Scarlet Assassin Read online

“Look, you’re predictable. Every Monday for the past three years, you bring tuna on whole wheat, a green apple sliced in six pieces and a diet coke. On Tuesday, you bring a turkey on rye with mustard on the side, because you don’t want it to get soggy, cheddar potato chips and a diet coke. On Wednesday you—”

  “I get it. Fine, I’m in. Just don’t ask me to do anything. Okay?” Francesca instantly regretted her decision. She was not predictable, just practical, there was a difference.

  “Ten bucks says, she backs out,” someone whispered.

  “Okay I’ll take that bet, I won’t back out. You just make sure you don’t, ’kay?”

  By Thursday, the women were thoroughly worked up about their date at the Dungeon—everyone but Francesca. She had tried to think of a way to get out of tonight, but by the time they finished lunch everyone had taken the ten dollar bet and now if anyone backed out they would all owe the others eighty bucks. She would never live down backing out on a bet.

  Eighty bucks, how did I let myself be talked into this? Thought Francesca as she changed her clothes.

  Amateur night was something the Dungeon did once a month for those that wanted to see what BDSM was like. The women grabbed a table close to the stage and ordered drinks over the erotic beat with too much bass. The darkened room made it difficult to see anything or anyone. Francesca was thankful, although it made no sense, since all of her co-workers were already there.

  The lights dimmed even further, if that was possible, and the spotlight hit a tall, slim man dressed in leather.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Dungeon. How many are here for the first time?” He surveyed the darkened room. “Hmm, I see a lot of hands. Well, welcome to your first experience in bondage. If you’re squeamish, feel light headed or need assistance, we have people around the room that can help you get some fresh air.” Chuckling at his own joke he continued, “It won’t be that bad, I promise.”

  As he walked off the stage, a man strapped to an X was wheeled out, his backside shown to the audience. A woman in a tight leather bustier and stiletto heels, brandishing a whip, came on stage from the other side. Crack, and then another crack rang out as the woman skillfully snapped the whip over the crowd.

  “Ooooo,” everyone whispered as the audience ducked their heads, afraid they might be accidentally hit by the long menacing whip.

  From across the stage, the woman criss-crossed the man’s now shimmering back. Each time he asked the woman for another lash.

  “One ma’am,” he said, until he had counted off thirty strikes.

  “Should we give him more ladies?”

  “Noooo!” screamed the crowd as the man was wheeled off the stage.

  “Well, who’s next, then?” She gazed out into the audience. “Perhaps we have volunteers?” She gave the ladies’ table a smile and winked. Raising a suggestive eyebrow, she moved to the next table. With no takers for her offer, she waved at the crowd, flashed a final smile and left the stage.

  The tall, leather clad gentleman returned to the stage, slapping a short handled flogger against his hand.

  “Ladies, are you having fun tonight?” Cupping his ear, he winced when they all yelled and clapped. “Good, remember this is amateur night and all of these participants are new to this experience. If you would like to be part of this experience we have a sign-up sheet going around.” He pointed to a buxom woman in a mask, who held up a clipboard. “If you’re the shy type, you can sign-up in the back of the room. We even have private rooms for those that don’t like the spotlight, but want to try it. Now, if you will permit me…” He slowly bowed to the crowd.

  A beautiful brunette was led onto the stage, blindfolded and naked from the waist up, pasties covering her nipples. She stood in the center of the stage facing the crowd.

  “Holy shit,” Francesca whispered.

  “Hot huh,” Dorothy said, watching the scene unfold before her.

  A chorus of wows reverberated around the room as another petite woman in spiked boots, a cupless bustier and a leather mask appeared with an arm full of bondage gear.

  “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. It’s nice to see the house full of such beautiful women.” Smiling, she looked again at the tables in the front. “My name is Mistress Rose and this is my pet, Iris. Tonight, she has agreed to receive her discipline in public. Now, I must warn you that she likes it little rough, but since this is your first time, we’ll go easy on her.”

