The Van Leugen Chronicles - Empire - (R0NIN x Jolie)

It was Friday night at Nocturne, and that meant many things.

Friday meant people. Mobs of them. Hordes. It meant lines stretching for blocks - throes of scantily clad women and eager men waiting hours in the October chill for just the slightest chance that they might be admitted to the most prestigious nightclub in Van Leugen. Most, of course, were turned away at the door. An individual had to be either exceptionally good looking or in possession of an exceptional amount of money to be admitted into Nocturne.

For those that made it inside, Friday meant pleasure. It meant the finest entertainment the city had to offer. Patrons were treated to the finest liquors and cuisines from all around the world. Live shows performed by the city's hottest women and men kept the masses entertained. The dance floors were flooded, ravers blending their bodies together in chorus to a throbbing baseline.

And of course, as with all things in Van Leugen, Friday meant sin. As the business wheels of the nighclub turned, the criminal cogs of its operation turned with it. Drugs traded like handshakes. Shady figures talked business and made deals at quiet tables. High-rolling guests were taken into the back by various dancers for 'private' sessions.

Friday night meant Nocturne in its prime, and Nocturne in its prime meant Van Leugen in all its lustful glory. Passion. Raw, unadulterated passion. That was Nocturne. It was a tribute to the human animal, a kingdom of lust and sin in the gothic jungle of the city ... a kingdom wherein Nero reigned supreme.

He lounged in a private booth removed from the noisier parts of the club. In one hand he nonchalantly swirled a glass of liquid black as pitch. In the other, he held up a copy of Epictetus' The Enchiridion. Two beautiful women in blouses sat on either side of him. They were going over paperwork.

"Darya will be finishing with her dance soon, won't she?" he asked without looking up from the book. His voice was rich and oiled.

"Yes sir," one of the girls nodded, checking her watch, "in about five minutes."

"Send her to me when she's done."

"Yes sir." She pulled out her phone and relayed the message to one of Nero's men.

The guard checked the text before quickly pocketing his phone and heading to one of the club's larger stages. He waited in the back of a sizeable crowd, watching Darya in the middle one of her dances...

The freeks come out Friday nights, Darya thought as she worked the pole. The Nocturne had a central glass boxed cage with pole for its star dancer and she was working it now. But why did guys even like seeing a girl bump and grind in a cage or in Darya's case, a glass box? Sweat dripped off her forehead and her feet ached as she finished her last appearnce for the night to the sound of R. Kelly's Cookie, which Darya thought of more as a lap dance song, but it didn't stop her stripping down until all that remained was her tattoos, piercings, and pink fuck me pumps with six inch heels. The club was packed and people were moving to the sound of the music, guys staring at their girls or Darya up on the stage. As the last beat faded, Darya hustled off the stage, sweat dripping off her body.

Mark, the bartender, had a ice cold bottle of water waiting for her.
"Thanks Kool Aid," she said taking the bottle and twisting off the cap. She didn't know why Mark was called Kool Aid and didn't really want to know. As she spoke, one of the weekend warriors who had somehow made it into this club slid his hand up her ass. Darya didn't even turn around and within seconds, a bouncer was hustling the man back into the crowd.

"You want to touch the ladies, you pay for a private dance," was the firm, but clearn message sent by the six foot six inch Samoan.

Mark leaned in close. "Ghetto penthouse at nine o'clock."

"Shit," Darya said as she put the now empty bottle down on the bar. "I owe you." She tried to hustle off as she had no real desire to hang with Nero tonight, but Bobbi, another stripper caught her.

"Nero wants you."

No one ever really wanted face time with Nero. You always left feeling like you were lucky to be alive. But you also didn't ignore a command performance. "Be right there," she told Bobbi. Heading toward the private booth where Nero held court, she felt a need for some yayo powder to get through the night. God damn, she thought as the ache hit her. Time for another meeting with her sponsor.

Ignoring his entourage and the guards surrounding this power booth, she slid into the booth next to Nero, wearing only the loose robe she had pulled on after her dance and rubbed up against him, saying, "Baby I here you need me and you now I always need you." She felt cheap and dirty as she flirted with her boss. But it was her job to keep close to him.

Darya looked tiny as she sidled up to the gargantuan Nero. Everyone did. Even sitting down the man towered over nearly everyone else in the room, his immensely muscled figure hinted at beneath his finely tailored suit.

Nero hardly reacted as a beautiful woman pressed her body against his chest and began running her hands up his thigh. He took a brief moment to memorize the page and line number he was stopping at in his book before neatly closing it and putting it down.

"Not tonight baby," he said, though he did nothing to stop her from touching him - a silent order to continue. He reached into his jacket and took out his phone. "I have a special job for you tonight. There's a guest in the club. I want you to take him into private room 12E and give him your best show." His finger, nearly half the size of the screen itself, was surprisingly nimble as it flicked and swiped over the smartphone. Before long, he'd pulled up a wireless feed to the security camera overlooking the front door. "Do you see the one in the blue tie?"

