Twisted Rose

By Amber Kell

Re-release of the same title, if you have the previous version please keep your money.

Warning: contains m/m sexual situations and one light BDSM scene.

When Ian Stiller goes to rescue his drunken friend from a BDSM club, he's surprised to find himself attracted to the owner, Daniel Rose.

A killing spree throws the two men together when Rose decides he needs his favorite detective to help catch the murderer. Ian's disguise as Daniel's new sub takes a turn for the darker side when the undercover detective begins to suspect the killer is someone close to them.

Will Ian uncover the murderer or will Ian’s new lover be his last?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amber Kell
• Release date: Sep 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301594597

Amber Kell

Amber Kell is a dreamer who has been writing stories in her head for as long as she could remember.She lives in Seattle with her husband, two sons, three cats and one very stupid dog. To learn more about her current books or works in progress, check out her blog at http://amberkell.wordpress.com.Her fans can also reach her at [e-mail].

Book preview

Twisted Rose

Killers & Thorns: Book 1

Amber Kell

Twisted Rose

Amber Kell

Copyright 2010 by Amber Kell

Smashwords Edition

Second Edition: 2013

Cover design: Meredith Russell

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer-to-peer program, for free or for a fee. Such action is illegal and in violation of US Copyright Law

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Prada: Prada S.A. Corporation

Aston Martin: Aston Martin Lagonda, Ltd.

GQ: Advance Magazine Publishers, Inc.

Dedication

A special thank you to Jambrea because she always tells me

this is her favorite book of mine.

Chapter One

Ian Stiller snapped awake as his cell phone rang. As a vice detective, he heard his phone’s ringtone even in his dreams.

Reaching blindly, he batted his hand around the top of the nightstand. His fingers brushed against the rectangle moments before he heard it hit the floor.

Ian leaned over the side of the bed, stretching his body toward the small black case reaching… reaching.

Ahhh! With a loud thump he hit the hardwood floor. Maybe I should’ve invested in some carpet, he muttered to the cat peeking at him curiously from under the bed. Henry purred and brushed his long fur up against Ian’s face. Ian snorted the fluffy strands from his nose, grabbing his cell phone as it started to ring again.

Hello.

Ian. A familiar voice on the other end sobbed. Gary left me.

Good.

Ian disconnected and laid his cheek against the cool wood, looking idly under his bed. Damn, there was a dust bunny revolution going on.

He made a mental note to hire a housekeeper. It might be a luxury, but he didn’t have a lot of time or energy to spend his salary so he might as well make sure the dust bunnies didn’t eat his cat.

The phone rang again.

A glance at the readout showed his friend Keith Tilden calling again. What the hell did Keith want? Ian wasn’t known for his empathy, and he hated Gary anyway. To his logical mind, Gary leaving Keith provided a great solution to a bad relationship.

Ian sighed and flipped open his phone. Yes. Lying on the floor, the particles pressed into his skin. He definitely needed a housekeeper.

You hung up on me! Keith said.

His voice slurred, telling Ian Keith had been drinking.

The detective in him went on alert.

Where are you?

At the club.

Even with Ian’s well-renowned detective skills, he needed more information.

Which club?

The Twisted Rose.

Ian bit back a curse. The Twisted Rose counted as the largest BDSM club in the Northwest. Keith didn’t make the best decisions sober. God knew what kind he’d make drunk in a bondage club while wallowing in self-pity.

Be careful not to get in over your head with some big leather daddy, Ian cautioned. He didn’t want to ask, but he’d hate himself if he abandoned a brokenhearted friend and found out something horrible happened to Keith. Do you need me to come get you?

Keith sobbed into the phone. Please.

Ian sighed. This was why he kept to himself and didn’t make very many friends. Friends were too much fucking work. I’ll be there in a few. How do I get in?

Keith had spoken previously about the private club. They didn’t let anyone in without a membership or exclusive invitation. As far as Ian knew, Keith had been a member since it opened three years ago.

I’ll leave your name at the door as my guest.

Great.

Ian hung up, not bothering to say goodbye. Only for Keith would he drag himself out of bed this time of night. Unfortunately, they’d been friends ever since Keith had done some pro bono work for the abuse victim of a man Ian had put away, and Ian never let his few friends down.