  “Holy shit,” another woman at the table whispered. “This is some crazy ass-shit.”

  “Ten bucks and you can go,” Dorothy said putting her hand out.

  “No way, I’m good. I’m just sayin’ this is some freaky shit.”

  “Iris, your safe word is….”

  “Red, Mistress.”

  “Ladies and Gentleman, if you hear the word Red, your job is to yell, RED. Okay?” Mistress Kitty said. She smiled and licked her lips.

  A low hum washed across the room.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you.” Mistress Kitty cupped her ear and pitched forward dramatically.

  “RED.”

  Goose bumps covered Francesca’s arms as she watched the mistress apply clamps to the woman’s nipples. Next, the woman’s hands were placed in an iron bar contraption, exposing her chest and back more. The mistress tugged on the clamps to check their security and ran her hand over the woman’s tight stomach. Slowly, she caressed the woman’s ass and then removed her short skirt, exposing a leather thong to the audience.

  The crowd watched the mistress skillfully work the flogger over the woman’s chest and ass. A bright shade of pink worked its way around her slender body. Francesca watched the intricate pattern of red welts that crisscrossed the naked woman’s body and wondered if it hurt. The woman licked her lips and then bit her lower lip. It was clear that Iris was enjoying this torture, and it sent a shiver through Francesca’s body. She felt shame when her body tingled in response to seeing the blindfolded woman whipped. Francesca gasped, had she heard her right? Surely, she had been mistaken. Then it happened again.

  “Please, ma’am, one more.”

  Her masked torturer obliged the request, striking at another clear swath on her body.

  “I bet you a hundred bucks you couldn’t do that.” Dorothy whispered in Francesca’s ear.

  “I bet you couldn’t do that,” Francesca said, pissed that her friend was acting like she could do it.

  “I could do that, piece of cake,” Dorothy smiled, meeting Francesca’s eyes and then ran her tongue over her lips.

  Francesca had heard enough. She needed a break and a trip to the ladies room was just what the doctor ordered. Fighting her way past the crowd at the back of the club, she pushed the bathroom door open and sighed. No line. The air-conditioned coolness of the bathroom felt refreshing and lucky for her, quieter. Resting against the wall, the chilly tile was a welcome cooling on her back. Her mind was on overload - the flashing lights, the booming bass of the music vibrated through her. The tall, swaggering, darkness of the club owner, Selene, was sexy as hell. She had total bad girl written all over her—so not Francesca’s type. Her dark eyes pulled at Francesca. Francesca was naïve when it came to bondage. She’d thought when she entered the club tonight she wanted to keep it that way. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  The voyeur inside kept her glued to her seat as the scene unfolded before her. Each time the whip landed on its target, it sent a rush through her. She couldn’t explain it. Pain wasn’t an aphrodisiac to her, but thinking about someone else controlling her had a certain appeal, a certain detachment she might enjoy. Her neat, nice little life was so orderly, it begged for something or someone to come in and turn it upside down. Pulling the stall door shut, she sat down and rested her head in her hands. A few minutes, she only needed a few minutes to recover before rejoining the rowdy table.

  The ladies room door opened and a set of distinct footsteps echoed through the room. Peeking through the crack between the door and wall, she recognized Selen
e washing her hands. Francesca jumped when Selene looked directly at her through the barrier. Thankfully, she turned back to the sink and ignored Francesca. She waited a minute longer and realized she couldn’t sit in the stall forever. Eventually a break would send women flooding into the bathroom, so she reluctantly stood, flushed the toilet and came face-to-face with walking sex.

  “Hi, Francesca, right?”

  “Hi,” Francesca said, a bit embarrassed, caught in the bathroom just sitting.

  Selene dabbed at a red spot on her blouse and then looked at Francesca again.

  “You okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, I just needed a break from the group and since I don’t smoke.” She slapped her chest. “Asthma. I didn’t want to hangout in the smoking area. It’s nice in here though.”

  Now she felt silly. It was a restroom, not a lounge found in some ritzy club or hotel.

