Betrayal Page 4

  “It’s okay, baby. This wasn’t your fault.”

  “I should have been home. If I had been there...”

  “No.” She removed her arm from me and grasped my shoulders with both hands. For a second, I thought she was going to shake me. “This is not your fault, Ian. Finn did this on his own, but we will be there for him. We will get him through this. Whatever he needs.”

  We lapsed into silence while we waited to see my brother. I hoped Mom was right. The alternative was too damn frightening.

  Chapter Five

  Seven Years Later...

  The one immutable fact about life—and the world in general—was that time never waited. It marched on, turning weeks into months and months into years. Those months immediately following Finn’s suicide attempt were the roughest. He passed the psych evaluation but voluntarily committed himself for treatment. Six months later, he was home with me and in a much better place.

  Our father was appointed to the Northern District Court, achieving yet another milestone in his quest for power. It was great to have Mom nearby again, but I couldn’t say the same for our father. It was his unsympathetic attitude about Finn’s ill-fated affair that eventually pushed Finn over the edge, making him desperate enough to attempt suicide. That was yet one more thing I could never forgive—or forget—and it made me even more determined to make my own rules.

  Over the years, I built a successful photography business, consisting mostly of freelance work for well-known magazines like Southern Living and Architectural Digest. My work with several local models and fashion designers led to a lucrative gig with the popular fetish magazine Skin Two. The subject matter wasn’t necessarily my thing, but the pay was great, and it allowed me the creative freedom I craved.

  That also led me to Blaire Fraser, one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

  It was late summer, and Parker had just returned from the Army Rangers on an honorable medical discharge. It wasn’t long before we resumed old habits from our college days—specifically, partying on the weekends. I had forgotten how much I always enjoyed Parker’s pub crawls.

  “So how ‘bout we check out that new pub in Deep Ellum?” Parker asked, settling behind the steering wheel. He turned the key, and his truck roared to life.

  Deep Ellum was a hip, funky entertainment district located in the heart of Dallas, between downtown and the Cotton Bowl Stadium. There was always a new bar or club opening in that part of town. Most of the buildings, while not official monuments, were entrenched in the city’s history. “Which new pub?”

  “You know, the Muff Diver.” He chuckled.

  “Shut the fuck up.” I laughed. “You’re full of shit. It is not called muff diver.”

  He scowled and tilted his head toward me. “You never know. Maybe hot chicks hang out there.”

  “There is something so wrong with you.”

  “Yeah. It’s called blue balls.”

  “Okay, dude”—I waved him off—“I really don’t need to hear about your balls.”

  “It’s just been a while. Not like I could get any action while I was in the hospital.”

  “Oh really? You couldn’t charm any of the nurses into giving you head?”

  “Fuck, no,” he grimaced. “There were zero hot nurses at that hospital. And the one I kept getting stuck with reminded me of Nurse Ratched—she damn sure acted like her. That was one sadistic bitch. I mean, I can get into the whole sadism thing as long as the chick’s hot. You’d think a wounded vet would deserve at least one hot nurse—like the chick from Sin City.”

  “You talking about Jessica Alba?”

  “Hmm. Yeah, she’d do, too.” He shrugged. “I was thinking about the brunette that lost her hand.”

  All I could do was laugh. It seemed as though nothing—including recovering from a broken back—would dampen Parker’s sense of humor. “I thought this was just gonna be a regular guys’ night. You didn’t mention you were on a trim hunt.”

  His head slowly swung my way. “I’m always on a trim hunt.”

  “Apparently,” I sighed.

  “What? Did you turn into a monk while I was away?”

  “No. I’ve just been fucking busy and women complicate things. I don’t need that in my life right now.”

  He parked in the lot adjacent to The Diver Pub, and I rolled my eyes. Parker had a habit of changing names to suit him—didn’t matter if it was the name of a place or a person.

  “Well, do me a favor and at least pretend you’re into it tonight. You know chicks travel in pairs. It makes ‘em easier to catch.”

  I laughed. “I’m glad you’re back, man.”

  And I was. Life was always better with Parker around.

  The Diver Pub occupied a long, low, red brick building that took up most of the block. They housed their own brewery and boasted a selection of over one hundred different beers. That fact alone was most likely the reason Parker dragged me there. Like most of the buildings in the area, the exterior was dingy and worn, but the interior had been polished to perfection. Exposed brick, warm wood, and a stained concrete floor provided a rustic, casual vibe. We liked the place immediately.

  We settled at the bar, and after taking several minutes to mull over our options, finally placed our orders. The bartender slid our glasses across the bar’s gleaming surface, and I lifted my drink, raising it in salute. “Welcome back, Park.”

  “Well, if it isn’t the two cockiest assholes I’ve ever met.”

  Parker and I glanced at each other as we turned in unison toward the familiar voice. Our former teammate Sean stood behind us, hands on his hips and lips split into a shit-eating grin, clearly pleased with himself.

  Not to be outdone, Parker shot back, “It’s not cocky if you can back it up.”

  “And that’s what makes you an asshole,” Sean chuckled.

