Dark Moon (5 page)

She seemed to be the one in charge. Raising her chin, she addressed the guards. “Wait outside.”

“Mr. Del Conte’s orders . . .”

“I must have complete access to our guest.”

The man glared down at the tiny woman. “The master will hear about this.”

She raised her chin. “There’s only one exit to this salon. Wait at the door.”

There was a moment when Karen wasn’t sure who would win out, the big man or the petite woman. Finally the man shrugged. When he and his companion exited the room, the two attendants exchanged glances.

“Which of us is going to stay with her?” Allison asked.

Anna shrugged. “It’s all the same to me.”

“Then you do it. I want to take off my polish and redo my nails.”

“Fine.”

The blond stepped into another room, and the Asian woman held out her arm. “Come with me.”

Karen’s mind was spinning. The guard had said, “Mr. Del Conte.” A couple of times, she’d been in the office and heard her father mention that name with either a snarl or a sneer in his voice. He was a business rival, she thought. Someone Daddy detested.

Was he the man who had spoken to her earlier? When she was in that cage. She shuddered.

Anna interrupted her thoughts.

“The master wants you to look your best.”

“The . . . the master? That’s Mr. Del Conte?”

“Yes,” Anna answered.

“What does he want from me?

“He doesn’t confide in me. I just manage the salon. And you are not here to ask me questions,” the woman said sternly.

“We’re on a ship, right?”

‘Yes.”

Before she could get any more information, Anna said, “Come. We have limited time, and I will be punished if I do not complete my assignment. ”

Karen glanced back toward the door. The two men were out there. She might knock out this woman, but then what? Allison would probably come running.

Maybe Anna saw the expression on Karen’s face because she fixed her with a steely look. “No,” she mouthed.

Karen answered with a small nod. It looked like her only option was to cooperate for now—and hope she could escape later.

Anna led her down a short hall to a large, marble bathroom with a shower.

“I’m sure you’d like to clean up,” she said.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You will have ten minutes to shower and wash your hair.”

Anna leaned into the shower and turned on the water, then stepped toward the door.

“Get undressed. Throw your ruined clothes in the trash. Then take your shower. When the timer rings, get out and dry yourself. I’ll be waiting for you outside.”

Karen quickly took off her wrinkled clothing and stuffed it in the trash receptacle, feeling self-conscious. Someone could be watching her on a hidden camera, but there was nothing she could do about that. Anxious to get clean, she stepped into the shower.

It was wonderful to stand under the hot spray. As the water poured out of the shower head, she raised her face and closed her eyes, grateful to be alone for a few minutes.

Or was she?

A low grating voice made her jump. “No matter what you hear, don’t turn around. Keep on with what you’re doing. Some of us are preparing to escape. Maybe we can help you.”

Karen’s throat clogged. She wanted to turn, but she obeyed directions.

In a moment, the door closed, and she knew she was alone again.

Who had spoken? It had been a woman. Most likely Anna or Allison, but she couldn’t be sure which because the voice had been disguised.

As she washed, she tried to figure it out, but she simply couldn’t.

At least the hot water helped ease some of her tension, and when she opened a bottle of shampoo, grapefruit scent wafted toward her.

She longed to stay in here for hours, washing off the fear and humiliation of the past few hours, but she had no doubt that she must conform to the time constraint.

Quickly she washed her hair and applied cream rinse. She was almost finished when the timer rang. With a shudder, she stepped out, turned off the water, then dried herself with a fluffy towel, tucking it around her body as Anna came back.

“Come on. This way.”

Taking a chance, Karen asked, “Did you speak to me in the shower?”

“Certainly not!” She pointed to another doorway, and Karen saw a treatment room beyond. In it was a salon chair and a padded table.

“We’ll start getting you ready.”

“You said you had some clothes for me?”

“Later. Lie down on the table.”

“For what?”

“The master wants your pubic hair shaved.”

Karen sucked in a sharp breath. The look might be popular, but she’d never liked it. “Why?”

“Lie down. Unless you want me to call the guards back to help hold you still.”

“No,” she whispered as she climbed onto the padded table and closed her eyes.

“Then later we’ll make you look pretty for the people in the Tropical Lounge. I have a butterfly ornament you’ll love.”

oOo

In a room not far away, a group of men sat in comfortable easy chairs facing a large flat-screen television. They ranged in age from their early forties well into their seventies. All had the satisfied aspect of men who were used to getting what they wanted—as long as they were willing to pay for it. No questions asked.

One of them took a drag on a fat Havana cigar and blew out smoke.

“She’s a real looker. That red hair is stunning. An unusual color. And it’s real, too.” He laughed.

“Lovely.”

“Where did you get her?”

“Her father did me a disservice.”

The questioner laughed.

“I loved the way her breasts looked in the shower when she raised her hands to wash her hair.”

“She seems so vulnerable. And frightened.”

“She’ll feel more vulnerable with her pussy shaved.”

“Who gets to fuck her first?”

Bruno Del Conte cut through the chatter, his voice brusque. “Nobody. Unless I decide on it. I have some other activities in mind for her.”

“The whipping post?”

“Perhaps.”

A gray-haired man licked his lips before speaking. “I’d like to see her tied down while two slaves arouse her.”

“Maybe she can’t respond with an audience.”

“With drugs, she will.”

“Okay. Yeah. Then untie one of her hands and make her masturbate in front of us.”