  Selene turned around and gave the room a once over. “Well, I guess I don’t need to do that remodel I was considering.” She laughed and resumed dabbing at the stain.

  “Here, let me help you. Is that club soda” Francesca pointed to the bottle on the counter.

  “Yeah, Jax said it would get this wine stain out.”

  “Kinda messy are ya?”

  “Actually, your friend did this.”

  “Oh, sorry. She can be a little wild when she’s had too much to drink.”

  “A little?”

  “Okay, a lot.” Francesca knew there would be a story behind this stain. There always was when it came to Dorothy. Without thinking, Francesca reached her hand under Selene’s blouse cupping the stain.

  “Hand me that bottle.” she said nodding at it.

  “I can do this,” Selene seemed uncomfortable.

  Francesca’s finger brushed against the pale skin that was in direction contrast with Selene’s dark eyes, and straight, shiny hair, so black the tinted highlights glinted blue in the light. She fumbled with the club soda, and the spill soaked through Selene’s blouse, revealing the outline of a dark nipple through the now sheer material that lay on Selene’s bare breast.

  Selene sucked in a deep breath. “Oh that’s cold.”

  “Oh sorry, sorry.” Francesca grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at the wet spot over the erect nipple.

  Selene stopped her. “Here, I’ll get that.”

  “Of course, sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Are you okay?”

  A hand on her arm pulled Francesca from her daydream and back to the present.

  “I’m sorry?” Francesca blushed at the touch from the club owner.

  “I said, are you okay?” Selene removed her hand. “Would you like me to call one of your friends over? Do you need to sit down?”

  “Huh? No, no I’m fine. I was just lost in thought I guess. I’m sorry for what happened back at the table. Dorothy has boundary issues, and the other ladies…well I guess doing research for a living doesn’t make for great social skills.”

  “I noticed, but you seem to be able to handle yourself.” Selene smiled.

  A jolt speared right through Francesca in response; a twinge of guilt she was sure.

  “Oh, well…I’m…I mean…I get out…uh, I don’t get out…out, but I do seem to be able to keep myself from looking like an ass, luckily.” She looked down at her shoes. Now she was a blubbering idiot, but at least she wasn’t still staring at the club owner’s chest anymore. It wasn’t her fault, they were eye level…besides…oh it didn’t matter. She was way out of Francesca’s league. Tall, dark and gorgeous never went for pale, short and shapely.

  “Well, I have to get back to work. It was nice to meet you…” Selene offered her hand.

  “Oh right, sorry. Francesca. Remember, I told you out there?” Now she was sure the woman was out of her league, not a second thought.

  “I thought you said people called you Francesca?”

  “They do, I mean some people do, mostly the people I work with do, but…” shut up. “Francesca’s fine.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and dashed from the restroom leaving Selene behind shaking her head.

  Chapter Eight

  The folded parchment sat dead center of her desk. The red wax seal, denoted it was from someone in the coven or at least someone affiliated with the coven. Selene sat down in her leather chair, steepled her fingers and ran her lips back and forth over the tips.

  Studying the paper, she knew that whoever wrote the letter was making a request. She wondered if the person writing knew the price they would have to pay for her services? More often than not, money wasn’t the issue. The issue was usually the who.

  Picking up the letter she studied the seal. Typical shield with a hand thrusting a sword upwards, denoted a Scottish clan. She hadn’t heard from the Scots in decades. There were few in their ranks, but those few in the coven considered themselves a long line of warriors and handled their own family business.

  Breaking the wax seal in half, the rush of cologne and sweat pulled at her nostrils as she unfolded the parchment. Damn men, she thought, can’t they do anything in moderation?

  Selene,

  It’s a sad day when I am in need of your services. Unfortunately, I am desperate. I await your terms and conditions for employment.

  Respectfully,

  Ian.

  Selene tapped the envelope against the desk. What could Ian want from her? He’d been silent for so long she thought him dead and gone. Though an announcement usually followed the death of her kind, even if it weaved its way through the grapevine. But, money was money and what did she care who employed her as long as they paid?