It was clear who Nero was referring to - a slightly obese, half-balding gentleman in a sports coat and striped blue tie. He'd just made it through security and was already sporting a half-empty glass of particularly strong scotch. He flirted shamelessly with one of the dancers.

...there was, however, another gentleman in a blue tie that was in the frame. He'd just come into focus at the entrance. This one, by contrast, was quite young. His form-fitting suit suggested an athletic figure, though the assiduous posture with which he held himself suggested something stern and anxious about his character. It was the way, Darya probably realized, that cops usually held themselves. Whoever this one was, he appeared to be having an argument with Garth, one of the bouncers.

---

Nocturne's Entrance and Lobby

"...and why, exactly, can't you let me into this club?" detective Michael Seram straightened his plain blue tie and gave an imposing bouncer his best glare.

The bouncer sighed. He'd already had to deal with too much shit today. He held up a pair of meaty fingers. "One, you ent' that handsome. Kinda' good lookin'? Sorta. Rugged in a way. But y'ent supermodel good looks, and that means no entry, unless..." His second finger (the middle one) wiggled. "Y'ent rich. You come up to me with three franklins and expect me to let you in?"

Michael grit his teeth. "Your pricing rates..."

"...are out of date. It's Friday, pal. Everyone wants in on Friday. Everyone pays more on Friday." The bouncer shook his head. "Unless y'got another hundred in there somewhere, y'ent gettin' in."

A second bouncer came in from a nearby security room. "Just ran his ID, Garth." He looked up at Michael with sneering disdain. "He's a cop. VLPD - a detective."

"Well shit-me-silly," Garth grinned devilishly, "a boy-in-blue? Thankee'fer'yer service." He bowed mockingly. "But I'm afraid that DEFINITELY seals the deal. No cops. Ever. You turn around and you keep walking unless you got a warrant."

"I do," Michael snapped. He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the document. Both bouncers went deathly silent.

The detective nearly swore. He had really wanted to get into Nocturne without busting that out. His identity was revealed. Every criminal in the club would clear a wide arc around him now that they knew a detective with a warrant was stalking the floor.

The bouncer looked up from the document and grumblingly handed it back to Michael. "Get the fuck in."

"Much obliged," Michael smirked as he walked passed them. Things were already turning against him, but he was determined to make the most of the situation. It'd taken him months to get that warrant. The least he could do was scout out the club for the prostitution he'd heard rumors about ... maybe bust a couple dealers while he was at it.

Hannah, known as Darya in the clubs, had little shame left. She'd been through too much in her nearly twenty-four years. Her hands gently teased Nero and she nuzzle his neck, her warm nearly naked body practically attached. When he finally pulled out his cell phone and told her what he wanted, she paled. The last man she had given a special dance to ended floating in the bay. Grimly, she gave a little nod. "Sure Nero, I'll make him happy."

Was that man Nero's accountant? She knew she'd seen him before and planned to check her notes when she got home. In the meantime, Hannah had no intention of helping Nero kill another man. God, if Nero just wanted her to fuck the man, she'd have pushed down her nausea and done it. But she couldn't have another man's death on her conscience. Too much already rested there. Sliding off the chair, she pulled her silk belt tight and began to move across the club floor.

She was quickly swallowed by the crowds, leaving Nero and his crew behind. Graceful even when not dancing, she twisted and turned avoiding contact with anyone as she made her way to the front of the club. Her target pervesely wasn't the obese, balding man in the striped blue tie, but the second blue-tied younger athletic man. She hadn't realized he was a cop initially. But from the way the bouncers acted as he entered and the way Dudley Do-Right, as she labeled him, moved with that aura of authority, everything screamed federal agent or state cop.

Sliding up to the man, Hannah reached up and slid one hand down his shoulder. "Hey stranger," she said in a low voice. When he looked down, she knew what he would see. A girl with three obvious facial piercings, multiple tattoos, and long straight black hair. Her eyes were probably her best feature, a deep mountain lake blue. Wearing six inch fuck-me-pumps from her dance earlier, she was at this moment nearly six feet tall and her body was incredibly toned from her rigorous dance schedule. "Do you want something special tonight cowboy?" The man whom she would later learn was Michael probably didn't realize she'd just gently insulted him. When Hannah was in prison, they called new guards cowboys. Backwards, cowboys spelled Yobwoc or more specifically, 'Young, Obnoxious Bastards We Often Con.'" Clinging now, so close he could likely smell her floral perfume, a scent hand mixed from Egyptian oils. "I'll give you the ride of your life bucko, in our special VIP room."

The man that Nero had actually pointed out, not the blue-tied young cop, had noticed her approach. Most men did. And he had interrupted his flirting to stare blatantly at her barely covered body. She mouthed over Michael's shoulder. "Nero will kill you." If he didn't understand or take the hint, there was little else she could do.

Despite being halfway drunk, the man was no fool. He saw Hannah's message, maintained his composure and didn't do anything suspicious, even continuing to flirt with his current girl before feeling for something in his pockets that wasn't there. He mumbled a pained excuse and left the nightclub.

