Seeing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  The fact that he was also a mortal enemy of Aiden Phillips was also very fucking helpful.

  There were only two rules when the four of them fought: taped hands and no headshots. None of them could afford bruising to the face or too much to the hands. Anything else could be hidden or explained away. Alex was known for kickboxing, Tate was a boxer for his fitness, Henry constantly rode horses, well- fell off them, and Conner was always fighting somewhere anyway. Tate was right, he was the only one who could actually get away with it and it was really only his vanity that was offended if someone hit him in the face.

  Alex looked at Henry and nodded toward the floor, inviting some much needed fun.

  Lord Henry Deville was one of his few good friends. They’d met while his company was heading up the wealth ranks, and as DeVille sat on the board of one of the largest investment banks in London, he held an lot of power in his hands. At first Alex had simply found him useful, but eventually they’d found they had a lot in common and quickly formed a strong alliance. It made each of them a great deal of money doing exactly what they both did very well. Alex manipulated, cajoled and bullied his way to profits; Henry backed him with wealth and provided room for manoeuvre with the banks. He’d been to university with Tate in the states and had also trained in law, but after his father died suddenly, he’d been titled and then called to do all the things a lord should do. Henry, it seemed, wasn’t exactly comfortable with the status his father had left him though and often needed a place to expel his frustration as much as the others did. He was as brutal as the rest of them when it came to fighting and he seemed to relish the contact with abandoned pleasure. It was hilarious given his stature in polite society, but not surprising really, given his well renowned reputation in the boardroom, which Alex had witnessed on several occasions.

  “You up?” Alex asked.

  “Yes,” Henry stated in his upper-class accent, strapping his hands.

  Alex started to circle his opponent with a smile. This was the bit he loved - the weighing up of each other and waiting for the first move, the calm before the storm, so to speak. And storm it was. They fought almost for their lives, forgetting the friendship and just barely holding onto the fact that they shouldn’t kill each other. The reason there were always four of them was so that two of them could pull the other two off if need be, and while they were all angry men with a past or a present that dictated their emotions, they also all knew that Alex was the only one truly capable of going too far. There had been several occasions where he’d been hauled off to the side by two of them and a bucket of water had been tossed over him to bring him back to their version of reality. He never thanked them for it. It was always the closest he’d been to his own reality in a long time.

  Still circling, Henry’s step started to speed up. Alex saw it coming a mile off. He always did, so he launched at him first, fists and legs spinning like a tornado, then rolling to the ground and away, he stood and started bouncing. He chuckled venomously, looking back at Henry as he watched him panting and holding his right thigh, exactly where two of his leg hits had attacked it. The dick had always been too slow. It was pitiful to watch really. He needed at least two of them most of the time. All three was a little more challenging but still doable.

  “Painful, Henry?”

  “Fuck off. I hate it when you’re cocky. What’s got you in such a good mood? You’re bouncing around and smirking like a bloody idiot.” Henry grimaced as he levelled himself and stretched his leg out.

  Alex smirked in response. He couldn’t help it. It hadn’t stopped since he’d seen her again with that beautiful hair and those fucking lips that were made for… everything.

  Henry stepped forward again and held up his fists as he resumed his lethargic bounce and stretched his head from side to side. Moving slowly, he stalked his way toward Alex and then let rip, old England style boxing. Alex feigned a duck and then let him attack, savouring in the contact, which helpfully increased every aggressive tendency he possessed inside. Henry held nothing back as he slammed his fists into his chest and ribs, hurling every bit of his large, six foot two inch Nordic frame. He wasn’t as tall as Alex but he was much heavier and broader and Alex wheezed as the fifth strike hit his shoulder, feeling like he had just about dislocated it. He dragged up a breath and pushed back on Henry with all his might until he gained the bit of room needed between them to swipe his leg. Stretching it out wide, he brought it back down hard on Henry’s already injured thigh and sneered as the idiot howled in pain. Pathetic. He’d never once in his life been known for mercy and it wouldn’t be forthcoming anytime soon. If there was a weakness, he’d find it and then use it. They both backed off again for a time, giving them a chance to catch their breath.

  “Is it dislocated? I heard it click,” Henry chided, limping a little.

  “One punch and you think you’ve knocked my shoulder out?”

  “Well, you are getting old now.”

  “Dickhead.” The cock was younger but that wasn’t going to help him in the least.

  “Language, Alex. There are ladies present.” He laughed, pointing at Tate and Conner.

  They barrelled toward each other again in a flurry of punches and kicks, rolling around on the floor and pouncing back to each other, sparring and jostling as they both found room to connect blow after blow on each other. Alex felt his muscles stretching as he continued to swing his frame around in a rhythm of unruffled and calculating malice, but suddenly he felt his jaw crack as Henry’s head connected with it. It was unexpected and just what was needed to fuel the anger, so he used it. Grabbing for Henry’s arm, he got him in a wristlock and pummelled fist after first into his stomach until Henry spat out some blood. He took a step backwards to assess the situation, but an unwelcome tremor of the familiar rose through his chest and shot to his spine. He narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong. Henry wiped his mouth with his sleeve and spat again.

