Keeping Kiera (A MFM Menage Romance) Page 5

  There’s silence on the other end. I wait while Xavier thinks through the situation. “Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll email you her file. Only,” he adds, “Because I know that you're more than capable of finding everything out yourself.”

  “Give me a high-level overview.”

  “She’s in witness protection,” Xavier replies. “Eight years ago, Kiera saw Vladimir Sirkovich, the head of the Kitai Bratva, shoot two people in the head. She testified against him. Sirkovich got life with no possibility of parole. She changed her last name, got a nose job, dyed her hair pink, and moved away from San Diego.”

  Wow. “How do you know all this? Even I would have had a difficult time accessing that information.”

  “The cop in charge of her case talked. Let's just say that he has a rather flexible moral compass. He won’t take money from the Mafia, but he has no qualms taking money from everyone else.”

  “Reassuring.”

  “There’s more.”

  Something in Xavier’s voice gives me pause. “What is it?”

  “They really wanted to put Sirkovich away,” he says. “Kiera was their star witness. But she wasn’t in that bar that night by chance. She went in there to look for her sister, Bianca. At that time, Bianca was fifteen.”

  My mouth goes dry.

  “She was also,” Xavier continues grimly, “Gregory Dratch’s girlfriend.”

  Nolan’s eyes narrow.

  “Armstrong told me that both Dratch and Bianca had died in a fire,” Xavier finishes. “That’s the only reason Kiera testified. You don't go up against the mob if you have loved ones you want to keep alive.”

  My world comes to a stop. “The cop lied to Kiera. Dratch isn’t dead.”

  Not just Dratch. There’s an above-average chance that Kiera’s sister is still alive.

  11

  Kiera

  I say something to Caleb and Nolan, though I don’t remember what. I get into my car and turn on the engine, put it into drive. And all the while, thoughts chase each other in my head like Formula 1 cars zooming around a racetrack.

  How do Caleb and Nolan know Greg Dratch? And more importantly, why is his photo on one of their laptops? Now, after all these years. The man has been dead for almost a decade.

  That thought roars out, only to be replaced by the memory of Caleb’s mouth on my clit. His fingers in my pussy. Nolan watching me the entire time, his hand fisted over his cock. The white-hot, bone-shattering intensity of my orgasm.

  I drag my attention back to what’s important. Forget their hotness. You could be in danger. Are Nolan and Caleb affiliated with Sirkovich? Is my cover blown? Have they figured out who I am? Do I need to run?

  Then there’s Xavier’s phone call. His voice, clipped and terse, when he told me to come into his office this morning. Am I fired?

  I’d just started at Club M when Brett Fisher put the moves on me, flat-out refusing to take no for an answer. At that time, I’d read the employee manual cover to cover. I was looking for a big 36-point font headline. Something that made it brutally clear to Fisher that employees of Club M couldn’t date the members. That if I agreed to go out with him—not that I ever wanted to—I would get fired.

  Newsflash: It doesn’t exist. Not, of course, that Brett Fisher would have given a crap about the rules. I had turned him down, and he was determined that he would make me change my mind. I was a challenge to him, not a person.

  Fisher had cornered me in a narrow hallway one night. He’d caged me against a wall, his breath reeking of booze. His gaze had been predatory, and not in a good way. He’d called me a cock tease before he stuck his tongue down my throat.

  Terror was a familiar companion. I’d been in witness protection for a few years by then, and I’d grown used to the fear. I hid cash in a pillowcase in my linen closet so I could run at a moment’s notice. I was wary of strangers. I spent my days looking over my shoulder.

  But when Fisher touched me, it had pushed me over the edge. Maybe it took me back to San Diego, to memories of letting one of Greg’s buddies paw me so he’d tell me where Bianca was. Or maybe it was because I had believed, up to that point, that I was safe inside Club M. Everyone who worked there had been clear: Xavier Leforte took care of his own.

  And he had. Xavier had revoked Brett Fisher’s membership, and he’d apologized to me personally. The guy is a freaking billionaire who runs a vast, global business empire. He owns half of Belgium, if I was to believe the rumors.