  I set my glass on the bar and extended my hand as I slid off my stool. “It’s been a while. How the hell have you been, man?”

  He grinned. “Good, you?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  Parker stood and towered over Sean. “Long time no see.”

  They shook hands, and Sean jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Wanna join us? Diego and James are with me.”

  “Hell yeah,” Parker said.

  We grabbed our glasses and followed Sean to a table near the back of the pub where Diego and James sat with another dude we didn’t know and a perky blonde. After a quick greeting with our old friends, Sean gestured toward the other two at the table.

  “This is Preston Matthews. He works with James in the IT department at Mercy Hospital. And this is Blaire Fraser. She and I went to grad school together at UT.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking their hands.

  Parker did the same as we moved another table closer so we’d have more room. I ended up next to Blaire.

  Blaire came across as the girl-next-door type—unassuming and approachable with an open innocence that was unusual for this day and age. She was pretty, though not what I would consider conventionally beautiful. Her hair fell in loose curls, the ends just brushing her shoulders and contrasting with her bright orange tank and a bold necklace. The color suited her, adding a warm glow to her fair complexion and making her blue eyes sparkle.

  “So what do you do, Ian?” she asked. Her voice had a light, musical quality, but I imagined, under the right circumstances, it could be quite grating on the nerves.

  “I’m a photographer.”

  “Really?” Her face brightened. “What genre?”

  “Architecture and landscape, mainly.” I took a sip of beer. “I’ve dabbled in fashion over the years.”

  “No weddings, then?”

  I shook my head. “I have done weddings, but not anymore. I don’t think you could pay me enough to shoot a wedding.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Diego took advantage of the slight lull in conversation. “I never had the chance to tell you, b
ut I’m sorry about what happened.” He pointed toward my right arm. “The team was never the same without you.” He turned his attention to Parker. “Either of you.”

  “Thanks, dude,” said Parker.

  Parker was a year older, and after I was booted from the team, he doubled up his course load and even took summer classes so he could finish early. He was in boot camp by the time Finn’s affair came out.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said. “It sucked, but what are you gonna do?”

  I took another drink, willing someone to change the subject. The memory of what I’d lost still stung, even after all the time that had passed.

  “What about you, Parker?” Blaire asked, cutting the mounting tension. “What do you do?”

  “I just got out of the army. I’m starting my own security and investigation business.” His lips twisted into a smirk. “I did a lot of intel work while I was active. Figured I may as well put that experience to use.”

  “Wow. Well, if you’re looking for clients, I’d definitely be interested.”

  She opened her purse and pulled out a business card. It was crimson with the type stamped in gold foil. I caught a glimpse as she slid it across the table to Parker.

  He picked it up. “Release?”

  “Yes. I own a private club and have an exclusive clientele. Security is important, and I haven’t had much luck with other firms. I’d love to discuss it with you sometime.”

  Parker smiled and slid the card in his back pocket. “Sure. I’ll give you a call.”

  “What kind of club?” asked Sean.

  She flicked her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, it’s basically just a cosplay kind of thing for society types.”

  Sean’s brows knit. “That’s it?”

  “More or less,” she purred, lifting her glass.

  There was something in her expression—a hint of smugness, perhaps—that told me she wasn’t being entirely forthcoming. I had to admit, I was curious. Little did I know that there would come a day I’d regret that curiosity and wish I had never met Blaire Fraser.

  After reconnecting with our old college friends, Parker and I made a habit of meeting up with them weekly, whenever possible. Blaire was always there, a regular part of the group. I chalked up any misgivings about her to the simple fact that I didn’t know her. Truthfully, she was pretty cool to talk to and seemed to fit in well. We all treated her like one of the guys even though she was anything but. That was something else I had to admit—she was pretty damn hot.

  As the year drew to a close, Diego came up with the bright idea to host a New Year’s Eve party, and Parker was on my ass about going. It hadn’t taken long for Parker to resume his man-whore ways, and true to form, he intended to use the party as a means to an end—preferably a happy ending. He was convinced that I needed to do the same, even though I’d told him countless times I no longer wanted to be that guy. It wasn’t that I was looking for a relationship, because I wasn’t. Far from it, in fact. I suppose I had matured enough that I was tired of the old persona I had cultivated in my younger years. Besides, I had been dating ... just not very much or for very long at a time. Apparently, that wasn’t a good enough excuse for Parker, and he took it as his personal mission to drag me along whenever he went looking for his next hook-up. I had no intention of following through with anything, but sometimes it was just easier to go along with him once he had an idea stuck in his head.

  Once again, I should have known better.

  I woke with a start, my head pounding and mouth dry. Early morning sunlight streamed in the window, illuminating my surroundings and confirming that I was not at home. Movement to my right drew my attention, and I turned my head toward the source.

  Blaire.

  She lay on her stomach, head smashed against the pillow, and hair a blonde nimbus covering her face.

  Fuck.

  My mind spun, trying to piece together the night before. Fuzzy memories of beer pong and a drunken game of Cards Against Humanity surfaced—proof I had given in far too easily to Parker’s persuasions to enjoy the party. Apparently, I enjoyed myself a bit too much.

