Jack Stone - Deadly Revenge (9 page)

Her breathing became hectic as he drove his hips forward into her again and again. She began to gasp with panting urgency. He sensed the
tension within her body build as her grip on the bar above her head became clenched with her desperation. He reached around her with his left hand and squeezed her nipple, feeling her heart beating like a crazy hammer beneath her slim frame.

“Do you want more?” Stone’s voice rasped.

“Yes,” Celia hissed through tightly clenched teeth. “God, don’t stop, Jack. I want more. I
need
more!”

He slapped her thigh hard and growled his lust. “I like that you know to beg,” he said. He grabbed at her hair and she opened her eyes, shocked into awareness. She caught a glimpse of his face. There was a compelling twist to his lips. He looked dark and sexily dangerous.

And masterful.

Stone kept hold of her hair and turned Celia around so that she was bent over the small bathroom sink. She folded forward at the waist and parted her legs for him. Clamped her hands on the rim of the
basin and held her breath.

Stone thrust himself back inside her. Celia moaned again. The despe
rate sense of feeling complete overwhelmed her instantly, like the satisfaction of an addictive craving. Then Stone caught hold of her hair and lifted her face.

“Look at yourself,” his voice rasped. “Watch yourself in the mirror as I take you. I want you to see how you look and remember how it feels.”

Celia stared into the mirror above the vanity. She saw her own reflection – saw her eyes wide with desire and her mouth open. Saw the way her breasts swayed in rhythm with each powerful thrust into her, and the peaked hardness of her nipples. She saw Stone behind her, his broad chest becoming flexed, and his corded forearms as they pinned her in place. She sobbed and gasped for air. She tightened her grip on the cold porcelain of the vanity until her knuckles turned white. She could feel the sensations of intense pleasure welling up within her, building pressure and threatening to overflow. She hung her head, licked her lips, and then glanced back at her reflection.

Stone was watching her. Their eyes met in the mirror. His face was hard and dark. His eyes burned.

“Touch yourself for me!” he said.

Celia felt a
flare of wicked shock. A surge of sinful passion flashed behind her eyes, and then suddenly the force of her orgasm struck. Her release ripped through her, starting in the pit of her stomach and racing to every part of her body like the tremendous pressure wave that follows an explosion. She cried out, and her body began to convulse against the restraint of Stone’s clamping grip, and somehow that sensation magnified the intensity of the moment so that for a split-second the world around her went dark.

She cried out again, and then everything around her was bright and blinding, slowly ebbing back to reality in a series of ragged little whimpers and gasping breaths.

Celia went limp. Her knees buckled. Her arms were shaking. Tiny ripples of pleasure lapped at the edges of her consciousness, merging with each other so that her whole body tingled. She felt light-headed, made giddy with the force of her release. She slumped against the edge of the vanity, only vaguely aware that Stone was still hard and hot and deep inside her.

He
stepped away and took Celia by the wrist. Led her to the big bed and laid her gently down. She looked up at him with dazed dreamy eyes.

He stood over her beside the bed, cutting the rope she had purchased into lengths with a
pocket knife. She sighed, and her hand drifted languidly down across her breasts towards the place lower where the heat still lingered.

She closed her eyes, and then felt Stone’s weight come onto the bed. Her legs spread for him, and yet he did not cover her. She felt herself drifting
on a cloud of weary exhaustion, and then Stone was taking her by the wrist and tying her hands to the bedhead.

He kissed her with long lingering passion and she felt herself beginning
to stir again. She felt aching need to be filled by him once more begin to simmer, and she moaned into his mouth, her lips dewy and soft. She arched her back in a slow voluptuous movement, and he traced his fingers down her flank. She shivered under his touch and her hips tilted up instinctive and inviting as she tried to wrap her arm around his neck.

She couldn’t.

Stone broke the kiss and went to the foot of the bed. Celia began to come alert. She turned her head and saw that each wrist was bound and tied to the timber headboard. She frowned. The knots were snug, and complex. Maybe a little too snug… It’s not like she was going anywhere…

She lifted her head. Stone was pulling on his jeans and t-shirt. Her eyes went suddenly wide with alarm.

“Jack…?” her voice was confused. “What are you doing?”