  And despite all his power, he’d sat behind his desk, and he’d crossed his arms over his chest, and he’d told me he was deeply sorry that Fisher had harassed me. That he’d believed—incorrectly—that I was interested in the man, and he took responsibility for his mistake.

  I remember what I said to him that day. “I’m not here to date the members. I’m not looking for a sugar daddy. I just want to do my job.”

  What’s Xavier going to think now?

  Best case scenario: he thinks I’m terminally stupid.

  Worst case scenario: He fires me. This time, I’ll only have myself to blame.

  I pull into the employee parking lot. It’s a little before noon on a Saturday. Not a busy time and the parking lot reflects it. Yesterday, it had been so packed that I had to park in the far corner of the customer lot and take my chances that Henri, the concierge wouldn’t find out. Henri isn’t a bad sort; he’s just a stickler for the rules, written and unwritten. If he finds out what I did last night, I’m in for a two-hour lecture. Farid would probably join him.

  Stop stalling, Kiera. I get out of the car and make my way to Xavier’s office. The door’s ajar. The club owner sees me before I lift my hand to knock—the parking lot has cameras too—and waves me in. “Sit,” he invites. If he has a comment on my t-shirt and shorts, he keeps it to himself.

  I take a seat across from him. For a long moment, he just stares at me, his fingers steepled. “Are you interested in Caleb Reeves?” he asks finally.

  Last night, the answer would have been an unqualified yes. This morning, after I’ve seen Greg’s photo, my thoughts are more muddled. Maybe. I don’t know.

  I don’t reply. Xavier’s eyes narrow. “Did Caleb make you feel, at any time, that your job here was at risk if you didn’t go home with him last night?”

  He’s misinterpreted my silence. I sit up in my chair. “No. I went there because I wanted to.”

  “And while you were there, did either Caleb Reeves or Nolan Wolanski do anything that made you uncomfortable?”

  They made me come so hard I saw stars. I shake my head again. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  There’s another period of silence. Xavier breaks it first. “When we last had a discussion about this, you made it clear that you weren’t interested in dating any of the members.” I open my mouth to answer, but he lifts his hand. “Let me finish. I know my club. I know who’s up for a quick hook-up, and who isn’t. I know who sneaks in after-hours to take advantage of some of the more specialized equipment. I know that Caleb comes in every Friday and orders an obscure cocktail, and you make it for him.”

  Where is he going with this? “What do you want me to say, Mr. Leforte?”

  He frowns. “I was in college with Nolan and Caleb. I like to think I know them better than most people. Neither of them is looking for anything serious. Whatever might be going on between the three of you, it’s temporary. It won’t last longer than a month. I want you to be perfectly clear what you’re getting into.”

  That’s not what I thought he was going to say. At all. “I get it,” I murmur, my hands folded in my lap. “They’re very rich. We’re from different worlds. I have no illusions that I’m in the same league as them.”

  “It has nothing to do with you,” he replies. “This is on them; they don’t commit. There is a smorgasbord of sex on offer at Club M. To the best of my knowledge, you don’t partake. I’ve always assumed you wanted something more committed. If you pursue th
is thing with Nolan and Caleb, fleeting sex is all there will be.”

  Every word of his warning lands with the force of a hammer.

  “Caleb flirts with everyone,” he continues. “It’s as natural as breathing for him. You work at the club. How are you going to feel when he scenes with someone next month?”

  Once again, I open my mouth. Once again, he lifts his hand to stall me. “You don’t have to answer me. That’s not what this is about.”

  “Am I being fired?”

  He looks surprised. “No, of course not. This is simply a friendly warning from someone who has your best interests at heart. As long as your relationship is consensual, I don’t care who you sleep with outside of work hours. I run a sex club, Kiera. It would be hypocritical of me to expect celibacy.”

  I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My heart starts to beat again.

  He leans back in his chair. “If you need to talk, about anything at all, my door’s open.”

