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Lahat ng Kabanata ng Heels & Handcuffs - Club Gold Trilogy: Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

112 Kabanata

Book II. Whips and Ropes. 1.

Angela. The bass from the club's sound system thrummed through the floor, vibrating up through my heels and into my bones. I didn't need to see Club Gold to know every inch of it—the layout was an exact copy of the London branch which was burned into my memory from years of navigating those halls. Twenty-one years of blindness had taught me to read the world in ways sighted people never would. My cane swept across the polished marble floor as I made my way toward the VIP lounge, counting steps. Thirty-two from the elevator. Turn left at the Baccarat crystal sculpture—I could hear the faint whistle of air moving around its intricate edges. Another fifteen steps to the double doors. "Miss Greyson." Marcus, the security guard, greeted me. His cologne was too strong, as always. Bergamot and something woody that made my nose itch. "Marcus. Busy night?" "When isn't it?" His voice held a smile. "Your father's in his office. Your mother's handling a situation with a client in the Red Roo

2.

Damien. I shouldn't have come back to Seattle. The city held too many ghosts, too many memories of blood and betrayal. I'd built an empire in Portland, carved out my own territory far from the Greyson family's reach. But when Keith called about the Volkov problem, I knew I couldn't refuse. I owed him. More than I could ever repay. So here I was, back in Club Gold, surrounded by luxury and sin, trying to focus on business while my entire body hummed with awareness of the woman sitting twenty feet away. Angela Greyson. Angel. Christ, what a name. What a cruel joke from the universe. Because there was nothing angelic about what I wanted to do to her. From the moment I'd walked into that VIP lounge and seen her—blind though she was, she'd still somehow seen me in ways no one else ever had—I'd known I was fu cked. Completely and utterly destroyed. She was beauty wrapped in vulnerability, strength hidden beneath silk. Twenty-one years old. Blind since birth. Keith and Amanda's on

3.

Angela. Three days. It had been three days since Damien Black walked into Club Gold and turned my carefully ordered world upside down. Three days of obsessive thoughts. Of lying awake at night, my body humming with a need I didn't fully understand. Of touching myself in the darkness and imagining his hands instead of mine. I was going insane. "Angel, you're not paying attention." Professor Chen's voice cut through my mental fog. I jerked back to the present, my hands still on the clay sculpture I was supposed to be shaping. "Sorry, Professor. I was... thinking through the composition." "You were thinking about a man," she said bluntly. "I can tell. You've been distracted all week. The work is suffering." Heat flooded my cheeks. Was I that obvious? "I'm fine. Just stressed about the exhibition." "Hmm." Professor Chen didn't sound convinced, but she moved on to help another student. I forced myself to concentrate on the clay. This piece was supposed to be part of my senior e

4.

Damien. I was losing my goddamn mind. It had been a week since I'd started shadowing Angela, and every day was exquisite torture. Watching her navigate the world with grace and determination. Seeing her laugh with friends. Observing the way she tilted her head when she concentrated on her sculptures. She was magnificent. And completely off-limits. I'd set up my operation in a small office at Club Gold, spending my days reviewing security footage and financial records, hunting for Keith's mole. The Volkovs had hit another shipment, killing two more men. The violence was escalating. But even while I worked, part of my attention stayed fixed on Angela. I'd installed tracking software on her phone—with her father's permission, not hers. I knew where she was every moment. Her classes. Her apartment. The coffee shop where she met Sienna. The studio where she worked late into the night. I told myself it was for her safety. It was a lie. I wanted to know everything about her. Wanted

5.

Angela. My heart hammered as Damien led me through the club. I could feel eyes on us—staff, patrons, people who knew who my father was and would definitely report this back to him. I didn't care. For once in my carefully controlled life, I was doing something reckless. Something dangerous. Something I wanted without asking permission first. The door clicked shut behind us. I heard the lock engage. We were alone. "Second thoughts?" Damien's voice came from somewhere to my left. "No." My voice was steadier than I expected. "Are you?" "I should have a hundred second thoughts." He moved closer. I could feel his heat. "This is a mistake. Your father will kill me. And you... you have no idea what you're getting into." "So teach me." Silence stretched between us. Then his hand cupped my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "If we do this," he said quietly, "we do it my way. My rules. You submit to me completely, or we walk out of here right now." Submit. The word sent a shiver thro

6.

Damien. Telling Keith Greyson that I was involved with his daughter ranked among the top three most terrifying things I'd ever done. And I'd faced down armed cartels and Russian mobsters. But Keith was different. Keith was family. I found him in his office Monday morning, reviewing security reports. He looked up when I entered, his expression immediately sharpening. "You look like a man about to confess something," he said. No point in dancing around it. "I'm seeing Angela. Romantically. In a D/s dynamic." The temperature in the room dropped about twenty degrees. Keith stood slowly. Very slowly. The kind of slow that preceded violence. "Repeat that." "Angel and I are in a relationship. It started Friday night at the club. She approached me. Asked me to teach her about the lifestyle. I should have said no, but—" "But you didn't." His voice was deadly calm. "You took my daughter into one of those rooms and—" "I didn't touch her without consent. Every step, I made sure she un

7.

Angela. My mother cornered me at Club Gold two days later. I was in one of the private studios, working on a sculpture that had been commissioned for the club's main floor. My hands moved over the clay, shaping and refining by touch alone. "Angela Katherine Greyson." I froze. Full name. Never good. "Hi, Mom." "Don't 'hi Mom' me." She closed the door. "You're sleeping with Damien Black." "I'm dating Damien Black. The sleeping together part is... recent." "He's sixteen years older than you." "I'm aware." "He's dangerous." "I'm also aware." "And you're in a BDSM relationship with him." Her voice softened slightly. "Baby, do you understand what that means?" I set down my sculpting tools. "Mom, I grew up in this club. You and Dad never hid the lifestyle from me. I know exactly what it means." "Knowing about it and living it are two very different things." "Then teach me." I turned toward her voice. "You're a Domme. You've been in this world for decades. Help me understand in

8.

Damien. The Volkovs struck at dawn. Three of Keith's warehouses went up in flames simultaneously. Coordinated. Professional. A message written in smoke and ash. I was at the first site within twenty minutes, watching firefighters battle the blaze while Keith's men secured the perimeter. Roman found me studying the security footage on my tablet. "Anything useful?" he asked. "Three separate entry points. All security disabled exactly four minutes before the fires started." I rewound the footage. "Someone gave them our codes. Our schedules. Our blind spots." "The mole." "Has to be. This level of coordination requires inside information." I zoomed in on a figure near the east entrance. "There. See that?" Roman leaned closer. "Alexei Volkov. Bold of him to show his face." "He's sending a message. This is personal now." I switched cameras, tracking Alexei's movement. "He's younger than his father was. More reckless. Wants to prove himself." "He's going to get people killed." "Al

9.

Angela. Three weeks until my exhibition, and I couldn't concentrate on anything except the man currently trailing me through the university sculpture studio. "You know, most bodyguards try to be subtle," I said without turning around. Damien's low chuckle made warmth pool in my belly. "I'm not most bodyguards." "No, you're my boyfriend who's also being paid to protect me. Conflict of interest much?" "I'd protect you whether your father paid me or not." His hands settled on my waist. "How's the piece coming?" I turned in his arms, my clay-covered hands held carefully away from his expensive suit. "It's frustrating. I can feel what I want it to be, but I can't seem to translate that into the clay." "Tell me what you see in your mind." I leaned into him, letting his solid presence ground me. "Movement. Grace. The way a body flows through space. I want people to touch it and understand what it feels like to move without sight. To experience the world through texture and shape inst

10.

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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