Chief

by Lesli Richardson

  Up here, people are wearing more in some cases—full-on latex body suits, leather gimp suits complete with hoods. Or less, in other cases—rope chest harnesses, bustiers without an undershirt on, leaving nipples exposed, or the occasional man in a jock and hood and wrist and ankle cuffs.

  And nothing else.

  I’m more interested in getting a look at the women who are with the lesser-dressed men. There are some gay couples in attendance, but they’re in the minority, and that’s not really my jam. Although I have already considered contacting a male Top as a possibility, if I can’t hook up with a woman. Not to sound like an asshole, but I know I can get laid.

  What I think I really need, but I won’t know for sure until it happens, is to get spanked.

  And what I also don’t know is how long I’ll be here in Germany before I’m shipped out to a combat deployment.

  As I take all this in, my cock thickens and hardens, and I fight the urge to wildly plunge into the space. I know I need to scope things out first. I might not even meet anyone here tonight, but at least now I know I have found the right place and can return accordingly.

  It’s still early in the evening, just barely eight. That it’s already so busy bodes well. The group on the website said this Friday would be particularly busy earlier than usual because of a couple of Dominatrixes who’d be showing up tonight.

  It’s going to be a demonstration, of sorts.

  A rhythmic thudding noise strikes my ear, just under the music. I slowly wind my way around the outer perimeter of the space and follow the noises until I realize I need to make my way inside the maze. I follow the sounds to one curtained “room” and see a woman flogging another woman on an X-shaped frame I know from my research is called a St. Andrew’s cross.

  Hellooo.

  My cock has gone from interested to a painfully raging hard-on.

  This is definitely the right place.

  Wanting an unobstructed view of their scene, I move around the people gathering to watch. The woman on the cross is dressed only in a G-string, and there’s a tidy pile of clothes on the floor next to the cross. Her brown hair is pulled up off her back into a messy bun, which reveals the leather collar buckled around her neck. Leather cuffs around her wrists are clipped to rings on the uprights of the cross.

  The woman doing the flogging wears a leather corset, a short leather skirt, and knee-high leather boots with three-inch heels. She’s tall to start with, probably five-ten, at least, in addition to the heels. Her long, red hair hangs down almost to the middle of her back, and her tight clothes don’t leave much to the imagination in terms of her body. She’s fucking gorgeous, the leather hugging her slender curves.

  I can’t tell how old either woman is from my vantage point, but I’m nearly desperate to have a chance to talk to the Dominatrix after they finish. That means I stay right where I am and hope I get my chance. She uses a variety of implements on the woman’s back, ass, and legs, from floggers to canes. They’re speaking German, and while my high-school German didn’t cover sexy-time situations, I can understand most of what they’re saying, and what I don’t sort of makes it through with the context.

  As I watch the scene, I find myself wanting to drop to my knees, and I haven’t even gotten a good look at the Dominatrix’s face. But I have a mind full of memories and porn and really want a chance to make some of that come true. I don’t know how, yet, but I’m hoping she’d be willing to help me out with that.

  The commanding tone the Dominatrix uses while topping the woman has hardened my cock to a painfully erect level I’ve honestly never felt before.

  They’re almost done when I feel the hand on my shoulder, startling me.

  “You look…interested,” she says in German. Her icy blue gaze pierces straight through me and makes my cock throb even more. She has long, jet-black hair braided down her back and is clad in a black latex corset and latex skirt.

  I nod. “Ja.”

  Her gaze narrows and carefully looks me up and down before she switches to English. “You’re American?”

  I nervously nod. “How did you know?”

  When the toe of her patent leather stiletto pump touches my right sneaker, my cock twitches. “Those are worn,” she says. “Can’t buy that brand here, except at the PX, and you’ve had them a while. I work with a lot of Americans.”

  “Oh.”

  She cocks her head as she looks at me, studying me. “Army?”

  I nod.

  “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  A slow smile spreads across her face, making me shiver. “First time at a place like this?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She touches the collar around my neck with one perfectly lacquered finger. “Does that belong to anyone in particular?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She looks at my wristband, her gaze narrowing a little. She wears the same wristband.

  There’s a bag at her feet, a small rolling suitcase, like a carryon size, black. She points at it. “Bring that.” Then she turns and walks away.

  It takes me a second to realize that was an order, and I scramble to comply, grabbing the suitcase’s handle as I scurry along behind her.

  Like hell am I going to say no.

  This is my dream come true, and losing Pete and Tom taught me early that life is short, sometimes brutally so.

  That means I need to make as much of this life as I can, while I can.

  And I plan to.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Now, Four Weeks Until the Gubernatorial Primary

  When I first met Owen and Susa, I would’ve told you the three worst days of my life were, starting with the first-place tie, the days I learned my brothers died, followed by that day in the desert, when I threw my body over my men and I nearly died. The day of the school shooting later became a close contender.

  Later, that worst-day designator also became tied with the day I received the phone call that Susa’s plane went down.

