Keeping Kiera (A MFM Menage Romance) Read online

  Well, he didn’t hang up. That’s a win. I put the call on speaker so Caleb can hear the conversation. “Information on the Kitai Bratva. What’s it going to cost me?”

  Nekrasov won’t want money; he’s richer than both Caleb and I put together. I’m still not going to like the price. “Your friends Lockhart and Payne are securing a site in Baku. I want them out.”

  Adrian and Brody are going to be pissed. “What are you doing in Azerbaijan?”

  Anton makes a scoffing sound in his throat. “If you think I’m going to satisfy your curiosity, you misunderstand the nature of our relationship, Wolanski.”

  Caleb bites back a grin. He thinks this is funny? Next time, he can try talking to Nekrasov. “I’ll pass on your request. But I don’t control them. I can’t make them do this.”

  “Very well. That will have to do.”

  Why Nekrasov couldn’t have picked up the phone and called Adrian directly, I don’t know. It isn’t as if they haven’t met before. Then again, Anton, given who he is, has to be quite cautious in his dealings. My childhood was no picnic—my parents shunted me off to boarding school when I was eight, quite happy to turn over the task of raising me to hired help—but, if the rumors are correct, it’s nothing compared to what Anton Nekrasov went through.

  “The Kitai OPG doesn’t exist,” Anton continues, using the Russian acronym for the mafia. “Vladimir Sirkovich got tired of being a foot soldier in Atlanta and tried to muscle into San Diego. He set up his own operation without permission.”

  Sirkovich is either very brave or very foolish.

  “San Diego, as you know, used to be Italian territory, but it’s now firmly in the hands of the Mexicans. Sirkovich tried to muscle into that. This is not a war the Russians want. An all-out confrontation with the Mexicans would hurt both organizations, and everyone wants to avoid that.”

  Foolish, not brave. “Why is Sirkovich still alive?”

  “He married well. His wife interceded on his behalf. The Russians have disavowed him, but he’s safe as long as he’s in jail.”

  “A woman testified against Sirkovich,” I begin cautiously.

  “Yes, Kiera Lynne Thompson. She went into witness protection, I believe.”

  How the fuck does Anton Nekrasov remember all this stuff? The guy is a machine.

  “Do the Russians have a target on Kiera?”

  Anton barks a laugh. “Are you kidding me? Vasily would send her a thank-you card if he could. She took care of Sirkovich for him.”

  I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Kiera’s safe. She’s not being hunted.

  “Friend of yours?” Anton asks, his voice sharpening with interest. “Someone you’re interested in?”

  I roll my eyes. “If you think I’m going to satisfy your curiosity, you misunderstand the nature of our relationship, Nekrasov.”

  He laughs out loud. “Tell Payne and Lockhart to stay away from Baku,” he says and disconnects the line.

  Caleb’s already typing something away on his laptop. “He gave us a last name,” he says. “Thompson. I found her.”

  I look over his shoulder. A smiling girl stares back at me. She’s got vivid blue eyes, straight blonde hair and a gap-toothed smile. She looks so very young. According to Xavier, she had been fifteen when Greg Dratch seduced her. Dratch was twenty-five. Ten years older than her. Definitely old enough to know better.

  I’m going to strangle him when I find him.

  “Now we search?”

  “Now we search,” he agrees, his face somber. “She was fifteen. Going by Dratch’s track record, she was probably trafficked. Let’s talk to Alexander. He might know something.”

  I grimace. Alexander Hamilton is probably still pissed with me because I didn’t want to see him in hospital. “You call him. I’ve done my share of groveling for the day.”

  “Coward,” Caleb grins. He picks up his phone and dials. “Alexander? Hey, it’s Caleb Reeves. I’m emailing you a photo of a missing girl I’m trying to locate.”

  “I’m officially retired,” Alexander says easily. “I’ll have to pass it on to my contacts. Hang on, here’s Ellie.”

  Ellie, Alexander’s wife, picks up the line. “Hey, Caleb,” she greets him. “How are you?”

  “Good. You?”

  “I can’t complain.” She sucks in an audible breath. “She’s just a child.”

  “It was taken eight years ago,” Caleb says. “She was fifteen then. If she’s still alive, she’ll be twenty-three.”

