THE PLAYERS: a MFM Menage Romance (Bad Romance Book 4) Read online

  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 BDSM 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.

  CHAPTER 2

  SY

  Sy shook his head as he walked down the stairs, following after a woman with a bouncy ass and a mean look on her face. What was the world coming to? A sub strutting around in a dominatrix outfit was looking for trouble. Of course, it was Halloween—anybody could become anyone they liked for a night. Except, this wasn’t just any woman. She was Carmen Caruso, widow of Franco Caruso, a former enemy of his.

  The closer he got to the private rooms behind the dungeon, the more subs he encountered, trying to pull him into a booth.

  “Master Sy, could we—”

  “Not now, Delilah.” He looked past the pretty redhead, trying to figure out which room the fake queen of fetish had entered. He’d taken his eyes off of Carmen for a second and lost her. Shit. That one had trouble written all over her delicious body.

  He couldn’t have anyone messing up his club, as it was one of the few ways he made cash that was IRS-proof.

  Admit it. You wanted to fuck her the second you saw that ass.

  No, I want to spank her. Fucking her is just a bonus.

  After the third door he threw open, he finally found her. His gaze went up to the curvy woman holding a whip. Perfect white teeth bit on a slightly too big bottom lip. She had long, curly hair. He felt his hands twitch with longing, aching to run his fingers through it. She was leaning against the wall, as if she needed the support. Tears were streaming down her heart-shaped face, but she didn’t make a sound.

  He followed her gaze and saw a pair of feet sticking from the side of the bed.

  Fuck.

  He walked up to the bed and stared down at a fresh body. He didn’t remember the guy’s name, but knew him to be an investment banker. They ran a “members only” club, but for one day a year, on Halloween, members were allowed to bring a non-member. Potential members were allowed inside as well, to get a taste of the club and what it had to offer, which was a decadent, top-notch place where you could fulfill your every desire, with guaranteed privacy. After all, they had a very diverse clientele, from politicians to celebrities, and every other prominent figure that enjoyed San Francisco’s BDSM scene. Another thing they provided was a safe place. Clearly, their security had been slacking.

  He quickly assessed the situation. There were no marks on the male’s body or face. His neck fell at an odd angle though, which indicated it was broken. Snapped like a twig.

  He turned toward the one person in the room holding a weapon—Franco “The Bull’s” widow. It would figure that during her marriage to that scum, she would have picked up a few scaring tactics of her own, such as how to wield a whip. Still, didn’t mean she would be strong enough to bring a big guy to his knees.

  It bothered him that half her face was covered by a thick mass of dark curls. He needed to see her eyes. There was a reason those orbs were called a mirror into one’s soul. They were important. It was the last thing he saw before he took someone out.

  Then she turned around. One look in her haunted eyes and his world shifted on its axis. She saw him. Actually saw him. Didn’t look through him or avoid his gaze as most women did, afraid of his cold look.

  “Carmen.” He didn’t know what it was that prompted her name from his lips.

  It was a mistake. He knew it the second her bewildered look turned icy and her eyes flashed.

  “You!”

  Slash.

  Pain radiated through his bicep. Then, like a wildfire, it spread to his bare chest. He defensively put one arm before his face so she wouldn’t get him there. The damn woman wielded the piece of rope as if there was no tomorrow.

  His skin felt too tight. Too hot. A familiar pressure started to build up inside him, a sure sign he was about to lose control.

  She got one more hit right onto his chest before he grabbed the end of the whip, wrapped it around his wrist, and started to pull. It turned black before his eyes. Tucked away memories of the days he woke up with a beating, knocked into him like a sledgehammer. No one got away with hitting him. No one. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone hit him and lived to tell.

  Don’t ever let anyone hit you again, Sy. Skarsgards don’t get hit.

  He shook his head to get rid of the memory of his brother, Viking, holding a hammer over their stepfather’s body.

  Next thing he knew, his hand was around Carmen’s throat and his body covered hers.

  On the bed.

  Fuck. How the hell had that happened?

  She was writhing underneath him, panting like crazy. Her tiny fists pounded into him from the sides.

  He closed his eyes, trying to push away the darkness in his head. It was like a living, roaring beast inside him that came back to surface, demanding retaliation.

  An eye for an eye.

  “No… Franco. Please, no… no…”

  Franco? The word penetrated through his foggy brain like a bullet. It pierced through his rage and shattered it.

  His gaze locked onto hers. Carmen’s eyes were teary, her pupils widened in terror as she clearly relived a nightmare. It was as if part of her had left the building; she wasn’t completely there.