Michael, meanwhile, was startled as Hannah embraced him. For a moment, he froze, unsure what to do or say as she clung to him. She was beautiful, certainly. Gorgeous face, lithe body ... piercings, a feature that Michael usually didn't like, looked good on her. In her pumps she was nearly as tall as he was. Her attractiveness bothered him. He fought a blush, preparing an apology and scrambling with some awkward piece of conversation that would excuse him from her embrace...

...and then he remembered the whole reason he was there. This wasn't some drunk bar girl trying to hook up with him down at the local pub. This was one of Nero's girls. He should be blessing his good luck. Here he was, worried that he'd be shut out by the criminal aspect of the club, and the very next moment he was being openly solicited. It was perfect.

He tried to think of something flirty and clever to say, but managed to find nothing. He fought back a scowl. 'Charming' just wasn't his M.O.

"Sounds good," he settled with it, trying to at least appear slightly more relaxed. "Why don't you uh. Do that for me." He cleared his throat. "Lead on. I'll follow."

Hannah suppressed laughter at the man's so obvious discomfort. Without knowing his name or looking in his wallet, she had him pegged as a new federal agent, probably with a pretty young pig-tailed wife he had met in high school, and an eighteen month old toddler back in some white picket fenced suburb. Taking his hand, she squeezed it appreciating the masculine strength she sensed. Okay, Hannah thought, he was probably a jock in high school, track and field in the spring and maybe golf in the fall.

Tugging at his hand, she led him around the edge of the club toward the VIP room. Her plan was simple. Keep this blue-tied fed occupied, let the fat man slip away safe and sound, and then when Nero or some of his thugs burst into the VIP room when they thought she and Dudley Do-Right were getting busy, plead ignorance and mistake. Oh, you meant the other blue-tied man. I'm so sorry, she would say.

The VIP room had two couches lining the sides where people would sit and do drugs. In the center was "the chair," where the girls would tease a man mad. They also had a Karaoke set up that included loud pulse pounding speakers. A lot of Korean ganster types would come here on the weekends and spend tens of thousands of dollars on expensive liquor, strippers, and prostitutes. The strippers and prostitutes not necessarily being two separate entities. Walking in, she let Dudley take a look around as she closed the door.

"So cowboy," she asked. "Tell me what you want and be very explicit." She reached out and tugged at his tie, undoing it. "This looks uncomfortable. Don't you want to be comfortable." She was so close her breasts brushed against his chest and she could feel his belt buckle against her belly when she took a breath. "Just want a dance ... or something that will blow your mind? I'm Darya by the way."

Michael suddenly found himself in a predicament. On one hand, he needed Darya to do more than just a dance with him, or at least, express verbal consent that she was prepared to go farther than protocol allowed. He couldn't bust Nocturne otherwise. On the other hand, actually taking that second step would implicate him in criminal activity. He wasn't undercover. He didn't have the legal leeway to actually engage the girl.

Though Michael had no wife or child, he did have a girlfriend, one whom he loved very much. He wasn't intent on cheating on her, not even for the job. He needed to somehow get enough evidence to prove that Nocturne's dancers engaged in illegal activity without actually engaging in that activity. That meant teasing - foreplay and contact on the verge of intimacy but just a hairsbreadth away from reality ...

"I..." he struggled to find words that sounded 'sexy' or 'alluring'. Her near-naked body rubbing over his chest did nothing to help center his thoughts. "I want ... more?" Was that the right way to put it? God, he wasn't any good at this. "Sorry, I'm not really sure how this works, but I'd like to ..." His eyes took a quick pass over her figure. It wasn't part of the act - she was gorgeous. Once again, he found himself fighting a blush, growling with himself over how easily he let his thoughts stray. Michael Seram was a man who was always in control of himself. It bothered him that the sight of a pretty girl could exercise so much power over his mind.

He shook off her allure, consciously willing himself to ignore her seductive power. He wasn't some shitfaced half-virgin college freshman. He was a cop. He had a duty. He was in control, and he knew exactly how far he would go and exactly where he would stop.

"I think you know what I want," he said lowly, conviction in his voice, "so why don't you tell me what you're going to do to me..."

Hannah smiled as her hand stroked his muscular bicep. He was such as cop! She almost laughed at his attempt to get her to tell him what she would do. Well, she had got him back here. It was up to Nero to decide what to do next. But she had no intention of spending another night in jail or adding yet another prostitution arrest to her rap sheet. "I'll tell you what officer," she said slowly, seductively. There was one sure way to deal with known cops; you had to be clear because the bastards would twist anything you said or just outright lie if it served their purposes.

"What I'll do to you is going to be absolutely free, no money, just me driving you insane, because I find you very, very attractive." She was so close that she knew she could have taken him out using her training if need be, but it was more fun to toy with the detective. "What you say I let you go Greek on me or maybe you can Bismarck me." She teased her dark red lower lip with her tongue and asked, "Can you see it? Me on my knees, you pounding me from behind or shooting out your seed on my pretty cheeks? Like the thought?"

