Going Down (17 page)

Saree hadn't moved since she'd given him the name that just might be the biggest break they'd had so far. Despite her relaxed look, he sensed her tension. So much had changed today, so damn much.

At the moment he was speaking to Agent B, so called because B was second in command at The Clan. B not only knew where most of the important bodies in the United States were buried, he could also make decisions without bothering with a damn committee. True to form, he didn't ask a lot of questions. Neither did he give any indication whether he approved or disapproved of what Reeve had done. What mattered to him was whether Saree had given them anything they could run with.

“I'll get someone on it,” B said no more than five minutes after the two of them had started talking. “As soon as I know about Segun I'll call you back. In the meantime, keep her on ice.”

Ice. Fire was more like it.

R
eeve's phone rang an hour later, saving him from the impact of Saree's presence. Like him, she'd said little during that hour. Right or wrong, he'd let her view the rest of the video, and when she was done, she'd curled up on a couch in the living room and stared out the window. Her eyes had taken on a haunted look that dug into him. No wonder; after all, she had to be asking herself what in the hell she'd been sucked into and what she would have to do to be free again.

Unfortunately, he didn't have the answer.

“Segun gives underground new meaning,” B said by way of greeting. “Not going to find it in the yellow pages, and they're really saving on advertising.”

“What is it?” As if he didn't know.

“Before I tell you, do you want her to hear this?”

That surprised him. After everything The Clan had gone through setting up Saree's abduction, training, and use, had they changed their minds?

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

“Because?”

“We owe her. You're going to tell me that taking advantage of her memory might have resulted in a breakthrough. Learning about Segun is a hell of a lot more productive than throwing dirty movies onto the net and hoping they landed in the right place.” Although Saree hadn't moved, he noted new tension in her body. No doubt about it, she was listening to his every word.

“It's looking like it.”

That's all it took for him to punch the speakerphone. “What did you learn?”

“Segun's a sex club, but it's a hell of a lot more than that. Anyone who gets in the front door is going to find vanilla BDSM, the whole role-playing thing with slaves and masters getting into their acts for their and the audience's kicks.”

Still slumped forward, Saree began rubbing her arms. Damn but she looked seductive as hell nearly lost in the large couch. He was going to have to either order her to put on some clothes or fuck her until neither of them could think.

“I've never considered BDSM vanilla sex,” he told B.

“It is compared to what rumors say goes on in the back rooms.”

Saree's head came up; she stared at him. “Go on,” he managed.

“First, clarification. I'm not going to reveal our source on this beyond saying he isn't someone more than a half percent of the population would want to have anything to do with, but when he tells me something, I believe him. When you're amoral and don't give a damn who knows it, you speak the truth. He could and probably should be locked up, but so far law enforcement has found him to have enough value as an underground snitch to allow him to remain on the outside. His involvement with Segun isn't as intimate as he would like it to be, he's a fringe player.”

“But he is involved. He's not just saying what pops into his head?”

“Right. He's been in the back rooms.”

At that Saree's eyes widened, and she shook her head as if trying to free herself from what she'd just heard. For someone who believed he'd made his peace with the world's underbelly, Reeve suddenly felt the same way.

“To save you from asking, according to our source, there's no
play
to the back rooms,” B continued. “No consent, boundaries, safe words, bouncers.”

“What is it?” Reeve asked. “White slavery?”

“Our informant wouldn't go that far. He probably will in time; he's that much of a bastard. He took great pride in describing the private area where the rough, good stuff takes place. Membership's pricey, a hundred thousand.”

Reeve whistled. “Eliminates a hell of a lot of people.”

“And opens doors for those who believe money and power are the same.”

He'd been caught up in what he was learning. Now, however, he forced himself to look ahead in time. “Keep going,” he ordered the man he really wasn't in a position to order. “You've already talked to A about this, right?”

“Right. Your instinct was correct, Reeve. This is the
in
to The Slavers we've been looking for. I'd bet my life on it.”

“So turn what you know over to the cops and let them close down the goddamn place.”

B grunted. “
Great
idea. That way the real players will go underground. We'll never flush them out; you know it. Damn it, Reeve, don't force me to say it. Nothing has changed except for our focus. It's no longer going to be aimed at casting a net via the Internet. Now we concentrate on Segun.”

We? Not likely.
“The hell we will. Damn it, she's safe as long as all those bastards have is the video of me playing with her. Someone takes her into Segun and she could get killed.”

“Not if whoever gets her in there does his job. Something else you need to know—know, not curse about. As we're speaking, one of our men is updating Saree's Web site.”

“What?”

“By morning it's going to say that she's decided to come out about her commitment to BDSM as a lifestyle. Not only that, she's found someone to help her experience it and can hardly wait to hook up with others who feel the same way. This way when she shows up at Segun, the logic's there.”

“Hell.”

“Look, this isn't what any of us want to do. If women's lives weren't at stake, we wouldn't, but we honestly don't believe we have a choice.”

“People always have a choice.”

“Don't give me that again, Reeve. Unless you've been watching the news over the past twenty-four hours you don't know this, but a woman was just kidnapped at Manhattan Beach. Grabbed off a path while she was jogging and thrown into a van that was later found abandoned. Her clothes were in it, no prints. She's a college sophomore, just twenty years old, a gymnast and model, a beautiful girl.”

Saree, the color bleached from her cheeks, was rocking back and forth.

“Reeve, damn it, if we felt we had a choice, we wouldn't have done what we just did.”

“Which is?”

