The Players

Chapter 1 Carmen

CHAPTER 1

CARMEN

Going to an adult club in a dominatrix outfit wasn’t the way Carmen had planned to spend Halloween. She’d rather be at the Detta mansion, making cupcakes with her honorary niece, Zoe. Instead, she had found an obscure “invitation” on her doormat, summoning her to go to this party tonight, or else…

Thinking back on the crumpled letter she’d stashed into her bodice, once again, a white-hot rage poured down her back like liquid fire. With Franco dead for a year now, she’d thought the days of people trying to blackmail her were over.

Clearly, she’d been wrong. Not only was she trying to keep two rivaling mobster families off her back, now she had to deal with extortion on a more personal level.

Meet me in the Purple Room at Club Obsidian tonight, or I will make the pictures public.

D.

She had an inkling who this “D” was and the mere thought of having to face one of Franco’s sadist friends again was nauseating.

Still, here she was, standing in the entry hall of the kind of club she had sworn never again to set foot in. The kind of place that made her skin crawl and chest ache from the memories it forced upon her.

Club Obsidian catered to people with a less than vanilla lifestyle. Unfortunately, she knew all too well what that meant.

Pain. Humiliation.

Blood. So much blood.

She shook her head, trying to rid her mind of memories that clung to her like ghosts visiting from her past. She continued forward, forcing her feet to move.

The darkened club was already packed with people dressed in all sorts of fetwear. Some wore leather pants, or tight, knit lace slips, combined with corsets. Others were dressed up in chained armor complete with a ball gag, following after their master. She saw a group of women in the corner without shoes, the bare feet marking them as submissives.

Even in her aversion to the place, she couldn’t help but admire the dark, hardwood floors, dark-red satin walls, and the huge chandelier that cascaded pieces of light to every corner.

She bit her lip, trying not to think of the club’s owner.

Vince Detta.

Even though his brother was married to her sister now, it had been over a decade ago she’d last been alone in a space with her secret college crush. A status quo she intended to maintain, which meant she had to avoid him at all cost.

She looked at her friends, Tess and Tommie, who she had basically tricked in accompanying her tonight. Unlike her, they were dressed for the occasion, in costumes that truly represented them. Tommie, as Freddie Mercury in a red royal mantle, and Tess, like the geek she was—a cross between Darth Vader and a princess. They were nothing like her, pretending to be something she wasn’t, all in an attempt to gain strength and courage from a costume.

Pathetic.

Taking a deep breath, she continued inside, ignoring the silver platters filled with champagne flutes that were handed out by scantily dressed submissives. She had to get to the Purple Room, but first, she had to ditch her friends. They couldn’t know why she was truly here.

Tess pulled her toward her guy, Luca Detta. Carmen tried her best to ignore the tall man standing next to him in black slacks and a white shirt. Vince Detta—the man who had stabbed her in the back over a decade ago.

So much for avoiding him.

The moment his eyes landed on her, she felt that familiar pull; part pain and part pleasure. A dull ache when she remembered he hadn’t come through on his promise, and what that had cost her. And then there was an unwanted joy that hit her right in the gut, simply for being in his presence. Once, he had stood for comfort, and hope. For some reason, the remnants of those feelings still lingered. Apparently, her brain hadn’t delivered the memo to her treacherous heart that he was not to be trusted again.

Coming face-to-face with him during her sister’s wedding had been hard. That night, she had passed out on the dance floor only to wake up in his arms. Of all people, it had been him to pick her up from the floor instead of her husband. His arms had held her. Strong arms that had made her feel safe, even when she was terrified that any second Franco would show up and make her pay for letting herself get touched by another man. Little did anyone know that after Franco, Vince was the man she hated the most in this world. Not her dead grandfather, who had sold her to Franco in the first place, or Franco, who was simply a monster, but Vince.

Just ignore him. He’ll do the same.

Really?

Of course.

Her inner voice was wrong. Unfortunately, Vince wasn’t prepared to ignore her. She could see it in the way his broad shoulders tightened and his jaw set. His piercing blue eyes settled on her the second he spotted her. A frown appeared between his dark eyebrows as he looked her up and down and a heat came over her, setting every fiber of her being on alert when he reached her cleavage. Damn him for making her feeling self-conscious over her own body. How was it that he still had this effect on her after all these years?

“Why are you dressed like that?” he snapped. “You’re not a dominatrix.”

Whip. In. His. Face.

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, you stop 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 the whooshing sound 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.

The snap of 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 b**m 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 she should 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. Someone else knew 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.