  “Fuck you, you bastard.” Henry spat, scowling as he cracked his neck from side to side.

  Alex stood confused for a second as the recognizable venom gripped his stomach and reared its ugly head, but before he could disengage the anger that was surfacing from beneath, his vision turned overly focused. It was too late. Conner and Tate disappeared from his mind and as expected, he was just facing off with a man he was struggling to see in reality - just doing his job. Clenching his hands and trying desperately to regain some composure and balance, he stood completely still and waited, not quite understanding where his emotions, or lack thereof, were coming from. Why the hell was this happening? This hadn’t happened for a long time and it certainly shouldn’t be happening with these guys. He clutched desperately at logic and reason, but as the well-used engine engaged and pushed itself to the surface, he felt what little sense of moral obligation he had disappear.

  Henry leapt towards him with frightening speed and caught him by surprise around the head with a right hook, then made a grab for his neck and held him tight by the throat while he repeatedly kneed him to the chest. The last shred of control that Alex had tried to hold onto evaporated the moment he felt the hand tighten. He flipped Henry off, and forced the room needed to meet his enemy with an onslaught of hits and kicks. He didn’t give the man a second to breathe, just kept the assault coming. He enjoyed this feeling too much - no thoughts, just being what he was or maybe what he was made to be. His movements became more of a fluid glide as he let his adrenalin finish the job for him, each swing flowing like the well-oiled threat mechanism it had originally been honed for. The enemy was retreating. He could see him losing his balance and becoming weaker, simply trying to defend himself from the pain.

  Lining up for one last spin, Alex threw his leg around his hip to connect swiftly with the jaw in front of him. The body landed on the floor in a heap. He leant down over it, panting and heaving from the exertion, right fist still poised behind him for the next hit. Looking down into the faceless human, he noticed its pupils dilating and the fear shining in its eyes
. He felt himself sneer at the weakness then smile at the potential underneath him. Just one more hit. Just one more fist.

  “Alex,” he heard in his mind, his cheek twitching at the sound. “Alex, you hearing me, man?” Irritating fucking noise. He frowned and shook his head. “Alex? Fuck, man, you in there?” He felt something touch his back and spun around, barely stopping his hand before it connected with the face below the blue hair. Conner rapidly held his hands up in submission and backed off. Conner.

  “You back with us, man?” his friend asked.

  He felt his surroundings come back into focus and locked onto Conner’s face for a second as he tried to find an answer to his confusion. There still wasn’t one, so exhaling a long breath, he lowered his fist and began shaking his hands out.

  “Yeah,” he replied, lowering his hands and his head.

  “Fuck, man, where did you go? You just flipped the fuck out.” Conner looked surprised, concerned even. Alex turned around to see Henry still sat on the floor with Tate helping him to stand.

  “I need to go home,” he said, unwrapping his hands slowly and moving to his bag. “Are you okay?” He directed his question at Henry through narrowed eyes.

  “Yes, I think so, but Christ, could you get a rein on it next time?” Henry asked. Alex looked the man in the eye and searched for deceit. It’s the only reason he would have lost it. The mist only came when something was off. There was nothing unusual there to speak of.

  “Don’t ever grab me around the throat if you want to continue breathing. Do you understand?” Henry nodded in response. He sneered at the man then immediately turned and walked to the door with Conner following. Something was not right at all.

  “Hey, man, what’s going on?” Conner asked, grabbing onto his shoulder to stop him. He bristled instantly and Conner let go. “Okay sorry, man. It’s just... Fuck, I haven’t seen that for years.”

  “Don’t know. Something just doesn’t feel right,” he replied, sighing as he pulled open the doors.

  “You will call me if you need anything, won’t you?” Conner asked.

  “Probably not. You know how I hate your sanctimonious bullshit.” He chuckled.

  “Oh good, we’re back to big words again. At least I know you’ll be able to ride now without killing yourself,” Conner stated as he slapped him on the back and launched into a karate kid fighting stance, “Are you going to try and kill me now? Wax on, wax off...” Alex raised a brow and snorted in derision.

  “You’re not worth the effort. Besides, I’d hate to mess that pretty face up… again.”

  “Point taken, and why deprive the ladies of such perfection?” Conner said, fiddling with his chin. Alex shook his head at the absurdity of the man.

  “I’m going.”

  “Cool, stay safe man. Call me,” Conner replied as he blew him a kiss.

  With that he nodded at Conner, inwardly smirking at the idiot, and strolled out the doors towards his Ducati. The moon was high in the sky and he felt the wind whip through his sweat-sodden hair. Pushing it off his face, he looked at his watch. Ten thirty. He thought for a minute. There was still time to call a convenient woman to release the rest of his tension on. He shrugged on his leathers and swung his leg over the bike, pulling his phone from his pocket, and then thumbed through the numbers looking for the right prospect. Allison Denver? No, not tonight. Sarah Pearson? No. And then he saw the name he wanted, so called it and waited for the answer.