  I vaguely remembered Diego offering his guest room, but I had no recollection of having sex with Blaire. I had no recollection of doing anything with Blaire.

  Not good.

  Moving as carefully as possible, I shifted my position and stood, looking for my clothes. I threw them on as quickly as I could and was just pulling my shirt over my head when Blaire spoke, her voice husky with the remnants of sleep. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” I mumbled, jamming my feet in my shoes.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home?” The word came out as a question, and I silently berated myself for being a pussy.

  She sat up, the sheet spilling onto her lap and revealing her breasts, and patted the bed beside her. “Come back to bed. I was looking forward to round three.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Her face crumpled. “Why the hell not?”

  “Look,” I began, “we’re friends, and I think we need to keep it that way. This was just a fluke.”

  She leaned slightly forward, brushing the hair from her face, and arched a brow. “We can still be friends—with benefits.”

  “Yeah, no.” I shook my head. “I don’t think so. It’s just not a good idea.”

  “You didn’t think it was such a bad idea when your dick was in my mouth.”

  “Well, I was pretty drunk last night. Apparently so drunk I don’t remember much beyond those ridiculous drinking games we played.”

  “I’d be happy to refresh your memory,” she smirked.

  “I’ll pass.” I wagged a finger between us. “This was a one-time thing, Blaire. Seriously. It won’t happen again.”

  She rose to her knees and inched closer to the foot of the bed as she ran her hands seductively over her naked body. “You don’t mean that. We can have a lot of fun together.”

  “Blaire,” I sighed, “I do mean that. I’m just not interested in anything beyond friendship. Truly. I think you’re great, but I don’t have time for any type of relationship right now—casual or otherwise.”

  “You know what? You’re kind of a dick.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I blew out a rough breath and turned to the door. “That’s the story of my life,” I muttered.

  “You’re going to regret this, Ian.”

  Shaking my head, I walked out without another word. Her threat was most likely due to bitterness over my rejection, but it left me with one certainty—Blaire was a little too crazy for my tastes.

  I just had no idea how crazy she was.

  Chapter Six

  It was three weeks before I heard anything from Blaire. Not that I was complaining. When she finally made contact, it was while I driving to Lubbock for a shoot. My cell rang, and I pressed the Bluetooth control on my steering wheel to answer the call. I wasn’t sure what to expect, so I tried my best to sound casual and keep my voice calm and even.

  “Hey, Blaire. What’s up?”

  “I have a proposition for you,” she purred.

  “Blaire...”

  “Hear me out, Ian. This is business.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay.”

  “I’d like to hire you to photograph the clients at my club.”

  My brows drew together. “Uh, okay. I thought you said that was a cosplay thing.”

  “Not exactly.” She laughed. “I don’t make a habit of talking about it to everyone I meet.” She paused. “Release is a fetish club.”

  Now that was definitely not what I was expecting her to say. “So what made you think of me?”

  “A client showed me your work in Skin Two. I was impressed, to say the least.”

  “My work? What are you talking about?”

  “Ian, don’t be coy,” she scolded. “I checked the image credit and did my research. All signs point to you.” She paused. “It’s rather clever of you to use a pseudonym.”

  I rel
eased a harsh breath and massaged the back of my neck with one hand. It shouldn’t have surprised me. Anyone with any initiative could figure it out. “What do you have in mind?”

  “My clients expend great effort and expense with their dress and the accoutrements of their specific kink. I’ve had several of them express interest in being photographed during a scene so they can later relive their experiences at Release.”

  “I appreciate you thinking of me, but I’m not a voyeur. I really don’t want to watch your clients get it on. That’s not my thing.”

  “Everything would be staged. There would be no live-action, so to speak. They’re looking for exactly what you’ve done in the magazine. Sensual images that arouse my clients and make them feel sexy. Images that they can masturbate to at home. I want this to be another service I provide so they keep coming back.”

  “It just seems ... invasive.” I rested both hands on the steering wheel and shifted in my seat. I felt dirty even thinking about it. “I don’t know, Blaire.”

  “The club is divided into two main areas. There’s the open, public area with a bar, stage, and a selection of pre-designed demonstration sets. Then there are private rooms for the clients who want to dig a little deeper into their brand of kink. That’s where your sessions would take place, and only for the clients who request your services. We can have them sign any necessary forms you need to protect yourself when they schedule a session. Think of this as a sort of kinky fashion shoot.”

  I couldn’t believe I was actually considering it. “My other work takes priority, and I travel a lot. I want you to understand that I won’t reschedule my bread and butter work for this. Anything I shoot for you would be secondary, and you have to consult with me prior to scheduling.”

  “I understand,” she breathed, barely containing her excitement. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

  Several seconds passed before I answered. “My half-day rate is six hundred dollars. That covers one to four hours and includes a copy of all digital files and any editing I have to do post-shoot. Additional time is charged at two hundred dollars an hour. And I want twenty-five percent of anything you collect over that.”