Pausing, she looked at his face and then laughed. "You don't work vice do you officer." Reaching out, she began to unbuckle his belt and pushed him gently toward the chair. "Are you going to tell your wife when you get home about your dirty little day," she said teasingly. Even though she was having fun now, there was in the pit of her stomach a tension at what Nero would eventually do to her for her "mistake."

Michael's look hardened as she called him out. Dammit ... had he been that obvious? She was a clever girl, he had to give her that. Not only had she broken his facade in a heartbeat, but she'd also made it clear that was happening between them was personal. Nocturne had nothing to do with it. She was giving him this private show of her own accord without the incentive of payment, which meant that what she was doing was, technically legal. Wildly unprofessional, but legal.

"Greece ... Bismark ..." the detective looked positively confused. What even was that? One thing was clear though, he needed to stop this. He resisted her advances as best he could, willing his gradually-enlarging member back to sleep. He was only somewhat succesful.

"Miss, I think there's been a mix-up," he tried to sound apologetic, but it just came off as uncomfortable, "I think I should leave. I've ... misinterpreted the situation." His face was still quite red. Unfortunately, Michael had been backing away this whole time. The backs of his legs hit the front of 'the chair' and he stopped dead in his tracks. He looked apprehensively down at the inviting seat before looking sternly back at Darya.

"...that's not gonna happen."

A few moments later, Darya might have noticed a figure peeking out from a wall. He was a medium-sized man in a suit, a black mask over his face. In his right hand he held a rag that looked doused in something.

When Michael's attention was focused on Darya, he left his hiding place and began walking sternly towards the detective. His padded shoes made no sound on the floor.

Hannah actually found the straight-arrow cop kind of cute. If he'd been a real "vice" copy, he would have known that Greek meant anal sex and Bismarck meant coming on a girl's face after she blew him. Honestly, Hannah wished that she didn't know what those terms mean. Once, she would have been shocked ... once.

As Michael tried to back away, she clung to him, rubbing her body, acting the total slut as he tried to back away, his face adorably flushed. It was when he hit the chair and started asserting a little masculine muscle to stop her gentle pushing, that she caught sight of the masked thug.

As the thug quietly approached, a thousand possibilities raced through Hannah's mind. Too many of them involved her resorting to the extensive combat training, she'd learned in Ranger school and later at that special training facility. But what would Darya do?

Switching from clinging to the red-faced, blushing cop, she pushed herself away hard so that she landed on her lush little ass with a hard bang as her hip hit the chair when she went down. Immediately, she started to cry, screaming, "You bastard; you fucking pushed me!" If he now turned to look at her now lying on her ass, rubbing her hip, he would see the masked, chloroform carrying thug behind her.

Michael looked positively flabbergasted. "What are you talking about? I didn't-"

He met the eyes of the masked man. For a moment, neither moved, an anxious silence passing between them - the breath before the plunge.

The assassin lunged, rag still in hand, reaching behind his back for another weapon. Michael was moving a half-second later. He placed a firm hand on Hannah's back and really DID push her, trying to force her out of the chair and out of harm's way. On the same move he put his foot on the chair and extended, the seat sliding backwards with powerful force and slamming into the charging goon. He tripped, fought for balance and looked up just in time to see Seram's fist right before it connected with his eye.

A brief struggle ensued, but Michael quickly overpowered the thug and had him on his stomach. He didn't have his gun, but he had managed to get a pair of handcuffs into the club. He began binding the assassin.

"Alright you son of a bitch," he growled, "who the hell sent you? Huh?" He snarled, ripping the mask of his face. "Was it Nero? Huh? Did Nero put you up-"

"Did I put him up to what, detective?" a deep voice rumbled throughout the room. An immensely large figure stood at the doorway flanked by two gorgeous women and several suited bodyguards.

"Detective Seram," Nero mused, stepping into the VIP room. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon, here of all places." He smiled with predatorial curiosity. "Taken an affinity to Darya, have you? She's a lovely girl, but I must wonder what Alexa would think about this..."

"You shut the hell up," Michael snarled. "Leave my girlfriend out of this." He stood up, breathing heavily. Though he hardly came up to Nero's neck, he didn't back down, holding himself with a sort of angry dignity.

Nero looked amused. "I meant no offense, detective. I was merely considering what sort of things you'd be doing in the VIP room with one of my dancers."

"I have a warrant," Michael snapped, "this is an investigation." He pointed an accusing finger at Hannah. "She dragged me in here."

Nero perked a brow. His hands folded below his belt. "Really?" he looked at Hannah. His voice maintained its usual calm, but his black irises smoldered like slow-burning coals. "Now Darya, why would you bring this man into the VIP room?"

Hannah had been watching in amusement as the Keystone cop routine sorted itself out. But when the big boss asked her why she brought Dudley Do-Right into the VIP room, she stepped firmly into her Darya role. "Oh baby," she said as she painfully stood, moaning slightly in pain and dramatically rubbing her hip as if it were nearly broken. Her big blue eyes shimmered with tears as she shot hate-filled sparks from her eyes at Dudley Do-Right. "That blue-tie wearing, lying-mouthed, spineless pussy said he wanted the ride of his life and asked if I'd take him to the VIP room." She figured Nero would get her point about the detective wearing a blue-tie.