“The video you took of her? A copy of it is being linked to her Web site. It's a two-way link.”

He'd done a number of things in his life he was still trying to justify like kidnapping a drug lord's son to flush the father into the open. The drug lord was in prison for the rest of his life, but the son had been so traumatized that he'd needed lengthy therapy. What he'd just heard was in the same category. “In other words, that so-called private site I sent the video to can trace it to Saree McKeon, porn model?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”
Why the hell?

“She's our ticket. Whoever shows up at the front door of Segun with her in tow isn't going to stay there long. He's going to be let in all the way.”

“Whoever? It's my mug on that video.”

B didn't say anything.

“What if I refuse?”

A short silence. “Then let her go. Take her back to her place, walk away.”

“I fucking can't!”

“That's what we hoped you'd say.”

 

Saree had never seen so much trapped fury in another human being. As Reeve paced and talked, paced and talked, she found herself thinking not about how trapped she was but the reasons for what he was going through. Why had he kidnapped her in the first place if he hadn't wanted to follow through on this complex, dangerous, and still incomprehensible plan? The answer might be as simple as his not liking anyone telling him what to do and their not involving him in every step of the scheme, but that didn't strike her as the whole story.

He couldn't just release her and expect her to pick up the threads of her life, and she supposed she should be grateful to him for that. True, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that she'd become what, a sitting duck, a beyond-public figure. Whoever these Slavers were, they all but had the key to her front door now. They'd seen her in true bondage. If they wanted her—

The Slavers had just kidnapped an innocent college student, had already imprisoned Amber Green, killed at least one woman. Although she was far from flattered, she'd be a fool not to put it together that getting their hands on her would be a major power trip for them. Not only that, once she was under their command, they'd do whatever they needed to do to her in order to learn who was trying to stop their despicable operation.

Life as she'd always known it was over! As long as The Slavers existed, she was in danger. Thanks to Reeve and whomever the hell he was involved with.

A college co-ed, Amber Green, other terrified and helpless women.

Her head pounding, she stood and stared out the window. This time she saw not the seemingly lifeless and yet vibrant desert but the room where those men had exerted power and control over their sex slaves. She wasn't one of them, yet.

But she might be the slaves' only chance of regaining their freedom.

But only if she played the role she'd been chosen for.

A sound turned her around. Reeve had folded the flip phone, ending the conversation. “How can you face yourself?” she demanded. “Playing with my life, it doesn't bother you?”

“It isn't what I want.”

“Don't try to tell me you didn't get off on treating me like your personal bondage toy. Is that why you agreed to this damnable assignment? It gave you an excuse to indulge in your sick—”

“Sick? It's how you earn your living.”

Don't go there.
“That's play, fantasy. This other thing is life and death. You're going to do it, aren't you? Take me to Segun.”

His silence said it all, and she wasn't going to let his trapped expressions get to her—she wasn't. Neither was she going to reveal the decision she'd just made. Let him believe she was fighting him the whole way, because that would make her performance more believable. Whomever he worked with were successful, resourceful, and committed. Once she and Reeve were in the inner sanctum, his colleagues or whatever they were called would storm in like a SWAT team, free the women, and arrest those responsible for their being forced into slavery.

That was the only way she'd ever get her life back.

Ever get away from him.

Even as the thought ran through her, his body called to her. He was clothed, protected, while nudity was becoming a way of life for her, that and the straps circling her wrists and ankles. How could she possibly be drawn to the man who'd destroyed the life she loved?

Because he'd started to take her into a world she'd long suspected she'd love even more.

Head high and shoulders back, she faced him. She had two choices: to fight him with every bit of strength at her command—and lose—or
force
him to take her to Segun. The end result would undoubtedly be the same, but if she opposed him, she'd only delay the rescue and salvation of those who depended on her, while challenging him with her body could result in her own victory. She'd test his self-control while mining his treatment of her for as much pleasure as she could get.

Whichever course she chose, one thing was vital. Keeping her emotional distance from him.

“I hate you. I want you to know how much I loathe you.”

“Get in line.”

“There is no line here, Reeve, just you and me. Are you man enough to do what
they
want you to? Can you wrap a rope around my neck and haul me into Segun? Make them believe you own me? I don't think so.”

“What are you doing?”

“Fighting for my life.”

A shake of his head sent his rich hair moving. “You don't know what it means to fight for your life, Saree. You can't begin to guess.”

“And you do?” She picked at the leather around her left wrist. “You aren't wearing this, I am.”

His fingers became fists, and he again shook his head. Those things plus the emotion dancing in his expressive eyes warned of his inner battle. Her words angered him, which was what she needed, but he was too much of a civilized human being to lash out at her.

Fine. She'd force his hand.

A single step. Her arm uplifted and cocked, then firing. Her palm colliding with his cheek. His head snapped to the side. Before he could straighten, she struck him again. “Goddamn bastard! Playing God with my life, how dare you!”

Clamping down on her shoulders, he spun her away from him, igniting a war within herself. She wanted to be manhandled and she didn't. She wanted to face tomorrow with this man and desperately wanted back the life he'd torn her from.

Wrenching her arms up behind her was so impossibly easy for him that she wondered why she bothered to struggle. And when he shoved her toward the room she'd been imprisoned in, she was tempted to hurry the pace. Instead, she hissed and cursed and tried to kick back at him.

All too soon the harsh walls surrounded her. In the half second before he tossed her facedown on the bed, her attention locked on the steel rings that had been imbedded in those walls.