  “She looks familiar…” Ellie’s voice is thoughtful. “I’ve seen her before. Gimme a second, it’ll come to me.”

  I have no doubt. Ellie has a photographic memory. She never forgets anything. It’s disconcerting.

  Ellie clicks her fingers. “Got it. Cali, Colombia. Two and a half years ago. Jean-Luc was watching a Christmas party thrown by the Cali cartel. Anyone who was anyone in the narcotics trade was there. This girl was one of the attendees. She wore a Dior gown and almost a million dollars in diamonds. A girlfriend of one of the mob bosses, I think, but I don’t know whose.”

  Caleb thanks Ellie and hangs up. The two of us exchange a long look. Bianca Thompson could be an innocent, trapped in a world that she doesn’t know how to escape from.

  Or she could be a willing participant.

  Fuck me sideways. “How much of this do you want to tell Kiera?”

  Caleb goes silent. He doesn’t know how tonight’s going to play out. Neither do I.

  13

  Kiera

  For a while after I hang up with Caleb, I sit in the car, stunned at what I’ve done. I can't believe I asked Nolan and Caleb to scene with me.

  Some clubs forbid intercourse, but Club M isn’t one of them. People don't always have sex there, but it happens often enough in the private rooms. Is that what’s going to happen tonight? Is that what I want? Am I really willing to sleep with them in exchange for information?

  I bang my head against the steering wheel. Fool, fool, fool. What were you thinking?

  That’s just it. I wasn’t thinking. I’ve been freaking out ever since I saw Greg Dratch’s photo this morning. All at once, the demons of the past have reared their ugly heads, and my painfully won peace of mind has been obliterated.

  Run, Kiera, run, my instincts scream. They’ve found you. Run and hide. Run before they kill you the way they killed Bianca. Press the accelerator and roar out of here. Hide until they stop hunting you. Hide until you’re safe.

  I take a deep breath. And then another. Rinse and repeat, until my heart stops racing, and the panic recedes. I wipe my palms on my shorts. Fear isn’t useful. I need to stay clear-headed.

  Someone knocks on my car window. I jump like a startled cat, and Dixie Ketcham starts to laugh. “I called out,” she says when I unroll my window. “You didn’t seem to hear me. It’s a thousand degrees in the shade. Why are you sitting in a sweltering hot car?”

  Dixie Ketcham used to work with Adrian Lockhart and Brody Payne, two of Club Ménage’s long-time members. Then her mother got sick, and she quit her job and moved back home to Mississippi to nurse her through years of chemo and radiation.

  Cancer is a bitch. It doesn’t play fair. Annie Ketcham had lost her fight with the disease a couple of years ago. For a while, Dix was numb. She operated on autopilot, took the clients that walked through her door and did the bare minimum to keep the wolves at bay.

  But the wolves weren’t content to be kept at bay. Dix had racked up a lot of debt during her mother’s illness, paying out of her own pocket for the treatment when her mother’s insurance company refused to cover her. Dix had to make a choice. Quit grieving, move back north and try to find a job at a high-pressure law firm—she’s a lawyer, whip-smart and no-nonsense and she still manages to be a genuinely kind person—or declare bankruptcy.

  She chose option A. Xavier and Brody had a bidding war for her services, and Xavier won. She’s now doing high-powered-lawyer stuff at one of his many companies.


  She’s also a friend. I shouldn’t really allow myself friendships—it’s a self-indulgent thing to do, and I’m putting her in danger—but when Dixie Ketcham sets her mind on something, she’s impossible to deflect.

  “Should you really be complaining about the weather? You’re from the South. Aren’t you used to this?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Nice try. What are you doing here? You don’t work Saturday mornings.”

  Answering her question would involve explaining Caleb and Nolan and the events of last night. “I had something to do,” I say vaguely. “What about you? I thought fancy-ass lawyers don’t have to work the weekends, unlike us mere mortals.”

  I work for Xavier, and Dixie works for Xavier too, but that's where the similarities between us end. Dixie grew up solidly middle-class. Both her parents were teachers. There were always books in their house. The only thing you could find in our trailer were cigarette butts and empty bottles of booze.