Turning to the man she now knew was Detective Seran, her eyes twinkled ever so briefly before she continued. "He said he wanted to fuck me in the ass and come on my face, because some girl named Alexa wouldn't let him do those things. When I said I didn't do that stuff, it was illegal, he slapped me around and threw me to the ground." She paused to rub her hip again and let a few tears run down her cheek. "Well, this nice man," she gestured to the thug on the ground. "He heard me scream and ran to my rescue." In an aside, she added, "I think he must have been cleaning up after some weird mask wearing bondage activity when he heard me ... not that anything like that goes on in our club."

She glared at Detective Seran. "He beat up my rescuer next and thank God you all came in." She cocked her head, letting her long black hair fall artfully over one eye. Then she said in a tone of great sincerity. "I think he was trying to frame this club for something illegal." The way she said this, it was as if the thought of doing anything illegal would never cross her mind. She then began to cry beautifully and ran into Nero's arms, clinging to him like she was a daughter running to the shelter of her father. "He hurt me Nero." She added for good effect as she buried her face in the lower portion of his huge chest.

Nero held her close, but his eyes were fixed on Michael.

"Sounds like you've gotten yourself into some trouble, detective," he shook his head, "this certainly wouldn't look good on a report."

Michael glowered. Nero took a moment, letting Hannah's sobbing fill the silence, letting the cop weigh his options.

"Why don't we make a deal," Nero smiled, "you release that man, leave this club immediately and we forget any of this ever happened..."

"Save it," Michael snapped, "I know how this works." Without breaking eye contact, Michael released the handcuffs on the thug and stepped around him. The assassin slumped to the ground with a groan.

"Mr. Salio, please show detective Seram to the door," Nero gestured to one of his bodyguards.

As the detective was escorted out, he looked briefly at the girl he knew only as Darya. None of the hate he'd given to Nero was reflected in his eyes. There was only confusion. What was this girl's goal? On one hand, she'd just given Nero a perfect out and ruined his bust. On the other hand, she'd saved his life. Was she a ditz? Had she tripped into the chair and revealed the assassin's location by accident?

Michael shook his head. No. She was too smart for that. She deliberately helped him. He just didn't understand why.

"Don't think this is over," he murmured as he brushed passed Nero.

The mob boss looked unaffected, as if the entire matter was a complete waste of time. Michael took one last glance over his shoulder as he left, before looking down at his unbuckled belt. He began refastening it in a hurry. He was going to have an interesting time telling Alexa about his day...

Back in the VIP room, all was quiet. Nero had released his grip on Darya and had turned his back to her. The assassin struggled to his feet, pain and fear on his face.

"Boss," he stammered, "I..."

"Ms. Jane," Nero's voice was cold and emotionless. His eyes were on a notepad he'd taken from his jacket. One of his secretaries looked over at him - a lithe Amazonian with dirty blonde hair and legs for miles.

"Yes sir?"

"Get this piece of human garbage out of my sight."

"Of course sir."

The assassin paled. "Wait, boss, look..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than had Ms. Jane taken two quick steps forward and delivered a powerful kick directly to his groin. The thug's breath caught in his throat and he crumpled to the ground. Pivoting on her heels, Jane then delivered a perfectly executed round-kick across his face that sent him sprawling to the floor. The point of her shoes left a deep gash in his cheek. She grabbed his collar and dragged him out of the room, her heels clicking elegantly as she left.

"Ms. Ming," Nero addressed his other secretary - a gorgeous Asian woman, much shorter than Jane but far more pronounced with her curves. Her massive breasts pressed against the buttons of her blouse.

"Yes sir?"

"Please inform Darya to wrap up early tonight and to report to my quarters in two hours." He was already halfway to the door as he spoke. He exited the room as he finished, his bodyguards following suit.

Ming looked over her shoulder, watching her boss leave. When he'd left, she looked back at Hannah, a sadistic smile stretched across her face.

"Yes sir," she purred, biting her lower lip. "He's going to have some fun with you. I'll enjoy watching." She turned to leave, her hips swaying perfectly with every step.

"You know what to wear," she called out, before leaving Hannah alone in the VIP room.

Hannah watched them escort Michael away. Guilt at dragging the man into this mess toyed with the edges of her calloused, scar-tissued heart. But only until he vanished from her site. She had darker things to deal with tonight as she felt one of Nero's meaty hands tighten on her shoulder just hard enough to send a teasing ripple of pain through her muscles. No, Nero wasn't happy.

She watched the aftermath as Nero dealt with the failed assassin and then turned to Nero's number two bitch, Ms. Ming. Her eyes stared into the Asian woman's eyes trying to see some humanity, but all she saw were soulless dark eyes and pleasure at the thought of Nero hurting her.

There was a thousand things she wanted to tell the other woman. But instead, she just shook her head and walked out. "I'm done for the night," she told the DJ. Walking into the back room, she pulled on a pair of black jeans and a soft white cashmere Turtleneck sweater. Her motorcycle boots went up to her knees and were faded, much scuffed black leather. Finding her helmet, she headed out the back way.

