Thunder shook the dining room windows in Zoe’s seventieth-floor Chicago penthouse condo, and she glanced at the time on her laptop screen: Friday, 8:45 p.m. Logging out of her GTA account, she shoved her chair away from the dining room table.
For over an hour she’d scoured several months of agency reports and found nothing on behavioral engineering, or any upcoming speaking engagements for Easton. But she did learn something new about the agency.
They were failing. Over the last two years, ISIS had strengthened and extremist attacks across the world had increased.
She poured herself a cabernet and stared down into the burgundy-colored pool in the glass. Could this be the reason her uncle might be looking at the CIA mind-control program? Knowing her uncle, he’d never accept defeat.
And she believed in her heart that any action he took would be for the greater good.
With her wineglass in hand, she sat again in front of the computer and gazed at the laptop’s gyrating, colorful screensaver.
Her brain rejected what her heart said. It didn’t make sense for GTA to resurrect the MKUltra program. With the cloaking nanobot weapon, GTA now had the most lethal technology in existence with which to win. And her uncle, being in the intelligence field, knew more than most about the devastation and horror the program inflicted on innocent people.
Zoe took a long swallow of wine. Let it go. She did her job and did it well. She’d left a trail of dead terrorists behind her.
But she couldn’t let it go. Grotesque visuals from the plane’s Internet search of the CIA program filled her mind, reminding her of the abuse at Woodbury.
She lowered the laptop lid. Tonight, she’d forget about it. There’d be nothing to gain in reading more reports. She’d ask Isabel about it this weekend. Plus, on Monday she’d be at the agency and could do some sleuthing.
Zoe picked up her phone and dialed. Isabel hadn’t answered her text from two hours ago.
Three rings. Isabel’s husky voice said, “Hi.” A keyboard clicked in the background.
Zoe said, “Busy, I take it?”
“Yes. Sorry. In the middle of a crisis.” The clicks increased as Isabel’s fingers flew across the keys, no doubt weaving a net to catch a GTA hacker…or to launch their own malware attack.
“Understand. I just wanted to say I love you.” Her fiancée’s sobs from their plane conversation still rang in her ears.
“Love you too. Bye.”
Click.
Silence.
Emptying her glass, Zoe rose and went to her bedroom. She stretched out on the window’s leather settee. Water streamed down the floor-to-ceiling window. Lightning sizzled over the Chicago skyline. A tingle raced through her. Nighttime in the city energized her. Lights shined from thousands of windows and grand skyscrapers pierced the darkness with their dazzling beams.
She crossed and uncrossed her legs. The clock on her ebony and ivory marble dresser across the room flashed 9:05 p.m. The agency had bought her this beautiful condo along with a sexy sports car for her public cover as a marketing consultant. She should be able to relax in this luxurious apartment. But, as usual, her post-op restlessness with its pent-up adrenaline still simmered. What to do? She’d picked up Isabel’s ring from the jewelers and finished packing. She was ready to go tomorrow.
Her right knee bounced with excited anticipation. She and Isabel had so much to catch up on. She couldn’t wait to share with her the exciting experience she had teaming with her uncle in Prague.
Prague…“Help me”…skinny arms reaching out…
A bright streak zigzagged and crackled over the beacons atop the skyscrapers, and in the lightning’s flare Zoe saw the little girl’s frightened face reflected in the window.
She turned away. She hoped that once she moved in with Isabel, she’d be able to talk her out of having children.
Her gaze landed on the origami collection on the shelf next to the dresser. Rainbow-colored creations—dragons, butterflies, swans, flowers, stars—perched on the narrow shelf. Isabel had rearranged the display during her birthday weekend visit. She’d made some comment about how children would love doing that. Zoe hadn’t thought she’d been talking about their children.
She swung her legs off the settee. She didn’t want to think; she wanted to do.
Zoe opened her closet door and studied her nightclub wear. She ran her hand over the sensual smoothness of her metallic blue latex catsuit. Latex bonded to her skin, enhancing sensations, turning her on.
She’d go to Jaz, the West Loop clothing-optional sex club. She wanted her dominatrix, Empress. As the submissive—collared and leashed and forced to respect—she’d relax. There’d be no power struggle. Empress ruled in the Dominion Chamber.
It’d been a good month since she’d been in the dungeon, locked inside the hanging cage at the mercy of the Domme.
