“And then she said ‘Your dress is too short, honey,” the little blonde at his side chirped. “Can you believe it? Who is she to tell me whether my dress is too short or not…”
Her words melted into the blur of voices surrounding him. At one time, Nash would’ve already sweet talked her phone number out of her. She was cute, even if she was a chronic chirper. Instead he just let the woman yammer on about whatever and gave a noncommittal “Ummhmm,” when he thought he should. His mind wasn’t on getting laid tonight. Hadn’t been on it in a while. Not since Fiona walked out of his life six months ago.
Sure, there had been women. There had been sex. But every partner he took to his bed wore her face. His ex-wife was determined to haunt him to his grave.
His brother Thomas appeared in the crowd and moved swiftly toward him. Just as the little blonde wrapped a hand around his bicep, Thomas stopped in front of him.
“You busy?” Thomas’ gaze darted from Nash to the blonde.
“Nah, what do you need?” Nash stood up and the little blonde pouted. He murmured, “Sorry, honey,” to the tiny chirper and then focused on his brother/boss.
“Got a situation in one of the private rooms.” He pointed a thumb toward the balcony that wrapped around the second floor of the club. “I need some muscle to back me up.”
Nash called to Bernie, who was deep in conversation with a curvy brunette near the bar. “Take over for me.”
Bernie nodded and left the lady to take up Nash’s post. The little blonde brightened when the tall, well muscled Scandinavian took the stool Nash just vacated. She reached up and rubbed Bernie’s bald head and snuggled close.
Nash followed his brother through the crowd toward the wrought iron, spiral staircase that led to the private rooms. He’d worked as a bouncer at Claim Me, a Surrender Inc. BDSM club, for a few months now. His brother bought the place to add to his list of investments. Thomas mainly earned his money in casinos—something Nash teased him about, saying this made him a walking cliché: an aboriginal who acquired his wealth through a string of gambling joints. But now he was moving into the domination and submission trade with this place. Then main floor was a night club, complete with a bar, dance floor, booming hip hop, and bodies writhing. Scattered through it were faux rooms with glass walls through which patrons could watch BDSM scenes. A femdom flogging her submissive. A towering dom spanking his mistress. Whatever your pleasure, Claim Me had it. But the real action happened in the private rooms upstairs.
Thomas led him to Room 9 and stopped before he turned the knob. “The woman’s got a gun. She’s holding one of my best switches and her client hostage. We have to be careful.”
Nash frowned. “I thought you said you screened everyone thoroughly. How the hell did this shit get in?”
Thomas sighed. “The guy lied. Told us his divorce was final. Said his wife wasn’t cool with spanking him, so he had to get it elsewhere. Everything checked out. Anyway… See for yourself.”
Thomas opened the door and the screeching started.
“Get out! This is between me and them.” A pretty woman in tight jeans and a leather jacket whirled toward them, pointing a pistol right at Nash’s waist. At six foot seven, the woman would have to look up and aim higher to get his chest.
“Ma’am, put the gun down.” Thomas took another step into the room. “We can all talk about this in my office.”
When Nash’s gaze swept to the pair she was holding hostage, his stomach tightened and his heart squeezed in his chest, but he didn’t show it. Instead he stared at his ex-wife, Fiona, and she stared back with a riding crop poised.