When one of Nero's men would have stopped her, she just pushed past. "I'll be back. I need air." Outside, she unlocked her BMW nineT, ironically, a gift from Nero. Pausing, she savored the power of the engine between her thighs, before pulling out of the back alley and into the streets. At the Lincoln park's third bench, the one that faced the lake, she left a discreet "tell" that would signal her need for a meet with Sam, her handler. She couldn't take this much longer and she needed his calming influence.

Next, she drove by her one-bedroom walk up. In the shower, she washed away the makeup and dirt and grit and slime that clung to her after a day stripping. If a few tears fell, it didn't matter, the water washed them away. Her eyes glanced to the cabinet where her gun was concealed. Then she shook her head. God, she didn't want to be raped or hurt ever again. Why? Sam had to let her leave. She was close to Nero, but she couldn't handle it much longer. God, I need a fix, she thought aching for that sweet warmth and release from anything.

Two hours on the dot, she stood outside Nero's quarters. Her hands trembled a little as she stripped naked in the hallway, neatly folding her clothing. The two men outside watched impassively.

Taking a moment to center herself, Hannah knocked. "It's Darya sir."

A moment later, the doors swung open. Jane stood at the entrance. She looked down at Darya disapprovingly.

"This way," she turned and led her inside.

Nero's suite was enormous. Hallways lead into offices, bedrooms, kitchens ... but the room Jane lead Darya into was one of Nero's exercise rooms.

When they entered, Nero was already at work. Shirtless and wearing only athletic briefs, he hoisted an enormously heavy barbell with considerable ease - standing-military pressing what most men would have difficulty bench pressing. His muscles were ripe and pumped from the exercise, his olive skin sheened in sweat. Two gorgeous women, nude save sports bras and spandex, attended him with towels and a fluids after every set. Ming sat across a nearby table, legs dangling over the edge. She smiled as Darya entered and winked at her.

"Sir," Jane spoke up as they entered. Nero finished his set before looking back. He nodded as he saw Darya.

The two attendants quickly stepped towards him. One toweled every drop of sweat off his body. The other pressed a bottle of black liquid to his lips.

"Leave us," he said when they were finished. The girls bowed respectfully before padding away. Ming and Jane stayed.

Nero walked calmly over to a nearby chair and brought it to the center of the room. He took a seat, resting his hands on his thighs.

"Come here, Darya." She would know what he wanted. She was to kneel at his feet.

Hannah kept her blue eyes focused on the hallway floor when the doors opened. She didn’t want Jane to recognize the way Hannah truly felt. If she gave Jane a direct glance, she couldn't help but feel the lash of Hannah’s hatred. Although nude, she didn’t feel sexy or erotic. She felt … like a sheered lamb being led to the slaughter.

She had been in this enormous 16,000 square foot luxury penthouse many times. She’d sat naked in the balcony Jacuzzi with Nero, watched him putt on the balcony green. But she had rarely been in the exercise room. Nero knew that she worked hard on her dance routines and spent hours training. But she thought if she actually worked out with him, he might ascertain some of her military training. Once she stepped in, her heart stopped momentarily and she felt fear. Nero was a master sadist and he had so many tools at his disposal.

Bitterly, she wished that she had a gun or even a knife on her. But Ms. Jane and Ms. Ming, no matter how skilled Hannah was, outmatched her in hand-to-hand combat abilities. Ming's wink just drove home how helpless she was as long as the two women were in the room, not to mention that Nero could have defeated her unless she struck with surprise. Yes, he was so well guarded his assassination wasn't going to happen. Plus, her goal wasn’t to kill him, but to take him down. It was just that right now, she didn’t care what her ultimate goal was, she would far rather have him dead than have to walk willing forward and kneel before him.

But as the girls left, but for Ming and Jane, she dropped to her knees and crawled slowly toward him, looking like nothing more than a cowed puppy about to be smacked on the nose for peeing on the floor. It was … almost entirely an act. But she was scared. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I needed a fix and got high before the show. I wasn’t right in my head.”

Tears rolled down her cheek. It might have tugged at a man’s heart strings, but for the fact that Darya as she was known to Nero could cry on a heartbeat. She only had to remember the aftermath of her attempt at whistle blowing and an unalterable sadness would take hold of her heart.

Taking a kneeling position, she rested her hands on her thighs and sat there, shoulders back, eyes terrified. “I tried not to get high baby. I’m so sorry.” As she tried to wheedle Nero, an idle thought crossed her mind. When was the last time she had told someone the truth?

He watched her as she crawled to his feet, his eyes shadowed and dark.

"That's the thing, baby," Nero mused, "I've been doing a lot of thinking about you." His looked up to Jane and gave her a nod.

Hannah would hear Jane's heels click behind her, followed by the feeling of her firm hands grabbing her arms and forcing them behind her back. She began tying her wrists with what felt an exercise band.

