MIranda's Rights (2 page)

“No, Jase.”

“Would you tell me if you were?”

“No,” she said again. “Because it isn’t an issue.”

Her vague response unsettled him further.

“I can’t explain.” She opened the door. “Trust me.” She touched his arm, letting her fingers trail to his hand before falling away. “You wouldn’t understand.” She crossed the hall and he let her go.

As far as she was concerned, he’d let the incident go. But neither the cop in him nor the man that cared for her was going to let the matter rest. Fuck that.

Two days later, Jase sat in his Dodge Charger with the engine idling. Night blanketed the parking lot, camouflaging his surveillance. Not in his usual spot, he waited where he could see the entrance to the apartment building and Miranda’s vehicle. Tonight he was intent on discovering her secrets.

And, there she was. Distracted and rushing across the parking lot in high-heeled black leather boots and a miniskirt that flirted with her ass. His palms itched to grasp and hold those firm cheeks as he slid his cock into her hot silken sheath. He blocked the image of sweat-slick flesh, long legs and damp tendrils of hair framing passion-clouded blue eyes, and focused on Miranda hurrying to meet her lover.

Unaware of her surroundings, she climbed into the seat of her sporty silver coupe. Yeah, she was full of shit when she stated she could take care of herself. Here he was, lurking in the shadows, dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt, watching her. Wanting her.

Miranda revealed enough creamy thigh to have his heart pounding and his shaft thickening. She made him feel like an untamed brute ready to claim his mate and rut. If he was one of the sick fucks running around the city, he could have her out of her car and in his, and she’d never have a chance of escaping. But that wasn’t his intention. Even if he had her bound, he wanted her willing.

Without a glance in his direction, she drove out of the parking lot. Jase followed, expecting her to head toward the Strip. Only she detoured. She weaved her way through traffic, driving away from the Strip but still on the fringe of the heart of the city.

A few minutes later, she turned left into a two-story private parking structure. Jase drove his car to the right side of the road, parked along the curb, shut off the ignition and waited. The older building had once been a church of some denomination. Therefore, it didn’t have the flash and pomp of typical Vegas clubs. The red brick building had two steeples. The narrow towers banked each side of the large structure. Stained-glass windows stretched the length of the second floor. At ground level, the windows had been blackened. There was a small placard to the left of a wooden door.
Club Creed
.

Jase flipped open his cell phone and placed a call. “Hey, it’s Ralston. I need a favor.”

“No, hello Steve. No, hey how have you been.” Steve King had a way with research. If he could be hardwired into the mainframe, he would be. Metro’s finest cyber guru.

Jase chuckled. “I’ve been a bit distracted. Which brings me to the purpose for my call. I need a rundown on a private club. What can you tell me about Club Creed?” He relayed the address of the club.

Steve whistled long and low. “What in the hell are you doing at a fetish club?”

“Fetish club?”

“Oh yeah.” Steve blew out a breath. “High class. Looks like there was an investigation a few months ago, but charges were never filed. This isn’t a club you’d find on the tour guide of top ten hottest clubs to visit in Vegas. We’re not talking average kink. Leather, collars, whips and chains.”

“Fuck.”

“Jase, what are you working on?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Actually, he was positive what he wanted to work on. She was in the club, and in a moment he would be as well.

“If you don’t want to lose your badge, play this one close to the bone,” Steve whispered. “Don’t—do
not
—go in there without a warrant. You’re going to need a helluva lot more than probable cause on this one.”

Jase kept his eyes locked on the parking garage, waiting for Miranda to enter the club. “Why do you say that?”

“Because the file was closed per the Chief’s instruction.”

“Don’t worry. This is personal. Thanks.”

“Be careful.”

“Always.”

Steve gave a snort as Jase flipped the phone closed.

What was keeping Miranda? She should’ve been able to park and enter the club if that was where she was heading. A fetish club? Too many thoughts ricocheted around in his head. Was this her idea or her boyfriend’s? And what was she into? There were levels in the BDSM world. He’d seen the marks. A Dom who understood his role wouldn’t have hurt her…unless that was what she wanted.

Maybe she understood more about herself than he’d thought…maybe he needed to learn more about himself. He’d been so set on protecting her from abusive men that he hadn’t been willing to give her what she needed. Jase had only offered her the overprotective cop. Why would she consider him when she needed a Dom?

