Free Scorching Desire by Mari Carr Page A

unspoken agreement they weren’t leaving the park until Tasha showed up.
    “I do. That’s why I did it. But…fuck.” Damon ran his hands through his hair. “Men who hit women deserve to be castrated.”
    “My friend, you need to calm down. I’ll admit I was ready to deck you until I realized it was all part of her plan.”
    “You know what else was part of her plan?” Damon started pacing.
    Marco sighed and took the seat he’d vacated. “No, what?”
    “She said she was going to pull away, that I’d barely touch her, but I definitely made contact. I hit her.”
    “Why are you out here?” Tasha’s voice made them both jump. She was standing in the shadows under The Bean.
    “Tasha? Are you okay? I’m sorry.” Damon started toward her.
    Tasha grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the limo.
    “Don’t say anything else. You shouldn’t be out here in the open talking about this.”
    Damon let her march him to the limo and scrambled in. Marco followed him. Tasha was last in. She went to the front partition and rapped out a pattern.
    “Secret knock?” Marco asked.
    “Morse code.” Going to the built-in bar, Tasha lifted out the ice tray, set it aside and then pulled a cell phone from the interior.
    “Tasha, what’s going on?” Damon asked.
    In the dim lights, he could see her face just enough to make out the concerned expression. Whatever caused Tasha to worry was probably the kind of thing that would make most people cry.
    “Hello,” she said. “I’m with them.”
    She huddled against the seat in the too-large coat that covered everything but her long, bare legs.
    “It’s not an isolated incident. There was a message.” She listened and then said, “The girl who took the video is being kept compliant and close to Marco—she’s in Chicago. Someone is supplying her with medical grade H and paying to keep her employed at a club. I found the payment records—checks, written from a company called Trinity with a note that says, ‘Hello, Harrison.’”
    Damon stiffened, looked at his friend and then turned his attention back to Tasha. What did that all mean?
    “Fine.” She held out the phone to Damon. “He wants to talk to you.”
    “Fuck,” Marco whispered.
    Damon took the phone and held it to his ear. “Hello?”
    “Mr. Polin.” The Grand Master’s tone was cool.
    “Grand Master.” He’d suspected that was who Tasha had called, but it was unnerving to hear his voice.
    “What did Tasha do in order to obtain this information?”
    “I’m sorry?” The question took him off-guard—that wasn’t what he’d expected the Grand Master to ask.
    “I assume you were with her.”
    “Uh, yes. I was, and Marco was with her in Las Vegas.”
    “She allowed both of you to work with her?”
    “Yes. I thought that’s what you wanted?”
    “It is. What role did she play?”
    “She organized it,” Damon said, still unclear as to what the Grand Master was asking.
    “I mean where did you go and what did you do to obtain the information?”
    “She…she pretended to be a submissive. We were in a fetish club. Then she…” Damon fisted his hand on the seat. “Then I hit her—with a belt and then with my fist. We were up on a stage and she asked me to, but I should not have done it. I’m very sorry.”
    “Enough, Mr. Polin. I have no doubt that you were following Tasha’s plan. I simply wanted to understand what she did to get the information.”
    Damon frowned. “Grand Master, I think a good case could be made that all her actions were justifiable if not technically legal.”
    “That is the last thing I’m worried about. Please return the phone to Tasha.”
    She listened for a moment after he passed it back and then said, “I will make it clear that this door is closed and render these pieces and players too expensive to keep in the game.”
    She hung up the phone, tucked it back into the hidden space and replaced the ice bucket.
    “Tasha,” Marco said. “What’s going on?