  She picked up her phone and dialed the number on the letterhead.

  “Hello.” The soft voice on the other end sounded young.

  “May I speak to Ian, please?”

  “A moment, please.”

  Selene thought she could hear blankets rustling in the background and a muffed squeal. Ian was a dog to the n’th degree, so it wasn’t a surprise if he was bedding a new conquest.

  “Ian, here.” Wisps of his Irish brogue still laced his words. It took work to keep an accent alive this long and Selene wondered if he kept it for the ladies.

  “Ian, Selene.”

  Silence and more blankets rustling before Ian said anything else. “Selene. You got my request.”

  “I got a note requesting my services. What can I do for you, Ian?”

  “I’d like to meet in person, Selene. This is a delicate matter.”

  Selene didn’t usually meet with her clients. The nature of her business made her a target for those that might want to kill her.

  “I don’t meet with my clients, Ian. You know that. Besides, I’m assuming you remember the routine. Half up front, the rest upon completion.”

  Selene kept the detail vague when she spoke on the phone. She never knew who might be listening and she didn’t need more problems than she already had. She’d refused more jobs than she’d taken lately. Death was a dirty business—literally and figuratively. Moving away from it and into more lucrative enterprises helped line her pockets now. Besides, she liked the way she slept at night. The constant need to look over her shoulder kept her from becoming involved with anyone, fearful they would become a target just because they’d been seen with her.

  “I know, but I thought you might make an exception this once.”

  “No.”

  More silence. She was starting to get a feeling it might be best to let this job go to someone else. Her gut was often right, but she would let Ian confirm that for her.

  “Okay, I understand. Look, I’ve got a problem that needs a resolution. The coven won’t handle the interloper so I need to handle it.”

  More silence.

  “You still there?” He sounded like he was cupping the phone for privacy.

  “Yep.”

  “Selene, I’m in a bad way here. I need someone to disappear as soon as possible. The bastard’s giving me fits and Van der Pl
ume won’t budge an inch.”

  “Details, Ian.”

  “I’ve got this chancer, De Marcus…” Selene’s ears perked up. “trying to put the pinch on me. Says I owe him.”

  Selene knew she would take this job. Her gut said no, but she wanted De Marcus’ head on a platter. Especially if it meant getting AJ off her back. Selene figured that the word was out that she was after De Marcus. What she didn’t know was how deep the word went. Hell, you’d have to be living under a rock not to know she was after the bastard.

  “I need to ask you some questions before I decide whether or not to take the job.”

  “Aw, come on, Selene. I’m feelin’ the screw here. I need someone to handle to this tool, before he tries anything else.”

  “Look, answer my questions truthfully and this will go faster. Bulldog me and I’ll hang up.”

  “Right, right. Let me put some clothes on.”

  “Why, I can’t see you?”

  “Well aren’t you a lucky girl? You just might swoon if you saw my—”

  “Stop. I’m not interested in your manhood or lack of it.”

  “Aw stop, Selene. You know I’m bigger than an ox.”

  “Could we get to the questions, if you don’t mind, of course. This is my dime.”

  “Oh, right. Well, get on with it girl. I’m as decent as I’m going to get in this lifetime.”

  Selene wanted to punch the arrogant bastard, but that would have to wait until they were face to face. “Where are you?”

  “In me gaff.”

  “No shit, you gowl.” Selene knew enough Irish to be offensive, which always seemed to be foreplay for some guys. Ian could have easily said he was at home, but slipping back into his Irish meant he’d been drinking.

  “Aww, you’re a feek after me own heart. Careful, Selene, I’ll win you over yet.”

  “Doubtful, Ian, now let’s get on with it. Where are you?”

  “I’m in the Low valley.”

  Low valley was vampire slang for a place at a higher altitude where it was damn near impossible for an average human to find. The lighter atmosphere made breathing difficult and a house situated between mountain peaks often led to darker days no matter the time of year.