Drako didn’t know how to respond to his father’s words. It had been a decade since the old man had paid him any compliment, let alone one so great. “As I admire you, father. You set a fine example, as the firstborn of your generation.”
The old man smiled. After a beat, he said, “You’ve just celebrated your thirty-first birthday. In order to assure your retirement by your fiftieth, all three of you must father sons within the next twelve months. Which means you must take wives. Immediately.”
Wives. Children.
Drako had understood this day would come, since shortly after taking his father’s place as the leader of the Black Gryffons. Thus, he’d accepted it long ago. It was their fate, their duty, their honor.
But, gauging from Malek’s barely stifled groan, at least one of his younger siblings hadn’t been mentally prepared for the responsibility of wife and child yet.
“
Must
we all take a bride?” Malek asked. “If Drako conceives three sons, there would be no need for the rest of us to father children.”
“Of course,” their father said. “There’s no guarantee he’ll produce one, let alone three.”
Malek’s shoulders sank a tiny bit. “Okay, but today, marriage and children don’t always have to come hand-in-hand—”
“No bastard child will ever be a Black Gryffon.” Their father shook his head. “That’s the law.”
“I think the law’s antiquated,” Malek grumbled.
“Doesn’t matter what we think.” Drako stood, giving his scowling younger sibling a clap on the shoulder. “So what? You have to take a wife. It’s not the end of the world.”
“Depends on your perspective.”
“Hey.” Drako glanced at his father. “There’s no law that says we have to be monogamous, right? I mean, if our wives know beforehand that we have no intention of limiting ourselves to having sex with just them, then we’re good, right?”
Their father shrugged, eyes glimmering with an unexpectedly playful sparkle. “If you can find yourselves wives who are willing to live with that kind of arrangement, then more power to you. Your mother wouldn’t. It was hell, giving up certain things, but I could never deny that woman anything.” He sighed. “There are some sacrifices that are worth it.”
“I hear you,” Drako said, knowing fully well what kind of agony it had to have been. “Discomfort” was an understatement, but he respected the old man more than he could ever say for his commitment to their mother. Since at least the early eighteenth century every Black Gryffon had practiced some form of D/s, and many of them had taken multiple lovers. His father had done neither.
In the silent moment that followed, Drako studied the man he had emulated his entire life. The old man’s once dark brown hair was now all silver, and lines fanned from the corners of his eyes, but otherwise in Drako’s eyes this man would always be the powerful guardian leader he had respected and admired. His father’s body was still heavily muscled, his mind sharp as a blade. Drako guessed retirement hadn’t slowed him down a bit.
Only the deep shadow in the old man’s eyes hinted at how close he was to passing from their world to the next.
“I miss her, son,” their father said. “Your mother loved like nobody I’ve ever known. The last ten years have been so empty without her.”
Drako touched the side of his neck. He could almost swear his tattoo, which had been, ironically, his mother’s final gift to him before she died, was tingling. “I miss her too.” Knowing somehow this would be the last time he’d see his father alive, Drako gave the old man a hug, then watched as his brothers did the same. It wouldn’t be much longer, he guessed, before their father would be reunited with the woman he missed so dearly.
Their father left with a final wave and a smile, and Drako shoved aside the deep sorrow tugging at his heart and forced his mind to the next task he faced as leader of the Black Gryffons.
It was his duty to help his brothers find brides, women who would be willing to live with husbands who, in Malek’s case, wouldn’t be faithful. And, in his own, would accept his lifestyle. It had to be this way, even if it meant it would take longer to find the right brides.
He had to be honest with his future wife, and he expected his brothers to do the same. He would never be able to live with the guilt of hiding the truth. The pain those secrets would cause.
His wife. His bride. Who would she be?
It was a matter of choosing the right woman. A special woman.
A certain set of deep brown-black eyes and sculpted cheekbones flashed in his mind, and it was then that he remembered where he’d first seen his quiet little Rin.
It couldn’t be. But it was.
The supposedly shy Rin wasn’t who her friend believed. Quite the opposite.
His lips curled into a smile and his heavy heart lifted.
