“We’re looking for Paul, in particular,” Gina said. “Is he here?”
“Paul? I haven’t seen him. Why?”
“We think he was the last person to see Kitty alive,” Gina said.
“Oh, God. You don’t think
he’s
a killer?”
“You don’t think it’s possible?” Hanson asked.
“Paul isn’t even alpha enough to dom his own wife.” Dante grunted. “And he’s too lazy to work that hard.”
Griggs laughed.
“Do you know Cherry?” Gina asked.
“Cherry? Cute little redhead, no bigger than a minute?”
Gina nodded.
“Sure, I haven’t seen her around in a while, but—”
Gina explained the situation to him, but Dante didn’t know anyone using the name Kerberos, or anyone that had shown special interest in Cherry.
“You better find him before we do,” Dante said quietly, his face suddenly thunderous. “I’ll castrate the mother-fucker—”
“If you think of anything, anything out of the ordinary,” Gina said, “call me, okay?”
“Look, talk to whoever you need to. Just be discreet, please?”
“We will. I promise.” Gina made a cross over her heart. “Keep your eyes and ears open for me, will you?”
Gina led Hanson and Griggs through another door. She said she didn’t feel welcome anymore, but Angel’s reception at the front desk had been friendly enough. Hanson felt staring eyes, but he couldn’t tell which stares were unfriendly and which were merely checking them out.
Or rather, checking Gina out. He was doing it, too, he couldn’t help it. She’d be gorgeous in a potato sack, but tonight she didn’t even belong on this planet. There was more than just beauty, though; it was the authority with which she moved and the imperious tilt of her head. Was it just the boots, or did she stand straighter dressed like this? Like a chameleon, she had transformed herself yet again.
“It’s been two years,” Gina said. “I don’t know most of these people.”
She had to lean close to his ear to be heard over the music, and Hanson was distracted by the thought of kissing her throat, her bare shoulders, the tops of her breasts . . .
This was never going to work, he thought. He couldn’t think straight with her standing so close to him, looking like that. He forced himself to study the room instead.
It was large, dimly lit by sleek modern sconces along the cinderblock walls and scattered spotlights aimed at various pieces of equipment. Hanson spotted several of the large X’s they’d seen at Lady Cassandra’s.
He was also aware of a half-naked young man, with a ponytail and rings in his nipples, who kept staring at Gina.
“They’re called St. Andrew’s crosses,” Gina said, dipping close again. “Very popular, but boring. Most of what you see here is just flog, flog, flog. Yawn.”
“What would you prefer to see?” Hanson asked.
“Something with real passion,” Gina said, eyes roaming the room.
The youngster was suddenly on his knees before Gina.
“Mistress,” he said, head bowed. “This slave is overjoyed to see you again—”
“Get up, Jason,” Gina said in a voice beyond cool. It was frigid. “I did not give you permission to speak to me.”
“Please forgive me,” the boy murmured, looking miserably at Griggs on the end of the leash.
“Run along.” Gina flicked her hand. “I’m busy.”
“You just broke his heart,” Hanson said, watching the youngster back away.
“His idea of protocol annoys the shit out of me,” Gina snorted.
“Oh, man,” Griggs said, twisting his head. “Tits and ass!”
A woman walked by wearing nothing but a leather collar and a smile. It wasn’t until she’d passed that Hanson saw the bruises and welts on her back.
“Damn.” Griggs winced.
“But see how happy she looks?” Gina said.
“I just don’t get it,” Griggs said. “I can understand a little butt-slapping, but how can anybody enjoy getting the shit beat out of them?”
“It’s not all about pain. A lot of what we do is softer, more sensual. But even the pain is about sensation, and getting that endorphin rush.”
“Endolphins?” Griggs asked.
“En
dor
phins,” Gina corrected. “When the body is stressed, it produces hormones called endorphins. They produce a natural high.”
“Seriously?” Griggs didn’t look convinced.
But even amid the sounds of flesh being struck, and the shrieks and wails of pain, the unmistakable sounds of a woman’s orgasm carried from the far end of the dungeon.
“Somebody’s having a good time,” Hanson said.
“How do they walk in those shoes?” Griggs stared at the five-inch stilettos being tongue-washed by a naked man on his knees.
The shoes in question were on the feet of an Amazon in a black latex nun’s habit. She looked up at them with a haughty expression, but nodded slightly at Gina.
“You know her?” Hanson asked.
“Yes. I know him.”
“Shit,” Griggs said. “That’s a him?”
“Used to be.”
“So, he—she? Is queer?” Griggs asked, peering around.
“Listen asshole,” Gina said, tugging Griggs’s face close to her own and speaking slowly and deliberately, “the lady in the latex is transgendered, not queer, not a faggot, not even gay.”
“Should we talk to him . . . or her?” Hanson asked. “The nun, I mean?”
“I think we should say hello to Marla,” Gina said, nodding to a corner.
“I’ll be damned,” Griggs said.
As they approached, Marla’s smile fixed stiffly on her lips.
“Hello, Siren.” Gina leaned in to hug Marla, and Hanson heard her whisper something in Marla/Siren’s ear. He tried to smile in reassurance.
“Didn’t expect to see you out partying,” Griggs said.
Gina tugged on the leash hard enough to make him sputter and clutch the collar. He glared at her.
“I’m sorry, he hasn’t yet learned not to speak until spoken to.”
An older woman sitting beside Marla/Siren laughed.
“Siren is here with her family,” the woman said, patting Marla/Siren’s shoulder. “She needs our company and support right now.”
