Club Illicit: A Billionaire Bonded Romance Read online

  “Wait, what did she look like, this female?” I interrupted him. He looked up, disconcerted at being halted in his report.

  “Uh, hard to say, she made a surreptitious entrance at the side door. Tight jeans, smoking body.”

  He quaked at the furious glare I gave him and returned to his notepad.

  “Male entered Saturday twenty oh-five, second male twenty-one, nineteen, third male, twenty-”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The guy trailed off as I took off across the street with Strike at my heels. We hopped the fence and came around to the back of the house, checking the windows. The surveillance guy caught up with us, backs pressed on either side of the rear door like SWAT. He drew his gun and Strike jacked the lock. It took him mere seconds and we were inside the dark house.

  “Clear.” Strike had swarmed the upstairs and was already on his way back down while I checked the main floor. My old man and his two cronies were passed out drunk and who knew what else on the sofas. She wasn't here after all.

  Disappointment gushed through my veins like a jolt of triple espresso. I was sure I'd find her here, although there was also a twinge of relief that my father didn't have her after all. Who knew what he would have done to her, the sick fuck.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed Harlow's number for about the hundredth time. And immediately, ringing began outside in the hall. Her phone was in a purse sitting on top of a suitcase. Strike was already busting open the door to the basement but I shoved him aside and powered down the stairs.

  “Judas Fucking Priest, Harley.” I raced to the angelic girl trussed up like a hunted animal with a filthy rag in her beautiful mouth. Her head was tipped forward, hanging from her neck muscles and she was passed out, or worse. White hot rage mixed with intense terror is never a good cocktail and if my father had been down there in that dingy pigsty I know I would have killed him right there and fuck the consequences.

  “It's okay, she's breathing but her pulse is very faint,” Strike said, checking her over. He began working at unlocking the cuffs around her wrists, something he was highly trained at. I I held her small waist in my arm ready to catch her while I stroked her cheek with the backs of my fingers, trying to bring her around. “She's been drugged.”

  “Bring the car to the front.” I tossed the keys for my Audi to the surveillance guy, standing guard on the stairs with his gun drawn.

  The bracelets popped open under Strike's expert force and Harley plopped into my arms like a rag doll, all life gone from her limp frame. My heart thounded in my chest and I knew I would never be able to forgive myself in anything had happened to harm this woman. If she didn't come out of this as perfect as she went in, someone was going to pay and pay hard. As it was, my father was still going to suffer.

  “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” The bastard was on the stairs, rubbing his eyes. He hadn't realized it was me, his estranged son, wrecking his party. “You, you little shit. I thought I told you never to enter my home while I drew breath.”

  “That can be arranged,” I growled as I lifted Harley easily in my arms and carried her to the stairs. “Out of my way you filthy old bastard.”

  “You show some respect when you're in my house and put that little slut down,” he said. “I haven't finished with her yet.”

  Strike's fist did its work with a single blow. A crunch of bones and the asshole was on the ground, out cold. Strike dragged him across the floor like a second stuffed toy, hoisted him like a showroom dummy and locked him into the cuffs he'd had around Harley. We left him hanging there for his friends or his wife to find whenever. I hoped it wouldn't be any time soon and I pulled the door shut, locking it behind us. Maybe he'd die or at least rot in his own shit before anyone discovered him.

  Chapter SEVEN

  Harlow

  I woke up in heaven. In that delicious space where you know you've slept deeply and had amazing dreams you can't quite remember. Then I realized the exquisite mattress, smooth silk sheets and down pillows I was lying in had a lot to do with my sense of well-being. But oh, my arms ached and my wrists were killing me. It was an effort to even bring my hands out from under the outrageously expensive silk sheets and silk comforter and I was shocked to see the deep welts around the insides of both wrists, almost cutting right through the skin.

