Boston Avant-Garde 5: Bellicoso Read Online Free Page B

great personal cost. He wasn’t going to fall to pieces over one scrap of femininity in a red dress.
    As soon as they’d turned into the passageway, they had gone beyond the boundaries of the club. These areas were out of bounds to everyone but employees. A set of stone steps indicated the end of the hall. Solid steel doors barred the way outside.
    “There’s your exit.” Malachi gestured to the doors. “Just knock on the door. Owen will unlock it and let you out. It dumps you right back on the street where your car was parked that night.”
    “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” She propped one hand on her hip and gave him a thoroughly mistrustful glare.
    It rankled that she doubted his word. He had a sudden craving to teach her just how serious he was about keeping promises. He wasn’t the one who’d tried to have her against her will on a public street. “If you don’t believe me, go and check.”
    A desire to do exactly that lingered behind her green eyes. “Whatever. I’m still looking for the privacy you promised me.”
    Malachi reached for the key hanging around his neck. He unlocked the door to his left and shoved it open before making a sarcastic, sweeping motion with his hand. “After you.”
    It was impossible not to appreciate the sway of her hips as she sauntered in ahead of him. Her scent floated behind her, sinking into his senses like a siren call. Malachi exhaled slowly, deliberately, locking down anything but the independent side of his personality he’d worked so hard to cultivate.
    “What is this place?” She walked to the center of the room and spun in a slow circle.
    He knew she would immediately realize he’d brought her into an old chapel. More than that, he sensed she would also understand the odd incongruence of the setup. “It used to be a private sanctuary for one of the high-ranking clergy. Now it’s a training room.”
    He gave her a moment to soak it in, not wanting to press her until his instincts told him she was ready.
    The space was a long rectangle. Stained glass depictions of the archangels lined the top half of the outside wall. The location was partially subterranean, but the windows allowed a generous amount of soft, colored light in during the day.
    She pointed to the bed. “Is that where you sleep?”
    The oak and iron monstrosity was covered in a fitted black PVC sheet. It was intimidating and massive, obviously intended for use with restraints. “Does it look like it’s meant for sleeping?”
    He didn’t expect her to answer, and she didn’t disappoint. She drifted toward the other end of the room. There was a cage in one corner and a St. Andrew’s cross in the other. Both were more decorative than anything else. A set of stocks sat nearby, several framed black-and-white photos of historic Salem hanging overhead.
    She shot him a smug smile. “This looks like a torture museum. Do you actually use anything in here?”
    “This isn’t my space.” Why had he told her that? “It’s just a room the club offers to members.”
    At one time he’d helped break in submissives with the tools in this room. He’d used his position at the club to train Doms to be good masters. Being a submissive that had spent years at the mercy of a cruel mistress, he’d seen it as a crusade. Lately his participation in the local community had dwindled to nearly nothing. He was in a long-term relationship, though his partner was in favor of his participation in those breaking-in rituals. Somehow increasing his mental strength had become more important than the new D/s relationships of others.
    So why the change? Considering her a new sub is crazy.
    It felt too right to have her here. Strange, yet inevitable. He wondered further, contemplating what his partner might think of him bringing a woman to the playroom. Especially a woman they’d both felt compelled to rescue from her asshole ex-husband.
    No, I’m not going there. Not now.
    “Dare I even ask?” Selena tugged