The Vigilante's Lover: A Romantic Suspense Thriller (The Vigilantes Book 1) (6 page)

He looks up at me. I’ve never been more vulnerable in my life. Naked other than the ropes and my panties, freezing in the wind. But I feel strong.

He notices me this time, like he senses something has changed. His eyes linger on my body. I don’t feel cold at all now, flush with his gaze. Heat blossoms through my body, growing painfully fiery between my legs. His eyes are shadowed, but he takes his time.

Even in the low light I can see something twitch in his jaw. I don’t know what it means, but it’s making me feel crazy. I want him to touch me, to do something. It’s the most insane sensation I can imagine.

But he didn’t hurt me or do anything before, when he could have. He seems to think I’m his enemy, and yet, he’s done nothing to harm me.

I no longer fear him.

He steps in closer and I suck in a breath. My heart is hammering so hard he can surely hear it. But he doesn’t reach out with his hand. The wand skims the surface of my skin, so close it almost touches.

I’m so sensitized that I almost cry out when he grazes my shoulder. My breathing is fast again. When he says, “Feet wide,” I almost can’t comprehend his command.

But I take a step out and the device makes its close path up my leg. I almost long for it to touch me, for him to be unable to resist. But he’s careful, and doesn’t make any contact with the panties or my thighs.

He steps back, arms crossed over the gray suit, watching me.

The cold grips me. I feel brazen enough to say, “You could have just used your wand while I was still wearing the gown.”

His laugh ripples across the empty fields. “This was much more enjoyable.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve captured a Phase One Trainee quite as beautiful as you before.”

He thinks I’m beautiful. He’s the first person to ever say it.

The wind picks up, tossing my hair around. With my hands bound, I can’t move it off my face. I try to picture myself in the red ropes, standing in the moonlit field with this dangerous, ungodly handsome man.

Something odd is happening to me. I’m almost naked, wrapped in red rope, hands tied, completely vulnerable.

And yet I feel more powerful than I have ever felt in my entire life. I’m not Mia anymore, not the one curling up alone in her old-fashioned nightgown. I’m a woman who gets into dangerous liaisons with strange men who strip her down to bondage rope and doesn’t flinch.

“So, Mr. Jax De Luca,” I say in a voice I’m not quite sure is my own. “You’ve got me right where you want me. But you have no information, no clue about your missing Klaus, and you’ve kidnapped and stripped an innocent woman in a field. What are you going to do now?”

Jax continues to watch me. His eyes are dark and unreadable in the moonlight.

“I like you, Mia.” His eyes drift along my body. “I like you a lot.”

I feel like I’m on fire. I have nothing to lose here. If he was going to hurt me, he already would have. I take a timid step forward and lean against him. “Then get me something to wear,” I order him.

Jax laughs. “Yes, I think I’m going to enjoy you a lot.” He turns to his trunk and drops the wand in. He pulls off his own silk jacket and wraps it around my shoulders, buttoning the front. The backs of his hands brush across my breasts and they perk up. I have to fight against inhaling sharply. I’ve never felt like this before, but I want more of it. I want to go wherever this man goes. I want to keep feeling this way.

“I think I’ll keep you for a while,” he says. He opens the back of the car, but this time when I get in, he doesn’t tie me down.

I think this might be progress for both of us.

11: Jax

Who is this girl?

I drive most of the night. I watch her in the backseat. After about an hour, she lies down and falls asleep. Her hair is wild and tangled around her face.

Something tickles in my belly, something annoying, something like interest. I force it away and focus on the task at hand. I can’t just waltz into a Vigilante silo with a naked woman in bondage rope. If her information is wiped, no telling who she is.

I refuse to allow any thought that she might actually be innocent.

Ordinary people have Identipad entries that are pages long. Social media accounts. Addresses. Records. I can see every filling in their teeth and every bad grade on their high school transcript. There is nothing the Vigilantes haven’t compiled on every citizen of every country. People make it too easy with their long digital trails, interconnected with everyone they know and every place they’ve been.

But Mia is blank. Her parents too.

Then I realize, so is my family.

When they left the network, retired, their identities were erased. It’s a courtesy.

But this girl. She’s a working girl. She was in a safe house.