  I looked all around, no, I wasn't in a hospital. No equipment was beeping, no drip was feeding me, but still I felt like an accident victim. And I had zero memory of how I came to be in this luxurious room, like a designer boutique hotel, totally decorated in shades of silver gray and black. Lush thick carpeting and full silk ballgown drapes. The furniture was mirrored all over like an old Hollywood movie where the star wanders around wearing a silk nightgown trimmed with marabou feathers and high heeled satin pumps.

  I dug through my empty mind, searching out an anchor, something that would tell me what I was doing here. Nothing. Only a flickering image of people, naked people, bodies slithering and sliding over one another. And hanging, of people hanging with their arms raised tight above their heads, locked and chained. And then a tidal wave of misery enfolded me like a surfer in the eye of the perfect tube. I remembered Cole owned a club he called Illicit where people- people of the upper class, celebrities and billionaires, went to enjoy exactly that- illicit games.

  I had a memory of being at the club with Cole and he was angry with me. Worse, I was in red hot rage with him. He had betrayed me. Lied? Cheated? I couldn't get my mind to lock onto the visions. They moved in and out of my mind, flickering like that old black and white movie. I closed my eyes again. All I knew was those memories were painful and I was too exhausted to go there right now. Then I must have drifted off again, for who knew how long.

  When I opened them again he was beside me.

  “How are you my Sleeping Beauty?” Cole said, his face searched mine, full of the utmost concern. I had rarely felt so cared for. In fact, I had never felt that kind of nurturing as my mom had always been too busy working to make ends meet after Daddy died and then she turned her attention to the man she would eventually marry. What was his name? It was right there in my head, and then it was gone.

  “Where am I?”

  “You're safe in my guest room,” he said. “You've been asleep for almost two days.”

  “What happened? What am I doing here?”

  “Don't you remember?” Cole asked, frowning. “What's the last thing you recall?”

  I again dug into the pitch tunnels in my mind, that remained firmly dark.

  “I don't know. There's just a swirl of black and nothing,” I said. “Apart from- no, it doesn't matter.” Maybe I was imagining the bizarre sexual images filling the back passages of my mind. I didn't want him to think I was some kinky sex fiend with nothing in my brain but bondage and spanking.

  “Tell me. It's important that you try to remember.” He had my hand held in his two large, comforting ones and I was happy to leave it there without remembering the past. I had an eerie feeling it would be better not to go there. When Cole moved the hand on top to rest on my thigh and hip bone, even through the covers, I felt prickling sensations coursing through me from his touch. Even though I was depleted, there was still a rise between my legs, a tantalizing spark of awakening.

  “It's a little embarrassing.” I was sure I could trust him, even though there was a ghost of a memory of a dispute between us. “I have a vision of people-men and women- tied up, hand-cuffed and blindfold and indulging in some rather kinky acts.” I could feel my face coloring hot as he looked into it, delving, and frowning his sexy forehead.

  “People? Other people?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Nothing. I'm sure you'll remember more as the days pass. All that matters is you're okay. Are you in any pain, anywhere?” Again his eyes burrowed into me, seeking the truth with excess apprehension.

  “My arms, my wrists.” I looked down at my hand in his and saw the red welt almost cutting through the skin and it all flooded back to me. I je
rked my hand out of his in horror, the pain jangling through my shoulder.

  “Don't touch me,” I screamed hoarsely. My voice broke with emotion and pain in my throat. “What did you do to me in that vile place you call a night club? How did I get these wounds? Did you tie me to the chains in the ceiling?”

  “Harley, please, don't get upset. You're mixing up your memories. I know they'll come back to you in right order if you give it time.”

  “Tell me what you did to me?”

  “It wasn't me. You know I would never hurt you.”

  “Not you, I remember now,” I breathed. The night I spent waiting for Cole was emerging in my mind like a curtain being pulled back on a scene at the theater. The club where the richest, important people in the city indulged in some unusual activities, where my step-father had tried to attack me- the man Cole had called his father. “One thing I'm not getting mixed up is the fact that you're my brother,” I said.