  “Alexander, darling, what can I do for you at this time of night?” the woman said. He breathed in the way her mouth surrounded his name with her Russian accent.

  “I think that’s quite obvious, Tara.”

  “Yes, sir.” She chuckled throatily. “How long will you be?”

  “About twenty minutes,” he stated, pressing the end button.

  Pulling down his helmet, he knocked down his visor and kicked off the stand, slowly pulling out onto the road. He needed to clear his head. What the fucking hell was wrong with him? That hadn’t happened for years, losing it like that. Yes, Henry made a mistake grabbing his throat, but that was all it was, a mistake. Why had the cloud come over his brain so rapidly? That only ever happened when he was feeling threatened or felt he was being lied to. Henry was his friend. Why should he be feeling that way about him? Only last month Conner had done exactly the same thing and he had simply shrugged it off with a joke. He hadn’t responded with the fury that had presented itself this evening.

  He slowed for some lights and indicated for the right side of town. He just needed to get to Tara and let her give him what he needed to think more clearly. She was a long standing acquaintance and knew exactly what was necessary to make him let go of it all for a while, or at least try to define his parameters again.

  Tonight he needed her experience. He needed to push harder than he had for a while and there was only a few he trusted enough to go that distance with. She would be bruised and raw for days and he needed to know that she would take it with a smile and enjoy every minute of it as much as he would, because that was what he intended to do - use the woman utterly and completely. He would feel much more solid afterwards and she would appreciate his anger and frustration for a while as he refocused himself. She always did. After all, that’s what a masochist wanted and he was happy to give it. She wouldn’t want anything more than he was offering and they would part as more balanced individuals, each for their own reasons. These submissive types were cute, but fundamentally he wanted a woman who liked her pain, who found a euphoric high in the combination of submission and sweet agony. Actually, he was reconsidering the submission part. Lately, submission in itself lacked bite, or maybe it was the substance he was after, the argument. Fucked if he knew. What he did know was that he needed to inflict that pain, to see it radiating across flesh and preferably to see a woman aroused by it, not that the latter mattered too much. He’d happily done it on occasion, regardless of their consent.

  As he turned into the road where her apartment was situated, a girl with long red hair crossed the road in front of him. She turned her head towards him and smiled, thanking him for stopping and walked on. Elizabeth. The thought flashed across his mind and brought him back to the present.

  What was he doing? He was supposed to be being better for her, trying to be a decent man. Fucking Tara to her limits was not part of the dating plan, he assumed. Well that couldn’t be helped this evening. He’d be no use to Elizabeth in this state. He had to regain some semblance of order to this shit that was in his head. Besides, they hadn’t even had dinner yet.

  He parked the bike in the underground car park and kept his helmet on as he walked to the entrance. He did not want to be recognized here in the slightest. The door opened automatically, as he pressed the buzzer, letting him find his way to apartment seven quietly. Her front door was slightly ajar, soft music leaking out into the hall, so he walked in to find Tara knelt in the middle of the floor, naked with her eyes downcast.

  “Good evening, sir. I am yours for as long as you need me.” Of course she was, depraved psychopathic bitch.

  He took off his helmet as he closed the door behind him with a chuckle. Walking towards her, he lightly brushed his fingers over her long black hair and strolled towards the bar where he poured himself a large scotch and took a deep breath. Turning, he looked at her for a moment. She was truly a marvel. Her ability to take whatever was given in enjoyment was indescribable and as he felt her tension increase, he sat down and slowly finished the rest of his drink just to push her further. Scanning the room, he noticed a candlestick on the sideboard. He fished in his pocket for his lighter and flicked it back and forth, then walked over to the candle and opened the cupboard beneath it. Pulling out his favourite type of rope, he walked to the centre of the room and began the hooking process above his head.

  “Stand over here.” She instantly stood and moved in front of him so he began wrapping her in the intricate knots he loved. Her first delicious squeal came as the rope bit into her thigh
. “Up you go,” he said, pulling on the pulley system he’d created and watching her lift from the ground.

  Another thirty minutes passed as he manoeuvred her around until he was happy with his trap. She just lay there, suspended beside him as he ran his hands over her and watched her twitch under his fingers. Her calm smile remained firmly fixed in place and her eyes closed. She was a pretty thing really. He could see why she was so desired, but to him she was simply a tool, a very intelligent tool he had to admit, but a tool nonetheless.

  “Tell me about your day in court, Tara. Did you jail anyone?”

  “No, sir. He got away today,” she replied quietly.

  “Mmmm, shall we see how you feel about that then?” he replied, pulling hard on the rope in his fingers. She gasped as her body turned upright in front of him. He tied it off and lit the candle behind him. Her eyes widened in fear so he chuckled a little and took his shirt off. There was nothing the woman was really frightened of - well maybe a few things but even he wouldn’t go that far.

  “What was our last count, Tara?”

  “Fifteen, sir,” she said as her panting started and a sly grin crossed her mouth. He growled then quickly pulled the other rope to his left and her head whipped backwards. She shouted in pain.