A wave of uncertainty rolled over him. He and Miranda were good friends, yet neither trusted the other with their secret. He hadn’t wanted to scare her with his darker needs. If she were into pain, he could see why she wouldn’t trust anyone outside of her club—a sub’s sanctuary if she didn’t live the lifestyle openly.

At least now he understood her bruises. He didn’t like it, didn’t want to think of someone losing control. If she was a sub, she deserved better. He recalled the conversation in his apartment. The more he rolled over the events of the last few months, the better the pieces fit. Miranda was looking for something to fulfill her submissive needs.

Time to find out what she was into…and to whom she belonged. Because as far as he was concerned, she already belonged to him. He just had to claim her.

Jase slid from his vehicle, locked the door and strode across the street. Adrenaline coursed through his system. The high of police work. Intoxicating, authoritative, dominating. He enjoyed the surge of power that came from his position.

A man about fifty years old with a stern smile and scrutinizing glare stepped from the parking attendant booth. “Can I help you?”

Jase flipped his badge. “Is this parking for the exclusive use of Club Creed?”

The man glanced at Jase’s badge and nodded. “There’s a private entrance in back. Some members would prefer not to be seen from the street.”

Understandable, depending on the level of kink someone was into. Personally, he would never be caught sporting a pair of chaps and carrying a leather flogger through the streets of Vegas. Not that it hadn’t been known to happen.

“I’m going to need access to the club.”

The man’s lips thinned. “I can’t give you that and I can’t let you into the parking structure without permission.” He smiled. “Unless, of course, you have a warrant.”

Jase tucked his badge into his waistband and nodded toward the main doors. “I think I can endure a little public scrutiny.” He turned and walked to the main entrance. Unsure of what to expect, he braced for anything. He suspected that what went on beyond the ornately carved wooden door encompassed more than a smack on the ass and one or more hard cocks slamming into hungry pussies. Jase had been to a few clubs, known a few naughty girls, but he preferred his own playground. He liked an intimate encounter in the privacy of his room: his rules…his woman.

Groups and scenes had their place in the lifestyle. He didn’t consider his tastes a lifestyle. Nor were his Dom needs complicated. And now that he knew he wouldn’t have to initiate Miranda, he felt the familiar burn in his gut. The tightly controlled need to push both himself and his partner to the heights of pleasure.

Blood surged into Jase’s groin and his cock swelled against the zipper of his jeans. His pulse stuttered and kicked into a steady thump. He wiped sweat from his palm onto his thigh then grabbed the twisted wrought-iron handle. Locked. Shit. He scanned the jamb along the right and left for a doorbell. Finally he knocked.

A camera in the corner refocused. “Membership card,” a male voice sounded from a small speaker to the right of the door. Jase flipped his badge. “Step back.” Jase did.

A moment later, the door clicked and opened. A burly man blocked the pathway in. He stared hard at Jase and crossed his arms over his bulging chest. “What do you want?”

“Inside.”

“You got a warrant?”

“No.”

The man turned. Jase slapped his palm to the door before the man could shut him out. “This will only take a moment. It’s personal.”

“Not my problem. Now get your fucking hand off the door before I break it.”

“You should rethink that.”

“I can make a few calls and have you removed.”

Jase swallowed, remembering Steve’s warning. “Look, I don’t give a fuck about your club. I have reason to believe there’s a woman on the premises who is being forced into sexual capitulation.” He knew it was a lie, but he wanted in. “If I find out she’s being held against her will, I’ll be so far up your ass with an investigation, you’ll need a proctologist to remove me. Do you want this place crawling with law enforcement or are you going to get out of my fucking way, let me have a look around and determine for myself that she isn’t in imminent danger?”

The man paused, then obviously bought Jase’s bluff because he stepped out of the way. “You want into the club without a warrant, buy a membership.” He crowded Jase’s space. “Flash your badge and play big badass cop, and I’ll tie your ass to a chair and personally beat the arrogance out of you.”

“Are you threatening a cop?”

“No, I’m making a pact for pleasure—my pleasure,” he said and sneered. “Now how would you like to pay for your membership?”

