The Last Good Knight Part II: Sore Spots. Tiffany Reisz

      Nora, Simone and Søren headed to Kingsley’s townhouse. Usually three kinksters in the back of a Rolls-Royce meant for a very pleasant car ride, but Simone had curled up with her head in Nora’s lap, stunned into silence, while Nora and Søren sat quietly side by side, only their fingers touching. Søren had told her everything he knew. One of Kingsley’s many minions had come banging on the doors, rousting all the official staff from whatever depraved activities they’d gotten themselves into. All they knew at this point was that a former employee of Kingsley’s had been brutally assaulted during a session with a client, so it was all hands on deck.

      Once at the townhouse, Søren helped Simone out of the car, but when he offered a hand to Nora, she only rolled her eyes and stepped past him.

      The house crawled with submissives arriving at Kingsley’s, and they all wore looks of anger and fear. It was part of Nora’s job to take care of the submissives, help train them, and as the most revered member of Kingsley’s staff, she considered herself responsible for the women on his payroll as much as Kingsley did. If they were going to feel safe again, she couldn’t allow herself to show any weakness around them.

      She put an arm around Simone’s waist and, side by side, they walked into Kingsley’s house, Søren behind them. Inside Kingsley’s office, Nora kept her face calm and her expression neutral even as the women around her wept softly or whispered back and forth to each other in hushed tones. One young submissive named Nikki grabbed Nora’s hand, and Nora gave it a reassuring squeeze.

      Mistress Irina rose from a chair, a look of barely controlled fury on her face. She and Nora exchanged meaningful glances—glances that said that whoever did this deed better pray the cops caught him before she and Nora did. Irina stood in the back next to Søren. Søren obviously wasn’t on staff, and even more obviously, wasn’t a woman, but the members of The 8th Circle considered him their spiritual leader as they considered Kingsley their earthly leader. Søren occasionally played with many of the submissives in the room, but never had sex with any of them. They trusted him and often sought his advice and comfort. As far as Nora knew, theirs was the only BDSM community with its own chaplain.

      Kingsley entered his office a few minutes later with a grim look on his face. Voices exploded in questions at the sight of him, but Nora whistled hard and loud over the din.

      “Quiet,” she said and the women of the room went silent. No one countermanded an order from The Red Queen, Nora’s Underground nickname.

      “Merci,” Kingsley said, nodding in Nora’s direction. He stood at the edge of his desk surveying them all. “You’ve heard what has happened. Two weeks ago, Mistress Natasha left my employ and went to work on her own. I think many of you know her personally.”

      Simone nodded against Nora’s shoulder. She knew Simone and Natasha were close.

      “The first thing you all need to know is that she will live. She has a severe concussion and was unconscious when they found her. She’ll likely be in the hospital several days.”

      “Where did they find her?” Nora asked, wanting to know all the details, wanting to know who to blame, who to punish.

      “She’d been renting dungeon space at Black Forest. When Mr. Wolfe went to check on her at the end of her session, no one answered the door. He found her bleeding and unconscious on the floor. The dungeon had been destroyed. He called for help first. Then he called me.”

      “Did Brad see anything? Hear anything?” Nora asked, making a mental note to call Brad Wolfe herself for more details.

      “Non. He was with his own client at the time. And Mistress Natasha preferred to work alone.” Kingsley’s tone was neutral but Nora sensed the bitterness lurking under the words. He had been furious when Mistress Natasha had left the fold. He hardly cared about the 15 percent he took from each of her sessions. The money he made off his pro-Dommes and pro-subs was a drop in the bucket compared to the revenue from his nightclubs. No, what infuriated him was what he considered Natasha’s arrogant refusal to admit that the work she did was dangerous and required the protection of Kingsley’s security detail. “But Mr. Wolfe did always check on her after each session. It’s good that he did as he possibly saved her life.”

      Simone’s body shook with silent tears. Nora pulled her closer, held her tighter.

      “Do they have any idea who did this?” Nora asked. “Did she keep a calendar or appointment book?”

      “She did, but like yours, it has only initials and codes—no names. The attack might have been motivated by some sort of vengeance. The perpetrator took the time to destroy her dungeon and to leave a note behind.”

      Nora narrowed her eyes at Kingsley.

      “What did the note say?”

      Kingsley sighed heavily, his handsome brow furrowing with worry.

      “It said, ‘All the whores like her will die.’”

      A collective gasp could be heard throughout the room. Whore was a word reserved for lovers at play in their world. A Dominant man might whisper it in his lover’s ear to give her an illicit thrill, but no man would dare call any of them a whore as an insult. Not unless that man they wanted Kingsley on his doorstep.

      “The threat might have been a ruse,” Kingsley said. “Taking the time to write a note like that might simply be an attempt to cover the real motive of the crime.”

      “What motive?” Nora demanded. “He sounds like a psycho and we’re analyzing his motives?”

      “Natasha worked alone,” Kingsley reminded her. “She kept large amounts of cash on her. This could be a robbery. It might not have been a client at all, but a spurned suitor seeking revenge on her alone. And yes, he could simply be a psycho, as you say, who thought he’d hired a prostitute but became enraged when she told him she wasn’t.”

      Nora couldn’t argue with that logic. She’d had a few clients who’d come to her expecting sex. They had convinced themselves that the “Dominatrixes don’t have sex with clients” rule was merely a cover shielding them from the law. She’d disabused a few men of the notion that a few extra hundred dollars could buy sex from her. There was only one client she’d ever slept with, and he stood in this