He knew exactly where to find his bride. Rin was one very special woman, and he had a good feeling she’d be willing to listen to his proposal.
In general, people tried too hard to simplify issues. Life wasn’t comprised only of black, white, sane, insane, good, bad. There were an infinite number of shades of gray in between.
He had gone to great lengths to find people who saw a full spectrum of gray in the world. Only they could appreciate him, could share his vision.
Someday, every man, woman, and child on the earth would thank him. They would finally appreciate the truth he’d tried to share with them so many times. The simplemindedness that had blinded them wouldn’t matter anymore. The truth would be too big and dazzling to deny.
That someday would be soon.
Smiling, he signed the document, ending his voluntary stay at the hospital. He gathered his prescriptions, medications, and personal possessions and stepped out into the warm, sunny day. The antipsychotic medication left his mind a little fogged and suppressed his emotions, but even with a full dose of Haldol still coursing through his bloodstream, he was ready.
So much work to do; so little time to do it.
A sleek black Mercedes-Benz crawled down the driveway and rolled to a stop in front of the hospital’s entry. He waited, unsure whether it was his ride or not. The window rolled down, and a hand waved at him.
When he approached, the passenger handed him a card with no name, no phone number, only a gray-scale image of a chimera.
“Enter,” the passenger said, his or her head turned, so he couldn’t see the face.
Without questioning the passenger or driver, he got in the car.
2
“F
ifty thousand.”
Rin Mitchell’s heart slammed to her toes.
Fifty thousand
. Those two words echoed in her ears as she stared at the scumbag sitting across from her, sipping coffee in the cheerful Coney Island restaurant.
Why so much? Dammit!
She’d known the price would be high, maybe as much as ten thousand dollars. She’d managed to scrape together almost half that much by starving herself, living in a dump, working in a pit, and selling her car.
But fifty thousand? Why?
There hadn’t been any of the normal expenses associated with smuggling a sex slave across an ocean or over international borders. Rin’s sister Lei had been born and raised in the United States. And although Lei was pretty, and exotic—she was half-Japanese and therefore could work in brothels catering to men who liked Asian women—Rin saw no reason why she’d command such an unbelievable price.
Fifty thousand was unreasonable.
Impossible.
“Your price is too high.” Rin shook her head, trying her best to hide the sense of defeat eating away at her confidence. The image of Lei’s hollow-eyed stare flashed through Rin’s mind. She had to buy Lei’s freedom, whatever the price.
Five thousand. Ten thousand. Whatever. It was worth every penny if it meant her shy, innocent sister would be released. She could only imagine what kind of hell Lei had already lived through. Their mother had sold Lei into slavery over twelve months ago, then lied and told Rin she’d been kidnapped. When Rin had learned the truth, she’d vomited in the middle of the kitchen and then spit in their mother’s face.
How could she do such a thing? To her own child? And who would have ever guessed that a young woman could be sold into slavery? In the twenty-first century. And in the United States.
What made it that much harder to swallow was the pittance the bastard had paid. No human being was worth so little. Not even the woman who’d sold her child into slavery.
“Too high?” The man poured some more cream into his coffee, stirred it, and lifted it to his mouth for another sip. “Name your price, and perhaps we can come to an agreement.”
Holding her breath, she locked her gaze to his. “Ten thousand.”
“You insult me.” He set down his coffee cup and leaned closer. “She is priced fairly. That girl is very special, and you know it. For ten thousand, you can go buy yourself a common whore.” He stood, turned away, and headed toward the door.
“No, wait!” Rin could hardly believe months of hard, disgusting, demeaning work had led to this. Months of starving herself. Sacrificing everything.
For what? Failure? No!
Trying not to cause a scene, she hurried to her feet and followed the man to the restaurant’s exit. He pulled open the door, but she caught his wrist before he left the building. In her peripheral vision she watched the waitress dashing over to a coworker and thrusting a finger toward the door, no doubt thinking she was running out on the check.
“Please,” she whispered, waving at the waitress. “Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money. Give me a week.”
“A day is all I can wait.”
