Her head lifted as she heard footsteps on the sidewalk. Probably the limousine driver.
“Okay, dog, I have to go party.” She picked up an encompassing shawl and swirled it around her body. “You guard the house, okay?”
Rhage gave a small yip of agreement.
Who needed men? Rainie grinned. She had her own hero—an incredibly smart, cuddly, four-footed hero.
* * * *
As the others in the bachelor party settled in, Jake shed his suit coat, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and stuffed his tie into his slacks pocket. Comfortable, he leaned back and stretched out his legs. For bar furniture, the burgundy-red, well-cushioned chair was fairly comfortable.
Around the table, the others followed suit. Marcus removed his silvery-gray pinstripe jacket. Galen hung his black suit coat as well as Vance’s over the back of a nearby chair. Holt dumped his behind him. Neither Raoul nor Nolan wore coats. But after assessing the size of the two men, doormen tended to ignore their less formal attire.
Jake was enjoying himself more than he’d anticipated. Well, aside from dying twice during the laser tag game earlier. Since the Shadowlands Masters were quite accustomed to exotic kink, the party hadn’t bothered visiting strip clubs. Instead, they’d taken over a laser tag facility.
Jake gave two of the grooms, Vance and Galen, a respectful glance. The FBI agents had headed up the law enforcement team—and had shot him dead. Jake’s team, consisting of ex-military men, had won by only one game.
After cleaning up and dining, the grooms and a few other Doms came here to check on the bachelorette party. Jake glanced around the crowded room. Supposedly, the women had picked this boutique nightclub for their last stop.
It was a good choice, actually. The DJ played music ranging from rock to metal designed to encourage dancing. Because Vance had selected a table in the elevated back section, the view of the ground floor was excellent—although Jake could hardly see his drink.
He glanced over at Marcus, one of the three grooms. “I didn’t think bachelor parties were supposed to rendezvous with the corresponding bachelorette one.”
“Be a shame to waste the opportunity.” Marcus gave him an easy smile. “The ladies get drunk and revved up. Can’t beat the sex.”
“And the women encouraged you to butt into their party?”
“Hell, no. They don’t know we’re here.” Galen’s smile was evil. “But my company specializes in finding people—even when they’re trying to hide.” Galen’s firm had a rep for delivering.
“I hear the trainees were on their own last night,” Vance said to Jake. “You were lucky our Sally isn’t one any longer.”
“I’d have to agree with you,” Jake said. The little brunette was adorable but a brat incarnate.
“It’s a shame about the trainee program ending,” Marcus said. “I found my Gabi. Maxie and Dara met their Doms through it.”
“Speaking of trainees, do you hear from Heather?” Raoul asked Jake.
Heather. He braced for the pain of remembering her but found only a distant grief. “Now and then. She’s doing well.”
“Good. And you, my friend?”
Jake smiled slightly, thinking of the night before. “Guess I’ve recovered. Women seem inviting again.”
Nolan King snorted. “If the last months were you in mourning, I’d hate to see you at full strength.”
At the chorus of agreement, Jake grinned ruefully. Okay, yes, he’d gone through a few submissives in an effort to forget the one lost. But the women had known he wasn’t interested in more than a fun evening. He tilted his glass toward the tough contractor. “Watch and learn, old man.”
Even as Nolan barked a laugh, Holt scowled at Jake. “When he rips your head off, it’ll splatter blood all over my good suit.”
“Beth will rescue me,” Jake said, enjoying the way Nolan’s eyes narrowed. “She likes me better anyway.”
Laughing, Holt edged his chair farther from Jake. Hell of a friend.
“Doubtful.” Nolan swirled his beer. “But since I like well-endowed women, I’ll sample Rainie instead.”
No. Fucking. Way. “You’re married,” Jake snapped. “Don’t you fuck with Rainie.”
As the men roared with laughter, Vance lifted his glass to Nolan. “And the King scores!”
Marcus grinned and told the others, “As a past Trainee Master, I do like the way Sheffield jumped to the trainee’s defense.”
And where the hell had his surge of possessiveness come from? Feeling like an idiot, Jake lifted his Kamikaze in a salute to Nolan. “I definitely jumped, you bastard.”
