Brock Donovan clenched his fists until his knuckles popped. He dug his fingernails into his palms. Droplets of blood trickled down his wrists. A bead of sweat slowly ran from his brow to his chin. He’d never known such rage. At the same time, he’d never experienced such outright pain.
He was furious, but unable to strike out at the ones who’d angered him. He wanted revenge, but before he could call upon the Underground Unit for a retaliation mission, he had a more important task at hand.
He needed to hold it together long enough to find out where his enemies were holding the love of his life, his submissive woman, his beautiful wife.
“Specifics, damn you! I’ll do whatever you ask. I’ll pay millions. I’ll trade my life for hers. Just tell me what you want! Name your price!”
His brother Jett leaned over the table. He kept his head down, his gaze glued to the phone. Riley paced behind them, muttering the same thing over and over again. “How could this have happened?”
Brock tried to shut out Riley’s broken tone. It was difficult enough to concentrate without worrying about the added voiced regrets from Riley and Jett or their repetitive death threats.
In order to kill an enemy, a man had to know who and what they were facing and as Brock listened closely to the orders barked from the other end, one thought kept going through his mind. He had no idea who they were dealing with. The Underground Unit operatives had infuriated many men, taken down cartels and key players in the mob, but who was stupid enough to go after one of their women? Who would abduct his cherished Sydney?
“Get a piece of paper, Donovan.”
“Go ahead.” The phone call was recorded. He didn’t need to scribble down instructions. He’d replay this conversation again and again. Still, he needed to keep his cool. He wanted to buy time and allow for opportunity on the chance they could later pick up background noises or faint dialects in the recordings.
The caller made a foolish error when he didn’t try to disguise his voice. With technological advancements and the tools they had at their disposal, if this guy had a criminal record or had ever given a statement, Brock would find out. He’d know who he was dealing with before the end of the hour. Still, it wouldn’t change one heart-wrenching fact. They’d failed to keep Sydney safe.
The fellow on the other end of the phone made his foolish, but nonetheless calculated, demands. “Are you still with me, Donovan?”
“The silence is defeating as much as deafening. Isn’t it?” His evil laughter rang out with the question. “You seem devastated, Donovan. Surely you and your brothers aren’t surprised. When you dabble in this sort of business, you expect casualties.”
Dabble? At this point, Brock wished dabbling covered it. Unfortunately, the Underground Unit had recently been credited for bringing down some of the most dangerous crime organizations of their time.
“Since we’re only amateurs here, let Sydney go. And if you let her go now, we can avoid future ‘casualties’ as you say. I’ll let you walk away without a scratch and I won’t come after you with the force of ten thousand men. You can walk away with your life and I walk away with my wife. Deal?”
The man bellowed his laughter. “You’ll letme?” He snorted. “The only thing you’ll let me do now, Donovan, is this—you will willingly give me your head instead of Sydney’s. Sound like a fair trade to you?”
Jett glanced up and shook his head sharply. Brock easily read what his brother wanted to say but couldn’t.
Brock’s voice gave everything away. His enemies had struck below the belt and brought a man and his family to their very knees.
From the beginning, Brock had feared this day might come. Every night before he went to sleep, he kissed his lovely submissive wife goodnight and prayed for her safekeeping. Still, even with the everyday dangers he and his teams faced, he’d allowed himself too much comfort. He’d begun to think of his homes as safe havens, too guarded and protected for a security breach.
As the perpetrator on the other end of the line gave specific instructions, Brock cursed himself for loving a woman, for endangering Sydney by loving her too much to let her go.
He hated himself for his vulnerability, for falling in love with an innocent young woman who deserved far more than any man in his position would ever be able to give her. Now, she was a bargaining chip. Their enemies had found the Donovan weak spot, the crown jewel they couldn’t afford to lose.
As their enemy provided more instructions, Jett looked as if he’d been stabbed repeatedly in the chest. He clung to the chair in front of him as the bastard on the phone repeated himself. “We’re watching your every move. You will come alone. You will be unarmed. You have forty-eight hours, Donovan. Let me specify, since there may be a few of you in this whore’s bed. Brock Donovan, we want you, not your brothers. We want you, not your fellow operatives.
“If you don’t show up, your wife is dead. If you’re late, your wife is dead. If you arrive with reinforcements, your wife is dead. If one of your brothers tries to replace you or follow you, your wife is dead. Do we understand one another?”
I understand. Brock felt lightheaded. Had he spoken?
“Shh,” he whispered, deliberately backing her in a dark corner. “I don’t want to talk about Zelmore anymore.”
“What do you want to talk about, hmm?” She cocked her prissy little head and for a second, he could’ve sworn he was looking down his nose at that beautiful eighteen-year-old woman he’d flipped over his lap for the first time nearly twelve years ago.
“Let me show you,” he said, pressing her back to the far wall. He nipped at her lips, turning his head from one side to the other as he took the kiss he needed, the kiss he desperately longed to take. “You make me hot, woman.” He pushed his other self away from their moment, wanting to try and take her without such measured control.
“Tell me,” she whispered, lowering her eyes in a submissive gesture.
He grabbed her chin and lifted her mouth to his. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth, guiding the kiss, squeezing the fullness of her breast as he pushed his cock against her. “Touch me, Sydney.”
“Yes, Sir,” she crooned, rocking her hips in time with the music.
The flashing lights from the DJ booth were the only fluorescents in the club. The rest was dimly lit, even dark in some areas. There weren’t private suites like some of the clubs where they’d played in the past, but Doms and subs could have as much privacy as they desired by pulling curtains, finding the appropriate lighting, or just hiding behind some of the large walls.
Public exhibitionism was welcomed, too, and as Brock locked his lips over Sydney’s he couldn’t help but feel the heated gazes at his back. The men there wanted her and he wanted to show them what they were missing.
Not one to typically flaunt her, this was a first for both of them, but he had a feeling Sydney would love it. She’d enjoy taking center stage and riding him, climbing him, loving him.
Thrusting against her, he gripped her skirt and yanked the material over her hips. Tucking his hands behind her, he palmed her bare globes. “You’re spanked, baby.”
“I hope so,” she teased, shaking her little booty.
“You wore a thong in public.”
“Look at it this way, I could’ve gone commando.”
A carnal growl slipped from his lips as he ripped her undergarment out of his way. “Go commando without permission and see how far that gets you.”
He lifted her to him and bracketed her legs around his hips. “I love you, Sydney.”
“I know you do.” She framed his face with her small hands.
Next to her, he looked like a giant and he’d always loved that about her. He liked her small features, her thin arms, her cute butt, and her fragile limbs. She had a full rack and perfect tits, but she didn’t weigh hardly anything and at times like these, her size was convenient.
“Unzip me,” he demanded, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth.
“Yes, Master.” She nipped at his lips. “Can I give you head?”
“No fucking way,” he said, moaning when she unhooked his belt, slid down his zipper, unsnapped his pants and grabbed hold of his cock.
“Just one taste?”
“One stroke first,” he said, daring her to think she could take just one and then suck him. Her pussy would cling to his cock and she’d ride him like an experienced equestrian, distributing her weight as she squeezed and released him.
“God almighty, I’m hard as hell just with the image of it,” he rasped, lifting her high above him and burying his face in her cleavage. The low-cut style made him crazy. Those tan mounds were practically spilling from the scoop-style neckline.
“You promised to whip them,” she reminded him, combing her fingers through his hair.
“I’m going to whip something,” he promised, thrusting inside her and releasing a breath he could’ve sworn he’d held for days.