Unwrapped: Clear Security's Holiday (Clear Security Holiday Book 2) Read online

  Ainsley St Claire

  Clear Security Holiday

  Book 2

  Unwrapped

  A Novel

  Copyright 2020 Ainsley St Claire

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a production of the author’s imagination. Locations and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions or locations is completely coincidental.

  Clear Security Holiday: Unwrapped/Ainsley St Claire—1st edition

  Contents

  Unwrapped

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Merry & Bright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 1

  Fiona

  I’ve just arrived, but I can already tell The Dungeon is busier this evening than usual. It’s Thanksgiving, so I suppose that makes sense. The holidays always bring in an extra crowd wanting to let off some steam. The club does allow guests, but most of those here are from sister clubs around the globe.

  The Dungeon has a Renaissance feel with Venetian-style lamps and furniture in deep reds. The dark colors glow in the mysterious, intimate lighting. The building is a five-story former hotel that was remodeled after the 1986 San Francisco earthquake. The rooms have fourteen-foot ceilings and windows that face the atrium below. The curtains can be drawn or left open, depending on the pleasure of the occupants.

  Tonight’s theme is Secret Garden, and it’s the ultimate party. Twinkle lights and lush greenery are everywhere, and visitors can wander at will, surrounded by pure luxury and hidden behind masks and leather—lots of leather. Despite their masquerade masks, I do recognize several people. So far, I’ve seen two US Senators, several members of the judiciary, and many executives from Silicon Valley.

  I move through the space, and the club is full nearly to capacity with those who are part of the BDSM subculture. But I’m not one of them. I dress the part, but mostly I just watch. I’m here for work.

  My job is to come when the boss, Mistress Erin, calls me and fix things that get broken, though not the furniture or other routine maintenance. It’s more like when a Silicon Valley titan shows up in ince—men who call themselves involuntary celibate—chat rooms and says he wants to hurt women—not in a mutually satisfying way, but in a deranged way. I make sure he’s all talk, and if he isn’t, I make sure he’s escorted out and will possibly find himself on the wrong end of a lawsuit or in a jail cell.

  “Hello,” a sultry voice says behind me.

  I turn toward the voice that’s whispered in my ear. “Hi.” I recognize the man standing before me. He always wears custom-made suits, and he puts the sizzle in hot. He wears a green bracelet that says he’s here tonight to watch, not play.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.

  “I am. And you?” I ask in my best Irish brogue, which I can play up or tone down as the occasion warrants.

  His lips quirk. “I’m definitely a bit of a voyeur.”

  I hook his arm with mine and walk him toward the main room. I need to blend in. I don’t want to cause any scenes, and I certainly don’t want to participate.

  The central atrium is social, and while you might find a submissive satisfying his or her dominant there, it’s mostly a large room where people mingle and share their interests. On a typical night, you might even find executives in expensive suits enjoying a cocktail. But tonight is a party.

  “I’ve seen you here a few times,” my suited companion says. “Do you ever do more than watch?”

  I shake my head. We play this cat-and-mouse game each time we see each other. It’s all harmless flirting. “The Dungeon is a client of mine, so I’m here working.”

  He leans in close, and I can smell his woodsy, sandalwood scent. My stomach clenches. “What do you do for The Dungeon?” he asks. “Train subs?”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “No, I keep it safe.”

  “And how does a woman who is, in her heels, maybe five and a half feet tall, and despite all the leather probably not a hundred pounds, keep a house of debauchery safe?”

  “By watching.” I smile. “And what about you? What pleasures does The Dungeon offer that you’ve yet to partake in?”

  We’ve stopped to watch two men beg their mistress. He steps behind me, and I can feel the heat from his body. It sends a tingle down my spine.

  He whispers in my ear. “You.”

  “Ah, but I’m not here for anyone’s enjoyment.” I spot the man I’m here to watch. He’s picked up one of the less-experienced subs, who was alone in the cocktail lounge, and talked her into following him. But her purple bracelet says she belongs to someone and shouldn’t be touched by others.

  I track them as they get in the glass elevator, and he has her on her knees. I’m extremely unhappy. I know who her dom is, and he’s not paying attention. He hasn’t realized she’s gone.

  “What does a man have to do to change your mind?” my friend asks.

  I turn, smile at him, and run my finger down his arm. “Maybe another time. Duty calls.” Stepping away, I use the microphone at my wrist to call security to the room where they’re headed. I also ask them to send her dom up to the fourth floor.

  My incel has chosen a flogging room and closed the deep purple, velvet curtains. I have a master key, and security has a view into the room via discreet cameras for just this sort of situation. I hear chaos behind me as they’ve located her dom, who’s quite upset to learn his sub left with another man.

  I hear through my earpiece, “He cut her! He sliced her arm with a knife.”

