TripleThreat1 (4 page)

Turning, I resumed my scan of the room. The party was already
in full swing, with about fifty guests and a handful of security plus the
waiters, the room was filling up nicely. Good and bad news, when you were
trying to unobtrusively identify a felon. I caught sight of Archer speaking to
a masked pair near the door. Although it was no secret that we were a couple,
we’d decided early on to run the party much as we ran our club. That meant
Archer served as both host and Master and left me as the manager, free to roam,
inside and out, which was why it appeared I was only just now arriving.

“Zachary? What do you want me to do?” Ah…for a minute I’d
almost forgotten my new assistant.

Turning, I did a slow scan from bottom to top, appreciating
long expanse of tanned leg, the leather breakaway shorts, and the surprising
hint of cut muscles tantalizingly revealed underneath the mesh and leather shirt.
I had to admit, when I’d called Sadronne’s Specialty Shop and told them I was sending
a new submissive over for outfitting, I hadn’t expected quite this much.
Jeremiah was fucking hot—even if he was a decade too young. And I
really
wasn’t interested. I repeated the phrase in my mind, just in case my dick
wasn’t paying attention the first time.

“Hey, that looks better,” I said. It was probably the first
nice thing I’d said to Jeremiah since we’d hired him last week, and I couldn’t
help noticing the pleased flush. His earlier khakis and black polo shirt might
have been okay if we were throwing a barbeque, but it was hardly suitable for a
sex party. Although to be fair, I had deliberately selected the least
experienced man in the applicant pool, in an underhanded attempt to scare him
off before the first month was out. Tonight might go a long way toward
accomplishing my goal. Or it might show me what our black-haired, green-eyed college
boy was made of.

“All right, kid, you’re with me.” That wiped the smile from
his face. He hated when I called him kid. “We’re going to make our way around
the room. Remember, if anyone asks, you’re posing as my new trainee—but only if
I’m not here to answer for you. Otherwise keep your mouth closed and eyes lowered.
We might have Franklin’s current description, but he’ll wear a mask tonight. You’ll
make nice window dressing and provide a distraction in case someone is
watching.”

“Is that likely? I didn’t get to hear much about your case
this past week—”

“No. But you were useful to me in other ways.” I’d been busy
as shit with the arrangements for tonight’s big event, and to my surprise,
having Jeremiah around to take care of some of the details had proven more
helpful than I’d anticipated. As far as bed play or sex games—just not what we
needed in our relationship.

Maybe I really
was
just getting old—as good a reason
as any to explain my reluctance. Archer and I had played with a third plenty of
times, particularly during our early club days. Ménage was fucking hot. But
somehow this felt off to me…maybe because Jeremiah lived in our home and
presumably would sleep in our bed. I shook the thought from my mind. I felt
Jeremiah’s sidelong glance, but he didn’t say anything. In the week he’d been
with us, I hadn’t made much of an effort to get to know him. Archer’s patience
would wear thin and he’d probably order contact sooner rather than later. Until
he did, I would keep my distance.

For now, we had work to do. We’d moved away from the others
to ensure we weren’t overheard, but I leaned down to speak closer to Jeremiah’s
ear. Catching a whiff of his clean, outdoorsy soap made me think of an
oversized shower for three.
Not going there.

“Okay, this is a very straight-forward case. You know Franklin
Hartfield stole from his wife. He’s obviously got good connections since he had
top quality false identification and plastic surgery to alter his appearance.
We know he was in Atlanta in the past month because of the contact with his
wife and with the man who created his false ID. We also believe his lover may
have helped him cover up the scheme to fake his death. Figuring out his motives
and how his mind works is what Archer’s good at. The very best. I’m not bad at
tracking down the rest of the details. Together we make a good team.”

“And you don’t need me…I get that,
okay?
” Jeremiah turned
to look around the room, his gaze settling on the stockade, and the group of
people watching Master Cartier work the bullwhip over Cliff Goling’s back. I
smiled. Cartier was as impressive as always in his full leather facemask, the straps
crossing his chest and back, and skintight pants. Cliff had always been Cartier’s
favorite subs. I’d always suspected they had a regular gig set up between them
outside of our club, but for their own reasons, they preferred to meet at the
club as casually acquainted members—and they were in no way exclusive. Cartier
stood at a distance that gave him maximum extension with the snap of his arm,
and the crack of the whip was impressive.

