Exit Strategy by L. V. Lewis Page A

try and get some work done.
The last he heard from Karen Southerland, his lawyer friend—who is also a Domme he’d done group play with in his wilder days—the trial would be scheduled for April, but this court date is March eleventh, the Monday after Clara Lee and Pastor Johnson’s wedding. His next thought is of Keisha. He wonders how she will handle having to get on the witness stand and tell her story to a jury of McCaskill’s peers.
Damn, he doesn’t want her to have to go through this alone, now that they’re estranged, of sorts. He hadn’t called her since she left his condo more three weeks ago, and she hadn’t called him until a couple of days ago when he’d gone to KSR and found her frolicking with the guitar player. And judging by the chemistry she had with Guitar Guy...
He doesn’t even like thinking of how he had gone to talk to Keisha about his struggles with PTSD and to share his triggers with her, hoping to get her to come clean about her own, only to find her smiling and dancing with some new guitar player he’d never noticed at KSR before. It seems Keisha didn’t waste any time replacing him. So why is he having such a hard time replacing her?
Tristan pushes the Huáng contract aside, realizing he’s read the same paragraph several times over and is still not sure he’s grasped it. His focus is way the hell off, and he knows exactly why.
He needs some time in his Grotto. As a stopgap until he can frequent the exclusive Fetish Noir club in person and find a replacement organically, he’s asked the owner of the BDSM club, who is a trusted friend, to send some applications his way. None of the applicants have struck his fancy by any stretch of the imagination, and he’s not prepared to admit that this is because none of them were Keisha.
Tristan opens up another confidential letter, glances at it, and then takes the time to read it. He assumed the unmarked envelope with no return address was another submissive application, but this is something wholly different. Careful not to handle it too much in case he smudges the sender’s fingerprints, he reads it again.
“It’s time for you to pay. You’ve rested on the laurels of your entitlement for too long and used too many women. You know how it feels to lose someone, so I’m going to make sure you feel that pain again and again, until you know what it feels like to be me. If I were you, I’d watch your little café au lait arm candy and anyone else you care about.”
Tristan feels a cold, numbing dread when the message from the tormenter singles out Keisha. He may not be her Dom anymore, but he can’t ignore this threat. He has a flight to Hong Kong scheduled to leave in eight hours, so he’ll alert Nathan and his father, who already have some level of security, and secure Keisha’s safety before he leaves US soil.
Tristan welcomes Darryl’s next interruption over the intercom. “Mr. Velasquez is here, Mr. White.”
“Thanks, Darryl. Send him in.”
Carlos Velasquez, his security chief, walks in and stands at attention in front of Tristan’s desk. Velasquez’s bearing is the first indication of his military background. But if you get to know him very well, as in through an altercation, his particular skill at meting out pain tells you he was Special Forces.
“Have a seat, Velasquez.”
Velasquez reacts as if he’s said, “At ease, soldier.” The security expert relaxes and takes a seat. His black eyes reflect his training. He’s on high alert.
Tristan grasps the note on one corner and slides it across the desk. Velasquez reads it quickly and then looks up at Tristan again.
“You want to treat this as a credible threat?”
“You’re goddamned right I do. I want extra security details for Nathan, my father, Aimee Gabriel, and 24-7 security, undetected, on Keisha Beale.”
“Forgive my temerity, but why undetected, sir? Having her aware might make it easier.”
“I don’t want to unduly frighten her or give her the right of