Stone stared down at her. Her legs were still parted, and he could see the puffy arousal of her sex, wet and
swollen. He could see the tautness of her nipples. He came to the edge of the bed and sat down on the mattress. He slid his hand across her stomach and slowly let it glide towards her femininity.

Then stopped.

“I’m going back to The Cage,” he said.

Celia frowned in a moment of confusion, and then her face became dark with outrage and alarm.

“Not without me!” she said. “Jack – you’re not going back there without me, damn it.”

He nodded. “I am.”

Celia wrenched her hands against the bonds. The rope was not thick, but the knots were tied with expert skill. She couldn’t move. She tried again, furious and enraged as a trapped panther, and her eyes were wild and hateful.

“You bastard!” she snarled. “You can’t leave me here! You can’t leave me like this!”

Stone stood up. “I can,” he said. “It’s for your own safety, Celia. I don’t know what I’m going to find – and I can’t be responsible for you. I’ve got to do this my way.”

She hissed at him. He smiled grimly. “Don’t struggle,” he said. “It won’t do you any good.”

Celia’s anger flared hot. “You are a bastard! Do you hear me? You’re a bastard! This isn’t fair!”

Stone nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I am
a bastard. I’m the original bastard, Celia. And I know it’s not fair. But I don’t play by anyone’s rules – except my own. That’s why I always win – and that’s what makes me dangerous.”

Seventeen.

Stone sat in the Lexus, listening to the engine idling quietly. He knew he had tied Celia’s hands well – she wouldn’t escape the knots. He knew he had time, and that was important. Stone needed to be patient now. He needed to play this right.

He opened the car’s glove box and found a folded road map and a small leather folder that was a bit smaller and thinner than a paperback. The folder was black. It was some kind of a vehicle log for keeping track of miles and gas expenses. Probably something the hire car company provided in all its vehicles. He also found a grey folder, larger than the travel log. It was a vehicle user’s manual. It didn’t explain how to strip down the motor – just how to operate the car’s luxury appointments. Kind of like a sales manual.

Stone put the grey folder back in the glove box and slipped the black travel log into one of the jacket pockets.

He reversed out of the hotel parking space and drove back to The Cage.

Stone parked up on the opposite side of the road and adjusted the rear view mirror until he could see the entrance to the club in the reflection.

He could see the big guy still standing outside the door.

Stone settled down and waited with the absolute animal patience of a predator.

It was a reasonably long wait, probably about thirty minutes. Without the engine idling, he could hear the gentle rumble of the distant surf. A breeze was rustling through small curb-side trees. Stone kept his eyes on the mirror.

Suddenly there was a commotion and Stone saw a small knot of people coming from the club. They chatted for a few seconds to the doorman, and then started walking up the street, coming towards where Stone was parked. He watched.

There were two men and three women. The men were hunched into dark black overcoats, and the women were all long-legged pretty young things in tight sparkly skirts and tottering loudly on heels that were too high for walking.

One of the guys reached into his pocket and thumbed a remote. There was a flash of hazard lights from a Red SUV that was parked a couple of cars behind Stone. The guy pulled open the driver-side door and the women piled into the back of the vehicle, giggling nervously,
tugging at skirts that were too short, and chatting in hushed secretive tones to each other while the second guy eyed them appreciatively.

The car pulled away from the curb in a tight U-turn and disappeared into the night.

Just a few minutes later another, larger group of people appeared on the sidewalk outside the club’s door. They split into smaller couples and groups. Some began walking away into the night. Others climbed into cars.

Stone got out of the Lexus. Started walking down the gentle slope towards the club. Reached the point where he was directly across the sidewalk
and then walked straight across the road, straight for the door.

The doorman was the same guy who had pulled the gun on Stone earlier in the night. He saw Stone coming and his body went all tight and tense. He reached into his pocket and kept his eyes on Stone. Behind him, more customers were beginning to drift out into the night. There was loud chatter and laughing – a rush of music and the smell of alcohol, carried away on the breeze. The doorman didn’t move. Just stood, watching Stone until he stepped up onto the sidewalk, looking like he was out for a casual stroll.

The big guy put up his hand like a cop stopping traffic. His hand was the size of a baseball mitt.

