I, Alex Cross

curtained; there was a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, a new box of latex gloves on the dresser, and nothing else — no knickknacks, no carpets, no bedding except for a fitted rubber sheet covering the mattress.
    "This is interesting." Katherine sat down and ran her hand over it. "Decor by Rubbermaid."
    Zeus made no comment.
    He had the two girls undress first, then took off his own clothes, except the mask, folding everything onto the dresser so he could leave the club just as neat and pressed as when he’d arrived.
    Finally, he opened his briefcase.
    "I’m going to tie you girls up," he said. "Nothing too scary. They told you about this, correct? Good. Have either of you been handcuffed before?"
    The shy one, Renata, shook her head no. The other, Katherine, put a come-fuck-me look into her eyes and nodded. "Once or twice," she said. "And you know what? I still haven’t learned to be a good girl."
    "Don’t do that, Katherine," he told her. She looked at him as if she didn’t know what he was talking about. "Don’t ever playact for me. Please. Just be yourself. I can tell the difference."
    Before there could be any more nonsense, he tossed a pair of cuffs onto the bed. "Put those on, please. What I’d like — I want you to share them. One cuff for each of you."
    While the girls clipped the cuffs on, he slipped his hands into a pair of gloves and took out the rest of his gear: two more pairs of cuffs, a new skein of hardware store rope, two red rubber ball gags with black leather straps.
    "Just lie back now," he said, and went over to Renata first. He could see something interesting now, mounting concern in her eyes, the beginning of fear.
    "Give me your free hand," he said. Then he cuffed her wrist to the bedpost. "Thank you, Renata. You’re very sweet. I like compliant women. It’s my vice."
    As he walked around to the other side, Katherine arched her back a little and widened her eyes, more vacant than scared.
    "Please don’t hurt us. We’ll do anything you want; I promise," Katherine said.
    She was getting him pissed — already. Like some cockteasing little wife. Doing her coital duty. He slapped on the last cuff and secured it to the other bedpost and started fitting the gag into her mouth before she could say any more and ruin tonight.
    "I can tell you’re still acting, and you’re not good at it," he told her. "Now you’re making me a little angry. I’m sorry. I don’t like myself when I get like this. You won’t either."
    He tightened the strap at the back of her head. He used all of his strength, and he was a powerful man. The girl tried to say something, but it came out as a muted grunt. He’d caused her pain. Good. She deserved it.
    When he stepped back, the look on Katherine’s face had changed completely. She was afraid of him now. That wasn’t something you could fake.
    "Much better," he said. "Now, let’s see if I can think of anything else to improve that performance of yours. Oh, how about these?"
    He reached into his black briefcase and pulled out a Taser gun. And pliers.
    "Katherine, that’s wonderful. Your improvement is just outstanding. It’s all in the eyes."

Chapter 38

    NICHOLSON FELT AS if he’d been drinking coffee all night instead of expensive scotch. He squinted at the headlights on Lee Highway, wishing for nothing more than a nightcap, an Ambien, and a few hours away from his own tortured thoughts.
    It was done, anyway. He’d wiped the hard drive and taken the disk away with him. He’d recorded Zeus’s session with the two girls. He’d witnessed the horror show. The question now was what to do with it.
    It was tempting to drive around all night, put the thing in his safe-deposit box, and hopefully never go back to it again. On the other hand, he thought, if the need did arise, he’d be smart to keep it closer at hand. Just in case.
    Nicholson had never indulged in the idea that this scheme of his could go on forever. The discreet club and the dirty blackmail had been a delicate balance. With Zeus in the mix, it was untenable, and the madman showed no sign of slowing down.
    If Nicholson wanted out, he was going to have to disappear, and sooner rather than later.
    One contingency plan after another ran through his head as he drove.
    The offshore account in the Seychelles had just over two million in it. There was a hundred and fifty thousand coming from Temple Suiter, and then the Al-Hamad party next week, which promised to be good for at least as much. It was