Inside Out: My Hunger Part 4

"She's got a couple of hotshot, very expensive attorneys."

Tiger taps the table. "Back to her wanting to be your sub. I'm guessing she'll say she was trying to earn that role by doing as you wish."

"He's right," Dean agrees. "It's too risky for you to confront Ava."

"Talk, not confront," I correct.

"And if you convince her to change her story, they could say it's the way you manipulate her and mess with her head," Dean counters. "This is one of those calls attorneys make-like not putting someone on the stand."

I am not pleased with this answer or the way it ties my hands. "Ava claimed Sara was involved in Rebecca's murder. None of us had even met Sara in the timeframe in question. Surely that demonstrates she's lying and hurts her credibility."

"Eventually the truth will win out," Tiger a.s.sures me. "But it's going to be a h.e.l.l of a ride."

My cell phone rings and I pull it from my pocket. It's Kurt, the manager of the club. I answer. "The police were just here," Kurt tells me without preamble. "I sent them away, but I'm guessing they'll be back."

"Did any members see them?"

"We kept them behind the gate. How do they even know we exist?"

Ava, I think, regretting the day I ever approved her membership. "I'll be there in half an hour." I hang up and glance from Dean to Tiger. "The police showed up at the club."

"Predictably," Dean replies, "Ava told them where to find it, and her people are doing everything in their power to turn this on you."

Tiger shifts in his seat and pulls his cell from his pocket. "I'll call the detective in charge of the case and give him a good verbal beating. In the meantime, we need to get the records out of the club to protect the membership-preferably tonight."

"I'll go get them now," I confirm.

"And stay away after you're out," he says. "I wouldn't put it past the police to decide to bring you in for questioning while you're there, to get past the doors. In fact, can someone else get the records?"

I give a shake of my head. "Not with the security system I have in place. I need to open the safe."

"Then get in and get out," he replies.

"One final heads-up," Dean cautions, as they both stand. "Ava's team could decide to anonymously tip off a reporter. Who knows what creative story they might tell, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was along the lines of 'a dead woman and a BDSM Master.' It's the kind of story that will get major attention, and apply pressure on the cops and the suits."

"I'd sure take that route if she were my client," Tiger confirms. "But they might not be that smart or that brave."

"Ava is," I say. "She's crazy, but she's smart." I scrub at the tension at the back of my neck. "I'll have the records here in the morning."

"Don't keep them with you," Dean warns. "I need to stay away from the club right now, too, but call me when you have them in hand and I'll pick them up."

I give him a nod and shake Tiger's hand. Ready to get this trip to the club over with, I exit the conference room and, needing to burn off the emotion clawing at me, I take the stairs. I've just reached the garage and settled into my Jag when my cell phone rings.

Noting Crystal's name on the ID, I answer. "Ms. Smith," I say, punching the ignition b.u.t.ton and hoping for at least one piece of good news. "How's my mother doing?"

"I talked to your father and he said she's still not feeling well. They're running tests with no results back yet. Mark, I'm not in New York. I'm here in San Francisco. I need to see you."

I brake at the exit to the garage. "What? Why? You're supposed to be looking after Riptide."

"I have my father's private jet. I can go back tonight if you want me to."

"If I want you to? What the h.e.l.l does that mean, Crystal?"

"I'd rather explain in person. I'm at the gallery. Are you here? Can you let me in?"

A sense of foreboding fills me. "Is everyone safe?"

"Yes."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"And Riptide?"

"Is under control."

"What are you doing here, Ms. Smith?"

"In person," she repeats. "I need to see you."

I hear the stubbornness in her voice, and say, "I'm not at the gallery. Do you have a hotel?"

"Not yet."

"Meet me at my house in an hour. I'll text you the address."

"Wait, Mark. The plane-"

I hit the End b.u.t.ton, and it's all I can do not to go to her now and find out what bombsh.e.l.l she has waiting for me.

And it will be a bombsh.e.l.l. I'm sure of it.

Part Four.

Consumed.