Her nipples hardened as she remembered…
Empress wore a long-sleeved, black latex miniskirt dress. Her eyes commanded from behind the slits of a scarlet leather dragon mask. Sexual fire and dominance leapt from the mask’s swirling pointed tips.
In the cage, Zoe sat naked on a velvet key-shaped seat with her ankles locked in steel restraints. Her arms were pulled out with her wrists handcuffed to the steel bars. Attached to her wide leather collar was a long leash which reached outside the cage and lay at Empress’s feet.
The Domme reached through the bars and wrenched Zoe’s thighs apart. She jerked on the leash, yanking her backward…
Wet and hot from the memory, she stroked the catsuit, appreciating Isabel had said she could keep her sessions with the Domme. Her wonderful lady understood her.
She dialed Jaz, the club’s owner. “Hi, it’s Zoe. Is Empress available tonight?”
“You’re lucky, sweetie. She’s booked solid, but someone just canceled. You know how weekends are. We’re packed.” A social hotspot, Jaz’s three-building complex included not only a sex club with dungeons and “playrooms,” but also a nightclub for dancing, and a gourmet French cuisine restaurant.
Jaz said, “She can’t see you until eleven. But, hey, come on over. I’ll buy you a drink. It’s been a while since we chatted.”
Zoe grinned. While Jaz did enjoy socializing, she was a smart businesswoman and knew once she got you in, you’d spend money. But why not go? Jaz was fun to talk to and the food fabulous. “Sounds good. See you soon.”
Her grin faded as she hung up. She hoped she didn’t run into Ramos, a GTA contractor. She wasn’t in the mood tonight to listen to the opinionated Brazilian critique his latest meal and wine experience. The man lived to eat and drink—and lecture about it. Ramos and Jaz were childhood friends, and he ran his security consulting business from her club.
Zoe headed to her nightstand. She hadn’t seen him the last time she’d gone to Jaz. Maybe her luck would hold out. She took a bottle of oil from a drawer and heated it in the microwave.
Stripping, she rubbed the warm oil over her body and with slow movements glided the latex catsuit over her slippery skin. Erotic. Heat smoldered through her, and she took short, quick breaths as she pulled the front zipper up.
She put on four-inch Gucci black satin platform pumps and turned side to side, purring at her sleek sexy look in the full-length gold leaf antique mirror next to the closet. She was one wildcat that liked to be caged.
Masks were required at Jaz, and Zoe selected a sparkling ornate feline masquerade mask decorated with glitter and Swarovski crystal.
Zoe stared at herself in the mirror. Should she hold off on Empress until she and Isabel talked it out more? Even though Isabel had said she was okay with her seeing the Domme, was she really? This sudden change—from being stoic for ten years about what the Wildcat did, to freaking out about the risks. Zoe wasn’t going to start off their new life as partners with deceit and go in secret.
She grabbed the silver case from her purse. She’d had it with “should she do this?” or “should she do that?” It’d gotten way too complicated.
She popped a pill and marched to the door. Isabel had said she could go.
A powerful blast from the drugs hit her and her fingers curled around the knob. She slammed the door shut behind her. Isabel knew her.
And maybe once they were living together her restlessness would disappear.
* * *
Zoe parked her silver Corvette Stingray in an alley next to Jaz. The club provided several nonpublic side entrances for patrons with valets who parked their cars in an attached garage.
She wiped her damp forehead and wiggled her stiff fingers. The last five minutes of the drive her hands shook, so she’d white-knuckled the steering wheel. This higher dose was a problem. The side effects were unpredictable as to when they’d come and how hard.
A man leaned up against the club, texting. He wore his black hair in a crewcut and his attire was “club classy” with a long-sleeved turquoise dress shirt and white linen pants.
Zoe cursed. Ramos. Good thing her shakes had stopped because he’d tell Shane about it. The braggart had made a point of telling her the first time they’d met that he was Shane’s best friend.
He looked up at her as she stepped out of the Stingray with her purse and mask.
Zoe didn’t know much about Ramos as a person, other than his annoying obsession with gourmet food and fine wines. But her one professional encounter with him last year, as her instructor for an agency refresher on Brazilian jiu-jitsu, had been excellent. He had stellar credentials in his contractor profile. A decorated SEAL, he was a genius in surveillance technology in addition to being a skilled physical combatant trainer.
Since that martial arts training with him a year ago, she’d come across him a few times at Jaz, where they’d chatted. She’d kept their conversations brief. Not only did he bore her with his pontificating, he had a horrible donkey-like laugh which grated on her.
