprised her.

"Who is she, really?" Andrei asked, his gaze still fastened on Colette.

"A thief."

"That's just rude," Colette said, voice light.

"A very good one, who's never been caught." Landon backed up, pulling her with him.

"Who are they, really?" she countered, struggling slightly against his hold. He loosened his grip, which made her relax, but he didn't let go.

"The man you were trying to start a fight with is Agent Andrei Leonard. And over there is Senior Agent Rolf Pederson."

Colette twisted to look back at him over her shoulder. "Wait, they're Interpol too?"

"Yes," Rolf said.

Colette slumped back against Landon's chest. "What is this place? Wait, no, better question. Is everyone who works for Interpol a sexual deviant?"

"Only the good ones," Andrei said, and the smirk was back.

Landon relaxed a little more, and switched to resting a hand on each of Colette's shoulders. She exhaled audibly.

"No," Rolf said, frowning. "And given your little speech about heteronormative intercourse, I'm surprised to hear you refer to it as sexual deviancy."

"Oh, I don't believe that. I just wanted to insult you."

Landon started to laugh.

"You knew she's an experienced player?" Rolf asked Landon with a frown.

He shook his head, still chuckling.

"Who said I'm experienced? Just because I know things, doesn't mean I've done them. I love to read about diamond heists, but I would never attempt to actually steal a diamond."

Landon stopped laughing and squeezed her shoulders.

Andrei was eyeing her, a glint in his eye. "She's going to be working here, right?"

"Yes," Landon said. "And staying in one of the rooms upstairs."

"And to protect her, we'll have to watch her at all times." Andrei sunk innuendo into the word "watch" and threat into "at all times." Impressive.

"This isn't meant to be a safe house," Rolf said with a frown.

"Then what is it supposed to be," Colette asked. "Why, exactly, does Interpol own a BDSM club?"