Page 4 of The Players

Instead, she slapped it on the palm of her hand. “And how would you know?”

Vince took a step toward her, forcing her to step back. “Stop pretending to be something that you’re not, sweetheart.”

Gone was the temporary hold he’d had on her. This time, it was rage that lit her body on fire.

“No,youstop pretending like you know me. I can be whatever, or whomever, I want. And don’t call me sweetheart. I’m neither sweet nor do I have a heart.”

With her head held high, even though she was shaking in her stiletto boots, she gave him her back. Moans and thewhooshingsound of a whip hitting flesh floated on the air. Goose bumps washed over her skin when she heard the groans and screams. She disappeared into the crowd, making her way downstairs to the private rooms in the back. Rooms that, no doubt, held horrors inside. A particular room like this had once been her nightmare, dowsing her body in an inferno.

Thesnapof a paddle in a nearby room pulled Carmen back from the sewer of her memories. She took a deep breath and kept on walking until she reached the Purple Room.

She couldn’t help but wonder why the asshole who was blackmailing her had chosen this location, of all places, to have a tête-à-tête with her. She never frequented this place. In fact, if it weren’t for Halloween—the one night a year when members could bring a plus-one—she wouldn’t have even been let in. Still, whoever it was that had sent her that message chose this place for a reason. Maybe it was because of the privacy the owners guaranteed.

Her lips thinned as her thoughts trailed back to Vince Detta; another knife in her back she could never get rid of. She had barely made it past him. For some reason, he believed he had a right to say anything about the black latex outfit she wore.

Screw him. It didn’t matter what he believed. Besides, she had far more pressing issues on her mind.

Someone had found out about her biggest shame and was exploiting it. She wasn’t entirely sure who he was, but she was about to find out. Just another cross she had to bear for having been married to Franco.

She grabbed a hold of her whip tighter, as her other hand rested on the wall for a second. Her stomach roiled and acid crept up her throat. After taking a deep breath to stop herself from heaving, she continued. She pushed the door open and stepped just inside. Trepidation made her hesitant to enter the place further. The room was dimly lit, like every other corner in the club. Except, this one was eerily silent.

She swallowed as she took in the room that was colored in shades of purple and black. If it hadn’t been for the fact she knew it was a BDSM club, and for the hooks in the ceiling that could be tied to the massive bed, she would have believed it to be a regular room in any upscale hotel.

A quick scan showed the room to be empty. Maybe sheshould check the bathroom. Except, she really didn’t want to. Bad things could happen when you got cornered in a bathroom…

Carmen, my scared, little, innocent lamb.

Abort, memory.

Abort!

Bile rose up her throat as Franco’s words went through her head.

With her heart hammering in her chest, she full-on walked into the room. She was no longer innocent, and she refused to be a lamb, for lambs got slaughtered. Whoever this person was that had something on her, she refused to show him her belly. Gripping her whip tighter, she checked out the bathroom, which was empty. Then, something caught her eye. A foot stuck out from the other side of the massive bed.

Slowly, loosening her whip in attack mode, she peeked over to the other side of the bed.

As she had feared, it was Dwight, Franco’s shady go-to man. He lay face down on the floor, wearing leather pants only. There was a knife in his lower back, and his bald head was turned in a weird angle.

Oh, God.

A piece of paper was stuck into his hand. Trying her best to ignore his dead eyes, she grabbed the paper from his hand. The message in black ink swam before her eyes.

He’s my gift to you.

Her legs turned into jelly and she slumped against the wall.

Someone had killed Dwight, for her. The implications of the sick gesture almost blew her mind. Someoneelseknew about her shame. Or perhaps, it was all a set-up? Franco loved tormenting her with scenes like this.

She pushed the paper into her bodice. No one could ever see it. She needed to think, figure out what had happened. What if this guy was just the entrée? What if the mastermind who had staged this scene was yet to appear? Hadn’t that been Franco’s M.O.? Make her believe she was safe, before pouncing on her.

A cold chill washed over her as she pondered that possibility. She snapped the whip, the sound comforting her like nothing else could, reminding her she was no longer defenseless. She knew how to wield a whip to turn skin into shreds.

Then, the door opened, and a tall, looming figure appeared in the doorway.

In sheer panic, she lashed out.

CHAPTER 2

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