“Make the two slaves a man and a woman. Could we have that hot little Asian hairdresser as part of the scene?”

“While the new girl sucks the guy’s cock.”

“No, that’s going too fast. More fun to draw out her education in her new life.”

“Do you think she likes to stick her finger inside herself when she makes herself come?”

“Or touch her breasts? Got to untie two hands for all of that.”

“One of the slaves can play with her breasts while she does the cunt part.”

“A light whip across her nipples would be more interesting.”

“I’d like to see her in the mirror room, where she can look at herself from all angles while slaves oil her body—all over.”

Others made their own suggestions, revealing their sexual tastes.

A fifty-year-old man stood up abruptly, his face flushed, his breathing uneven and his cock pushing out the front of his slacks. “I’m going down to the fantasy floor. I want to look over the slave girls and pick out two. Have a group of them ready when I arrive.”

“Any other specifications?” Del Conte asked.

“They have a record of what I like.”

Del Conte watched him leave, his expression thoughtful. He’d started off on the assumption that he might sell Karen back to her father after putting her through some unpleasant experiences that she would never forget. Now it looked like it would be more fun to keep her on the ship, but he was certainly going to leave his options open.

He’d be giving up five million dollars in favor of fees from guests, but money wasn’t the real issue. It was revenge. Maybe the best way to make Hopewell suffer was to send him a series of videos that would make his hair stand on end.

The mention of hair gave him an idea. Picking up the phone, he placed a call to the beauty salon.

Anna picked up on the first ring.

“I want a lock of her hair delivered to my office. Put it in a plastic bag, along with some of her pubic hair.”

“Yes, sir.”

oOo

“We’re taking a plane to Fort Lauderdale right now,” Frank Decorah told Emma and Cole. I’ll come along to brief you.”

Cole winced. That was certainly getting things rolling at lightning speed, but he understood the urgency. Given the description he’d just heard, there was no telling what had already happened to Karen Hopewell on that damn ship.

The boss drove them to a small airport between Baltimore and Washington where an executive jet was waiting.

Cole was glad the boss was going with them because he still had a lot of questions. Which he hoped Decorah was going to answer.

The passenger cabin was laid out like a lounge, with comfortable seating around the bulkhead, facing inward. There was also a service area stocked with sandwiches, since they had skipped lunch.

Cole wasn’t very hungry, but he took apart a couple of rare roast beef sandwiches and ate the meat.

“What are you doing?” Emma asked.

“Low carb diet.”

“You?”

He shrugged and picked up one of the briefing folders that Decorah had put on the table in the center of the cabin.

It had the schematic of the ship, speculation about the specific activities in the entertainment areas, and a lot of information on Del Conte.

He was fifty-five and kept himself in excellent shape with regular workouts in his ship’s extensive gym. He’d gotten a degree in finance from the London School of Economics and used his inheritance from his father as a springboard to even greater wealth—often by criminal or at least questionable means. His floating resort was probably an outgrowth of his own sexual interests. And his need for control. Having a whole ship full of people who did his bidding reinforced his image of himself as a man of power.

He had never been married and never had a girlfriend who was with him for more than a few years.

Cole wondered he’d paid them off with a nice parting gift or if they’d ended up dead. It didn’t seem likely that any of them would dare to leave the guy—unless they went into hiding. But he didn’t voice that thought to Emma. She was looking unsettled enough as she read the report.

“When the ship is at sea, there are two ways for guests to arrive,” Frank said, interrupting Cole’s thoughts. “Chopper and hovercraft. No one is authorized to come in by air at the moment, which is another indication that something unusual is going on there.”

Emma nodded.

“Since I was pretty sure you’d be going to the
Windward
, I had a suitable wardrobe packed for both of you. You’ll be leaving for the hovercraft shortly after we land, so you should change into resort clothes now.”

Cole glanced at Emma. She looked tense but resigned.

Frank gave her the kind of critical look that Cole knew she detested. When he’d first joined Decorah Security, he had dug into her background. He knew her father had drummed old-fashioned values and morality into his offspring. He had also demanded more from his children than they could possible give. Her brother had responded by becoming a drug addict. Emma had gone the other way. She pushed herself to the max but bristled when anyone else pushed her too hard.

He also knew she had never had a serious relationship that had lasted more than a year, which suggested that she had a commitment problem.

He couldn’t argue with that. He had the same problem, only for a different reason. He liked his life fine the way it was, and the thought of settling down made his skin prickle.

 “Try to act like you’re anticipating a good time,” Frank advised, speaking to both of them.

“Right,” she clipped out, standing up and reaching for the carry bag that the director indicated. She took it to the head in the back and returned a few minutes later wearing white shorts that barely covered her ass and a halter top.

“I love being turned into a sex object,” she muttered as she sat back in her seat.

Cole understood her point, but he couldn’t help admiring the way the clothing set off her high breasts and long legs.

He took his own bag to the back and found lightweight tan slacks to go with his baby blue polo shirt. A lot more comfortable than Emma’s outfit.

Emma’s eyes went from Cole to Frank and back again. “What—exactly—is our cover?” she asked.

“We’re keeping it as simple as possible. Cole’s a wealthy playboy named Cole Mason who lives off the money he inherited from his rich parents. You have a little business that does custom detailing for luxury cars, mostly because you like to add weird stuff to your own vehicles.”