  “No. You met my father at the club. He hurt you.”

  Yuk. A vision of my father, not his, with a heavy hand clasping my naked breast. Why was I having all these vile pictures throw themselves up in my head?

  “You called him father,” I said quietly. I looked up at Cole and the pain in his face made me ache much worse than the agony in my arms and wrists. “That's your father?”

  He nodded slowly as though he wished there was any other truth but the only one.

  “And he's mine too,” I said.

  “You're mixed up,” Cole whispered, taking my hand firmly back in his.

  “No I'm not. That man married my mother eighteen months ago,” I said, my heart like a dead weight against my lungs.

  Cole

  I almost didn't believe her. Perhaps she'd hit her head, lost her memory. I reached for any excuse. I didn't want to believe her so it was easy to search for any other reason and make that the truth in my head. It was so unlikely and yet, when I put it all together it was the only possible reality.

  I'd heard that my old man had married a woman a year or so back and even remember something about her having a grown up kid. But seeing as we hadn't spoken in years and I figured I was only hearing because some financial benefit might be forthcoming from me, I ignored it. Nothing good ever came from having my father in my life. Harley had just discovered that. Harley! The only woman I'd ever really felt actual love for, was my step-sister.

  I'd sat beside her bed, for three days, sleeping in the huge armchair, leaving the room only to shower or get more coffee. She had nowhere else to go, so I'd brought her back here, fuck I've got more rooms than I know how to furnish – my purple felt pool table has a room to itself and another for the eighties pinball and PAC-man machines. And another- my own personal version of Illicit.

  I carried her in my arms from the car, placed her in this silk bed and watched over her, anxious for any signs of harm. She was delirious and feverish for forty-eight hours but was mostly suffering from shock and exhaustion. Still I watched and waited. Eager for the moment she'd open her eyes and see a caring face. My only concern was that she know she's safe here with me. No one will harm her ever again.

  I had my own delusions too in those wee hours, picturing Harley and me together. She was at liberty to go wherever she wanted and I had space. We could live here together and make a real home. She could work for me or go to school, or do whatever the hell she wanted. And we'd be together.

  We'd go to the country, the beach and I'd make love to that delicious body every single morning and every night. The fact that our parents had hitched up was of no consequence to me. We could have met in another city and never discovered the fact. I didn't see us as related and didn't care. All that mattered was that we'd found each other again and I had no intention of letting go.

  “Where are my clothes?” Harley struggled up out of the down pillows.

  “In those bags over there. I had some local boutiques send up a selection for you to choose from, as your other clothes were- ruined.”

  “You stripped me?” She lifted the silk sheet and gazed down at her body, naked apart from her panties which I'd decided to leave on in case she woke up, freaked out and feeling vulnerable. I saw how she winced in pain just lifting the wisp of the sheet.

  “I wanted to make you comfortable.” I said, not adding that I wanted the reminder from those filthy clothes out of my house and her life.

  “I'm almost naked,” she said giving me an indignant stare that would have been funny if the situation wasn't so fucked up.

  “Harl, it isn't as though I haven't seen your body before.”

  “That's the operative word – before,” she snapped. “Before we were family. I have to get up.” She began to struggle to push herself up, pulling back from the agony. She almost faltered, but damn, she was a tough one and refused to let the pain defeat her.

  “What do you need? I'll bring you whatever you want,” I meant it. I would gladly be her nursemaid and take care of her.

  “I need some clothes to get dressed with, which I'll pay you back for as soon as I can.”

  “No you don't. You need to stay in bed and I don't want to be paid back. Whatever you want is a gift. Keep all of them. ” A few bags of designer clothes were no compensation at all for what she'd been through because of me.

  “Thank you but I prefer to pay for my own clothes. Thank you for looking after me but I need to leave now.” She wasn't sounding like the Harley I knew. She was a different person, cold and snippy with clipped politeness.