His other hand was
reaching inside his coat pocket. The guy looked like he was anticipating trouble. But he didn’t look like he was going to enjoy it. His face was serious, expression dark. Like he was trying to intimidate – maybe hoping his size and a mean look would be enough to make Stone reconsider.

“That’s far enough,” the big guy said. “I told you not to come back, sir. You’re not welcome at The Cage.”

Stone stopped. Stuffed his hands inside his jeans pockets. Just stood there, not bristling with anger, not giving off any threatening signs at all. Just stood there quiet and peaceful until two women who were coming out of the club had walked far enough down the street not to overhear him.

“Is that your decision?” Stone asked.

“Management reserves the right to refuse entry – sir.”

Stone nodded. “Let me speak to the manager, then. Let me speak to the owner. The Dom.”

The big guy frowned, maybe a little surprised. He still had his hand up, and his other hand inside his coat pocket.

Stone took his hands out of his jeans slowly and showed them to the guy.

“I’ve got something he needs to see,” Stone said, carefully measuring his words. “Something Katrina Walker wrote.”

He reached slowly into his coat pocket, almost like he was moving his hand in slow motion. The big guy was edgy. Stone saw him physically tense like a cop who was about to have a weapon drawn on him. Stone used two fingers and pulled the black travel log from his pocket. Held it up for the guy to see, and he relaxed visibly. Let out a breath.

“It’s Katrina Walker’s diary,” Stone lied. “It makes for
very
interesting reading…”

The big guy flinched. He had recognized Katrina’s name. Probably knew her well, Stone guessed. If Katrina had been the Dom’s sex slave, he’d probably chatted to Katrina, probably seen her around the club every night.

The security guy narrowed his eyes. His hand came out of his coat pocket and he thumbed a button on a little box that was clipped to his belt on his hip.

He half-turned and muttered something, then touched at his ear where the little receiver was taped so he could hear more clearly. He listened for a long time,
and then slowly turned back around. Stone hadn’t moved.

The big guy sighed, but didn’t relax. His attitude changed, becoming somehow more formal
– like he was doing something he was ordered to do, but clearly didn’t agree with.

“Come with me,” he said, and led Stone back inside the club.

Eighteen.

The crowd had thinned.

The big guy led Stone across the room and down the darkened corridor beside the bar. Stone followed, scanning the
main room as he walked. He couldn’t see either of the two women he and Celia had spoken to, or the biker guy.

The walls and ceiling of the corridor were painted black. It was longer than Stone expected. There was a door on the left marked ‘office’ and then a little further along, more doors that led to men’s and women’s toilets. At the end of the passage was a closed door. The big guy reached into his trouser pocket for a key. He rattled the lock for a moment then pushed the door open.
Put his hand on Stone’s shoulder and turned him around. Then patted him down, feeling for the telltale bulk of a gun or a knife. He was thorough – like he knew exactly what he was doing. And he was rough. He wasn’t being polite. He was letting Stone know exactly what he could expect if Stone caused him trouble. Satisfied at last, he stood back and ushered Stone through the open door.

The
big guy said nothing, just stood like a hulking edifice and stared at Stone with cold hard eyes.

Stone walked through the door, heard it close and lock behind him but he didn’t turn around. Just kept walking up a carpeted flight of stairs that opened up onto a mezzanine level.

It was a small room, made smaller by the dark paneled walls, the thick grey carpet, the chandelier that hung low from the ceiling, and the large round table that dominated the center of the room. It was a card table, covered with green baize. Seated around the edge were four men, and standing discreetly in the shadowed background were two young women. The women were naked above the waist. They were both slim and young. They both had long black hair and large, over-sized breasts that hung with unnatural shape and firmness. One of the women was lightly tanned. The other had skin that was as pale and smooth and perfect as alabaster. One of the women was wearing black panties and suspenders and nothing else. The other wore just a tight pair of satin shorts, cut impossibly high around the firm rounded cheeks of her bottom. Both of the women wore thick black collars around their necks. They glanced at Stone, standing in the doorway and averted their eyes before he could make contact.

Conversation around the table stopped.

Cigar smoke hung in tendrils around the table and settled in a grey haze above the men’s heads. They all turned to look at the stranger. Stone met their gaze, measured and confident, taking in each man and assessing him before moving on to the other.

