And to Tommy and Elizabeth.

About the Author

Tiffany Reisz’s books inhabit a sexy, shadowy world where erotica, romance and gothic literature meet and do immoral and possibly illegal things to each other. The first book in her international bestselling series The Original Sinners was named the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Erotic Romance. She is a very bad Catholic. Visit her website, www.tiffanyreisz.com, for news, gossip and wholly inappropriate bedtime stories.

This story takes place three years before The Siren.

“I can do it. Try it again.” Nora took a deep breath followed by a deeper drink of her vodka and tonic.

“Mistress, this is the fourth time.” Simone gave her a pleading look. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I got it this time. I’m ready. Do it, sub. Go.”

“Okay, okay.” Simone ran a hand through her rainbow-colored hair and looked Nora in the eyes. “How old are you?”

Nora stared at Simone without blinking. “I am...”

“You can do it, Mistress.”

The ice in Nora’s glass rattled in her hand.

“Thirty.”

“Holy shit!” Simone applauded. She threw her arms around Nora and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Good job!”

“Oh, my God, that was hard.” Nora rubbed her temples. “I hate being thirty. I swear I was in my twenties a week ago.”

“You were in your twenties a week ago.”

“That explains it. Thank you, Rainbow Slut. I needed a little help getting to stage five in the grieving process.”

“Stage five?”

“Acceptance.”

“Happy to help you find acceptance anytime, Mistress.” Simone leaned against Nora’s shoulder, and Nora kissed her on top of her multicolored hair. With or without rainbow-striped hair, Simone would have been attractive, but no one could miss that mass of soft, flowing hair that fell down her back in an array of five different bright colors.

“What the hell do you use on your hair, anyway? Kool-Aid?”

Simone giggled and Nora decided she had probably earned a beating tonight. Simone looked up at her with eager eyes and the Mistress pressed a long kiss onto her carmine-colored lips. Maybe the rainbow-hued sub had earned more than a beating.

“If you ask nicely, I might beat you and fuck you,” Nora said against Simone’s lips. Simone groaned, but not in an erotic way.

“I can’t, Mistress. I’m booked.” Simone looked heartbroken, devastated and miserable. And utterly adorable.

“Who booked you? I’ll kill him.”

Simone shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know. Mr. King told me I was needed in the bar at ten, which is—”

“Now,” came a familiar voice from behind Nora. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to. She’d know that cold, pretentious, overeducated voice anywhere. “Simone, shall we?”

“Yes, Mr. S.,” Simone said, and Nora could tell she was trying not to smile—not in front of the Mistress anyway. The only person Simone enjoyed subbing for more than Nora was Søren, and Søren was her ten o’clock. Well, wasn’t that just peachy.

“Eleanor...” Søren said and Nora refused to turn around and look at him.