“Isn’t that going to tear open his skin?” Jeremiah asked. I glanced
over gauging his actual interest. He didn’t look repulsed, merely curious.
Points for Jeremiah, but Jesus, this man was inexperienced. I thought back to
his questionnaire. He’d participated in occasional casual spankings during sex,
hand only. I expected that meant a partner slapped his ass once or twice. It
would be interesting to see his reactions tonight.

“Watch for a minute. Cartier—he’s the Master—maintains a
safe distance, so that the blows are delivered with the right amount of force.
He’ll lay a pattern of stripes over the sub’s shoulders, back, and ass.” We
watched as Cartier delivered two more blows then he walked over to Goling and
stroked his hand over the bright red of the other man’s ass while he checked
the skin under the welts he was drawing up. Cartier moved around front to make
eye contact with Goling. They held a brief conversation before the Master once
again took up the whip and moved into position.

“The Master will check on his sub constantly throughout the
scene. Nothing he does will cause permanent damage, and the sub can safeword if
it gets to be too much.”

Apparently finished with the momentary lesson, Jeremiah
turned to face me—back to work. “How would Franklin wrangle an invitation to
this party and assuming he’s here, how do we find him?”

“Good questions. Wilde Sides was always the best, most
exclusive club, but there are a few people who were members who could put the
word out and draw in the dabblers and the out of region players. Archer managed
to let the necessary information slip to someone we feel would have the same
contacts as Franklin. It’s why security is deceptively lax around here tonight.
We’re letting everyone in because we want Franklin.”

“Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly…”

“Exactly.”

Jeremiah nodded. “Makes sense, so what am I looking for?”

I wanted to laugh at his enthusiasm for the hunt. “Slow
down. You’re the boy Friday…remember? You’re supposed to mind the paperwork
while I do the heavy lifting.” His head snapped back as if I’d struck him and I
wished the words back. It wasn’t his fault Archer put us in this awkward
position. He was doing his best and I wasn’t making things easy on him.

“Jeremiah—”

“Will there be anything else,
Sir?
” I hummed a
little.
Sir.
It had been awhile since anyone other than a store clerk
had called me that. I knew it was just a sarcastic response to my comment, but…
Damn.

“All right, that was unnecessary, I’m sorry. It’s
just—Jeremiah, your eyes are a little wide, here. Look around the room. There
aren’t any innocent tourists here. If I let you wander around in that outfit, I
guarantee some Dom is going to snap you up and have you on your knees in no
time.”

Jeremiah’s tanned face turned an interesting shade of rosy
as the blush crawled up his neck. He opened his mouth, but we were interrupted
before Jeremiah could voice his protest.

“Need some help with your new sub, Master Zach? I could take
him off your hands for a while, you know, break him in?” Master Peter moved in
behind Jeremiah, a wolf scenting prey. Peter slid his hands over Jeremiah’s
ass, and I fought an unreasonable urge to growl possessively.

“Lower your eyes, boy, or you’ll get more than an
introduction tonight.” I snapped the words at Jeremiah, willing him to follow
orders. He seemed to understand because his gaze dropped to the floor. “No,
thank you, Master Peter. Perhaps another time. I’m evaluating whether I have
sufficient interest to take Jeremiah on as my new pet project.”

Peter patted me on the shoulder. “I can’t blame selfishness.
He’s delicious. I’m looking for a new project myself—so if young Jeremiah
doesn’t meet your needs, let me know.” He looked around the room. “What about
him? He looks familiar…but I can’t place him.”

I followed his gaze to where a good-looking man in an
expensive suit leaned with apparent ease against the wall. Despite my earlier
assurances to the contrary, this man was indeed a tourist and had no business
being here.

“Sorry, Peter, he’s not on the market for your type of play,
either. In fact, he definitely doesn’t belong here. If you’ll excuse me…” I nodded
to Peter, then crossed the room with Jeremiah close on my heels.