  Everything in my life is placed in context to those events.

  I’m alive.

  My wife is alive.

  My husband—and I consider Owen my husband, even if he isn’t in name or legal standing—is alive.

  Our children are alive.

  We’re all reasonably healthy.

  I would, without hesitation, lay my life on the line to protect any of my loved ones.

  So when the next hit comes, four weeks before Susa’s primary election in her run for governor, it literally catches me off-guard and threatens to destroy everything we’ve worked so goddamned hard for.

  And it’s from my fucking past.

  A past I’d assumed dead, buried, and living only within my nightmares.

  Even though my job is in Tallahassee, at Owen’s side, I still have ongoing work for the Tampa law firm, which means time spent down there, on occasion. I hate the times I have to travel alone to Tampa for work, because it means I literally can’t reach out and touch those I love while I’m away from them. I can’t walk into Owen’s office and lock the door.

  I can’t walk into Susa’s and do the same.

  I can’t go home and hold our sons.

  I have to sleep alone, which I rarely have to do anymore.

  Sleeping alone is nearly always accompanied by nightmares. Owen’s busy running the state, and Susa’s busy with her work and the campaign, which means I have to go alone.

  I definitely was not prepared to receive a terse phone call from my father-in-law, asking me to stop by their Brandon house that afternoon.

  As in, he wants me there ASAP, even though he doesn’t couch it in those terms.

  He doesn’t need to. I can speak subtext as well as the next politico. Since he never summons me like this, I have a really bad suspicion I need to get it over with quickly. I didn’t even realize they were in Tampa this week—I thought he was up at their Tallahassee home.

  I excuse myself and head there to find him alone at the house
.

  “Where’s Michelle?” I ask after he lets me in and gives me a quick handshake in greeting.

  “Out. I sent her on a grocery run. You’re welcome.” He’s leading me through the house to his office.

  Those last two words fill me with growing dread. “Why? What happened?”

  No reason to beat around the bush or engage in time-wasting bullshit. Whatever this is must be worse than bad, and likely has something to do with Susa’s campaign for governor. Benchley’s been in the game longer than I have and wouldn’t call me over like this for something petty or stupid.

  It must be something serious that threatens what we’ve built.

  Don’t get me wrong—I hold no illusions that my father-in-law views me more as an adversary than family. But he tolerates me because I’ve proven myself and my love for Susa and our boys.

  Also, since that tape I have on him has never so much as leaked, he knows I’m a man of my word. We have never spoken of that day since it happened, but we both know it’s still there, and it has guided the path of our relationship ever since.

  After he closes and locks the office door behind us, I sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk and he takes his seat behind it, before leveling a dark glare at me.

  No preamble. “Tell me about Germany.”

  “What?” Although my mind is already pivoting, heading there, skimming through everything and quickly zeroing in on what I hope he’s not talking about but already suspect he is.

  There’s a tablet on his desk. He punches the home button to wake it up and quickly swipes through to something, then hands it over for me to read.

  It’s an e-mail.

  Interesting information to share about your son-in-law. I’m sure you wouldn’t want anyone to find out about it. Had a unique “relationship” with him for a while in Germany years ago. Let’s talk. I need a few things, and I’m sure a gentleman such as yourself can supply them.

  I’m positive it’s sent from a throwaway e-mail account. While the e-mail isn’t signed, I already know who it’s from just from the wording.

  Goddamn that bitch.

  Ancient, murderous rage and seething hatred course through me. Yet I’m careful not to show any emotion. I don’t know for sure if the e-mail is from her, no matter what my gut tells me. I find it hard to believe she wouldn’t approach me directly with a demand considering our history together, and I doubt it’s Eddie. He’d contact me directly if he wanted to fuck me over.

  But considering I saved Eddie’s life, and what else we survived together, I’m nearly certain it’s not him.

  At least, I hope it’s not him.

  If it is him, we have far worse problems than I thought.

  It’s most likely her, or someone who knows her, and who is trying to leverage that knowledge against what they feel is a vulnerable soft spot.

  I return the tablet to him. “I take it you haven’t responded?”

  “Do I look stupid, son?” He switches it off and sits back. “Well?”

  I lean back in my chair and lace my fingers together behind my head. “Well, what?”

  “Don’t leave me blindsided.”

  “Why? What are you thinking of doing?”

  “Well, I’m not paying them, if that’s your first concern.” He points at his face and circles his finger. “Again, not stupid.”

  “Then what are you suggesting?”

  “For starters, you tell me what the fuck. Secondly, I hope your passport is in order.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your ass is going to Germany to personally handle whatever this is. Tomorrow.”

  I’m careful not to give anything away. “If they’re in Germany.”

  “It originated from there.”

  That catches me by surprise, and I frown. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I already ran the info past a… Let’s just call them a friend of mine.” He smiles. “I’m old, but—again—not stupid. I’m also connected. No, I didn’t send him the text, only the headers. The person who sent it didn’t disguise their actual IP address, they just created a throwaway account. No attempt to hide who they were beyond the e-mail account.”