"You're a smart girl, Darya," Nero spoke as Jane worked, "very smart. That wouldn't bother me if you kept your head down and did what I told you, but I get the feeling like sometimes you're purposefully working against me. I think you think you can get away with it. I think you think I'm not going to notice, or if I do, write it off as the misstep of a junkie stripper."

He looked over at Ming now and gave her a nod. The other secretary, her large breasts swelling over the brim of her half-open blouse, sauntered over to the prostrate Hannah. She knelt beside her, grinning flirtatiously, smoothing her hair back and tying it in a ponytail behind her head. She pressed her lips to her ear and whispered lustfully. "Better tell the truth now, pretty thing..." She bit the lobe playfully before standing up and backing away.

"I want you to be honest with me," Nero looked long and hard into Hannah's eyes, "I want you to tell me, truthfully, if this was a mistake..." He leaned forward in his chair and brought his face close to hers. "...or if this was an act of rebellion." His voice rumbled into her core as he drew near. His eyes were black and hopeless. "Mistakes, I can forgive. Rebellion, I can forgive. Lies..." His hand reached out and gently curved around her jaw.

"...lies I cannot forgive."

Tears welled up in Hannah's blue eyes and she genuinely started cry as she knelt naked before Nero, her hands being bound from behind. She shuddered as he stroked her jaw. "It was dark in the club," she stammered. "The guy was heavier I thought when I got there. But this guy had a blue tie and I just grabbed him, thinking he would do, maybe he was the right guy. I looked around but didn't see anyone else with a blue tie by the time I got to the door."

She shuddered as Ming pulled her hair into a ponytail and when the woman bit her earlobe, her nipples tightened and a line of goosebumps ran down her bare arms. Feeling incredibly exposed, she hated the fact that her masochistic, submissive soul was growing mildly aroused by the sheer danger of the moment. She had no tattoos on her chest or belly, but she saw Nero's eyes lingering on her navel piercing. He pulled her face up so he could stair into her shimmering lashed eyes and she didn't like the look in his eyes. Where was a white knight when you needed one?

Nero's eyes took in the clean lines of her body. The silvered scars on her hip and inner thigh where she used to inject her drug of choice. The faded marks along her lower back from a bad beating a year ago and she felt a terrible urge to beg, to confess, to say anything so that he would let her go.

Nero saw her vulnerability, her weakness, and he smiled.

"It's okay, baby," he crooned softly, "it's okay. I'll forgive you. It's okay." He pulled her close and held her kneeling figure against his abdomen. "I know you didn't mean it. I know." He stroked her hair gently and would wait for her tears to subside.

After a time, he beckoned her up. "Come now. Over my knee. This will be over quickly."

He snapped his fingers. Jane stepped forward and handed him a bottle of fine body oil. Forgiving her or no, Nero still needed to punish Darya.

R0NIN said:

Nero saw her vulnerability, her weakness, and he smiled.

"It's okay, baby," he crooned softly, "it's okay. I'll forgive you. It's okay." He pulled her close and held her kneeling figure against his abdomen. "I know you didn't mean it. I know." He stroked her hair gently and would wait for her tears to subside.

After a time, he beckoned her up. "Come now. Over my knee. This will be over quickly."

He snapped his fingers. Jane stepped forward and handed him a bottle of fine body oil. Forgiving her or no, Nero still needed to punish Darya.

Click to expand...

Trembling, Darya ... for she now slipped into Darya's headspace, the ex-Army Ranger Hannah subsiding ... rubbed her hair against his thigh as Nero held her close. She could feel his hand on her head, his fingers smoothing out her hair, and knew he would hurt her. With his help, she rose and bent over his knee, her heart racing, her nipples tightening as she realized that she almost welcomed the pain, the punishment. She deserved it on so many levels.

Trembling, she waited, her long dark hair hanging down, her sensuously rounded hips resting on his mid-section. "I'm so sorry Nero," she said helplessly. "I deserve this for failing you." In the back of her mind, the face of that detective came to mind. Was he really that honest? That naive? His face melded into the face of Sam, her handler, the man she sometimes thought she loved, the man who had sent her back into the muck of this life.

"It's okay," Nero held her close. He opened the bottle and dribbled thick oil down her backside over her hips and ass. "I know you won't fail me again. I know." His hands roamed over her bottom, smoothing over her hips and sensually rubbing the oil into her skin. It was a massage - his skilled fingers masterfully working over the flesh of her buttocks and the curves of her hips. For a short time, it would feel quite pleasurable.

And then he spanked her. Once. Hard. The pain would be sharp and glaring, made only worse by the warm pleasure that had preceded it. A red mark was already forming on her left cheek when his hands resumed their massaging, replacing the pain with pleasure once more. It was a cycle. Nero intended to repeat it many times.

"You won't fail me again, baby..." his voice rumbled into his core. She might have felt his massive member pulsing steadily to life after the first strike. Her pain got him off.

"Never again..." he smiled and raised his hand to spank her once more.

Precinct Headquarters

Senior Detective Patrick Hague was in his early forties. A big man, just beginning to soften in the middle, he still had broad shoulders and thick biceps. Twice decorated, he planned to serve out the next seven years without taking another bullet and then retiring. Glancing around the glass and steel of the newly constructed Sixth Precinct headquarters, he shook his head.