The Dom’s rare grin flashed. “Just so you know—if I strayed, Beth would wait until I was asleep, lop off my balls, and bury them in her garden. As fertilizer.”
Jake grinned back. Nolan’s little redhead was sweet, quiet, and had a spine of pure titanium. “I wonder what Rainie would do in a similar situation.” Might be good to know.
The forthcoming suggestions were far too bloody for peace of mind.
Galen added, “Being the vindictive type, she’d probably stuff everything down the garbage disposal afterward.”
Jesus. Jake could feel his balls draw up tight.
A second later, a commotion sounded at the door. Turning to look, Vance broke into laughter. “And there they are.”
Jake stared. Those were Shadowlands submissives? The group of women strutting in would look at home on a stripper’s stage. But, damn, they looked good. Hair out to there, eyelashes forever, deep red lips that made a man’s cock stand up.
He’d seen less makeup on drag queens, but there was no doubt these were females, considering the amount of skin they were showing. Miniskirts, mesh stockings, cleavage to rival the Grand Canyon. And somehow, they made it all work.
After a minute, he spotted Rainie. She looked like sex, super-sized. A miniskirt of shiny black flirted with damn fine legs. Her dark blue bustier had almost no back, so her tattoo ran up and over her right shoulder, leading the eye straight down to those incredible breasts. God, he’d never wanted to touch someone so much in his life.
He smiled ruefully. A Dom should know himself…and he had to admit she was the reason he’d stayed with the grooms rather than peeling off like most of the others.
As the women formed a small group, Jake noticed Ben, the Shadowlands security guard, had accompanied them. The combination of his massive bulk, rough-hewn face, and fancy rags made him look like a lethal pimp.
As Jake watched, the women split into different directions. Beth headed for the DJ, Rainie and another women—”Is that Mistress Anne?” Jake choked out.
“It is.” Raoul’s smile was a flash of white in the darkness. “I’ve never seen her look so beautiful.”
No lie. The sadistic Domme’s attire usually held an edge of threat. What she wore tonight was complete and utter seduction, Penthouse style.
“Wonder what brave subbie talked the Mistress into that?” Marcus wondered.
Every Dom at the table answered, “Rainie.”
Rainie hadn’t expected to have so much fun. But her unhappiness about work had been erased by the amount of alcohol in her veins and her rowdy friends. Although the party had decreased from the original fifteen, the remaining few were serious partiers.
Even now, Kim was siccing Ben into intimidating a couple to move away from a large table to a smaller one.
Uzuri and Beth targeted the DJ to get the correct tune loaded up. Their private exotic dancing class at the start of the night had given them the moves to only one song.
Rainie and Anne had their own task. Rainie asked, “Is this bartender mine or yours?”
“I need to have a look at him,” Anne said briskly.
Rainie grinned. The Mistress’d imbibed as heavily as everyone, but she sure didn’t show it. Despite black vinyl boots that put her close to six feet, Anne never made a misstep.
In contrast, Rainie had to concentrate hard to walk in a straight line. Swaying her hips helped—and garnered appreciative whistles.
“Holy Mother of God,” a man said as she and Mistress Anne wiggled their way through the throng around the bar. “Ladies, whatever you’re asking, I’ll pay.”
Anne ignored him and leaned her forearms on the bar so she could watch the bartender. Rainie did likewise, assessing his interactions with the customers. “Straight,” she judged.
“Agreed, but I think he’s mine.”
Rainie waited until the man’s gaze met hers. She got no tingle from his quick look. Of course, there was no foolproof way to differentiate Doms from submissives, but his gaze held no punch. So if Anne thought he was submissive, then this one was hers to coax. “Go for it, sweetie-peach.”
“Sweetie-peach?” Gripping the top edge of Rainie’s stiff bustier, Anne yanked her forward until their faces were an inch apart. “This is a fun evening, but, little girl, watch the manners. I prefer cock torture, but I’ll make an exception for pussy if annoyed.”
Note to self: never call a sadist cutesy names. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Although laughter lurked in Anne’s eyes, the Mistress would undoubtedly be even more amused if wielding a pussy whip.
When Rainie swallowed, she heard at least three men around them do the same. “Sorry, Ma’am.”