by Luna, David
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Catharsis Definition
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Saving Sebastian
A Catharsis Novel
Custos Securities Series Book 3
Copyright © 2017 Luna David
www.lunadavid.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Cover design by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design
Custos Securities Series & Catharsis Novel emblems designed by Kellie Dennis, property of Luna David
Editing provided by Pam Ebeler of Undivided Editing
Proofreading provided by Judy Zweifel of Judy’s Proofreading
Interior Design and Formatting provided by Stacey Blake of Champagne Formats
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author, Luna David, author. The only exception is in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places and events, the names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
Warnings
Intended for an adult audience. Contains explicit sexual content. Contains BDSM and mild breath play (neither of which are encouraged or recommended by the author – please adhere to safe sexual practices). No cliffhanger. Trigger warning: violence, physical assault.
Trademarks
Trademark and Copyright Acknowledgements
Luna David acknowledges the trademark status of the following trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Lyft, Operation, Twilight Zone, Valium, Vicodin, Spotify, Instagram, iPad, Lidocaine, Candela V-Beam, Brain Flakes, Yuengling Lager, Adirondack Chairs, Doc Martens, Kong, Ramones, Apple TV, Andrew Christian, Echo and the Bunnymen, Charlie Brown, Netflix, Mack Truck, Cujo, Range Rover Autobiography, DeLorean, Super Duper Burgers, SEALs, CIA, Special Forces, Army, Harley Davidson, Betty Boop, The Castro Theater, Coke Slurpee, Psycho, Silence of the Lambs, Keppra, Trileptal, Dilantin, Macallan Sherry Oak Scotch, Lifecall, Lite Brite, Makit & Bakit Oven, Sleeping At Last’s “Turning Page,” A&D Ointment, Realtor.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Catharsis Definition
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books by Luna David
Readers May Also Like
To my readers, for loving my guys as much as I do. Thank you for being patient while waiting for Sebastian and Gideon’s story.
To my husband… Forever and always. Yet again, I’ve failed in my duty of picking your chosen title for my third book, A Plumber’s Hardware: Pipes, Snakes, and Ballcocks. So close, but I had to go with Saving Sebastian.
catharsis
ca•thar•sis kəˈTHärsəs
noun: catharsis; plural noun: catharses
definition: the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions.
synonyms: emotional release, relief, release, venting; purging, purgation, purification, cleansing; abreaction
GIDEON’S SPECIALTY WAS KNOTWORK. HE loved the feeling of a rope in his hands, the endless possibilities laid out before him, the pleasure it could give, or the pain it could eventually inflict. He’d learned the intricacies of rigging in a past life—utterly unrelated to the life he currently lived. Returning to that life, even just for a short while, felt strangely like coming home, which was exactly why he’d left it to begin with.
Wetwork wasn’t what he’d wanted to build his life on—it had chiseled pieces of him away, bit by bit, until he was convinced he no longer knew who he was. In the beginning, spilling blood had been what he did, not who he was. Somewhere along the way that had changed. So, before he could lose himself completely, before he let the adrenaline of his work turn into a killing endorphin rush that would become an obsession, he’d made the decision to leave that life behind him… Or so he’d thought.
He bent and drank some water out of the crude hose he’d attached to the utility sink. He shrugged into his previously discarded fleece jacket. His skull cap and ultra-thin leather gloves, donned hours earlier, would stay on until his work was done. Despite the boiler running, the cold was settling back in as his body cooled down from the strenuous activity. He took a seat and admired his handiwork. Flexing his fingers within the confines of the supple leather, rolling his shoulders, and shaking his arms out helped rid him of the aches he’d gotten from the heavy lifting.
Dangling, literally, in front of him was a man he’d thought long dead. He eyed his trussed-up, unconscious quarry, his own body relaxing as a maelstrom of tho
ughts took up residence in his brain. He’d been sent out on what could’ve quite possibly been a fool’s errand. Though he knew that could be a false assumption on his part and he was certainly getting what he wanted out of the bargain. He was half convinced it was manipulation, pure and simple, a dangled carrot to draw him back in. One thing was for sure, the mindfuck he found himself smack dab in the middle of was almost too Twilight Zone to be believed.
He’d agreed to one last op as a favor to his previous employer. To be honest, he’d have been hard pressed to turn it down. As the man he’d just suspended from the ceiling joists of the basement, was none other than the man responsible for the assassination of the most trusted men on his SEAL team years ago. The same man who had supposedly been killed in the same ambush that had taken Gideon’s men. The fact that he was very much alive—for the time being—and wanted for a completely different string of crimes, just put the icing on the irony cake as far as Gideon was concerned.
But the irony didn’t end there. No. Because not only had he been responsible for the death of his teammates, but also for the torture and murder of Naval Intelligence Specialist Mason Alexander, the submissive Gideon had once thought himself in love with. Mason had been tortured for the information that had ultimately provided the man hanging in front of him with the opportunity to kill his men easily, like fish in a barrel. He’d felt the loss of his men and his submissive down deep in his bones. And though he’d eventually come to realize that love wasn’t what he’d felt for Mason, guilt and shame were two emotions that he would readily admit to after that day, even if just to himself.
If the dossier he’d been given was to be believed—and he wasn’t convinced that it was—his target was also the man responsible for a slew of heinous crimes against hundreds of men, women, and children; which was definitely a big part of why he’d accepted the assignment to begin with.
When he’d seen the pictures of the man he was supposed to track, he’d understood the ramifications of the information immediately, understood exactly why Boone had come knocking on his door. The possibility that the man he’d once trusted with his life and the lives of his unit would turn out to be the same man he’d be searching for years later, was something no one—himself included—had seen coming.