Sleeping in the nude made it easier to get dressed quickly. Thinking he would be returning in an hour or two, Ian didn’t bother with underwear, slipping on his favorite worn denim jeans with a hole below his ass and a few rips on his inner thighs. He completed the outfit with a tight red tee that outlined his muscular chest.

Ian kept himself in peak condition. The sight of the older cops with their desk job stomachs hanging out worked as a flashing caution sign of the importance of staying fit. Luckily, once Ian reached his top physical condition, he found it easy to maintain.

Glancing at the mirror, he ran his fingers through his thick auburn hair, grown straight and long from his last undercover job. He pulled it back with a rubber band, exposing the thick rings piercing through both ears.

He sighed at his reflection. Dark circles underscored his bloodshot blue eyes, and his two-day old scruff had become a testimony to his exhaustion. Thankfully, he could get away with that kind of shit in vice.

Fuck, he needed more sleep.

Groaning in disgust, Ian grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

Chapter Two

The club stood right where he remembered it. Ian had busted drug dealers in this part of town more than once. For a supposedly upscale place, its location in a questionable neighborhood set Ian’s instincts ablaze. Then again, the owner probably couldn’t plant a BDSM club in the ritzier part of town without local residents raising a stink.

It took Ian a moment to find a spot to park on the street. He eyed the people milling about and hoped his truck would still be there when he returned. It might be old, but the parts could be scrapped out to collectors for a good profit. Ian walked toward the entrance with a careful eye out for trouble.

The pure artistry of the tasteful painted sign over the metal door had spiked Ian’s curiosity more than once. The words Twisted Rose were intertwined with a pair of handcuffs, a rope, and a bullwhip. Cleverly done, only a discerning observer could make out the individual components. From a distance, they looked like decorative swirls.

Ian checked the knob, locked. Tired and grouchy, he banged on the door with his fist.

The large man who answered had so many muscles they probably had their own zip code. Too brawny for Ian’s taste, he still took time to admire the smooth, naked chest shining in the moonlight. The bouncer glared. The glower only lasted a moment before turning warmer when his appreciative gaze swept Ian’s body.

Can I help you, handsome?

The muscle-bound ape’s voice held a nice deep baritone that probably made more than one twink cream his pants.

I’m here to get my friend. I’m Ian Stiller. He said he’d put my name on the list.

Please, come in. The bouncer moved back with the elegance of a trained butler.

Nodding to the man, Ian walked through the doorway. Once inside, he stopped to take in the beautiful surroundings. Decorated in art deco style, the room had an elegant grace, enhanced by rich, polished wooden floors, colored-glass light fixtures, and an old-fashioned hatcheck station at the far side of the room.

You’ll need to check in at the counter, the muscular doorman said, smiling wide.

Ian’s instincts went on high alert as he walked to the far counter. He didn’t trust the bouncer’s expression.

A boy and a girl, wearing very little clothing, stood behind the long wooden structure. The young man wore blue body paint instead of a shirt and the tightest pair of white leather shorts Ian had ever seen. If Ian spotted the kid outside the club, he would’ve given him a ticket for indecent exposure. The girl had a skimpy pink outfit made out of some sort of shapeless mesh material that stopped at an uncomfortable margin below her crotch. He sent a swift, silent prayer that she didn’t bend over while he watched.

Some things should remain a mystery.

The pair watched him with heavily made up eyes and disturbingly identical expressions of lust.

May we help you? the girl asked, licking her lips.

I’m here to see a friend. The bouncer sent me back here.

That’s because you can’t enter the club with a shirt. The young man smirked.

What? Surely, he’d misunderstood.

Your shirt, blue boy repeated. Club policy. Men can’t wear shirts.

For a long moment, Ian thought about walking out and leaving Keith to his own fate. He sighed as he realized he couldn’t leave his friend in trouble, but Keith would so pay for this.

Fine.

Ripping off his T-shirt, he handed it over to the boy who made no effort to take it.

I thought you wanted my shirt?

Oh, right. The kid blinked a few times and reached out a shaky hand to grab