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10.

Author: Panda Bloom
last update Last Updated: 2026-01-01 07:14:58

Damien.

I found Keith's mole three days before Angel's exhibition.

Marcus Chen. Head of warehouse security. Keith's employee for twelve years. Trusted. Reliable. A goddamn traitor.

The evidence was damning. Wire transfers to an offshore account. Encrypted messages to known Volkov associates. Security codes sold. Shipment schedules leaked.

He'd been bleeding Keith's operation dry for months.

I sat in my office, staring at the proof on my screen, rage simmering in my veins. This man had put Angel at risk. Had sold out the family that trusted him. Had caused the deaths of good men for money.

He was going to die.

The only question was how painfully.

I called Keith.

"Found him," I said when he answered.

"Who?"

"Marcus Chen. I have proof. Financial records. Communications. Everything."

Silence. Then: "Marcus? Are you certain?"

"Completely. He's been on the Volkov payroll for at least eight months. Maybe longer."

More silence. I could hear Keith processing, his breathing contr
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  • Heels & Handcuffs - Club Gold Trilogy   8

    BELLA The nightmare was different this time. Usually, I dreamed of Marcus finding me, dragging me back to the pristine prison of his penthouse, punishing me for daring to leave. Those dreams were straightforward terror, replays of three years of abuse condensed into horrifying highlight reels. But tonight's dream was worse because it was real. A memory. *The art gallery opening. My work on display—five paintings I'd done in secret, hidden from Marcus for months, entered into a student showcase under a pseudonym. I'd been so proud, so hopeful.* *Then Marcus appeared. His face calm, pleasant even, as he greeted the other attendees. But his hand on my arm was bruising, his whispered words venomous. "We're leaving. Now."* *The ride home in silence. The cold precision with which he destroyed all five paintings, shredding canvas, snapping frames, grinding my paints into the expensive carpet. My dreams, my talent, my future—annihilated in front of me while I stood frozen.* *"You're mi

  • Heels & Handcuffs - Club Gold Trilogy   7

    NICK Watching Bella sleep through the security monitor felt wrong. I knew it did. But after she'd settled into her room—the master suite on the opposite end of the cabin from the one Alex and I shared—I couldn't help myself. She'd changed into the sleep clothes we'd provided, brushed her teeth with mechanical precision, and then climbed into bed like she was afraid it might bite her. Even now, two hours later, she slept curled into a defensive ball, one hand tucked under her pillow. "You're staring again," Alex said from his position at his laptop. We'd set up a temporary office in the loft, giving us a view of the main floor while maintaining privacy for our work. "She's had three nightmares already," I said, gesturing to the monitor. "Wakes up shaking, checks the locks on her door, then forces herself back to sleep." "PTSD," Alex said without looking up. "Classic symptoms. It'll take time." "How much time?" "As much as she needs." He finally glanced at me, one eyebrow raised.

  • Heels & Handcuffs - Club Gold Trilogy   6

    BELLA I woke to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows and, for one blissful moment, forgot where I was. Then memory crashed back—Marcus, running, hiding, two identical men with gray eyes who'd found me and brought me here. To their penthouse. I sat up slowly, my body protesting. Everything hurt—ribs, arms, the persistent ache in my jaw where Marcus had backhanded me four days ago. But I was clean, warm, and safe. For now. The room was exactly as I remembered: luxury I didn't deserve, comfort I didn't trust. On the nightstand, someone had left a glass of water and two pain pills with a note in masculine handwriting: *For the pain. -A* Alex. The older twin. The intense one. I took the pills, grateful, then made my way to the bathroom. The mirror showed the same bruised face, but my eyes looked less hollow after a few hours of real sleep. The yoga pants and sweater from last night were rumpled, and I remembered Amanda—their mother—kept clothes here. The closet reveal

  • Heels & Handcuffs - Club Gold Trilogy   5

    ALEX. Marcus Hartley. The name echoed in my head as I sat in my home office, fingers flying across my keyboard while Nick stayed with Bella in the kitchen. We'd divided responsibilities without discussion—Nick keeping her calm and comfortable while I did what I did best: investigation and threat assessment. What I found in the first ten minutes made my blood boil. Marcus Hartley, 35, heir to the Hartley Industries fortune. Princeton educated, board member of half a dozen charitable organizations, photographed regularly at high-society events with a different beautiful woman on his arm every few months. Except for the past three years. For the past three years, there'd been one woman: Isabelle Morrison. Bella. I pulled up photos from society pages, charity galas, art gallery openings. In every single one, Bella stood beside Marcus, perfectly styled, perfectly poised, and completely lifeless. Her smile never reached her eyes. Her body language screamed discomfort even as she playe

  • Heels & Handcuffs - Club Gold Trilogy   4

    BELLA The car was expensive. Of course it was. Everything about these men screamed wealth and power—from their perfectly tailored clothes to the way they moved with absolute confidence, like they owned every space they entered. Because they probably did. I sat in the back seat, Alex driving while Nick had insisted on sitting beside me instead of up front. "So you don't feel like a prisoner being transported," he'd said with a gentle smile that I didn't trust. I didn't trust anything anymore. The city passed by in a blur of lights, and I realized I had no idea where they were taking me. Panic started to claw at my throat. "Where are we going?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted. "Our place," Alex said from the front, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "It's secure, private, and has everything you need. Guest room, bathroom, food. You can lock the door from the inside if it makes you feel safer." A lock I controlled. That was... something. "I can't stay long," I

  • Heels & Handcuffs - Club Gold Trilogy   3

    NICK I'd been halfway through a particularly intense scene with the Jacobsons when Alex's text came through. The vibration against my thigh made me pause, and something in my gut told me to check it immediately. *Storage area, camera 12. Someone's hiding. Meet me there.* I excused myself quickly—the Jacobsons understood, knew Alex and I co-owned the club—and made my way through the service corridors, my mind already running through possibilities. Industrial espionage? A stalker targeting one of our members? Some teenager on a dare? What I found was none of those things. I slipped into the storage room to find Alex in the middle of what appeared to be a very delicate negotiation with shadows and boxes. His posture was tense but carefully controlled—the same stance he'd use when approaching a spooked horse or a traumatized victim in one of our security cases. I stayed quiet, letting Alex take the lead. We'd always had this unspoken communication, even as kids. He was the pla

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