Page 70 of The Truths that Deceive

“You’re not a prisoner, but this resort is a special kind. Like a kink sex club but also a resort. People can come and play. There are parties. Gangbangs for the lady—or gentleman—into that. Free use weekends. Orgies. And of course, primal chases, where those who want to be hunted and get down and reconnect with their more basic urges can. And yes, sometimesmen are hunted. Me, I’m a hunter. I know you like being prey, but that’s not what this weekend is about. This weekend is general BDSM, and a lot of slaves being led around on all fours. Fed from bowls. Treated like their mistress or master’s playthings.”

“Not my scene.”

“Didn’t think so. So again, that therapist?” I leave it hanging and her eyes turn to a pure and raging storm, one that tells me she’s made of strong stuff.

I don’t know who wants her but I’m off to find out what I can tonight, try to bait whoever might be biting, and sell some blueprints I don’t have, along with a piece of the Bolivian sex trade game. There’s a club in Miami that has no rules, where there are questionable practices, that we’re watching.

On the plane back to the States, I told Jones about my concerns about the Collectors and how the ones remaining might be playing in actual trafficking waters.

He didn’t tell me I’m paranoid. Just to do what I need to find them.

And then hand over my little hacker.

“If you try and stick a therapist on me, I’ll knife them and then you.”

I nod. Slowly. “You could come to Miami. But you’ll have to get changed. There’s a closet of clothes to choose from.”

“I prefer my clothes.”

“They’re in smithereens back in France, remember?”

Calista stares me. And I’m pretty fucking sure she’s weighing my words. She hasn’t asked about her computer, which means she either thinks it’s toast or that I have it. It’s the latter, but we don’t exactly trust each other, so she’s not asking and I’m not volunteering.

It ups the tension.

Makes it gorgeously borderline unbearable.

Just like this conversation.

“One question. How did your friends find us?”

She’s trying to work out if I played her. I hold up my hand. “My ring. It has a tracker and when we didn’t show at a rendezvous point, my friends came looking.”

She just nods.

“One question. If I take you to this hardcore sex club in Miami, are you going to try and run away?”

“What are you going to do if I say yes?”

“Not sure yet. But just know I’ll find you and hand you over immediately if not sooner.”

She nods. “What if I ask you to help me uncover who’s after me?”

“I might be inclined to say yes.” I pause. “For a price.”

“I guess I’ll get changed.”

She’s only gone twenty minutes, and she’s found the red femme fatale wig I had added to the things in here. It’s easy to prepare a room in a couple of hours when you’re part owner of the resort you’re heading to.

The dress is black, low-cut with a split up the side and a tie at the waist. I wouldn’t call it sex club attire except I suspect beneath the veneer of just respectable is a very naked woman beneath. And her heels scream “come fuck me now.”

Everything about her says there’s no way she can run.

But I know she’s going to.

We join the others and take a small plane to the mainland. From the airfield, it’s a short car ride into Miami.

We’re almost at the sex club when I get a message from Reaper, who’s in town.Heard through the grapevine the people you might be interested in are a no-show for tonight.

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