“Five days. Please. I’ll get the money. Somehow.”
His gaze slid down to her hand, still gripping his wrist. “Three days.”
She unfurled her fingers. “Okay. Three.”
“Call me when you have the money.”
Defeated and desperate, Rin nodded and watched the bastard walk away. Calling him every name in the book, she rushed back to the table, slapped down a ten-dollar bill, and headed back outside. The second the door swung shut behind her, the dam broke loose and the pent-up tears burst from her throat in painful sobs.
This was so freaking unfair.
The average person would probably tell her to go to the police. But she’d done that the minute she’d learned her sister had been sold, and they’d given her no help.
A month later, she decided she’d have to search for her sister herself. Over the months, as she travelled through some of the most god-awful places in the United States, she’d learned a few things. First, that the sex slave industry was huge business. Second, that sex slave traders were slick and had more connections than she’d ever have guessed. And third, that they protected their property fiercely and hid their identities behind successful-business-owner masks.
Twice, she went to the police after she’d located her sister—in New York and Chicago—and twice her captors smuggled her away again.
Going to the police meant certain failure.
She was so close, once again, and now nothing.
No doubt, after this meeting, Lei would be moved again.
Fifty thousand dollars.
That was the price she would have to pay for her sister’s freedom. Fifty freaking thousand. It might as well be a million. Ten million. Where could she get that kind of money? Where? How?
A scream of frustration sat at the back of her throat. Rin swallowed hard, over and over, struggling to keep it from sliding over her tongue and through her lips as she made the long walk home.
To think she had to work tonight too. Even though she wasn’t a masseuse—thank God!—she was not in the mood to deal with a bunch of leering suburbanites buying sensual massages. Buying sex.
Call her jaded, but it seemed there was a price attached to everything nowadays. Sex. People. Morals. Power. Freedom. You name it.
Her pessimistic mood followed her home, accompanied her through her getting-ready-for-work ritual, and shadowed her as she walked to work, growing heavier and darker as she turned toward the massage parlor’s grimy back door.
She’d hated every minute she’d spent in this building. Every second. But knowing she was getting closer to finding Lei, to freeing her, had made it at least tolerable. But now, she felt Lei slipping from her grasp, her hopes slowly evaporating. Her stomach turned at even the thought of spending five minutes in the filthy dump.
The men and their hungry eyes and grabby hands.
She shuddered and nearly gagged. There was no way she could do this. None.
Doing a one-eighty, she headed back outside, into the trash-strewn alley. Hoping no one inside had seen her yet, she hurried back around the side of the building, her head down, her gaze fixed on the littered sidewalk. Up ahead, a pair of men’s feet were approaching. Probably a customer. Walking, she slowly lifted her gaze while stepping to the side so he could pass.
No.
She halted midstride, and her heart practically jumped up her throat.
It was
him
. The guy from the bar. And the only man she’d ever seen at Magic Touch Massage that she might actually be tempted to do something with—other than rub his back.
Drako. Drako Alexandre. He was a man no girl could forget. Especially after that dance last night.
Instantly, memories of his hands gliding over her skin filled her mind. Her face burned hot. Her nerves sizzled and zapped. At the same time, a chill prickled her nape.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that he was here now. He recognized her last night. Obviously, it had simply taken him a while to remember where he’d seen her.
He smiled as he moved closer. The expression was as friendly as it got, coming from a man so large and darkly sexy. “Hello, Rin.” He stopped within reaching distance. “Are you heading into work? Or leaving?”
Nervous, she glanced over her shoulder. “Um, leaving.”
“Good. Care to get some coffee with me?” His hand slid under her elbow, and his fingers curled around it, tugging gently.
“Actually, I . . .”
What? Need to get home to plan a bank robbery?
“There’s something important I want to talk to you about.” He tipped his head and gave her arm another little pull.
Talk to me? Important?
She stood there for a second, until her curiosity got the better of her.
Important?
She gave him a quick up-and-down glance, then concentrated on his face. Such a stunning face it was too. All sharp angles and hard planes. He wasn’t a pretty man; he was magnificent. His features were formed like a man’s should be, his body thick and hard and powerful.
