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“So, are we going to takeherback to London and then handhimover to the authorities?” Miley Stuart asked the tall, powerful man lying on his belly next to her.
Robert Fitzwallace quirked a shaggy brow at her. “And have my wife looking to have my balls served up to her as part of those Sunday brunches she’s so fond of throwing? I think not. We’ll get her to one of the safe houses, get her healthy, and then give her a new life.”
They were sharing a pair of field glasses and looking down on one of China’s smaller internment camps. Supposedly the camps were set up to re-educate and retrain some of China’s citizens so they could find vocations and become successful, contributing members of society. Bullshit. The camps, and this one in particular, geared toward women, were nothing more than prisons operating outside of China’s legal system. They were widely criticized around the world for violating basic human rights including starvation, mistreatment, torture, rape, and even murder.
“What about the others?”
Fitzwallace banged his head on the ground. “Goddamn it. Now I owe Nigel a thousand pounds, although I shouldn’t have to pay. After all, it was his wife that got this whole mess started.”
Miley hid her smile. Fitz might want to bluster and blame others and even state they were only here for Bai Tong, but everyone and their brother knew they were here to get them all out. All was a relative term, as the camp was closing down and only five women remained. They feared that the guards would simply gun the women down, dump them in a shallow grave, and walk away.
“Let me get down there, and then on my signal, you start picking the bastards off—the two guards in the northwest tower and then the camp director. I want him dead, Miley. If even half of what JJ says is true about him, he needs to die.”
Miley set her Steyr SSG 69, an Austrian sniper rifle that combined synthetic materials for the majority of the weapon with cold-hammer forged barrels for accuracy and durability, which made it lightweight. The attached suppressor meant the shots would be all but silent. She watched Fitz through her scope as he made his way down to where the others waited.
Her eyes were trained on Fitz, and when he raised his fist, she sighted the two guards. When his fist started down, she fired two shots, each dropping one of the two guards. She brought the rifle around, locked in her target, and the camp director was dead before anyone knew there was anything amiss. She then sighted the communications antenna and took it out, as well. The Cerberus team was heavily armed. Her job was to have their backs, spot any trouble they didn’t see coming, and to eliminate it.
Cerberus was known for its tactical and strategic ability in pulling off successful extractions. This assault upon the small ‘re-education camp’ was no different. Thewhoosh! whoosh! whoosh!of the helicopter as it closed in was music to her ears. Fitz wouldn’t call for Wyatt until they were ready to leave.
She watched as Wyatt landed the fully armed and armored stealth helicopter. As long as they could get off the ground, they’d be tough to follow. Wyatt hovered not more than two feet off the ground, and she watched as the team helped each of the dissidents into the safety of its main cabin. As they lifted off, a lone guard came out with a rocket launcher.
Not on my watch, asshole. He, too, was dead before he even knew he’d been hit. Sometimes what she did bothered her—not so much that she killed people, but that she afforded them a cleaner death than they deserved. Once she was sure there was no one left and that the chopper was away, she moved out of her sniper’s nest and into the clearing.
She sank to her knees gracefully—an act that hadn’t come naturally to her—to wait for the chopper and allow herself a little space to breathe and just be. At this point, even though she identified as a submissive, Miley Stuart knelt for no man. She knelt for her own peace of mind and her own tranquility. She only hoped that someday she might find a man worthy enough to do so.
* * *
Baker Street
London, England
Eighteen Months Ago
Miley Stuart was blindfolded and bound to the free-standing St. Andrews cross. She didn’t need to see to know what the mysterious American stranger had in his hand. The crackle and fizz combined with the smell of ozone meant she knew he had a violet wand—the one instrument she could never decide whether she loved or hated. Her arousal ramped up and she bit her lip to hold back the shriek that threatened to pass her lips as the thing sizzled down the side of her body.
She was well and truly caught—there was no escape. Well there was; they were on the stoplight system and all she had to say was ‘red,’ and all play would stop. But she wouldn’t do it. She needed some down time. Needed it badly, and Miley knew the only way for her to find the peace and release she needed was playing at Baker Street, Fitzwallace’s club in London. Technically the club belonged to the boss and his wife.
Fitz had arranged an anonymous scene for both Miley and an unknown Dom of Fitz’s acquaintance. Neither wanted the other to know their true identities. She would be ‘sub,’ and he would be ‘Sir.’
As the violet wand moved along her body, her skin seemed to come alive with feeling. It quivered in the wake of the wand’s frothy bubbles. Her arousal flashed into something akin to euphoria—not quite subspace, not quite orgasm but teetering on the precipice. Sir moved the wand down the side of her leg to her toes and across them to travel back up the other side of her leg.
Miley struggled against the restraints, pulling against them as he explored her body with the wand.
“I’ll have to do something really nice for Fitz. I can’t remember ever having such a gorgeous sub who responds so beautifully. You really are extraordinary.”
She knew he was trying to seduce her with his words, coax her over the edge into a climax and then the deep peace of subspace. While Miley could almost always achieve orgasm, subspace was an elusive target that she could never quite get a bead on.
He took the wand away and replaced it with a flat blade of cold steel. Two quick flicks of his wrist and the sides of her thong were cut in two and the skimpy excuse for a set of panties was gone. There had been no talk of a blade, but Miley knew Fitz would never put her in danger. If the Dom had a knife, she was sure Fitz knew about it.
The blade was lifted away, and the Dom trailed his fingers along her skin as he moved behind her. His fingers moved away, and the blade flicked up and out, severing the lacing on her corset so that it too fell away.
“That had better have just been the laces. If you damaged my corset, I’ll kick your ass, and I’ll have Fitz send you the bill for the thong.”
“Tsk. Tsk. I’m pretty sure Fitz has a rule about subs threatening their Doms.”
“You’re notmyDom. You’re just some guy on the other side of the slash.”
He chuckled. “You really are a brat. Fitz warned me you were a brat with a mean streak and to take care in what I said and how I treated you. I had originally planned to use rope to bind you into a pretty artistic creation.”