He pocketed his phone and whistled. “Wicked!” He had only a minor Brazilian accent, but it was enough to give a poetic sound to his words.
She grinned. “Me, or my car?”
He grinned back and a black-jacketed valet wearing a ruby-red satin eye mask opened the club door.
“Good evening, Ms. Lorel,” the valet said. “I apologize for my delay. How are you doing tonight?”
“Good evening. I’m fine, thanks.” She handed the valet her car remote and winked. “Be gentle.” The valet started up the Stingray and Zoe slipped on her mask.
Ramos looked at her. “Do you have a minute? There’s something I want to show you in my office. Something I know you haven’t seen before.”
Zoe raised her eyebrows. He wouldn’t have the cloaking weapon. The nanobot went with Easton to headquarters. But maybe Ramos had a photo of it.
She pictured the CIA logo. Would he know about a behavioral engineering project? No, it wasn’t Ramos’s area. But then again, he might. He was involved with the latest in surveillance technology; he’d be current in the intelligence community’s plans. A quick stop wouldn’t kill her, and she might find out something.
Zoe said to him, “Okay, as long as it doesn’t take too long. I have an appointment.”
“I bet you do,” he said as he put on a multicolored harlequin eye mask.
She shot him a glare. Her Domme sessions were supposed to be private. She guessed he knew because he helped Jaz when she was busy. But Mr. Big Mouth had better not be gossiping about her business.
Ramos held up his hands. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” He opened the door and they stepped into the club. DJ remixes streamed from speakers and the red lights dimmed and brightened in a subtle fade as if dancing to the music.
His imposing frame cleared a path, and they weaved through a sea of masks and capes. Nudists were required to wear knee-length capes so they had something to sit on.
They approached Jaz’s command post, a twenty-seat horseshoe-shaped mahogany bar. And as usual, she was behind it, chattering away, her hands waving, assisting the bartenders in serving up drinks and witty repartee. At almost six feet, the sparkling diamond tiara she wore on top of her spiked purple hair acted like a navigational beacon, guiding clients to her.
Jaz waved at them as they approached. Her transparent white glitter dress over her nakedness gave the bar patrons quite the treat.
“Ooh, Zoe!” Jaz squealed. “You’re looking hot!” She gestured at an empty chair. “What can I get you?”
“Save the seat,” Zoe said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Yeah, she won’t be long,” Ramos added. “We’re stopping at my office for a minute. Everything okay?”
Jaz smiled at him. “All good.”
Zoe gave a sideways glance at Ramos as they walked into the club’s attached hotel. She wondered again why he would want to share something with her. They didn’t talk shop and weren’t friends, only acquaintances.
Moans came from behind the white lace curtains as they passed by a playroom. Zoe inhaled a pleasant aroma—woody and spicy—from burning incense. She couldn’t see anyone running a business from here. It’d be too distracting. Jaz was open twenty-four-seven.
“Don’t the noise and crowds bother you when you’re working?” Zoe said to Ramos.
“No. I like action.”
“And you like to be naked.” Twice she’d come across him nude in the hot tub.
“True. So do you.”
She sure did. Warm spa waves rolling over her bare skin, being unencumbered by clothes…such a sense of freedom.
They took a private elevator to the top floor, and he led the way down the hall. “Have you ever been up here before?”
“No.”
“This is Jaz’s office suite area.” A quiet floor with nice neutral beige carpet and polished wooden doors. On this floor, it was another world, a professional one. She understood now why Ramos could have his business here.
At the far end of the hall, he placed his index finger on a small console by a door. The office unlocked.
Photos of him with fellow military brothers covered the wall behind his large walnut desk. Many of them featured him and Shane with their arms around each other in various SEAL attire. Centered between two of those photos a large plaque read: Some people live an entire life and wonder if they have made a difference in the world, but soldiers don’t have that problem. —Ronald Reagan.
Built-in white cabinets filled two of the three remaining walls.
They removed their masks, and he opened a desk drawer. He held up a bottle. “Would you like a drink? This is Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve, aged twenty years. The world’s finest bourbon. It’s nine hundred dollars a bottle.”
Of course, he’d have only the “world’s finest”—and brag about the price. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
He took out a glass from the drawer and filled it. “Suit yourself.”