The man seated with hi
s back to Stone turned and stared at him from over his shoulder. He was in his fifties or sixties, Stone guessed. He had a ruddy, blotched face that was made red and swollen by too much alcohol. The man had a sheen of sweat across his forehead. He had thinning grey hair and nervous darting eyes.

The man to his left was younger. Maybe forty-five. There was a black jacket draped over the back of his chair and he was holding
a fan of playing cards with his elbows propped on the edge of the table and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his forearms. He was wearing a blue necktie, but it was loose around his unbuttoned top collar. The guy had black hair and a long, drawn face. He stared at Stone, his expression distracted and irritated.

The thir
d man was a bigger guy. He had an unshaven face that was all angles, with slashes for cheekbones and dark heavy eyebrows. He glanced at Stone quickly, then turned back to the table, which was covered in a pile of colored plastic poker chips.

The last man was leaning back, his face out of the light, his expression hidden in the soft shadows. He was broad-shouldered, wearing a white open-necked silk shirt and a grey sports coat. Around his neck was a chunky gold chain. He had the casual, arrogant air of a man accustomed to power and influence. He leaned forward suddenly.

He looked Mediterranean, maybe Greek, or maybe Italian in his blood. His face was darkly tanned, his eyes flashes of black, his mouth drawn into a tight sneer. He was about Stone’s age, with dark hair.

He stared at Stone. Stone stared back.

“You are the mystery man who has been causing trouble in my town,” the dark man said.

Stone shook his head. “No mystery,” he said simply. “My name is Stone. And I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here to find a murderer.”

There was a sound of shuffling movement and Stone saw the edge of the long baize cloth ripple. Then suddenly a blonde woman’s face appeared from beneath the table. She crawled out beside the dark man, dragging the back of one hand across puffy swollen wet lips. Her eyes were wide and luminous. Stone flinched. The woman looked like Katrina Walker – only her skin was pale, not tanned, and her hair was shorter.

She glanced at Stone, still on her hands and knees,
and then crawled quietly into the shadows at the edge of the room. The woman was naked, wearing just a slave collar.

The dark man sighed.

“You’re referring to Katrina Walker.”

Stone nodded. “I’m here to find her killer.”

The dark man shook his head in wonder. “Why, Mr. Stone? Why would you make so much trouble simply to find out what happened to a common prostitute? A common piece of fluff that was anybody’s – for a price?”

“Including yours?”

The man laughed, but it was a dark and dangerous and menacing sound. “I don’t buy women, Mr. Stone,” he held up his hands in a gesture that seemed to include the room and the three women gathered behind him in the shadows. “I
own
women.”

“Including Katrina. You’re The Dom.”

The man shook his head sadly. “I am Dominic D’Astinga,” he said. “Some people call me Dom as a term of affection.”

Stone nodded. “Then you’re the man I’m looking for.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the travel log. He held it up. “Get rid of everyone,” Stone said. “We need to talk – and it’s a private talk.”

The man frowned. Shook his head.

“I assure you, Mr
. Stone, that these men are my friends, and as such they know how to hold a confidence. Anything you wish to say can be said openly.”

Stone nodded. He thumbed open the travel log and pretended to study its contents for a moment. “Katrina Walker was your sex slave,” Stone said. “You bought her, trapped her,
blackmailed her – I don’t know. But she was yours,” he said. “She makes that very clear in her diary.” He stared into the dark man’s eyes, his gaze steady and grim. “But for the last few weeks of her life, Katrina became concerned. Deeply concerned.” He rifled through the blank pages of the log like he was looking for a specific entry and then paused and looked at the man again. Now Stone’s expression became menacing.

“The Dom is angry at me, and I don’t know why. I fear for my life. I am sure he is planning to replace me, but he knows that I know too much. Maybe I should go back home to Ohio, but I don’t think he will let me go. I think he’d kill me first….”

There was a long silence. Finally The Dom raised a mocking eyebrow.

“Speculation,
Mr. Stone, and nothing more. If that is all you have, then you have nothing. And who would believe the word of a worthless small town slut and whore like Katrina Walker against the word of a respectable businessman such as myself?”