And looking at his clothes, their fit, their quality. His shoes. If they were any indicator, he wasn’t just financially comfortable, he was rich.
What did he want?
Unlike last night, the guy wasn’t looking like 100 percent predator-on-the-prowl. More like 50 percent. The other half of him appeared to be just a man who wanted to talk to her. A man who wasn’t out to hurt her, or take advantage of her, or throw some lame line at her to get into her pants. Only sit down and share a cup of coffee.
And talk. About
something important
.
“Okay, let’s go talk.” She let him lead her back down the street. They had to walk a couple blocks to find the nearest restaurant, past dilapidated brick buildings housing tattoo parlors and party stores. As she walked beside him, her curiosity grew. Her imagination ran wild, drumming up one bizarre scenario after another to explain why he’d tracked her down and what he wanted to talk about. Most of them revolved around her friend Andi.
Finally, they reached the restaurant, a greasy mom-and-pop diner. A cowbell clanked over her head as they entered.
Charming
. Her nose burned with the oily odor of fried meat and the cloying stench of cigarette smoke. Her escort led her to a booth in the back, resting a hand on the tattered, red vinyl-covered seat. “This isn’t my first choice of places. I’d rather go somewhere else—”
“It’s fine.” She slid into the booth and watched him take a seat across from her.
The waitress, a tired-looking woman with her silver hair scraped flat against her skull and knotted into a tight ball at the back of her head, shuffled over, took their orders, and left.
“So . . . ?” Rin curled her paper napkin around her fork, wondering what a man like Drako could want with someone like her. This never happened—a rich, powerful man from the right side of the tracks hunting her down and asking her out on some kind of pseudodate.
Granted, she was decent to look at. And she was far from a dummy. And if things had been different, a guy like Drako might have been interested in dating her. But they weren’t. Not yet.
Someday they would be, she hoped.
She’d had a very humble start in life, but she’d worked hard to drag herself out of the gutter. She’d waitressed and phone-solicited her way through four years of college and two years of grad school. But he didn’t know that. All he knew was that she worked at the massage parlor his brother frequented. One that was known for illicit activity.
A couple of times, Drako had come inside with Malek. But he’d always declined a massage. Another reason to admire him.
Finally, when he didn’t say anything, she glanced his way.
He was staring out the grime-streaked window, a muscle in his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap.
Was he angry? No. Couldn’t be.
He visibly inhaled. Exhaled. His gaze jerked to her face. His ears reddened.
Ohmygod, was he nervous?
Now, more than ever, she wanted to know why he’d come looking for her.
He cleared his throat.
The waitress returned, carrying a cup of coffee for him and a glass of diet cola for her. He thanked the waitress, asked Rin if she wanted anything else, and then scooped up a handful of sugar packets and emptied them into his coffee.
“Like a little coffee with your sugar?” she teased, watching him tear open a couple more.
One side of his mouth lifted into a lopsided smile that nearly stopped her heart. “I have a sweet tooth.”
“I see that.”
He stirred, the spoon clanking against the ceramic. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure.” She took a sip of her cola. Lukewarm and watered down, just the way she liked it—
not
. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Yes, I did.” He curled his hands around either side of his cup. He had nice hands. Long, tapered fingers. Neatly trimmed fingernails. A little spark of heat buzzed up her spine at the memory of those hands, touching, holding her. Arms pulling her close. Music thrumming. Bodies swaying. Nice memory. “I wanted to discuss a proposition with you.”
Proposition. Her mood dimmed, all thoughts of dancing fled her mind. That word called one particular activity to mind—sex. He thought she was a whore, a semilogical deduction, considering where she worked. But if he wanted to buy sex, why was he going to so much trouble? Why not just head down to the massage parlor, like his brother did?
She wanted to get up and walk out, to let him know she was not for sale, and then suggest he take his
proposition
to Magic Touch and offer it to one of the girls who wouldn’t be insulted. But something made her say, “What kind of ‘proposition’?” instead.