Twenty minutes later, I've ignored three calls from Crystal, tried to reach my father to no avail, and I'm finally at the gates of the club. It is only a few blocks from my home in Cow Hollow. I punch in a code on a panel. The steel entry starts to open and I hit the intercom, announcing myself, and instruct the attendant, "Make sure Kurt knows I'm here."

Shifting the car into gear, I travel the long driveway draped in heavy foliage for privacy, and around the curved drive to park in front of the sprawling mansion that's only one of many buildings on the several miles wide property. Opening my door, I hand off my keys to one of the longtime attendants. Without a word to anyone else, I head up the long stairway to the double red doors meant to signify money and power.

After another long-term employee, a security guard wearing the standard black suit I require, greets me at the top level, I enter the house. As Dean had pointed out, members pay a hefty price to join the club, and the foyer, like the rest of the property, is decorated with fine art and expensive furnishings to create the luxury they expect. Those fees also encourage confidentiality, both that of the members and the staff, and my role as Master is to the protection of everyone here-a role I take deadly serious. The idea of failing in my duties is unthinkable, and Ava's betraying the secrets of the membership is a failure.

Kurt, an exNavy SEAL and head of security, joins me in the foyer, his long blond hair tied at his nape, showing a four-inch scar he wears proudly down his cheek.

"My office," I order. We head down a separate set of stairs, not as ornate as the stairs up, which are lined with mahogany rails, and into the finished bas.e.m.e.nt that includes a dungeon area and my office.

As I reach the foot of the steps a memory stirs in my mind, of bringing Sara down here to the dungeon. It had been the night that Chris had lost it, mourning a little boy dying of cancer. I'd known Chris had tumbled into darkness that evening, pushing too hard for escape, beyond safety and reason. Chris had once been a friend, one I still didn't want to see crash and burn, perhaps because his strength felt like my own. It was my job as Master to make the decision to break code and stop the beating he was demanding. And as much as I'd tried to prevent Sara from ending up with Chris, I'd known she was the only way I'd get him out of that dungeon in my club.

Up to that point, knowing how damaged Chris truly was, and is, I'd feared the power he was giving Sara over himself, and the power he was gaining over her. I hadn't realized it was my fear that she was his Rebecca, a woman he'd destroy. That night I'd just been d.a.m.n thankful she was his salvation, but I'd also sworn I'd never be in that place he was myself. Now, just a month later, I'm teetering on the edge of that place, trying my d.a.m.nedest to pull myself back.

Reaching the double dungeon-style wooden doors at the end of the walkway, I key in another code on a panel, hold my thumb on a scanner, and then watch the tiny red light change to green. Entering the room lined with bookshelves, my path is a straight to the centerpiece of the s.p.a.ce, an oversized antique desk that I restored years before. Kurt follows me inside, locking the doors behind us. I step behind the desk, opening a drawer and pressing my thumb to yet another panel there. One of the bookshelves slides to the side, exposing a secret room.

"I need you to load all the files in my car," I instruct Kurt, "including all security footage."

Kurt stops in front of the desk. "Is this a precaution, or should I expect a search warrant to follow?"

"Both." I fill him in on the details of what's happened with Ava.

"What a little b.i.t.c.h," he says when I finish. "Isn't killing Rebecca punishment enough? She has to shred your life and anyone else who's in it? I suppose she's going to claim insanity."

"She's in a psych ward for evaluation, but I think that's more due to her calculation and manipulation than losing her mind."

"I knew enough of those kind of people in the Navy to know that spells trouble."

And he's done a d.a.m.n good job of heading off trouble here the past few years. "I'm going to draw up papers to put you in control of the club. It will shield the members, and I need to focus on my family until my mother is well."

"You want me to take over the club? As in ownership, not just management?"

"For now. There will be a hefty compensation package, and a time limit before it transfers back to me. My attorney will get in touch with you, to review the doc.u.ments and give you the chance to accept or decline. But I'll need to know quickly."

The phone on my desk rings and I punch the Speaker b.u.t.ton. "Mr. Compton?" an attendant asks.

"Yes. I'm here."

"There's a Ms. Smith at the gate asking to see you."