“Cannon?”

Blue eyes flashed defiantly at me from under the fall of
black hair. Frowning, I scanned the room again, in case I’d missed something.
“What the fuck are you doing here, alone? Where’s Chance?”

“It’s been five years. I would have thought he’d told you we're
not…together.”

I leaned in close, invading Cannon’s personal space. “Chance
told me. I thought maybe you forgot. You used to forget a lot of things. How’s
that wife of yours?”

Cannon’s mouth went tight, his face visibly paling even in
the dim lighting. “Classy, Zach. I should have known. You all stick together,
don’t you? I think I’ll go now.” Cannon brushed past me and I followed him to
the door. Cannon Malloy was definitely not the sort of trouble we needed here
tonight.

Jeremiah’s expression held a question, but I forestalled the
discussion with a brief explanation. “He’s the closeted former lover of an old
friend. I have no idea why he’s here.”

Strong arms wrapped around me from behind and I momentarily
leaned back into the comfort of Archer’s embrace.

“How is it going, lovers?” he asked. “You look positively
delicious, Jeremiah.”

I ignored Archer’s use of the plural and pretended I didn’t
see the shift in Jeremiah’s posture. “I’m not sure. George is here with a small
entourage hanging on every word, plus a slave. The slave isn’t Franklin—all
fingers present and accounted for—but I made him very uneasy.” I smiled. “Leaking
word of the party to George was a definite plus. He never could keep a secret.
I also saw a friend of friend who shouldn’t have known about the party—but who
obviously did, so the word is definitely out in the right places in Atlanta.

With a quick check of his watch, Archer nodded. “Yes, I’ve
just come from a long conversation with the former mayor. He was passing
through on his way to DC and heard about our little shindig—his word—from the
friend of a friend. If Franklin is anywhere near Atlanta, he’ll be here
tonight.”

“I’ve hinted around that I’m looking for a sub for an
intense session to demonstrate to the boy.” Jeremiah hissed, but kept his gaze
down.

“Mmm…there are quite a few subs tonight who are well-trained
and would enjoy your attention, Zachary.”

“They’ll have to come to me. That should give me plenty of
opportunity to look for Franklin.” I smiled into those blue-green eyes. “Are
you enjoying yourself, Archer?”

“Not as much as I intend to once everyone leaves and we
finish this business. Considering we have everything we could possibly need.”
Meeting my gaze with a heated look, he stroked my face with his long fingers,
and my response to him was an immediate hunger that had nothing to do with our
surroundings, and everything to do with him. With his lids half lowered, Archer
slipped a finger into my mouth and I sucked greedily. Then his gaze drifted
lazily over my shoulder.
To Jeremiah
.

An hour later, I was still chafing from Archer’s apparent
decision to take Jeremiah after the party. I’d tried to shrug it off, but it
had burrowed into my subconscious like a splinter and I couldn’t seem to stop
picking at the wound. For his part, Jeremiah proved to be as efficient in
leather and mesh as he was in his usual khakis. Although I was drinking club
soda—I was working after all—my glass was never empty. With his gaze lowered
and walking behind me, Jeremiah managed to anticipate my direction, my needs.

Despite the hour, a few late arrivals still trickled in, and
the crowd pushed at maximum capacity as we moved toward midnight. I recognized
a significant number of our guests from our club days, but I noticed many were strangers,
definitely people we hadn’t invited. Good news for us.

Over the course of the evening several subs had presented
themselves and requested my attention, however, none of them were Franklin, so
I passed without explanation or excuse. A small commotion near the door drew my
attention and I looked up in time to see two masked men talking with the
doorman before they entered and moved into the crowded room. The mask actually
made it easier to recognize Franklin—I wasn’t distracted by the new face or
hair color, all I saw was the familiar slender frame. It was hard to disguise a
backside that you’d striped with a riding crop.

The man with him was exactly who I’d expected. Good to know.

“Showtime,” I murmured.

“Found him?” Jeremiah leaned in to whisper his question, and
his breath tickled against my cheek. I turned to face him and our gazes locked
for a long moment.