“You don’t get to touch my priest,” Nora said to Milady.

“It’s too late for that. You fucked with me and my favorite toy. I fucked with you and your favorite toy. But if it’s any consolation I consider us even now. Do you?”

“No.”

“Play on, then.”

Milady, still giggling, stepped into the elevator. When the doors closed behind her, Nora looked at Kingsley.

“He wouldn’t...” She looked at Kingsley. “No way would he submit to that woman or any woman or anyone on earth just for money.”

“You really think he did it for money?” Kingsley asked, arching his eyebrow, a look that said, You know better than that.

Nora leaned against the wall, resting her head on the fading red wallpaper. Why...why would Søren do this to her? Why would he give her a gift that cost more to her than buying it herself would have?

“Fucking sadist...” She exhaled the words.

“Mistress?” Kingsley said.

Nora stood up straight and took a calming breath. Søren let Milady touch him. Fine. Very well. He had his reasons. Hopefully one of his reasons was that he wanted to inspire a murderous rage in her, which she would then take out on Milady. If so, it had worked.

Like a fucking charm.

“Okay, King,” she said. “Now I’m ready.”

When the one elevator that led down to the pit returned to the main floor, Nora was ready. It was the three of them all alone now—Kingsley, Nora and Nora’s wild beating heart. Adrenaline surged through her body, uncontrolled. The nervousness might work in her favor. She’d heard of people who’d torn doors off burning cars and lifted fallen walls off people when hit with an adrenaline rush. She had no interest in tearing off doors or lifting walls. But she wouldn’t mind tearing off Milady’s head and throwing it against a wall. Such a thought gave her a grin, a wicked, wonderful grin.

The elevator began its descent. Then the doors opened. The sound of the crowd hit her like a storm wind. She straightened her shoulders, raised her chin, twirled her riding crop.

“She touched Søren.”

“It seems to be the case,” Kingsley said. “And what will you do about it, Your Majesty?”

Nora looked at Kingsley.

“Off with her head.”

20

The Red Queen

KINGSLEY STEPPED OUT into the darkness and the cacophony first. He reached back for her but she didn’t take his hand. On her own, without his help and without fear, she stepped across the threshold and stood at his side. Music roared from mountain-size speakers. She recognized the song. It was one of Kingsley’s favorites, a perfect score to accompany a seduction, a beating, a sin, a confession and absolution in bed.

Time slowed down as they descended the stairs into the pit below. Between flashes of blue and red she could see Kingsley’s pupils dilating as they adjusted to the low light. His lips parted slightly and she could see his chest rise with a breath. His face, handsome, imposing, unsmiling, wore the expression of a veteran soldier going into battle. Alert and unafraid.

Nora looked up and saw Griffin at the ledge of the VIP bar’s balcony, staring down at her, watching her every move. He blew her a kiss. Mistress Irina, Kingsley’s Russian dominatrix, quietly walked away from a man at a kneeling bench and fell into step behind her and Kingsley. A sign of allegiance no one would miss. The trio walked on, their destination the elevator that would take them to the VIP bar. Anything that would happen would happen in those one hundred steps between the stairs and the elevator. She sensed everyone around her knew this. They were waiting, all of them. Waiting for whatever was to happen. She recognized every face in the crowd, which meant every face in the crowd recognized her. Kingsley had made it known far and wide that the girl called Eleanor Schreiber no longer existed and a woman name Mistress Nora had taken her place. The faces watching her smirked and rolled their eyes. But no one spoke to them. No one stopped them. Kingsley pressed on and the crowd parted for him as they always did. No one would dare defy the king. He could have anyone banished from the city’s kink community with a word. They’d be personae non gratae, denied play at any club in the city. And that was the punishment for a first strike. If someone did dare to piss off Kingsley Edge, they never did it twice.

So there was a chance, a slim chance, they would make it to the elevator without anyone stopping her. They were halfway there already. Fifty steps away. She’d made this journey countless times, Søren leading her through the crowd, her head bowed in quiet submission. Now she walked it with her head high, next to Kingsley, not behind him. Equals. Forty steps. Thirty five. Almost there.

Nora saw Milady in the crowd standing next to a mountain of a man. His head bent to her ear as she whispered to him. No one else seemed to see what was happening. No one but Nora. She knew what it meant, what the whispers signified. There was no way in hell Nora would make it from here to the elevator that easily.

The man stood up straight and stepped into their path, blocking the way between the trio and the elevator. The three of them stopped because the three of them had to. The crowd pressed in around them, watching. Milady stood off to the side, smiling.

The music stopped.

“Bonsoir,” Kingsley said, looking up at the mountain. He was six foot six if he was an inch, taller than both Kingsley and Søren. He had the build of a professional weightlifter, a night club bouncer, a linebacker, all shoulders, no neck. Nora guessed his weight at three-fifty—pure muscle and no mercy.

“Who’s the new girl?” the man nicknamed Unbreakable asked.

“Show a little respect, Trent.” Mistress Irina had never lost her Russian accent and it made every word she said sound twice as intimidating. That she called him by his real name, Trent, instead of his nickname meant she’d either tried and failed to break him herself or she was jonesing for her turn.

“For who? Her?” Trent pointed at Nora.

“Yes, her and King,” Mistress Irina said. “You want to get out of our way?”

“I want to know who the new girl is, is what I want,” Trent said. He crossed his arms over his chest, one slab of meat over another slab of meat.

Kingsley sighed. “Mistress Nora, this is Trent, otherwise known as Unbreakable for obvious reasons. Trent, this is—”

“Mistress Nora,” she said, smiling because it was in her nature to smile at dumb animals. “A pleasure to beat you.”

Trent barked a laugh.

“Beat me? You, little girl?”

“Yes, if you like. What’s your safe word?”

“Mommy,” he said, grinning like a rabid dog.

“That’s cute. You’re cute.”

“And you’re...short,” Trent said. “You have nice tits, though.”

“Thank you.” Nora pushed her breasts up in her bustier. “My mom gave them to me.”

“You kind of look familiar.” Trent bent over and pretended to examine her face. Of course he knew who she was. Who didn’t?

“I have one of those faces,” Nora said.

“No... I know who you are. Aren’t you the priest’s little slut?”

“No, but I used to be the priest’s big slut.”

That got a laugh out of the crowd. Good.

“I think I saw him drag you on a leash through this club once on your hands and knees, didn’t I?”

“No.”

“That didn’t happen?”

“Oh, it happened. But it happened more than once. He did that to me a lot.”

Another laugh. If she kept the crowd laughing she’d own them all with or without a collar.

“So where is he? Where’s your master?”

“He’s probably at church right now alphabetizing his altar boys.”

“Is that like sodomizing?” Trent asked.

“This is a different thing. It involves words and reading. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I’ve never heard you talk before. I liked it better when your master wouldn’t let you speak.”