Chapter 9

Landon was struggling not to mentally build scenes around and for Colette. Being here, with her, was exactly as hard and fucked up as he'd anticipated.

"So this is the private club?" She strolled slowly, seemingly completely comfortable in the space though she'd only just entered it. Watching her trail her fingers along the back of a low black leather couch was unexpectedly erotic.

"Yes." Rolf was watching her too, but he looked as dispassionate as always.

Andrei, however… Andrei was watching her with too much interest. Landon wanted to rip his fucking arms off.

"And how does one become a member?"

"You don't need to know that," Landon said. "What you need to understand is what we expect of you while you're here."

Colette turned, graceful and calm. "And what do you expect?"

"You need to have that conversation with her first," Rolf said.

Landon did need to have a conversation with her. He couldn't tell what answer he was hoping she'd give.

Andrei raised a brow, looking between Landon and Rolf. Landon didn't bother to enlighten him as to the subject of his conversation with Colette.

"I'll show you where we'll be staying," Landon said, moving towards her. "We can talk there. Andrei, get the bags."

Andrei snorted and plopped down into a couch. "Get your own bags."

"Andrei, please search Ms. Beaumont's bags before you bring them up," Rolf ordered.

"Ah, now that I'll do."

"Planning to fondle my underwear?" Colette shook her head in mock disappointment. "How cliche."

"Not just fondle," Andrei said over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs.

The banter between Colette and Andrei shouldn't bug Landon, but it did. Banter was their thing…except clearly it wasn't.

He needed to squash this feeling that there was something between them. That the way she was with him meant something. It didn't, and it never had.

He didn't touch her, only motioned for her to follow as he wove through the private club towards the opposite wall.

The building was a massive rectangle, with the entrance door, main hallway, and few rooms clustered to one side down on the first floor. Up here, even before they retrofitted it into the club, the space had been more broken up.

Though it wasn't as open as the former factory floor below, there was still a large open area with a cut out in the floor that looked down onto the public club. The railing around the opening was wide-spaced black iron posts, with thick plexiglass panels between. It looked flimsy and dangerous—by design. In reality the black metal ledge that topped the see-through half-wall was high enough from the floor that only someone Rolf's height would be in danger of tipping over, and the metal posts were solid steel welded to the main floor supports and able to withstand being hit by a wrecking ball.

Behind them, near the door, were bathrooms built directly above the first-floor bathrooms, as well as storage spaces and even an industrial elevator, though it was rarely used except for deliveries.

The windows up here didn't have semi-opaque panels covering them, so there was a view over the tops of the other warehouses and industrial businesses that made up Harringay. From one of the windows there was even a glimpse of Tower Bridge.

Above them the vaulted underside of the roof served as a ceiling. Massive wood beams, now reinforced with metal, held up the roof, which was dotted with what had once been vents, but were now small skylights.

Duplicate pieces of equipment sat on low stages, but the St. Andrew's cross up here was motorized, and could be tipped, tilted, and even inverted. The spanking bench was more heavily padded, allowing for longer scenes, and the height of the leg and arm rests was adjustable.

The half-dozen seating arrangements scattered around not only allowed people to sit and watch scenes, but broke up the larger space into a smaller sections. An open area served as a dance floor—they piped in music from below, though at a much lower volume.

Landon led Colette to the far side of the club, past all the scene spaces, the bar, and the dance floor, to a wide black door which seemed to disappear against the equally black wall.

"No key?" she said when he opened it and motioned her in.

"No."

The door opened into a short hallway, which dead ended into a longer, perpendicular hallway that ran from the front to the back of the building. He hadn't bothered to turn on the lights, so the only illumination was the light that spilled in through windows on either end of the long hall.

Lining the hall on both sides were mismatched doors. Some were heavy wood, and clearly original to the building, while others were plain, modern doors.

He turned left, listening to the sound of her footsteps as she followed him. He stopped beside one of the older doors and opened it, ushering her inside.

The room was a good size, with a four-poster double bed, small wood table and matching straight back chair positioned as a desk against the wall by the door, a large armoire, and a long black chest at the foot of the bed. The walls were time-marked lath and plaster, except for the one on the left.

The left wall had a door in it that led to another bedroom. It was easy to tell, because the upper half of the wall was glass. The small, square panes of glass were warped with age, some even bearing a crack or two, but he could clearly see into the room on the other side.

Landon suppressed a snarl. Rolf had forgotten to mention that the two rooms that had once been the foreman's outer and private offices had a window-wall between them.

Colette walked past him into the room, and Landon stepped in behind her, closing the door. They could get other rooms, but this was the only one with a connecting door.

Colette went to the bed, running her palm up one of the four posters. She paused with her hand at head height, and leaned in, examining the inner curve of the wood post.

She tsked. "I hope this wasn't an antique."

Landon joined her. She'd hooked her forefinger through the metal O ring that had been screwed into the post. There was a second O ring lower down at mattress height, and matching sets of anchor points on the other three bedposts.

"Maybe those were put there by the original owner," he said. "Kink isn't new."

She laughed, and it sounded genuine. "No, it's not. No things are really new, only our feelings and reactions to them."

The truth of that struck him, and Landon processed it for a minute, while she continued inspecting the room. She finished by the half-glass wall.

"That's your room?"

"Yes." He joined her, looking at the other room, which was slightly larger, and had an armchair and footstool that this room didn't. It also had a window, and the lights of the city spilled in, filtering through into this room.

"Voyeurism?" She tapped a glass pane with one finger.

"Security. If I need to get to you, it will take too long if I have to go out into the hall."

To his surprise she nodded.

"No protests?" he asked.

"No. It makes sense."