Adrenaline rushes through me and I clench my jaw. What the f.u.c.k is Crystal doing here? How does she even know this place exists? I'm not sure if I should be worried or p.i.s.sed. All I know is that I don't have the files yet and I can't leave without them, and she's too stubborn to leave without me.

I release the b.u.t.ton on the intercom and glance at Kurt. "How long do you need to load my car?"

"Half an hour to download the security feed. Who the h.e.l.l is she?"

"The acting manager of Riptide while my mother is on the mend."

"And she knows about the club?"

"She didn't."

"I'm guessing Ava got to her?"

"That's a good question." I punch the Intercom b.u.t.ton again. "Have someone go to the gate and ensure she comes in alone. Then keep her at her car until I come outside." I round the desk. "Call me when the files are ready."

"Should I have security on standby?"

"You should always have security on standby. But for the next few weeks, I want them on eggsh.e.l.ls."

I find Crystal at the side of her car, arms crossed in front of her, trepidation in her stare as she watches me exit the house. Just seeing her long blond hair lifting in the breeze, around the trench coat she'd worn last night, reminds me of spreading her wide on that bathroom sink. This doesn't please me, nor does the jolt of white hot need that lights a fire in my body.

Her gaze tracks my path down the stairs, and if she's attempting to hide the unbridled admiration or the worry in her stare, she's failed. The combination of these things is an uncomfortable mix of desire dashed with ice water. I don't know why she's here, but I'm doubly certain now that I'm not going to like it.

Once I hit the sidewalk, she rounds the car and races toward me. "Mark, I-"

My hand comes down on her arm and I pull her hard against my body, trying not to think about how soft and feminine she feels against me, lowering my voice for her ears only. "How did you find this place?"

"There was a detective at the gallery. I was fl.u.s.tered when we hung up, and he told me I could find you here."

The detective. I should have known. "I told you to wait at my house."

"I know, but I couldn't wait. My father's pilot needs to know within the hour if I'm using him tonight or in the morning. He takes contract jobs, and he has one he'll cancel for us."

My anger is instant, but not directed at her. Sending her here is a message from the detective, punishment for my attorney's refusing to allow me to meet with Ava. And a promise he will make my life h.e.l.l if I don't cooperate. I wouldn't be surprised if he created whatever emergency that seems to have Crystal chartering private planes and jumping through hoops to see me. He knows she works with my family, and I'm sure he a.s.sumes I don't want my parents to know about this place.

Well, the detective has underestimated me. I do not take punishment lightly, and I won't be manipulated. I'm calling his bluff.

I'm finding out now if Crystal can hang tough, no matter what the next few months throw at her. I just hope my parents don't have to try.

"Mark," Crystal says, and her fingers curl on my jaw, drawing my attention.

Aware of us being watched, I reach for her hand, pulling it between us, and I fight the sweet sensation of her touch, when I never ever let anyone touch me. "Do you know what this place is?"

"He said it was part of your offices."

"No. It's not. We're going inside and you are not to look at anyone, talk to anyone, or do anything unless I say you do it. I own you when you're here, no matter how much you might not like it. Understood?"

"No, I-"

"This is not a place where you disobey me. This isn't about your job. You are not my employee here. So you follow the rules, or you can get back in your car and I'll meet you at my house."

Understanding seeps into her eyes and her chin lifts. "I'm staying."

"Then I own you while you're here. Say it."

"No, I-"

"Say it, Ms. Smith."

"You own me when I'm here-and only when I'm here."

There is no sense of reward from her words; she doesn't belong here. "I'll take that answer." I start to release her, to have her walk by my side untouched, as I would any other guest, but an unwelcome possessiveness overcomes me, followed by an intense need to protect her.

She doesn't belong here. Rebecca didn't belong here. The truth of those words cuts deeply and I lace my fingers with Crystal's, aware of the intimacy of the act and how out of character it is for me. Everyone else will know this as well, but this isn't about me the Master. It's about Crystal, whom I fully intend to protect-even if that means scaring her out of my family's life.

We start up the steps and I can't help but notice her jacket covers a conservative black dress that she's paired with basic black pumps. It appears that she's dressed for work and left there quickly to get to me. The burning question is why? What happened to bring her here?