The
sudden instinct to kill came upon Stone like a black rage, and he glared across the table, his expression merciless, his face rigid. He could imagine his fingers locking around the man’s throat, squeezing with all his strength, inexorably clamping his hands tighter and tighter until his fingers and thumbs met – until the life was crushed out of the Dom’s body. He felt a rush of adrenalin and he had to crush down brutally on the urge to hurl himself across the room. He clenched his fists, and then relaxed them. Fought hard to keep his expression matter-of-fact.

He
shrugged. “Plenty of people,” he said confidently, “starting with the police. And you’re not a businessman. You’re a pimp, who uses extortion to cower people.”

The Dom looked suddenly angry. There was a flare of temper in his eyes, but there was also a split-second of flickering concern.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the edge of the card table. Steepled his fingers thoughtfully and stared at Stone like it was a battle of wills. But behind his dark eyes the man was thinking hard.

Finally he sat up straight and his voice became firm and heavy with arrogance.

“Let me see the diary.”

Stone tossed the travel log onto the table. The Dom snatched it up and flicked through the blank pages. He looked up at Stone, and his face was scowling and thunderous. “This isn’t it!” he said. “This is … is nothing.”

Stone smiled grimly. “You don’t think I would be stupid enough to bring the real diary with me, do you?” his voice was mocking. “I have the real diary in a safe place. And that’s where it’s going to stay.”

“Until?”

Stone paused and pretended to think. “Until I get $50,000,” he said. “Or until I go to the police tomorrow morning.”

The Dom snarled. “$50,000? Stone, that’s outrageous.”

Stone shook his head. “Not really,” he countered. “Not if you like your freedom. Not if you like your silk shirts and your money and your women and your lifestyle. Unless you’d rather be fitted out in an orange prison jump-suit…”

The Dom hurled the travel log at the wall. He could feel his temper rising and it took all of his control to bite back on the rage that was flaming behind his eyes.

“$10,000,” he said. “And not because I think the little slut’s diary is worth the paper it’s been written on, but because I have a reputation in this town to protect. And because I would prefer to avoid any scandal or to have my good name tarnished by these vicious claims.”

“Hush money?”

The Dom nodded.

Stone smiled. “You have no idea how noisy I can be. “$50,000, and not a penny less.”

The Dom looked at the men’s faces around the room, his eyes flickering from one to the other. Finally he nodded. “Very well,” he said. “$50,000 for the diary, Mr. Stone. But I want it here tonight. I want it delivered to me.”

Stone thought about that. “I think that can be arranged
,” he said. “But what about the money? I want it when I bring the diary back.”

The Dom nodded – and then paused a moment before he spoke. He studied Stone with careful thought.

“How about double or nothing, Mr. Stone,” he said with sudden smoothness. “Sit down. Play some poker with me. I’ll advance you a few thousand to get you started. We’ll play a few friendly hands, and if you win, I’ll pay you $100,000 for Katrina Walker’s Diary.”

Stone raised an eyebrow. “And if I lose?”

“Then you lose everything, Mr. Stone. You give me the diary for nothing – and then I decide whether to kill you or not.”

The two men locked eyes. Stone said nothing.

The Dom smiled lazy and taunting. “
Surely you can spare an hour.”

Stone nodded
slowly. He was convinced by the way the Dom reacted that he was the man who had murdered Katrina Walker – or at least ordered her murder. He saw an opportunity to learn more – maybe enough for him to be able to compel the local police to take action.

He had planned on bluffing a re
sponse from the Dom with the threat of a damning diary and then going to the police to urge them to investigate. But there was no diary. The Dom’s invitation to play cards gave Stone the chance to ask more questions about Katrina and his sister before he passed everything over to local detectives and lost his opportunity. He might never get this close to the man ever again.

And he could use the money….

If he won.

But The Dom wasn’t
just inviting Stone to play cards.

It was much more than an invitation – it was a challenge, and a dare.

Stone had walked into the lion’s den. Now he was being taunted into playing a deadly game where the stakes could be life or death.

“I can spare an hour,” he said. “But can you wait an hour to get the diary?”

The Dom smiled. “Well as long as you’re here playing cards, you can’t be talking to the authorities, can you?” He was suddenly calm and urbane, as smooth as a snake, his voice oily with charm. He turned to one of the women standing meek and passive behind him.

“Get a chair,
and some more poker chips,” he snapped.