Griggs’s eyes were focused on a naked girl being tied to a cross nearby. Gina tugged on the leash again until he turned back to her.
“Roger and I spent our happiest hours at the club,” Marla/Siren said. “I feel closest to him here, with the people who really knew us.”
The generous bosom that Griggs had admired on their first meeting was on display in a low-cut dress—black, like nearly everything in this damned place—but nothing flashy. Many wore quite ordinary street clothes. There were a few, however, in elaborate costumes, including the gorgeous doll of a young woman in a pink latex dress with ribbons in her pigtails.
Marla fairly vibrated with anxiety.
“This is Hanson,” Gina said, speaking very deliberately. “You’ve never met before. Right, Hanson?”
“No, we’ve never met,” Hanson agreed, looking Marla directly in the eye. “I’m brand new to all this.”
Griggs grinned, but kept quiet.
“Nice to meet you, Hanson.” Marla relaxed a bit.
“I’m Medusa,” the older woman said, extending her hand to Hanson. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Gina had told him not to worry about titles and protocol, that simple courtesy would do the job. Being a good Southern boy, Hanson had no problem with that.
“The pleasure is all mine, ma’am.”
“So you have a new plaything, Gee?” Medusa laughed throatily. “Are you going to play him tonight? I always loved watching you work.”
Griggs looked so frightened that Hanson almost laughed.
“Probably not. Unless he provokes me by being very, very naughty.”
Someone screamed, louder and longer than any he’d yet heard in a room full of moans and giggles and yelps. He resisted the urge to look around.
“I’m looking for someone to beat tonight,” Medusa said, looking up into Hanson’s eyes with an unsettling intensity. “I don’t suppose you’re interested?”
“Hanson is strictly top.” Gina smiled. “If he weren’t, he’d be wearing
my
collar.”
Medusa and Gina both laughed, and Hanson felt strangely thrilled at being discussed by two women as if he weren’t standing right there. Medusa was a good fifteen years older than Gina, and not so provocatively dressed or so classically beautiful. But there was still something wonderfully confident and unabashedly sexual about her that was very appealing.
But there
he
was again, standing in the shadow of a nearby column.
“Your boy is still watching you,” Hanson said into Gina’s ear. “Who is he?”
Gina didn’t even glance his way.
“No one you need to worry about.”
But he did. He couldn’t stop himself.
Gina worked the room, while Hanson and Griggs trailed after her. Aside from some of the clothes—or lack of them—and the
twap, twap, twap
of paddles, it was not much different from a cocktail party or backyard barbecue. Hanson caught snippets of talk about football, computers, and poker. Three half-naked women were discussing their kids’ day care problems.
“These people are so . . .” Hanson began.
“Normal?” Gina finished.
“See that guy over there in the Grateful Dead T-shirt?” Griggs asked, jerking his head to the left. “That’s my fuckin’
dentist
!”
“The one hanging the naked guy up by his ankles?” Hanson asked.
“Oh, shit,” Griggs said, as if only just noticing. “Does that mean he’s a fag, too?”
“Use that word one more time, and I will beat the shit out of you,” Gina said, looking down haughtily at him. “Which bothers you more? That’s he a dominant, or that he’s gay?”
“Well, I knew the guy was a sadist.” Griggs shrugged, still watching. He sucked in his breath abruptly and turned away, nearly shrinking into Gina’s side. “Oh, fuck, what is that
thing
he’s putting on the guy’s dick?”
“Calm down.” Gina sighed. “They’re just clothespins strung together—”
“I gotta get a new dentist.” Griggs shook his head. “Sadist, gay, all right, I can deal, but now I’ve seen him with another guy’s
dick
in his hands . . .”
“There’s a saying, Griggs,” Gina said. “ ‘What you see here, what you hear here, stays here.’ Understand?”
“Sure, I get it. It’s like Vegas.”
“Only the submissives get naked?” Hanson asked.
“Pretty much,” Gina agreed.
“Some of them should keep their clothes on,” Griggs muttered. He glared when she jerked the leash. “Seriously, Gee, there are some damned unattractive people here.”
“You think only pretty people should have a good time?” She jerked the leash again. “This is the real world, not a porn site. And in the kink world, it’s about
acceptance.
”
“Why don’t the dominants get naked?” Hanson asked, more to derail an argument between Griggs and Gina than out of real curiosity.
“Because it’s hard to maintain a sense of authority when you’re naked,” Gina said.
“A real man isn’t going to show his dick,” Griggs said smugly.
“Except on the Internet, right?” Gina snapped.
There was no sign of Paul, nor had anyone they talked to heard of Kerberos. Gina was careful not to hint at the real reason she wanted information on someone named Kerberos; she explained that he had contacted her online, wanting her to ‘mentor’ him, and that she was merely checking his references.
“People do that?” Hanson asked. “Check references?”
“Only the smart ones,” Gina said.
Gina kept moving through the room, pausing at random conversations, occasionally exchanging a few words.
“I saw it on the news yesterday,” an elderly gentleman said. “They said her dogs
ate
her—”
“I hope they pumped the dogs’ stomachs,” quipped a slender bald man in a Zoot suit, provoking laughter.
“Ya’ll are awful,” protested a heavy girl covered in tattoos. “This maniac killed Dragon and Kitty!”
The laughter died except for a couple of nervous snickers.
“Do you think the killer was one of us?” Gina asked.
The little group looked at her.
“More likely it’s somebody who hates us,” the elderly gentleman said.
“I don’t even want to think about it,” the tattooed girl said.
The conversation turned to something else, and Gina moved away.
“Damn, my feet are killing me,” Gina whispered.