Page 81 of The Truths that Deceive

Master? “I…”

“Your mask. You’re here to observe, then wait for your master. Correct?” he asks, voice smooth, smarmy, and somehow soothing, all at the same time.

I touch the mask. The white thing he put on me. “The last on the right.”

The man—who’s handsome and trying to exude an asexual air now—nods. “This way.”

Down the hall, past the restrooms, and then we turn into a darker hallway lit with small pools of amber light, and we reach the door. He opens it and gestures me in.

“Please lock the door. Your master has a key, but for your own sense of comfort, lock it,” he says. “Some may not respect the mask with an open door.”

He leaves and pulls the door shut. I engage the lock, then turn.

I blink.

It’s like some kind of sex demon’s idea of a classy boudoir. There’s a bathroom off to one side. The ceiling’s mirrored, and there’s an oversized chaise longue.

There’s a bar on a trolley with bottles of water in a corner. I take one, and then after a minute, crack the lid on a bottle of some English small batch white rum, and pour a glass. There’s also a fresh bottle of scotch, which makes me think he somehow booked this.

He made calls and sent texts on our way here and…

My legs wobble.

I’m made of tough fucking stuff. But this whole place is… it’s a lot. I’m not sure what to think. I get the feeling under the layer of respectably debauched sleaze is something else, something darker and a hell of a lot more sordid here.

Down where we were? No, there was another set of stairs, blocked off, a man in black standing guard. The staircase and man had been on the other side of thedownstairs floor. I only saw it for a few seconds, and it occurred to me that’s where the nasty shit probably happens. Girls who may not want to be there or have been coerced. The hired help. I don’t know. I try to think about what else I may have seen, but nothing comes to my mind.

We didn’t go near it, and I wasn’t there long enough to conclude anything but eerie feelings about it.

Slowly, I sink onto the chaise and take a deep pull of the rum. The flavor surprises me, like fall air crisp with apples. The spice of vanilla and a sweet warmth that chases it down my throat.

I gulp it down, then chase it with some water. After a while, I pace around and drink some more of the rum, bored, hating being locked in without any stimulation. I could see if this was just a time-out for being too overwhelmed by everything in the club.

But I think it’s more a way to create tension, to get me riled up and ready.

Because Smith’s going to come through that door.

And yeah, heat curls and dances inside me at the thought, because there’s unfinished business between us in the form of sex—hot, sweltering, scorchingsex.

The hunter and his prey.

I gulp down a breath to calm my racing heart.

My libido.

My fear.

My temper.

The first and last are hard to wrangle. I feel like a damn cat in heat right now, and I bet he knows it. He loves it. He knows making me wait is effectively making me crazy.

And my God, I want to beat the hell out of him for punishing me like this.

I know he wants to keep me away from Johnny. Smithdoesn’t trust anyone, and if Johnny recognizes me, there’s no saying he won’t tell someone where I am. And since Smith wants information about the Collectors, it buys me some time. Time I can use to get me out of the clutches of the CIA.

I drag in a breath. But I can’t give Smith what I don’t have, and I can’t give him what I do. I can give him lip service because it’s words and nothing tangible. And I’ve got skin in the game with regard to Trenton and my brother while Smith’s very interested in the Collectors.

What I need to do is become something he likes enough to keep around. I have to worm my way in, disregard my feelings about him and focus on what makes him tick.

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