"You really are worried about the supposed Russian traffickers."

"That doubt in your voice is not reassuring, Agent Malik."

"You could fix that. Give me details. Tell me what's really going on."

* * *

Landon held his breath, hoping this time she'd answer him.

"I told Interpol enough that they offered me to you… Offered you to me…" Colette's words stumbled to a stop. He stared, having never heard her this unsure of her words.

"They offered me protection," she said in a much more businesslike tone.

But it was too late, he'd heard what she first said.

They offered me to you, offered you to me.

Grammatically the statements were a mess, but he didn't think it was just a translation error.

Her first statement, the words that she seemed to have spoken without thinking and calculating, were laden with heavy meaning.

They offered me to you…

He wanted Colette to offer herself to him. Preferable while on her knees.

He turned his head to the side, briefly closing his eyes, and willed away the image. But it didn't help. Because there was more to this than just physical attraction.

Her moment of uncertainty was the kind of thing that made him think there was something deeper between them. Something more than the lies she'd told both years ago and yesterday.

He tipped his head to one side, then the other, in an effort to release tension in his shoulders. It didn't help.

Landon turned to face her once more.

"They offered to let you stay in their experimental BDSM club." He made his words deliberately harsh, angry with himself for his ongoing stupidity. She was manipulating him with both her words and body language, and even knowing that's what she was doing, he was having an emotional reaction.

He wanted to take her in his arms and promise to keep her safe. Wanted to hold her on his lap until she felt secure enough to tell him what was wrong, and what she was really afraid of.

"I'm going to figure out what you're really doing in this club," she said, her tone teasing.

"I thought you decided we were using it for entrapment."

"You said you weren't, and I believe you."

Landon's stomach muscles clenched.

"Which means it's something more interesting than that. I'll figure it out." She half turned to him, her smile soft, but one brow quirked in teasing inquiry.

He forced himself not to return the smile. Instead he grabbed the straight-backed chair. Opening the door between their rooms, he brought the chair from her room through, then grabbed the desk chair from his own room and positioned both near the window, facing each other.

Colette hovered in the doorway, visibly hesitant.

"Sit," he commanded.

Colette stiffened, then leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe. "I am not a dog."

"No, you aren't, but if you're going to stay here, you will obey."

You will obey me.

Her posture didn't change, but he knew she was tensing for a fight.

"I will not be spoken to with disrespect." Her accent was thicker now.

"That wasn't disrespect, that was a command. There may be times when I tell you to do something, and you simply need to do it. Your safety may depend upon it."

"And right now my safety depends upon my obeying the same command you'd give a dog?" She shook her head. "No."

Landon dropped into one of the chairs. She wasn't…wrong. Outside the power exchange and an active scene, one-word commands like what he'd just used were an unacceptable way to speak to someone. He'd been deliberately harsh, to the point of rudeness, and that wasn't fair to her.

"Colette, please come sit. We need to talk through a few things."

Colette prowled over, her gaze locked on him. She took a seat, her hands in the pockets of her jacket, her legs crossed.

"I'm going to ask you some very personal questions. I need you to answer truthfully, because your answers will affect how I protect you."

"I'll do my best to be honest."

"Either you'll tell me the truth or you won't."

She tsked. "You know better than that. The truth is not always black and white, yes and no."

"In this case, it needs to be. These are yes or no questions." He held up a hand, anticipating a protest. "I get that there might be some caveats, but your answer to each of these questions needs to start with either the word yes, or the word no."

She shifted, jamming her hands a little deeper into her jacket pockets.

It wasn't the first, or even the second, time she'd done that. In fact, she'd had one hand in her pocket when she first showed up at his desk yesterday.

Was that a sign of nerves, or that her hands were cold?

"If you remember, there's a stipulation to our being here. We're both meant to be working. Spending time here is already part of my job, but you are expected to work as a member of club staff."

"I remember."

He didn't tell her that fact was a sign that his boss didn't fully believe she was in danger.

There were levels to how a witness was protected, from tight, temporary security, to relocation and new identities. His orders regarding her were a mix—one-on-one protection, but also she was expected to work, which was something they'd expect of a witness who was given a new identity.

If Landon's boss thought she was in real danger, Landon and Colette would be locked up twenty-four hours of the day in a nondescript hotel somewhere.

Once the rest of his NCB investigated and verified the information she had given them—though there sure as fuck hadn't been much—his orders would probably change. But that was a problem for later. Right now he had a cat burglar in a BDSM club, and needed a plan.

"You'll be working up here, in the private club. Have you ever been a server?"

"Yes."

He waited, sure she'd say something more, but she actually did what he asked and answered the yes or no question with yes or no. His lips twitched, and when she grinned, he gave in and returned the smile.

"Have you ever been a bartender?"

"No." She drew out the vowel, in a teasing way.

He narrowed his eyes, thinking. She hadn't been a bartender, but she'd done something related to alcohol. What kind of job would a thief…

"Have you ever been a sommelier?"

She let out a delighted laugh. "Yes."

He groaned. "What ridiculously expensive bottle of wine did you steal?"

"I'm sorry, I can't answer that." She pursed her lips in a mocking almost-pout. "It's not a yes or no question."

He wanted to kiss her and shake her. No, it would be better to shake her, then kiss her.

Fuck. He had to stop thinking about kissing her, fucking her, topping her…

Except he couldn't. He had to think about that last one.

Landon leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. Time to ask the real question. The one had had been haunting him. "Colette?"

"Yes, Landon?"

"Are you a sexual submissive?"

Colette's gaze met and held his. Every muscle in his body was tense in anticipation of her reply.

She took a slow breath, released it, and then dropped her gaze from his. "Yes," she said softly. "I am."