  Jesus. She was more messed up than he was.

  He grabbed her wrists in one hand and put pressure on them. She gasped from the pain but refused to back down. He was barely keeping himself from strangling her.

  With his other hand, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look him in the eyes. It took a moment before her gaze refocused.

  “Stop fighting me,” he growled.

  �
�You bastard,” she spat. “What, do you feel like a man now? Blackmailing me? Hurting me?”

  He loosened his grip but didn’t let her go. She was spitting mad and he’d learned at an early age that no matter the gender, you didn’t let go of a loose cannon. In fact, women were more dangerous than men when they felt threatened. He knew what a woman could do to a man—rip his heart right out of his chest, creating a monster that would devour the world.

  “Stop moving or I will fucking hurt you. I don’t give a shit that you’re a woman. I will break your pretty face.”

  She didn’t listen. The woman was mad, which only fueled his desire to make her submit to him. Damn, her movements had an unexpected side effect, making him hard.

  When she felt his growing bulge press against her belly, she went instantly still.

  “Please… no…”

  Sy found he hated her pleading tone. He’d rather have her feisty, trying to kick his ass.

  “Don’t worry, doll face. I’m not into rape.” And then, because he was a bastard, he added, “I’m not giving you my dick before you ask for it.”

  Just like that, her switch flipped to the other side of hell.

  “That will never happen, asshole,” she snapped.

  Oh, she sounded so crisp and proper. Then and there, he decided he would have her.

  “I’ll take that bet,” he drawled.

  Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed.

  That’s right. Never think you can figure me out.

  A familiar voice broke their stare-off. “What the hell are you doing, Sy?”

  He wondered how long it would take Vince to follow after her. After all, they shared the same taste in women.

  “Look at the other side of the bed,” he ground out.

  Vince cursed when he saw the body. “He still breathing?”

  “Dead as a doornail.” Having killed so many men, he could tell after a single look.

  “I didn’t do it…”

  She sounded deflated, all fight having left her body. Her eyes were staring into the distance and she hardly noticed him stepping off of her. He took position before the door, not planning on letting her get off the hook that easily. His chest ached and there were streaks of red lines marring his skin.

  An eye for an eye. Always. Promise me, little brother.

  Always, Viking. I promise.

  Carmen jumped off the bed and grabbed her whip from the floor. Her shoulders sagged, as if a massive boulder pressed on them.

  “Carmen, what happened?” There was a softness in Vince’s voice Sy had never heard before.

  “I don’t owe you any explanation, Vince.”

  “The hell you don’t.”

  “I don’t owe any man anything.” Followed by a nearly inaudible, “Especially not you.”

  Much to Sy’s surprise, Vince let that remark go. What the hell was going on here?

  Carmen went for the door, her back ramrod straight.

  Sy didn’t move an inch when she tried to pass him. Which, unfortunately for her, meant she was stuck. There was no way she could slide past his bulky frame, not unless he allowed her to.

  Her eyes narrowed. They held a challenge, which was quite a bold gesture for a woman barely reaching his chest.

  Ah, little doll, you don’t know who you’re messing with. Yet.

  Vince had never mentioned her, but Sy made it his business to know everything about the people who mattered in his life. Vince may not be his brother by birth, but they were blood brothers. As such, he was familiar with Vince’s brother’s sister-in-law.

  She was the widow of, and heir to, Franco Caruso’s estate. Probably spoiled to the bone, having never worked a day in her life or worried where her next meal would come from. They had absolutely nothing in common.

  Except, a strange thing happened during their stare-off. He saw beyond her glossy two-hundred-dollar haircut and annoyed heart-shaped face. The princess was in pain. Dark secrets and deep fears hid behind her hazel eyes.

  Oddly, for the first time in his life, he wanted to uncover the mystery that was this woman. Yeah, he wanted her, there was no denying that, but he needed to know what made her tick as well. And, more importantly, how to push those buttons, making her yield to him, instead of defying him.

  Her face was ashen and, despite her pretend bravery, she couldn’t hide the slight tremble in her chin, or white knuckles clasping the whip.

  Silly girl. Trying to pose as a wolf, while you’re a lamb.

  I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in.

  My time will come.

  He stepped aside, so she could finally move past him. She all but ran, as if hellhounds were chasing her.

  The second she disappeared, he turned to Vince. “You want her.”

  “So do you.”

  Yeah, he did. And what he wanted, he always got.