I rub my eyes. Nothing should be hidden from me. Before Jovana and my prison sentence, I was next in line to take over the entire North American syndicate. That would include this beautiful girl and her aunt’s Tennessee home. I should know them. Be able to see their histories, functions, and allies. Even if they are wiped. Even if they have special classification.

And yet, I can’t.

They could be transplants from another syndicate. Russian, maybe. Or someplace small. Norway. Mia’s features are very delicate. Her hair is a mix of brown and gold.

Damn it, who is she?

The lights of St. Louis become visible in the distance. We’ll be in the city soon. I’ll need to decide what to do with the girl. Dump her? Lock her away?

But if I bring her to the silo, I might learn more about her. Standard procedure at every Vigilante station is a complete rundown of recent activity, biomedical, geolocation, technology use. Everything. You couldn’t give a blow job without it being on the screen as you walked through the glass hall.

It would tell me about her.

I punch the screen on the dash to activate the search function. “Find me a five-star hotel,” I say softly, to avoid waking Mia.

A list appears. Ritz-Carlton. Four Seasons. Cheshire. Moonrise.

“Ritz,” I say.

A gentle female voice says, “The Club Level Executive Suite is available.”

“Take it,” I say.

“Reserving it now.”

I will need to provide something for Mia to wear to the silo. I swipe away the hotel screen. No traditional boutiques are open at this hour. I glance back at her. The jacket has slipped and I can see the swell of her breasts crossed by the red rope. Something stirs again.

“Fetish boutique,” I say to the screen.

But the list is totally unsatisfactory. Bondage shops. Cheap adult stores. St. Louis hides the good stuff.

Who would know where to find a service to provide couture clothes to a girl who is tied up? Someone discreet who wouldn’t blink at the ropes?

“Contact Armond,” I say.

“Contacting,” the voice responds.

After a moment, Armond pops up on the video screen. His bald head shines blue from whatever lighting he’s under. His eyes are bright under bushy brows. “Jax! You’re back on grid!”

“Not exactly,” I say.

Armond glances down. “I see. Now that’s what I call encryption. It says I’m in Buenos Aires.”

“And I’m in Tahiti,” I say. “I need a favor.”

“Anything, my friend.” He doesn’t even ask why I’m out of prison. Some things you don’t say even on encrypted channels.

“I need something lovely, size four, daywear, think high-class secretary.”

Armond guffaws a loud laugh. “You’re more like a size ten, I’d say.”

I shake my head. “Right. I do drag about like you do mezcal.”

Armond’s expression shifts to disgust. “Do not speak of it.” He’s from Jalisco and his tequilas are pure blue agave always. We’ve tossed a few back more than once.

“Also, we have a little bondage involved,” I say. “So send me someone prepared to handle role-play.”

He taps on something below his screen. “I need some coordinates.”

“Remember when we found six hookers in a meth lab?”

“Can’t forget that one.”

“The tall one. Her name. My usual spot. Usual suite.”

“Roger that,” he says. “I’ll send a couple ladies expecting to outfit a boss and secretary bondage game.”

“Perfect,” I say. Armond is the expert at these things.

“I’m not seeing that gray suit I sent your French compatriot,” he says.

“I should have known that was you.” I jerk my head toward the back. “The lady has the jacket.”

He nods knowingly. “Understood. Shoe size?”

I glance to the backseat. Mia’s slender foot is tucked under her knee, the Croc about to fall off. “I’d guess a seven.”

“All right. It will be ready for you when you arrive. ETA?”

I glance at the map still projected on the lower dash. “A little less than an hour.”

“We’ll get it done.”
 

“Thank you, Armond.”

“It’s a pleasure, as always.” He nods and the screen blips out.

“Six hookers?” Mia’s voice is full of sleep.

“It’s code,” I say, even though that one isn’t.

She sits up, her hair falling around her shoulders like a cloud. Damn, she’s sexy. The innocence paired with the attitude. I’ve never met anyone like her.

“We’re almost to the city,” I say. “I have reserved a hotel.”

She glances down at the suit jacket and frowns at how much she’s revealing. “I don’t think they’re going to approve of my walking through the lobby in red rope and a man’s jacket.”

“I have my own entrance,” I say.

