Page 50 of Slow Burn

“Marty.” He lost part of her reply in the blare of a loudspeaker. “—airport?”

“I’m at the airport,” he agreed. “My flight’s in fifteen minutes.”

The line fluttered like a sheet in the wind. Silence went on so long, he thought they’d been disconnected.

“You’re going back to Dallas.”

“I think I have to.” He twisted around to look at the flashing yellow message on the flight board.

“Then why are you wasting my time?” Offended. It was an act, he was certain.

“Because I wanted to tell you something,” he replied. “Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a bitch. I’m going home to get the data, all my files, everything. I’ll be back tomorrow with it.”

She said, “I’ll meet you at the airport. Marty?”

“Yeah?”

The loudspeaker blared again, calling him to board. He thought she said, “Be careful.”

Chapter Nineteen

Ming

Ming closed her eyes and let the braided leather of the whip glide through her fingers; smooth, flexible, warm as human flesh. She’d known a man in Singapore who’d had a whip made out of his favorite women. She often wondered what had happened to him.

“You want to know about Velvet,” she said aloud. Her fingers found the cutting tip of the lash. “Why?”

When she opened her eyes, the client was staring at her with a strange expression. He had come to her door with no references, no history—but a convincing sum of money. Mundane tastes, so far. A little domination, mostly threat, but a little pain. He liked to keep his clothes on, a decision of which she approved. Naked men were so often disappointing.

“I heard she was good,” he said hoarsely.

“From whom?” Ming touched the whip to her lips. His smile looked forced.

“A business friend. He said she sucked like a Hoover.”

“How attractive.” When he opened his mouth to reply, she snapped the whip in the air in front of him with practiced exacting grace. “I didn’t ask you a question, little man.”

“No ma’am,” he said. He was sweating freely now, though the room was actually quite cool. Ming crossed one black-booted leg over the other and shook her hair back from her face in a black wave. It whispered like ghosts near her ears.

“Paolo,” she called. The door slid open, and Paolo’s large shadow loomed. “I can’t quite decide about our friend here. What do you think?”

“Maybe you should whip him,” Paolo suggested. His voice reminded her of glass grinding underfoot. “I’ll chain him, if you want.”

“No, not quite yet. Perhaps later.” She stared at the client’s eyes, watching the fear. She inclined her head to allow Paolo to leave. The door grated shut. “More than you expected, Ed? A little more … serious than you imagined?”

“I like it,” he said raggedly. She shrugged.

“I don’t care, as you know, whether you like it or not, as long as you pay.” She snaked the whip out over the wood floor, watching it writhe like a live thing. “Would you like to fuck me, Ed?”

“I thought maybe you’d bring me the other one.”

“Velvet?” Ming’s smile felt tight on her lips. “Some other time, perhaps. Once I’ve broken you in properly.”

He doesn’t want to be here.The thought came to her suddenly, like a whisper, and she stiffened.Something’s wrong.

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