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She sobs in ecstasy, clawing at the leather cushion beneath her.
I jerk my gaze away, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack. Fucking hell, if Parker is here, I'm killing her and whoever brought her here. She's only twenty-one! Way too goddamn young to be in a place like this, seeing things like this. I knew letting her move in with me for a while was a bad idea. She's way too likely to end up in situations like this. My sister is…well, she's the female version of me. Which is to say hell on wheels and not sorry about it.
When you live on a ranch in Canada, there isn't much trouble to get into. The same can't be said of Nashville. This city has turned more than a few good girls bad. And Parker could find trouble locked in a fucking closet.
"You check the basement," Kellan says when we reach the end of the room without finding her. "I'll check upstairs."
"You don't even know what she looks like."
"I'm guessing she looks like you."
She looks nothing like me. Parker is about five foot nothing, exactly like our Ma. Besides, even if she looked like me, everyone is wearing fucking masks. It's just one of the ways this place tries to protect the privacy of its rich and infamous members.
"She's a curvy blonde," I say. "With two strands of pink in her hair."
Kellan jerks his chin in a nod. "I'll check upstairs."
"Wait."
He turns his head in my direction. Even through his white mask, I can feel his impatient stare.
"What's in the basement?"
"Exhibition rooms."
"What's upstairs?"
"You want to check the basement," he says instead of answering…which I take to mean that I probably will kill someone tonight if I catch Parker upstairs. Jesus Christ.
"Right," I mutter, turning toward the stairs leading down to the basement. A group dressed in leather spills out of the stairwell. I step to the side, allowing them to pass, and then stomp down the stairs. The music reverberates off the stucco walls, the pounding rhythm of the bass rattling my skull.
I emerge into a fucking dungeon. Literal torches hang on intervals at the walls, albeit the expensive, electric kind. A brunette hangs suspended in a leather strap cage. Two men are in the process of strapping a raven-haired beauty to a bondage horse. A man is on his hands and knees in a cage, a ball gag in his mouth, while a woman in latex with a riding crop circles the cage, speaking to a small crowd gathered around. Another woman is bound in intricate rope, a man gently stroking her hair while he speaks to a man with a leashed woman at his feet.
I quickly scan the crowd but don't find Parker. Thank God.
"I'm not interested." The soft voice freezes me in my tracks. I know it. I've been listening to it every day for months. Sometimes, the damn thing haunts my dreams.
Jamie Knight, sports-gossip reporter extraordinaire.
She's the prettiest little thing I've ever seen. Her gray eyes and dimples make me fucking crazy. So do her curves. Unfortunately for me, she's about as off-limits as they come for an athlete. The woman knows every embarrassing story there is to know about us. As far as most are concerned, she's public enemy numero uno.
And I'm fucking wild about her anyway.
I whip my head to the left, convinced the universe is screwing with me.
It's not.
Her blonde hair hangs in curls around her face, her lips red and kissable. Even though she's wearing a demi-mask, I'd know those lips anywhere. Those curves too. They aren't hidden by a goddamn business suit tonight, that's for damn sure. Her tits practically spill out of her low-cut red dress. It hugs every inch of her before ending mere inches below her luscious ass, leaving her thick thighs and long legs on display.
The sight of her does what nothing else in the place has accomplished all night. My cock rages to life, pressing insistently against the confines of my zipper as white-hot lust rips through me.
Dammit all to hell.
How many times have I fantasized about her while watching her on TV? While watching her walk her sexy ass across the arena? While lying in bed at night?
Too many to count.
"Are you here to play, or are you taken, little one?" The asshole leaning over her reaches out, tugging on one of her curls as he tries to slide his free hand around her waist. "Because I'd fucking love to get you on the end of my leash."