"Hey Billy!' He called over to the desk sergeant. "When's my new partner arrive." The word was this new guy was a straight arrow. Most cops were when they first arrived, but slowly, they learned how the system worked. Patrick planned to break Michael in slow.

"Oh, I got a complaint about prostitution and called him on his way in, asked him to check out the Nocturne."

Patrick shook his head. "Billy! Don't tell me you sent a fresh off the boat new Detective to Nero's Number One Club."

The sergeant laughed. "So what if I did. I hear this new guy's a by the book asshole."

Patrick walked up the sergeant so that his six-foot four-inch frame towered over the sitting man. "He's my partner now. You fuck with him. You fuck with me."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Billy said almost nervously. "Just playing him. Oh there he is now." The sergeant pointed to where Michael had just walked into the precinct.

Patrick approached the new man and held out his hand. "Patrick Hague. I understand you're my new partner." His smile was genuine. His grip hearty.

Going into his assignment, Seram had tried to dispelled the romantic notions that gnawed at his ambition. Nocturne, he knew, was one of Nero's prime assets. It was secretive. Organized. More secure than the precinct, most likely. He hadn't expected to get much out of his little adventure into the night club - better cops had tried and failed - but he had harbored a quiet and desperate dream that something might fall into his lap.

Had he found nothing, had he walked out of Nocturne with his head low and his hands in his pockets, it would have been manageable. He could have left knowing that he'd done his best. What pained him was that he HADN'T found nothing. Solicitation and prostitution ... Hell, he'd almost been assassinated. In any other city, that would have been enough to shut the club down for good and put everyone involved behind bars.

But this wasn't any other city. This was Van Leugen. All Nero needed to do was walk in and tell him to leave. He had his tracks covered. The idea that he'd been so close to taking that bastard down only to have the charges slip through his fingers infuriated Michael. If wasn't fair.

His musings were interrupted as a tall shadow canvassed over him. He looked up at Hague, taking quick stalk of his figure and mannerisms. His new partner. That's right... He was being assigned today.

"Michael Seram," he shook his hand firmly and gave the man a nod, "pleased to meet you, detective Hague. I'm glad to be working with you."

Michael wasn't too familiar with Patrick. He was a senior detective, well-decorated. The rest of the department seemed to respect and admire him. Michael supposed he ought to be grateful. Though he's risen through the ranks faster than nearly every officer in the precinct, he was still a rookie detective, and he was still very new to the city. Maybe a seasoned partner was just what he needed.

Like Michael Seram, Patrick Hague knew little about his new partner. The grapevine labeled him a straight arrow. Patrick didn't consider that bad necessarily. Patrick would simply have to play it straight with the man until he couldn't any longer. One of Patrick's strengths was that he closed cases. His manners were often unorthodox and sometimes crossed the line of legality. But Patrick was a the-ends-justifies-the-means kind of guy and he thought of himself as taking the worst of the worst off the street while at the same time, ensuring a comfortable retirement for himself in seven years.

"Look," he told Michael. "We need to get to know each other. The fastest way is for us to get out there and solve some cases. I got two rapes that are related. The perp roughed them up pretty bad and three weeks ago we had two similar rapes and two weeks before that, we had another similar rapes. Each time he gets rougher and rougher with the victims. I think he's going to end up killing the next one. We don't have DNA evidence, but we have a description that matches 20% of the city. White guy, medium build, wears a hoodie, about five nine to five foot eleven inches. He's leaves his victim in a park about three blocks from the Nocturne. I thought we might rouse some of the local pickpockets, dealers, the kind of people who hang out in that park and might have seen something. It's a long shot and I'm open to other ideas."


Across town in that the park the two detectives spoke of, Hannah was meeting her handler, Sam Kincaid. Her ass was bruised from her session with Nero and despite a long, hot shower, she could still feel him buried inside her. It made her skin crawl. She was going to beg Sam to pull her out. Let her go free. When she spotted Sam jogging slowly past her, she joined him. She had put on a grey sweatshirt with a hoodie and a pair of worn sweats. She wore a pair of dirty running shoes. Hopefuly no one would tag her as the stripper Darya from the Nocturne while she spoke to the man who had literally saved her life once.

"Jump right into a case," Michael nodded, "sounds good to me. I've been dying to get started on a real investigation." He shrugged off his jacket. "Give me a few minutes to call my girlfriend and let her know I'll be home late, then we'll hit the streets." He walked towards his desk. "Do we have statements from the victims?"

---

Sam offered Hannah a sparing glance as she pulled up alongside him. His expression was vacant.

"Hannah," he said lowly, "we weren't supposed to meet again for another two weeks." He looked absently over his shoulder. "You weren't followed, I trust." Aside from their sporadic meetings and debriefings, Sam always jogged a suburb of the city three times a week, morning and night. Hannah knew where to find him if she needed absolutely needed him - the fact that she was here meant that something had gone wrong.

"What happened?" he asked, eyes still trained ahead, "are you hurt?"