  “You know me,” he answered. “She’s drawn first blood and is going to pay for it, one way or the other.”

  Vince cocked a brow as his gaze went to the red lines on Sy’s body. “You do know that you’re the dom and are supposed to be the one wielding the whip, right?”

  He answered by flipping him the bird. “You never mentioned her. Not once.” He wasn’t sure why he sounded accusatory. It wasn’t like he believed Vince hid her from him. That wasn’t in his nature. On the contrary, they both liked sharing women. And he intended to share this one.

  “Couldn’t. She was married.”

  All that mattered to him was that she wasn’t any longer. “What’s stopping you now?”

  Vince pulled out his phone and starting typing. Probably to call in the cleaning crew. The man could rule a country with his connections.

  “She isn’t like other women we’ve shared,” Vince said, tucking away his phone. “She doesn’t know anything about the lifestyle. If it weren’t for Halloween tonight, she wouldn’t have even been here.”

  His gaze turned to the dead guy. The faux dominatrix would have been here all right, he was certain of that.

  “We could teach her.”

  “Fuck no. It’s too soon. You get anywhere near her and she will have your balls.”

  Sy chuckled. He had every intention of handing her his balls, though not in the way Vince meant.

  “I disagree. She’ll bend and crumble.”

  Vince shook his head. “That would be because of fear, not desire. She was married to Franco. You know what an abusive, sick pervert he was. Carmen’s damaged, Sy.”

  “We’re all damaged.”

  And if history had taught him anything, it was that it was better to be damaged together than alone.

  “Also, she hates my guts.”

  “Well, how about that. A woman who hates you more than me. Guess there really is a first time for everything.”

  “She thinks I betrayed her.”

  Now, that just couldn’t be right. Vince was a Detta, and they came as loyal as could be. Over the years, they’d had each other’s back, and Vince had saved his hide a time or two. To hear him say he was being accused of betraying someone was odd, to say the least. Yet, there was something in his voice…

  “And? Did you?”

  A vein pulsed at Vince’s jaw. “In the worst possible way.”

  “Hell.”

  “Doesn’t matter though.” A familiar determination crept into Vince’s voice. “Whether Carmen wants to admit it or not, she needs my help. And I’m gonna give it to her.”

  Interesting. “That woman ain’t gonna accept shit from you.”

  Vince looked over at the dead body. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

  “Didn’t think you would. And I don’t think she’s gonna mind us getting rid of a guy who was blackmailing her, but that still won’t get you into her good graces.” He’d just met her and already knew Vince was on her shit list.

  “Blackmailing her?”

  Sy shrugged. “All I know is that she thought I was in on it too, hence the slashing and dashing.”

&
nbsp; Vince cursed. “Morelli and Keegan are after her casinos. It must have something to do with those pricks.”

  “Morelli,” Sy growled. “Hell will freeze over before I let that shit stain get those casinos.”

  “He won’t,” Vince assured him. “Not if everything goes according to plan.”

  Yep, that sounded more like the Vince he knew, always plotting and planning. But first, he had to know.

  “You and her. You two have history.”

  “It was a long time ago.” Vince sat down with a sigh. “Long story short, when push came to shove, I chose my brothers. We were just about to make a name for ourselves. Gio was working day and night to provide for us, starting Detta Corp. You know how it goes. The world is brutal when you have a cross behind your name. It took a long while before he got out of our father’s shadow. And even today, there’s still a hint of disdain at the thought of the Detta name. I knew back then, if I wanted us to succeed, I couldn’t have anything or anyone holding me back. Carmen would have been a weakness. So… I let her go.”

  There was more to it. Sy was certain of that. But he wouldn’t ask. Not today. Not when Vince obviously wasn’t ready to talk yet.

  “So, now what? You want a second chance? Thinking of keeping her this time?”

  “I’m going to own her.” Vince looked up, straight into his eyes. “We both are. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

  They’d talked about this. Yeah, they shared women but to him, it was just that. He would take her body, enjoy it, give her pleasure in return, but it wouldn’t be anything more than that. There wasn’t a woman alive that would put up with him for a long time.

  Last time they had a woman over, she’d lasted for two weeks. She had loved Vince and the gifts he showered her with. Just like all their women, she saw Sy as only a sex toy. They were drawn to him because of the danger, and his bad rep. He knew exactly what and who he was—a stubborn S.O.B. set in his ways, just looking for a good fling. He would never settle down. Couldn’t even imagine what being homey would be like. Not in his line of work and definitely not with his fucked-up family as an example.