  “Go in now,” I demand. “Call the nurse. Now! Room four twenty.” Jesus, what the hell? Does he not know every floor here is covered with cameras?

  I race to the room as security breaches the door, and I follow three large men into the gruesome scene. They have the man with a bloody knife in his hands on the ground in seconds.

  The sub is hysterical. I grab her and hold her still. Through her tears, I finally make out what she’s saying. “He said my master would be here waiting for me.”

  The nurse arrives, and she tends to the woman’s cut. “She’ll need stitches.”

  “Marla!” Her dominant appears and pushes his way to her side.

  I turn to him. “What happened to you?” Venom drips from my voice.

  He runs his hand through his hair. “I told her to stay where she was. And I was talking to friends. When I looked up, she was gone.”

 
“Your job, as her dominant, is not to leave her unattended. What were you thinking?”

  He hangs his head. “I don’t know.”

  I ask security to gather his information. I’ll talk to Mistress Erin and see what she wants to do. It’ll be her call. However, I’ll most likely recommend that both men be expelled from the club. We can work with the sub to find a better dom if she wants to remain in the culture, as well as help her press charges against the man who cut her.

  My phone rings. From the caller ID, I can see it’s the 29th Precinct. I look up and know the moon is full. Add the holiday for those with nowhere to go, and that means we are off the charts. “Fiona McPhee.”

  “Fiona…” I hear a whimper, and I wrack my brain to place the voice. Hunter Anderson.

  “I’m on my way,” I tell him. “Do not talk to anyone until I get there.”

  “I’m at the police station in the Marina.”

  “Okay. Nothing. Do nothing. Say nothing. Don’t deny or admit anything. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  The situation here has been handled for now. I stick my head in the mistress’s office. “Erin, I think Howard Michaels and the derelict dom should lose their memberships. I’ll get it written up for you. But the dom left the sub on her own, and Howard seized the opportunity to lure her upstairs and cut her. The nurse believes it needs stitches.”

  “Sheeit!” she responds. “I fucking hate the holidays—too many people with too much time on their hands.”

  “I understand maybe holding back with her dom, but he should at least lose his membership for a while. I know she was wearing a purple bracelet, and he shouldn’t be held responsible for the lie his sub was told, but he left her alone. That’s a bad dom. He’s a poser and doesn’t belong here.”

  “Fucking amateurs.” She looks at the CCTVs on her desk. “I’ve got another problem brewing in room two twenty-six. Are you sticking around?”

  I shake my head. “I just had a client arrested. I need to go see if I can unwind this. Do you want Shannon to come over?”

  Erin breathes out and tosses her pen on her desk. “Not really. She tends to want to play more than help. I can’t wait until we close down for the month of January.”

  “I’m with you!” I’ll have a conversation with Shannon later. She’s a minx, but I can’t lose money because she’s always on the prowl. “I can call Jim’s office and send over extra security from Clear?”

  “They’re already here. I’ll be fine. If you get your client cleared up, come back. If it’s quiet, I have a good Irish whiskey my brother brought back from his last visit, and we can plot our post-holiday trip.”

  “That’s the best reason to come back. I’ll try to be quick.”

  I head out to my waiting car, and the driver takes me from downtown to the Marina. I put on a long leather coat and walk into the police station.

  The desk sergeant looks me up and down. “Ms. McPhee, I see you were enjoying the festivities in one of the city’s more reputable establishments?”

  “Ahh, Danny, you know I never tell.”

  “Just tell me one thing—do you like getting spanked or doing the spanking?”

  I wink at him. “I understand you’ve arrested my client Hunter Anderson?”

  “Yes. I believe it was a domestic disturbance, and the woman took a header onto the sidewalk. She’s no longer with us.”

  “Oh.” My eyes widen a bit. “May I go back?”

  “I’ll let Detective Leong know you’re here.”

  I internally roll my eyes, but nod and watch Danny make a call. Seconds later, the biggest putz in all the SFPD slithers out to meet me.

  “Hello, Fiona. Looking mighty fine today. I’ve been naughty. Can you please discipline me?” He turns and pushes his giant ass my way, looking back with a grin.

  My skin crawls. “I’m here to see Hunter Anderson. I understand he’s been arrested?”

  Detective Leong wiggles his butt at me. “Pretty please?”

  “Don’t make me go to the commissioner, Detective.”

  “Fine. Your client was stoned and drunk. Got in a big fight with his girlfriend, who took a header off the balcony onto the sidewalk and went splat like a watermelon.”

  “Are you charging him?”

  “We are. Murder one.”

  Well, at least the paparazzi aren’t here yet. If I have to, I can work him through the arraignment, but I’ll have to get him a fantastic defense attorney. “On what grounds?”