She remained standing, ignoring the two brown leather armchairs in front of his desk. Okay. It’s a boring workplace.
Zoe faked a smile. “Nice office.”
“Thanks. I like it.”
“What did you want to show me?”
He punched a button under the desk. The one empty wall rose to reveal a tinted floor-to-ceiling window behind it.
A spy window. Ramos could look out, but no one could see him.
Zoe eyed him with suspicion under her lashes. This was getting more bizarre by the minute.
With his drink in his hand, he strode over to the window, and she followed, standing next to him. They stared down at the first-floor lounge of the club. Jaz’s glittering diamond tiara flashed as she served her caped customers at the bar.
“I didn’t think you’d ever seen the club from this vantage point.” His gaze roamed the crowd. “It’s one-way. If they look up, all they see is dark glass.”
“I figured that.” She stroked her latex sleeve. It felt so surreal. The costumed crowd below moved with live action, yet his office was eerily quiet. “Soundproofed?”
“Yup.”
Her right leg shook, and perspiration trickled behind her ear. Another round of side effects? Good God, would it ever end? She shifted, putting pressure on the leg to stiffen it, and wiped her neck.
“Something wrong?” Ramos looked at her with a raised brow.
“No. A little leg cramp.”
His attention moved back to the window, and she sighed with relief. She didn’t need him snitching on her to Shane. Shane would tell Easton.
Bodies were packed into the lounge below them, and she could see why Jaz needed Ramos’s help. Throngs of people seemed to pour in by the minute, enticed by the lounge’s subtle red illumination and the illusion of masked anonymity.
Ramos said with intensity, his accent getting thicker as he spoke, “When I come here, I feel like I’m in the stage play The Phantom of the Opera. The creepiness of the main character—the Phantom—comes alive in my mind. Except, instead of one phantom, hundreds surround me. Their eyes, mouths, and legs are the only sign they’re human.”
“Why the window?”
“I like to watch.”
“I gathered that.” He was the creepy one, not the club people below. “Have you heard anything about a behavioral engineering project at the agency?”
Ramos stared at her, expressionless. “Why?”
“It doesn’t matter why. Have you heard about such a project or not?”
“Can’t say.”
How stupid of her to think he’d be helpful. “You’re right. I hadn’t seen the club like this before.” And you either. You’re certifiably weird. “Thanks for sharing.” She yanked on her mask and marched toward the door.
“See you Monday.”
She spun around. Ramos looked out the window as he sipped from his glass.
“You’re going to the GTA annual meeting?”
“Yes.”
“I thought the meeting was restricted to only agency staff.”
“It is.”
She crossed her arms. “Okay, spit it out.”
He faced her and smirked. “You know how GTA is. Again, can’t say.”
Jerk. She hated game players. Zoe pivoted on her heel, and as the door shut behind her, he shouted, “Take care of yourself.”
In the hall outside, she frowned. What did he mean “take care of yourself”? Was he telling her he saw her shakes?
And it seemed odd to her he’d taken a position with GTA. She’d heard him tell someone in the hot tub that his consulting business was going well and he liked being able to pick and choose jobs. Maybe he needed a steady salary to support his gourmet meals and $900-a-bottle bourbon habit.
She shrugged. Whatever. No doubt being Shane’s best friend, he’d get a high-paying powerful management job that’d inflate his ego more.
Zoe tensed. If his “take care of yourself” was a snide jab at her weakened condition, once at the agency, would he hold it over her in a power play?
She held up a middle finger at his door. Welcome to GTA, Big Shot. Whatever you do, don’t even think of trying to fuck with me.
* * *
At 11:00 p.m. Zoe crossed the basement’s concrete floor toward the dungeon. She had a fun time at the bar with Jaz. It’d been just what she needed after her encounter with the obnoxious Ramos. Their banter, and an excellent cabernet, had put her in a good mood.
Above the steel door, black shiny letters read: Dominion Chamber. Her steps sped up with excitement.
While there were a variety of exotic playrooms on several club floors, Empress favored this windowless room in the basement. Zoe never knew why, because they never engaged in conversation. She only obeyed the Domme’s orders.
The door creaked open, and she glanced around with surprise. The cage was gone. And there were two new additions. Parked in the corner was a long metal table with leather straps. It had a metal cabinet beneath it.
A tall steel arch stood against the far wall, two ropes dangling from the apex. She could think of a few things Empress might do to her with those.
High heels clicked outside the dungeon.