  “Harley, what's wrong? I know you've been through an ordeal and you have every reason to be mad at me, but please, you need to rest and let me take care of you.” There was no way she was going out of my sight again. I was determined to find out what had occurred that night in my father's basement because I am good to my word and if he'd harmed her physically or emotionally, he was as good as dead.

  “I'm fine. And now I think it's better if I leave.”

  “Where do you think you'll go? You can't go back to your mother's house.”

  She shuddered when I reminded her of the fact that her family home was gone. Struggling to her feet, tentative as a baby doe, she looked up at me with those wide eyes so I wanted nothing more than to hold her in my arms safe from any pain forever. And while I held her, I'd indulge the ferocious desire to mound her body under my hands and my mouth for hours. She took a couple of steps towards the pile of shopping bags and her knees buckled under her. In an instant I was beside her so she fell into my arms and I lifted her easily back to the bed.

  “Let me go. I can't stay here like this,” She wailed, pushing me off her.

  “You can and will stay here until you're strong enough to get back out there,” I told her, laying her back down on the pillows with gentle force.

  She was being ridiculous about the brother-sister thing. If my father had never shown up at Illicit, Harley and I could have married and had our own kids never knowing that we were related. “If you're mad at me, fine, you won't see so much as a hair on my head. But you will stay here and rest up, even if I have to get out some handcuffs.”

  I slammed out of the room and went back down the curving staircase to my man den- another room without a real purpose- perfect now for me to again lick my wounds. I wasn't sure how much she was remembering now, it was pretty clear that her visit to the club was mixed up in her mind with the basement torment inflicted by the old bastard. I called Rosa, my PA at the club and told her to send over a live-in maid for a couple of days.

  “Submissive or dom?” Rosa asked, with her customary efficiency.

  “No, I mean an actual maid, not a role-playing slave girl,” I snarled, taking my frustration out on the woman who dedicated herself to making my life and business flow smoothly.

  Chapter EIGHT

  Harlow

  When the memories came rushing back, the physical pain all through my joints and limbs increased as though in sympathy with the agony in my mind. My shoulders felt as though they had been ripped fr
om their sockets and my lower back was stretched worse than any ashtanga yoga class had ever pulled me.

  A personal maid had been hired for me, against my objections. Penny, was sent by Cole to supply all my needs, which was impossible for me to get used to. I'd never imagined myself as that girl with a maid in a white apron whose sole purpose was to bring me whatever I wanted. I was suddenly like Scarlett O'Hara in Gone with the Wind. Penny informed Cole about my sleepless nights and he ordered a massage physio practitioner to visit me in my bedroom.

  Now I spent each morning being pampered and molded back to life and while I know I shouldn't be accepting all these expensive services from Cole that I will never be able to repay, it feels absolutely amazing to have so much attention paid to my brutalized body.

  “I haven't seen Mr Winter in days,” I told Penny when she brought the enchiladas I'd happened to mention I was craving for dinner. Laid out on a tray with a small jug of frozen margarita and fragrant tuberose in a black crystal vase. Cole had not come back to me since I'd tried to leave, good to his word that I wouldn't see so much as a hair on his head. “Where is he?”

  “He keeps himself downstairs, shut up in his private quarters,” she said. “I never see him either, aside from when he comes to my room to inquire about your health. He has a full gymnasium and I hear him there in the middle of the night when he comes back from his work.” I could tell Penny was keen to see more of Cole's gorgeous visage and ripped body. “He spends hours in there, pounding his body like a man on the run,” she added wistfully.

  That was my fault. That much I was sure. When we found each other again, the physical attraction ignited instantly but that was not all there was between us. We both knew that my appearance at his club had a much greater significance than the desire to feel him inside me again. The connection between us had been broken but not severed completely. Our passion in that public bathroom had been the need to express those deep emotions through our bodies, when words would never have been enough. That night seemed like a lifetime ago now.