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Chapter One: Fort
Inever patronizedtouristy Manhattan BDSM clubs, especially Underworld, but my friend Devin had ducked inside, so I waited with my other friend in the courtyard, watching pseudo-Doms and glitter subs flirt with each other in the line.
“Waste of time,” Milo grumbled. “None of these chicks are Gallery material.”
I turned my head to see if his low voice had been overheard. Unlike Underworld, The Gallery was a secret, extremely exclusive BDSM club, and we weren’t supposed to spread the word, lest we find our private play space overrun with gawkers, wannabes, and the safety police.
A moment later, Devin emerged. Like us, he was dressed in a suit, fresh from a late dinner at Coleman’s. He grinned, his blue eyes rueful in the dim light. “Found a hot one, but she’s a Domme.”
“Wow,” Milo drawled. “Good work, Dev.”
“She offered to lock my dick in a trap.” He grabbed his crotch with a leer. “So we’re not compatible. Nice ass, though.”
I nodded toward the door. “How are things inside?”
“Stupid. Crowded. Worst music I’ve ever heard in a BDSM club.”
Milo gave him a dark look. “That’s why we don’t come here.”
I rubbed my forehead, then shoved back a drooping curl while the two of them bickered. This whole scene was bullshit. I wanted action, wanted to beat on some masochistic, cowering sub who was into the game. A real sub, not the posturing, pretty club mavens milling outside Underworld. Unfortunately, The Gallery wasn’t open tonight.
I wasn’t sure where my sadistic urges came from. I’d grown up in a safe, loving home with two younger sisters I adored. Sure, my parents had battled through a wretched divorce when I was a teenager, but I’d been into the idea of pain and passion long before that.
I drifted away from the courtyard and noticed a girl in the shadows, slumped against the corner of the adjacent building. Her forehead rested against the brick, her fingers splayed on the wall for support. Her face was covered by messy, shoulder-length hair, but I could see that she wore a collar. Maybe that was why I headed toward her. Kinky people had to stick together. I might be a sadistic Dominant, but I was also a decent human being, and she was alone and distressed in a not-so-great area of the city.
“Hey, Fort, where you going?” Dev called.
“There’s a girl over there.”
“Yeah, and she’s going to mug you when you ask if she needs help,” Milo said. “How long have you lived here?”
I slowed when I got closer, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. She was dressed in a short, dark dress with gray over-the-knee socks. Beautiful legs. Curvy, not too skinny.
God, she was shitty-drunk. I could smell alcohol on her from five feet away. She looked at me sideways with large, kohl-rimmed eyes. Her dark lipstick was smeared, and one hand clutched her stomach.
“Don’t.” She extended her other hand shakily in my direction. “Don’t mess with me.”
“I’m not going to mess with you. Do you need help?”
She turned unsteadily from the wall, her face bunched up with tears. “I…need… I’m fucked… Fucked up.”
“I see that.” I took a step closer, trying not to look threatening despite my height and dark features. “Bad night? How much have you had to drink? What are you doing out here?” She was too clean to be a street person, and too unconventional-looking to be a prostitute. The dress, the eyeliner, the marled, beribboned socks. “It’s not safe to wander around here in the middle of the night,” I told her. “Where are your friends?”
“I’m…here…” She waved a finger in the air, as if her explanations had to be caught from the space around her. “I came here…”
“What’s your name?”
“Je-wels. Jewels.”
Artsy name for an artsy-looking chick. “Okay, Jewels, my name’s Fort. Are you ready to go home? Is there anyone here who can help get you home?”
She shook her head, suddenly angry. “No. Not with… I’m done. Not him.”
“Who’s him?”
“There’s…no him. Don’t know… How…”
She was sober enough to stay vertical, but not sober enough to make any sense. I turned back to my friends. “What should I do?”