  “She has a horrible scratch across her face and his DNA under her nails.”

  “You know as well as I do that you couldn’t have DNA back on a Saturday night in less than, what, two hours?”

  Detective Leong gets huffy. “He admitted it.”

  “After he asked for counsel?”

  “Before.”

  “Alright, I’d like to see Hunter.”

  Detective Leong is debating. He doesn’t want me to see Hunter for some reason, and I’ll need to get to the bottom of this.

  “Now, or I go to Judge Williams. I came from a dinner with him. If you’d like me get in touch...” Okay, it wasn’t a dinner. He was wearing a dog collar and being led around by a domme in a form-fitting Lycra suit. But I’m sure I can get his mistress to agree to let him help my client.

  Detective Leong no longer seems to find me as fun as he did. That’s fine. His greasy hair is repulsive. I’ve known him since I moved to the US when I was a child.

  My parents were high-up in the IRA in Ireland, and we were sent to San Francisco to elevate the cause locally. His parents were Chinese immigrants and heavily involved in the gambling side of the Mah-Wing gang.

  He finally escorts me back to the interview room. I turn on the jammer in my purse while I search for my pen so they can’t record us. It’s not that I don’t trust the system. It’s that I absolutely don’t trust Detective Leong.

  He opens the locked door, and I make him step aside. He doesn’t get to cop a feel. Jerk.

  Hunter sees me and jumps up. “Thank God you’re here.” He pulls me into a tight embrace.

  I turn the seats away from the two-way mirror. Even if they can’t listen to what we’re going to say, I’m not taking any chances. “Are you okay?”

  He nods and tears pool in his eyes. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “Let’s start with when you woke up, and you can walk me through your day.”

  He begins, and it’s typical, mundane activities until dinner time. “Jenn and I decided to go to our favorite spot in the Haight for dinner.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Ashbury Central.”

  I look at him. That was a famous place when we were kids if you wanted to score more than a meal. “What did you order?”

  “Jenn ordered the tofu scramble, and I had vegan stir fry.”

  “What else did you order?”

  He looks at me and sighs loudly. “We got the psychedelic mushrooms as appetizers.”

  Gross. “How did you get home?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t remember. Jenn and I have always gotten along so well. I have no clue what happened. I was crashed on the couch, and the police broke the door down and woke me.”

  “Do you remember when Jenn scratched your face?”

  He touches the cut on his cheek. “I didn’t know it was scratched until they told me.”

  “Did you know Jenn scratched you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you admit she might have scratched you?”

  “No. I was stunned by everything going on.”

  “Was Jenn ever suicidal?”

  “No. We were happy. I bought a ring for her and was going to propose over Christmas.”

  “Did you guys take psychedelics often?”

  Hunter can’t look me in the eyes. “Sometimes. We liked to experiment.” He moans. “What am I going to do without her?”

  “Let’s talk about your business for a moment. Who can handle that for you?”

  “I
have a VP of operations who can manage the day-to-day, and SHN has been our main investor, so they take care of any operational issues.”

  “Okay, I’ll reach out to Mason Sullivan.” I look over my notes. “What did you tell the police when they arrived?”

  “I asked them all the questions. It wasn’t until we got outside and I saw the yellow tarp laid out on the ground that I realized something had happened to Jenn.” Hunter breaks down. “I could never hurt her. Never. I loved her.”

  “All right, here’s what’s going to happen. It’s too late for an arraignment tonight, so you’re stuck here. Do. Not. And I repeat, do not talk to anyone—no one in a neighboring cell, no police officer, not your best friend. Anyone wants to talk to you, you refer them to me. Tomorrow they’ll pull together the arraignment. Who do I call for bail money?”

  “I have three hundred dollars in my checking account. My parents are teachers.” Hunter begins to cry again. “What am I going to tell my parents?” His eyes grow big as saucers. “What do I say to Jenn’s parents?”

  “I’ll see what Mason suggests. Now, who do you talk to?”

  “Only you.”

  “That’s right. Don’t even ask for a glass of water.” I stand.

  “Are you leaving?”

  I nod. “They’re going to return you to a holding cell, and I’ll be back for the arraignment in the morning.”

  “Oh my God, there’s a big, scary man with lots of tattoos and a black leather thong that covers only his dick in there. What do I do?”

  “Just ignore them. Don’t engage anyone in conversation.”

  “Can’t I leave now if I promise to be back tomorrow?”

  I shake my head. “They’ve arrested you for murder. Right now, we need to find you a criminal attorney, but I also need to figure out who’s going to bail you out of jail. Do you own your house?”

  “It was Jenn’s,” Hunter whispers.

  I knock on the door and turn off the jammer.

  Detective Leong asks, “Do you have an RF jammer on you?”

  “Why would you ask that?”