Zoe rushed to the table and assumed her sub position beside it: kneeling, hands on thighs, palms up. As was their longtime Domme/sub routine, an elaborate protocol established over the years together, she wasn’t allowed to look at Empress until told to do so.
The clicking grew louder and the exotic sandalwood scent Empress wore drifted in the cool dungeon air.
Crack!
The Domme flicked her whip as she strolled toward Zoe.
CRACK!
The snapping grew louder as it came closer, but Zoe didn’t act on her fight-or-flight response as she would’ve eight years ago. Empress’s use of whips as a play toy had helped her overcome her traumatic Woodbury memories of them.
Zoe inhaled a sensuous musk cloud, and cool air chilled her nape as her hair was swept onto her shoulder.
A leather collar wrapped around her neck, and tightened, its metal rings cold on the base of her throat.
Empress snapped the collar’s lock with a jerk, pulling Zoe’s head back.
“So, my little slave, I see you like the table.” Empress’s deep-throated voice growled in Zoe’s ear. “Okay, we’ll play doctor and patient.”
The Domme’s hand reached around and unzipped the catsuit. Sharp nails dug into her soft fullness as Empress squeezed her breast.
A gold ring pinched her nipple.
“You belong to me, patient,” Empress said. “Undress! Time for an exam.”
Zoe peeled off her suit.
“Lie down on the table and close your eyes.”
Zoe climbed up onto the cold metal surface and Empress tied her down with the straps and slipped a blindfold on.
Spread-eagled and in the darkness, fingers touched her—spreading her folds, rubbing her clit, searching for her G-spot.
Fingers slipping in and out of her wetness.
Hot tension rushed through her, and she shook.
Shackled, she didn’t have to fight.
A cabinet door beneath the table creaked open.
A humming vibrator probed and pressed.
Blindfolded, she didn’t have to see.
Throbbing pleasure radiated from her core and her tingling body convulsed.
The only thing she could do was feel.
A sensory bomb exploded from her center and Zoe screamed as she rode the wave of overwhelming release.
She screamed again as loud and long as she could, celebrating her freedom to let go. The thrilling explosions blew every strategic thought out, disintegrated every coordinated plan, and vaporized the hundreds of images of enemy profiles stored in her brain.
Her mind emptied, nothing cautioned her, nothing controlled her.
For this fantastic moment nothing existed but the electrifying tingles…
She screamed again.
* * *
In the women’s changing room upstairs, Zoe showered. As she opened her personal locker, a short redheaded woman in a black strapless dress came in. About the same height and weight as Isabel, the woman styled her hair the same way too—a wavy, chin-length cut.
The woman went to a locker on the other side of the room and undressed. She nodded hello as she walked to the shower.
Zoe blew-dry her hair, longing tugging at her heart. She wished Isabel were here.
She threw off her towel. But she’d see her tomorrow and they’d have two glorious weeks together.
Together! She swung her towel in the air. “Hoorah!”
Zoe took a teal cape from her locker and headed for the nightclub to dance. After being with Empress she basked in a feeling of liberation that was almost euphoric. Sex as a submissive was far superior to any drug high that she knew of, for instead of repressing the Wildcat on a leash, Empress unlocked the collar and released the feral in her.
Even just four months ago after being with Empress, she’d have picked up several women and gone to a playroom for an orgy. But now that she was engaged, she’d let loose on the dance floor instead.
And that worked. She loved to dance, and untamed, under the flashing lights, she’d move the way she wanted.
As long as this fantastic aura of freedom lasted, she’d own the nightclub.
* * *
A mass of gyrating bodies filled the dance floor.
Music blared. The bass pounded. Colored strobe lights flared in a rhythmic light show.
Zoe tossed her cape onto a chair and sauntered onto the dance floor naked except for her high heels and mask.
She closed her eyes and rocked her hips to the pulsating beat. She inhaled—exotic, sweaty, spicy scents.
She opened her eyes. Spinning, hypnotizing, dazzling colors.
Hands reached for her, seeking to stroke, to touch her sleek smoothness. Naked bodies, caped bodies, oiled bodies, studded bodies, rubber-covered bodies moved in, caressing, rubbing, sliding up against her.
Her heaven with Isabel may begin tomorrow, but it’d be interrupted on Monday when she’d have to face her uncle about the transfer.
But that was Monday.
She closed her eyes again and lost herself in the throbbing frenzy.