  I hesitate. I do need to talk. I need to find the link between the two men I was with last night and Greg Dratch. I need to determine if Nolan and Caleb are connected to the hacker. Xavier Leforte has known Caleb and Nolan since college. He might have answers to the questions buzzing in my brain like angry wasps.

  But the half-formed words freeze on my tongue. I’ve never told anyone about my past. I cannot afford to trust people. Not even Xavier.

  I thank my boss and leave his office, heading back to my car. Greg’s face swims back into my mind, gnawing relentlessly at my thoughts. Is Sirkovich out of jail? He received life in prison, no possibility of parole, but he also had high-price lawyers who were doing everything they could to get him out. Is he free now? Instead of going home, should I just keep driving?

  There’s only one person who knows the truth about my past—the detective who placed me in the witness protection program. Miles Armstrong.

  Even with the windows down, the car is a furnace. Sweat trickles down my back as I dial his number. My mom swore up and down to anyone who’d listen that every cop in San Diego was dirty, and maybe they were when she was growing up, or maybe that was just her daily cocktail of drugs and alcohol talking. Armstrong has always been good to me.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Kiera Lynne Thompson.” I’ve been Kiera O’Leary for so long that my birth name sounds odd to my ears. A fun little side effect of witness protection.

  I haven’t spoken to him in more than seven years, but he remembers me right off the bat. “Kiera? Is something the matter?”

  He sounds surprised, but there’s something else in his voice. Caution? Wariness? Whatever it is, it makes me edgy. Beads of sweat gather on my brow. “Is Vladimir Sirkovich still in jail?”

  “He got life. Where else would he be?”

  I don’t know, Detective Armstrong. Why don’t you tell me why you sound so nervous? “Has anyone else been looking for me? Asking about me?”

  There’s a split-second hesitation. “No.”

  Goosebumps rise on my skin. Something’s wrong. For three years, I’ve settled in this corner of the country, on the Maryland-Pennsylvania border, and nothing has ever happened. I’ve felt as safe as I ever have.

  Until Nolan Wolanski walked into Club M…

  Nolan and Caleb are the keys to this puzzle. I’ve known that from the instant I saw Dratch’s photo on the laptop. They want to sleep with me. I want answers. And life has taught me how to use all the weapons at my disposal.

  With shaking fingers, I call Caleb. He answers on the first ring. “Hello, Kiera.”

  His voice is a warm caress. Hearing him, desire sparks through my blood and pools in my belly. “Caleb.” I’m trying to sound sexy, but I just sound nervous. “You told me last night you liked to be in charge.”

  “I did.”

  Now or never. “Will you show me? Both of you?”

  He inhales sharply. “When? Where?”

  “Tonight. At the club. My shift ends at ten.”

  Caleb flirts with everyone. It’s as natural as breathing for him. You work at the club. How are you going to feel when he scenes with someone next month?

  “Okay,” he agrees. “See you there.”

  12

  Nolan

  Fuck. I did not see that coming.

  Caleb hangs up, a stunned look on his face. “You caught that?”

  “Yeah, I caught it. I caught the part where she asked you to dominate her, and more importantly, I caught the part where you agreed. Quick question: are you out of your mind?”

  My friend winces. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  No, he wasn’t. Caleb has it bad for Kiera, but he knows, as well as I do, that scening with Kiera tonight is out of the question. Kiera had a definite reaction when she saw Greg Dratch’s photo. Last night, her desire was real. Tonight, it won’t be. Tonight, her interest in us is tainted by the ghosts of her past.

  She wants to know what we know.

  Caleb crosses into the house and pours himself another cup of coffee, his fourth of the morning. I stare at my own mug. We’ve both had less than three hours of sleep. We’re running on caffeine fumes. This is not the right time to be making serious, far-reaching decisions. “Are you going to do it?” I ask him when he walks back to the deck.

  He hesitates for a split-second. “Yes.”

  Mistake. Then again, Caleb clearly has had a thing for Kiera for quite some time now. Which makes me ask the next question. “Do you want me to walk away?”