  “I thought you didn’t know much about technology.”

  He smirks. “After my last experience with you, I educated myself. Especially since I had time to spare stuck in a bed after my heart attack.”

  “Ah.”

  “I rarely repeat the same mistakes twice, son.” He slides a piece of paper across the desk to me. He’s already tracked down the flat address…and her name.

  Fuck.

  He’s earned that point, and I’ll graciously concede it to him.

  I feel a small measure of relief that it’s not Eddie, though.

  I sigh as I fold the paper in my hand and crease it, slip it into my shirt pocket to deal with later.

  “I assume from the look on your face you know who this bitch is?” He sounds all too satisfied with himself.

  I’m not used to being at a loss for words. No doubt in my mind now that it’s her. There is no other way Benchley could have connected her to me, unless the e-mail is from her.

  I guess my ass is going to Germany.

  I slowly nod.

  I guarandamntee you, there will be at least two unhappy people in Germany upon my arrival there. Me, for starters.

  And most assuredly her.

  * * * *

  When you leave the past firmly in the past, the last thing you expect is for it to rise up, smack you in the goddamned balls, and risk it fucking up not only the present that you’ve so carefully constructed, but the comfortable future you anticipate, as well.

  I always knew my father-in-law was a bastard, too, I just didn’t know how much we truly had in common. Although it took over forty years for our paths to mirror each other.

  Before I leave to return to the Tampa office, Benchley’s already made several phone calls with a throwaway cell phone, using Signal to further mask his trail, and he’s put a basic plan in place to give me what I’ve asked for to make this go away.

  Funded the…mission.

  Because as far as I’m concerned, this is a covert ops mission.

  One in which I plan on terminating my target with extreme prejudice.

  He sits back. “I’m guessing you have one or two contacts of your own there still?”

  I slowly nod. “I do.”

  “They can help you?”

  “They can.” I’m going to have to make a similar call to Eddie, but I need my own burner phone with Signal enabled, and don’t have one with me. Didn’t think I’d need one. While I would normally call Eddie with my personal phone, I would prefer no trace to me on this one, if I can avoid it. Although I can come up with a public-friendly cover story without much effort, if forced to do so.

  “I want this handled, Carter,” Benchley says with more grim determination than I’ve ever seen him possess. “I don’t give a shit how it’s handled, as long as the loose end is tied up in a way it can never unknot itself.” He stares at me. “Am I making myself clear? I’m cashing in that karma chip for you, like it or not.”

  He’s finally speaking the unspoken.

  I nod.

  “That money is from a Caymanian account,” he continues. “Untraceable. If you need more, you’ll have to let me know.”

  “I won’t need more.” The money he’s given me is plenty. I know Eddie will be happy with the boon. It’s not nearly enough to make up to him for the past and broken promises, but he won’t turn it down, I’m sure.

  Benchley nods.

  “We done?” I ask.

  “You need a plane ticket.”

  “I’ll book it shortly. I need to…make arrangements.”

  He harshly laughs. “You mean set up your alibi.”

  “Fuck you, Benchley.” For over twenty years I’ve wanted to say that to him. I knew I had him by the balls, but I didn’t want to press my luck.

  This is as good a time as any t
o finally be able to say it.

  I know he won’t expose his daughter over this. Not now, not this close to her goal. Plus, my level of bastardism is far more advanced than his. Early on, I was willing to sacrifice Susa’s political career for Owen’s, but now that she’s so close to finally getting elected, Benchley will do anything to protect her chances.

  He smirks. “You have balls, I’ll give you that.” His smile fades. “Don’t think I don’t know those boys are his. Question is, did you know it, or did you plan it?”

  I wasn’t expecting that left-field question. He’s expecting to rattle me, take advantage of his brief advantage over me, but it won’t work.

  “Does it really matter?” I ask.

  “It does to me.”

  “I’m listed as their father on their birth certificates.”

  “No one in my family or yours has eyes that shade of green.” He’s trying to stare me down now.

  I take a slow, deep breath and don’t blink. “Making allegations like that is beneath you, Benchley. Ask me to my face what you’ve been dying to know and get it over with. You’ve still got balls, don’t you?”

  “I believe I just asked.” He smirks. “She did well marrying you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He relaxes in his chair. “Owen doesn’t make a move without you telling him first. At events, he’s always glancing around, looking for you if you aren’t there at his side.” He studies me. “When I chewed her out over marrying you, she made a comment about not worrying about her getting pregnant accidentally, because it wasn’t an option. I remember her saying it again that day in the car, after we met with Rebecca. I didn’t pay much attention to that, back then. I thought she was being young and stupid. You had a vasectomy before you met her, though, didn’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  “What happened to the doctor records about your vasectomy?”

  “Only one other person knows about that besides Susa and Owen.” Technically two, but like hell will I fucking give him that much info. As far as he knows, Eddie is one of the three, just like Dray’s brother.