In fact, he’d been furious when he’d walked into Custos Securities, at the behest of his younger brother Zavier, and been confronted with his former CIA handler, Boone Davies. He’d made a clean break of the CIA, and anything and anyone related to that life, over five years earlier. Boone’s arrival was unwelcome. Boone’s manipulation of Custos, of his brother specifically, was a step too far that he wouldn’t let pass unchallenged.
The call he’d received from his brother had been cryptic, but he’d known from his brother’s overly calm tone that Zavier wasn’t happy to be making the call, nor was he pleased to be asking him to come into Custos in a professional capacity. The use of Gaelic, a language they’d learned from both sets of grandparents while growing up and rarely spoken outside of their home, had at least prepared him for an unwanted visitor. The old proverb Zavier had used about an uninvited guest arriving unbidden had been spoken quietly as Zavier was ending the call.
He’d prepared himself for someone he didn’t want to see, but he’d never have guessed Boone was the man he’d be presented with. Seeing him had thrown off Gideon’s equilibrium, but he’d schooled his features and had let his displeasure shine through as he’d stared down the man he hadn’t seen in more than half a decade. Boone’s chest had risen as he’d inhaled in reaction to Gideon’s stern expression, his eyes had immediately cast down to the floor, but Gideon hadn’t been placated by the token act of submission. Gideon, about to express his displeasure, had raised his gaze to the enormous flat screen TV mounted to the wall in Zavier’s office.
His eyes had narrowed as recognition had dawned and he’d stared for what must have been minutes at several pictures of the man he’d known as Alan Lewis. The same man that had killed his teammates just before walking into a building that had exploded into rubble moments later, taking Alan with it, or so he’d thought. Zavier had stood and rounded his desk to take his place beside him to display a unified front to the CIA, but it hadn’t been needed. The moment he’d seen the pictures was the moment he’d mentally signed on to whatever it was they’d be asking him to do.
He brought himself back to the present, knowing he needed his wits about him for what needed to be done. He breathed in and out, willing his heart to slow its harried rhythm and his mind to release him of years worth of remorse and regret. In that moment of vulnerability, the strict control he maintained on his features—at all times—slipped, and some of the bone-deep mental and physical exhaustion showed. As the minutes ticked slowly by, Gideon’s composure returned, the chink in his armor shored up and his emotions tucked deep where no one and nothing could reach them. He reclined almost lazily in the unforgiving wooden chair, watching and waiting for Alan to wake.
He saw it first in the stretching of neck muscles, the slow clenching and unclenching of fingers, and eventually the effort to straighten the spine. He heard it in the increased cadence of breath and the straining of the ropes under his weight. Gideon knew confusion was edging out the haziness of the sedative and soon enough the man’s small movements would become a full-fledged struggle to escape the ties.
He’d prepared Alan’s bindings for durability, not knowing how long it would take to get the information he needed, but knowing he needed to be prepared for a lengthy session. Gideon had kept him fully clothed and strung him up by his lower legs and ankles to the joist above. He’d then used a series of knots and hitches to secure his arms to the same joist, much like a sloth hanging from a tree branch.
As Alan’s body did its best to rid itself of the effects of the sedative, Gideon maintained his silence, the only sound in the huge dank basement was the ancient boiler running in the back-corner room. He saw the moment Alan’s consciousness returned. The man stilled completely in his bindings and tilted his head a bit, using his senses to try to find anything that might help him figure out what had happened and where he was.
Gideon let him continue to think he was alone and watched as the man rubbed his head against one of his raised arms, doing his best to dislodge the blindfold Gideon had placed over his eyes. He continued to watch as Alan’s struggles with the blindfold seemed to frustrate him and he began moving his jaw and his lips to try to spit out the gag. When that didn’t work either, he started thrashing hard in his bindings to test their strength. Finally giving up, he sighed and seemed to slump in on himself, exhausted from the efforts, his whole body heaving as he gulped in air.
Gideon scuffed his booted foot on the floor, knowing the psychological aspect of what was to come was going to be just as excruciating as the physical, and reveling in it. Alan stilled and then grunted while thrashing around. When Gideon finally stood ten minutes later, he did so noisily, picking up a pair of heavy duty shears from the table. He slowly brought the chair alongside Alan, scraping it across the floor loudly and then standing on it—though not close enough to be in danger of getting knocked into by the struggling man.
He gripped Alan’s pant leg and used the shears to cut them down the side, revealing the intricate knotwork he’d used for the suspension. The rope was tied tight around his legs, his skin red and angry under the unforgiving jute fibers. The rigging began at his heels, over his snug fitted leather combat boots, the knots continuing up his lower legs in a spider web effect, to end just before his knees.
Gideon maintained his grip when the man’s movements became more desperate. He sliced easily through his briefs and then his leather belt and did the same to the other leg, baring Alan’s lower body to the cold, damp chill of the basement. He sliced the shirt open, cutting it off from his ribs down, leaving the fabric over his chest, arms, and back where the ropes dug in, holding the shirt in place. Alan was left in the tattered remains of his shirt, his combat boots, and the ropes hol
ding him far above the ground.
Gideon stepped down and tilted his head, watching his victim closely. His voice, though low, sounded loud in the cavernous room. “Cold in here, isn’t it?”
Alan let out an angry growl and redoubled his efforts to escape.
Gideon approached again, grasping him just under his chin and tilting his head down. Alan tensed and then thrashed in his bindings like a fish out of water. “Uh uh uh. Hold still so I don’t cut off anything vital.”
Gideon waited patiently as Alan slowly stilled, out of breath. “Much better. Now, I’m going to remove your gag so that we can have a nice chat. Don’t concern yourself with being seen or heard. We’re far away from any prying eyes or curious ears.”