  He lifts his eyes up and surveys me. “You heard her. She asked for both of us.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I drain the last dregs of my coffee. “You’re my friend. I’m not going to let a woman come between us. Rafael and Xavier were both involved with Layla, but I didn't think that it was anything that you were interested in. This isn’t your kink of choice, is it?”

  He shrugs. “I’m out of practice with women. There’s only been room for casual hook-ups since I got back. Nothing with any emotional attachment. I don’t know what my kink of choice is anymore.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Fine. You want to know the truth?” He slams the cup on the table. His eyes are furious. “Theo died, and Joha killed herself, and I started wondering if a ménage wasn’t the way to go. Before I came home, I lived a dangerous life. If I was in a ménage and I died, then I wouldn’t leave the woman I loved all alone.”

  Shock courses through my body. “Caleb, that’s insane.”

  “No. It’s a logical reason. Why are Adrian and Brody both in a relationship with Fiona?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply. I haven’t met Fiona, their new submissive, but from all accounts, she makes them incredibly happy. “They’ve always shared. Before Fiona, there was Sandy.”

  “Exactly. You don’t know. I asked Xavier about it once. You know what he told me? ‘You just know when it’s right.’” He rolls his eyes. “Calling it an instinct is vague and nebulous. At least I’ve thought through my reasons.”

  “And when you’re in the middle of a possessive rage because I touched the woman you’ve been lusting after for months, are you going to use logic to diminish your feelings?”

  “You were here last night. Kiera was naked. You jerked off while I fingered her. I was fine. In any case, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You’re in town for what, a couple of weeks? This is not a lasting relationship we’re talking about.”

  I let it go. Caleb’s a grown man, and he’s not in the habit of lying to himself. If he says he’s okay, I’ll take it at face value.

  He’s right about one thing. Lasting relationships aren’t for me. I’m a nomad who throws myself recklessly into the line of fire. I don’t have room in my life for anything serious.

  Kiera’s skin had gleamed in the moonlight, the dragon looking real enough to take flight. I’d wanted to trace each line with my tongue. I’d wanted to ask her why she chose the dragon. Was it because she wanted to grow wings and fly away? Just like me?

&nb
sp; I suppress the strange wistfulness that accompanies that thought. “What’s our plan here, Caleb? We can’t scene with her tonight.”

  He types something into his phone. “I detest situations like this. I loathe not knowing the facts. Eight years ago, a woman named Bianca, last-name-unknown, died. She lived in San Diego. If we’re going to find anything else, I need a photo.”

  “Social media?”

  A smile ghosts over his face. “You’ve got it. Her first name is uncommon, so that’ll help our cause. I had to look for a John Smith once. It was hell.”

  “We could call the detective Xavier bribed.”

  Caleb shakes his head. “Only in a pinch. If the Russians are watching the cop, I don’t want them alerted.”

  Ice trickles down my spine. “You think they’re still looking for her?”

  “I don’t know anything right now,” he replies. “I’ve never heard of the Kitai Bratva, have you?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t think the Russians had a presence in San Diego. It’s too close to the border. I’m surprised the Mexicans let them move in on their turf.” Frustration runs through me. “I have a fairly good handle on who the major players are, but this isn’t my area of expertise. I don’t know enough about their operations in America.”

  “Who would?”

  I run my hands over my face. Caleb’s a genius at uncovering the truth. We can find out what we need to know, but it will take time. Or I can make one phone call to a man who knows more about the various elements of the bratva than anyone alive. “Nekrasov.”

  Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Anton Nekrasov? Will he talk to you?”

  “Not a clue. The last time I saw him, he nearly punched me in the face.”

  “The two of you are supposed to be on the same side.”

  “We don’t go about things the same way.” Only one way to find out if he’ll talk to me, and that’s to call him. I dial Nekrasov’s Moscow number, and shockingly, he picks up. “I have a date in an hour,” he says, his voice clipped. “What do you want, Wolanski?”