“Of course,” she mutters. She shakes her head, trying to get her hair to fall back. “Am I going to be tied up like this for long?”

I set the car back into controlled drive and turn to look at her. The suit jacket splits at her thighs, pale and slender on the black leather seat. Her knees are pressed tightly together. She wears no makeup, so nothing about her is smudged or used up. Other than the wild tangle of her hair, she’s like an angel. The urge to unbutton the jacket and look at her again is powerful. It’s the dry spell, I tell myself. I never fall for Phase One seductress Trainees.

When I raise my eyes to hers, I feel like she knows the direction of my thoughts. As if the innocent act is gone completely and she knows what I want. I wait for those knees to part, for her to open wide in invitation, her chest arching toward me.

But she just shifts on the seat, fighting against the ties on her wrists so that she’s less uncomfortable.

“How long you’re tied up depends on how well you cooperate,” I say and turn around, both for her sake and mine.

I need to be back under control again, and this girl is not helping.

12: Mia

This must be how celebrities do it.

Jax pulls the car up to some strange little back entrance to the hotel. It has a tiny covered canopy and a doorman who must get an eyeful of all sorts of rich and famous people.

The doors are whisked open and nobody blinks an eye at me in my suit jacket with the red ropes trailing from the back. In fact, I think I may have caught the doorman winking at Jax!

Unbelievable.

Jax told me as we arrived at the Ritz-Carlton that if I promised not to scream or yell, he wouldn’t gag me. Rich men bringing in beautiful women dressed as fetish girls in bondage was common and nobody would pay attention to my insisting I was kidnapped.

I am not sure I believe him, but being seen in this getup is humiliating enough. So I agree to go without a gag. Besides, Jax put some Band-Aid-looking device on my throat that he claims will warn him if I am about to scream. It will give him time to do something. What that might be, he doesn’t say.

So here I am, passing through some secret door and immediately getting turned down a silent hall and up a small elevator. Within seconds, a white door with a gold handle is opened wide, and I’m ushered into the poshest hotel room that quite possibly has ever existed.

I’m dumbstruck. There’s a fountain. A fountain in the middle of a hotel room.

White sofas face big French windows. The curtains are gold. There are fresh flowers in vases on every surface. An enormous marble fireplace contains a crackling log.

I step farther inside. Jax drops the red rope and it trails behind me out the bottom of the suit jacket. I walk across the soft carpet and spot doors to the bedroom. I halt instantly. I’m not going in there.

But then I see another door leading to a bathroom with a garden tub and two toilets. Really? Two? This, I head straight for.

It’s only when I actually arrive beside the porcelain seat that I realize my hands are behind me, tied, and I can’t do anything with my panties. Still, I have to pee so badly that I’m determined to make it work. I start wriggling back and forth, trying to get my underwear down.

Jax comes in the doorway and leans on the frame, an amused quirk of a smile on his face. “Need some help?”

I stomp to the door and shove it closed with my shoulder, but he catches the bottom with his foot. “We have visitors,” he says. “They may be of assistance.”

He points through a second door to the bedroom, where two ladies are sitting in a pair of fancy chairs. Beside them is a large trunk, open wide, an array of dresses and pants and sweaters on display.

“Who are they?” I whisper.

“They are here to attend to you,” he says. “They think I’m outfitting you for a bit of boss and secretary bondage role-play.”

I kick at him, but he deftly dodges my poorly aimed Croc.

“She’s a feisty one,” he tells the women.

They smile and nod. Both are dark skinned and beautiful with perfect hair, wearing classy tailored pantsuits with clever scarves.

One of them stands and approaches the door. “I’m Emma,” she says. “Would you like a bath?”

Actually, after the strip-down in the middle of a hayfield, that sounds like heaven. I whip my hips to one side to reveal the long tail of my red ropes. “I’m a little tied up for that,” I say.

Emma glances over at Jax. “Should we untie her for the bath?”

He turns to me. “I will do it.”

I take a step back. “Never mind,” I say. “I just need to pee.”

Emma enters the bathroom and closes the door on Jax. This, he allows.

She turns to me. “I’ll help.” Her expression never shifts. A total professional. I wonder what sort of craziness she sees on a daily basis.