Jase handed over his credit card.

The man snatched it from his hand. “You’ll get it back when you’re ready to leave.” He pointed to the hall. “Go.”

Jase took a few steps down the long corridor.

“And don’t piss me off.”

Navigating his way through the club, Jase looked left and right, searching faces. At first glance, the club was just like any other gathering mecca. Small bistro tables filled the area that once would have been the heart of the church. Vaulted ceilings, ornate woodwork and blackened windows. Music pumped through the sound system but not loud enough to drown out casual conversation. A bar stretched the length at the head of the room. Where once might have been a pulpit, leather-clad men poured drinks.

The club wasn’t crowded. Perhaps a hundred people milled about the room. Miranda wasn’t among them. Jase sidled to the left, moving deeper into the bowels of the building. She was here somewhere. All he had to do was find her. What he intended to do from there, he hadn’t decided. Whatever he chose, by the end of the night, their relationship wouldn’t be the same.

After searching the lower level of the club, he climbed a stairwell to the second floor. The lighting wasn’t as good and the sounds weren’t of music and conversation, but of moans, gasps and muted voices. Jase leaned against the wall, allowing a woman wearing a shiny leather miniskirt and bustier with holes cut out for her nipples to stride past him. Those nipples had gold rings piercing the tips.

God, his chest heaved as he breathed. Chaotic energy thrummed through his body. The scent of patchouli and clove blended and lingered with the heady fragrance of sex. Pheromones drenched the air. He responded. His cock flexed and his balls throbbed. Heat pooled at the base of his spine. He gripped his hands into fists and tried to relax. Tension coiled in his gut, and muscles tightened as he made his way down the hall.

A woman grunted and moaned. Jase approached the open door. A fully masked man, tall and muscular, wearing a leather vest and chaps had his mammoth cock sliding past the full lips of a bound nude woman. Leather straps crisscrossed her arms, legs and torso, binding her to a long padded table. Her breasts pressed against the table, her eyes were closed and tears streamed down her cheeks. However, the fucking machine positioned behind her, slamming a ten-inch dong deep into her cunt, held Jase mesmerized.

The whir of the motor increased. She gagged on the cock and whimpered. Cream glistened between her trembling thighs. The man grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerked her head higher and thrust more of his shaft between her red shiny lips. “If you could speak, you’d tell me you love cock, wouldn’t you?” She grunted, nodded as best she could with her head held immobile, and moaned. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked.

Jase swiped his tongue across his lower lip and continued to watch. The man was brutal, fucking her mouth with the same intensity as the machine thrusting in and out of her pussy. She quivered, arched, accepting both cock and dildo. Bound, controlled and at the man’s mercy, yet judging from the juices dripping from her cunt, she writhed in pleasure.

Jase’s knees weakened and his cock hardened further. The woman’s submission was complete. The masked man’s power resolute. He pumped hard, arched his back and every tendon strained in his muscular body. A rough growl rolled from his chest. His body jerked and the woman swallowed, hungry for the man’s dick. Cream rimmed her stretched lips, leaked from the corners of her mouth and trickled onto her chin.

Jase nearly came in his jeans. Was this what Miranda yearned for? There was a ribbon of fear coiled around his heart that Miranda would want more than he could give her. She had bruises, hid this part of her life from him, much the same way he hadn’t divulged his desire for control. But he could never hurt her, not without pleasure, not to the point of mutilation.

With renewed determination, he turned away from the erotic performance and walked with purpose down the corridor. The place was too large, had too many rooms. The closed doors were a problem. If he was going to find Miranda, he needed in these rooms. He approached the next door cautiously, wrapped his fingers around the knob, and turned. The door opened and he peered inside. Empty. He released a breath and leaned against the wall.

“Where are you?” he whispered. Miranda was somewhere in the club, and Jase hated to think of someone else pleasuring her, of restraining her, of controlling her release. In the time they’d known each other, he hadn’t an inkling she was into BDSM, fetish or anything remotely kinky. Hell, she was from small-town Nebraska. Had he known, would the knowledge have made a difference? Hell yes. He wouldn’t have hidden his predilection for domination. Unless he was wrong, and the intuition that made him a good cop said he wasn’t, not this time. Miranda required that he demand her submission.