  Dixie chuckles. “Ah, Kiera. Fancy-ass lawyers, as you so elegantly put it, work all the time. As Xavier’s pointed out more than once, he pays me to be at his beck and call.”

  “What are you working on?”

  She grins. “I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you. Changing the subject, I never did hear back from you. Are you coming to brunch? Avery is in New York for the weekend, but Fiona’s coming.”

  I give her a blank look, and she sighs. “Didn’t you check your texts?”

  Not since last night. “No.”

  “Brunch, Kiera. Come on.”

  I look down at my shorts and t-shirt. “I’m not really dressed for it.”

  “We’re not going anywhere fancy,” she replies. “You’re fine.”

  I’m tempted. If I go home right now, I’m going to fret about the split-second pause before Miles Armstrong had assured me nobody was looking for me. I’m going to brood about how badly I failed Bianca. I was the older sibling. It was my responsibility to protect my baby sister, and I’d fucked it up so much that she died.

  If I can somehow manage to keep the past at bay, I’m going to think about what might happen tonight. About Caleb and Nolan’s hands roaming over my body. About getting naked in front of them in one of Club M’s back rooms. I’m going to second-guess myself, and I’m going to want to phone Caleb and call the whole thing off.

  Nothing good is going to happen if I go home.

  Come on, it’ll be fun,” Dix wheedles. “Banana chocolate chip pancakes with a mountain of whipped cream on top. Tell me that doesn’t sound amazing.”

  I reach a decision. “Okay, I’m in.”

  “Good.” Her expression turns wicked. “And when we get there, you can tell me why you’re still wearing last night’s clothes.”

  My mouth falls open. “How…?”

  She winks at me. “I know things, Kiera. See you at the Good Earth.”

  Dix drives her mother’s powder blue Volkswagen Beetle. Built in 1965, the car is in pristine shape. “Salt is the car-killer,” Dix had said when I’d asked about it. “It causes rust. They don’t need to salt the roads in Biloxi.” She’d rolled her eyes. “There was a dusting of snow in 1996, and people are still talking about it.”

  I follow her car now through winding roads. In thirty minutes, we pull up in front of the Good Earth. It’s a small, family-run restaurant that’s only open for brunch on Saturdays. Fiona’s already got us a table in the back. We exchange greetings, I order coffee and the aforementioned pancakes, and then brace myself for the inevitable cross-examination.

  Dix doesn’t disappoint. “So, Kiera,” she says, her voice innocent. “What’d you do last night?’

  Fiona looks confused. “What’s going on?”

  I groan. “Can we talk about something else for a bit? Give me a chance to drink my coffee before the inquisition starts?”

  “Okay.” Dix turns to Fiona. “How’s DC?”

  “Quiet. The city gets so empty during the summer that I can even find parking in front of my office. It’s unreal.” She takes a sip of her water. “We’re going to be at the club next weekend,” she tells me. “Adrian and Brody have a surprise planned. You wouldn’t know what it is, would you? They’re refusing to tell me.”

  I laugh at Fiona’s disgruntled expression. “You love surprises. When they flew you to the Caribbean for your birthday, you were thrilled. So why ruin it?”

  “Ruin it? If I’m going to be on the main stage at the club, I’ll have to get my lady-bits waxed. A girl likes to know these things in advance.”

  I giggle. Dix does too, but she’s shaking her head. “I still don’t get the appeal,” she says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I like Adrian and Brody; I used to work with them. But isn’t it enough that guys tell us what to do all day? Yesterday, some jerkwad still in law school tried to mansplain how torts work. To me. After that, if a guy told me what to do in bed, I think I’d snap.”

  I wait for Fiona’s reply. I’ve never been in a BDSM relationship either. I’ve seen all kinds of dominants at the club. Good ones. Bad ones. None have made me want to try it.

  You wanted it last night. Admit it, you want it now. You want to know what it would feel like to submit to Caleb and Nolan.

  Fiona chuckles. “Dix, I run my own detective agency. Half the people who walk through my front door turn around and leave because I’m a woman. I get it. But the thing with Adrian and Brody, it’s freeing. If either of them tried to tell me what to do outside of the bedroom, I’d knee them in the groin. But that's not who they are. They have no desire to be in charge of someone else.”

  The waiter arrives with our food, and we fall silent. Once he’s out of earshot, Fiona continues. “In a session, I don’t worry about clients. I don’t worry about my employees. I don’t remember my to-do list. There’s only room for Adrian and Brody, and it is amazing.”

  Dixie leans forward. There’s something about her expression… wistfulness mixed in with curiosity, mixed in with defiance. “Hang on,” I say slowly. “This isn’t an academic discussion, is it? There’s someone you’re interested in. Someone who frequents the club? Who is it? Do I know him?”

  Her expression shutters. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

  Fiona and I exchange looks. Dix is friendly and chatty. She won’t talk about what she does for Xavier—attorney-client privilege—but apart from that, her life is an open book. Or so I thought.

  The club just isn’t my thing,” Dix continues, picking up her fork and stabbing her pancake with it. “Kiera, you can understand that. You work there, but that doesn’t mean you’ve ever considered being someone’s submissive.”

  I take a big, fortifying gulp of my coffee. The two women here are my friends. I don’t want to lie to them any more than I have to. “Actually, I'm going to play there tonight.”

  Their mouths drop open. Dixie is completely speechless. Fiona recovers quicker. “With who? Caleb Reeves?”

  My cheeks flame. “I didn’t realize I was that obvious.”

  “I’m a private detective. It’s my job to notice things. So, is it Caleb tonight?”

  I’m going to die from embarrassment. “Caleb and Nolan. We made out a little last night.” I bend my head over my pancakes, in the futile hope that I can avoid any follow-up questions.

  No such luck. “Nolan Wolanski?” Dixie squeaks. “Big broad guy, built like a tree, shoulder-length hair?”

  “That’s him,” I confirm. “Do you know him?”

  “He used to drop by at Lockhart & Payne from time to time. I think they collaborated on jobs. Fiona, have you met him?”

  “No,” she replies. “But I’ve heard Adrian and Brody talk about him. They went to college together.”

  I set my coffee cup down. “Hang on. What do you mean, they collaborated on jobs? Farid told me Nolan was a rich billionaire playboy. He dates models, owns castles in Europe, and drives fast cars. Right?”

  Dixie’s eyes narrow. “You don’t know anything about him but yet you’re going to scene with him?”
She levels a glare at me. “You don’t do casual sex. You don’t do hook-ups. What’s going on, Kiera?”

  Fuck. I walked into that one.

  In eight years, I’ve never told anyone about my past. The most obvious reason for my silence is safety. If I tell someone the truth, and it gets out, then Vladimir Sirkovich’s men might come calling.

  But there’s another powerful reason for my silence. I don’t want to endanger anyone else. I gave testimony and got the mob boss locked up for life, and because of that, I will always be in danger. I don’t want to draw people into my world.

  “Kiera?” Fiona’s expression is concerned. “Are you alright?”

  “Does Nolan work for the Russian mafia?” I blurt out. Oh, nicely done, Kiera. Real subtle.

  “What?” Dixie blinks in confusion. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Please, Dix. I really need to know.”

  Fiona and Dix exchange a long look. “No, he doesn’t,” Dix says. “Not unless his personality has undergone a very dramatic shift.”

  “I very much doubt it,” Fiona says. “Nolan went to undergrad with Brody and Adrian, as did Caleb and Xavier. They’ve all known each other for a very long time. There was a group of them that had a common interest in BDSM. They were young, experimenting sexually for the first time in their lives. And then a woman died.”

  They’d told me this story. “Lina. Caleb and Nolan told me about her last night.”

  Fiona’s eyes go round. “They did? Oh wow. That’s interesting.”

  “Fiona, I hate when you go mysterious and cryptic.”

  “They made a promise at Lina’s grave,” she says. “They would do everything in their power to see that it didn’t happen again. That’s why I can tell you with confidence that Nolan would never work for the mob. It goes against everything he stands for.”

  The oppressive weight pressing down on my shoulders disappears. Relief shudders through me, the intensity of it taking me by surprise. I didn’t want to be afraid of Nolan. If I close my eyes, images fly into my mind. The way he’d held my gaze as he stroked himself. The growl in his voice as he ordered me to ask for permission to come.