The Inner Room

by Claire Thompson

  “I have a better idea.” Dr. Hession stood and moved around his desk. “Do you have some time? How would you like to meet him right now? I can take you over to my club and introduce you. We could have lunch.”

  Phil grinned. A fancy lunch at a country club on someone else’s dime, and the chance to make some serious cash on the side. The day was getting better and better. “Sounds like a plan,” he said.

  ~*~

  Both Marissa and Cam were taking a personal day, with Fred Hession’s blessing. Marissa was spending the day with Dana, who insisted on canceling all her appointments as soon as she’d heard what had happened. Before heading out that morning, Cam had waited for Dana, who arrived within the half hour armed with hot coffee and muffins. Cam had felt better leaving Marissa with her good friend.

  Tony and Jack sat with Cam at a table in the large, empty outer room of The Power Exchange. It felt strange to sit in the empty club in the middle of the day. Jack was dressed in a black muscle T-shirt, black cargo pants and black square-toed boots. With his shaved head and the grim expression on his grizzled face, he looked every bit the enforcer. Jack’s cell phone buzzed. He looked down at it the screen. “They’re on their way.”

  “Excellent.” Tony, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit and silk tie, picked up the document he had just read to the others and folded it lengthwise. He slipped it into an inner pocket of his jacket.

  Ten minutes later the front door buzzed and Jack strode to press the intercom button. “It’s Fred Hession and guest,” came a disembodied voice through the speaker. Jack released the lock to the door at the top of the stairs. He opened the door to the club and returned to the table. “I still think we ought to dispense with the charade and just beat the little shit into a pulp.”

  Tony shook his head. “It’s always better if you get them to sign on the dotted line before anything else. If we get him to admit culpability on paper, our case will be that much tighter in the event of any future legal action.”

  “Spoken like a lawyer,” Jack growled.

  Tony shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”

  Cam pushed back from the table and stood. Rage simmered inside him like a corrosive acid. Though his head agreed with Tony, his gut agreed with Jack. His muscles were coiled, his hands aching with the need to feel the crunch of bone as he brought his right fist into the guy’s jaw and followed it with a sharp hook designed to break the cocksucker’s nose. Still, he knew it was better to stick to their plan. “See you in a few,” he said. As he heard the sound of the men’s feet clomping down the concrete stairs to the club, he walked quickly toward the back of the room and stepped behind a partition so he was hidden from view.

  A moment later he heard Fred Hession’s voice. “Come on over and I’ll introduce you,” he was saying. Cam could just imagine Phil Mitchell’s confusion as he took in the space—the sumptuous country club-like surroundings, interspersed with the BDSM punishment circles that contained whipping posts, chains, stocks and St. Andrew crosses.

  “What kind of a place is this?” Mitchell said, his voice cracking a little.

  “Come sit down and we’ll tell you all about it,” Fred said. Cam shifted slightly so he could see around the partition. Jack and Tony got to their feet as Fred and Mitchell approached the table. Fred, Mitchell and Tony sat down. Jack remained standing. Cam stepped quietly out from behind the partition.

  An edge came into Fred’s voice, though a thin veneer of cordiality still remained. “Jack, Tony, I’d like you to meet Phil Mitchell, the scumbag who broke into Marissa’s home, terrorized and violated her, and then threatened to blackmail her to keep her quiet.”

  Cam strode quickly to join the group. Mitchell turned in his chair at the sound his approach. His expression was one of almost comic confusion, his mouth hanging open, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. His eyes bugged as he took in the sight of Cam, who it was clear he recognized. “What the fuck…” Mitchell pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet.

  As if they’d choreographed it, Cam and Jack stepped on either side of the man, each clamping a heavy hand on his shoulder. Together they forced him back into the chair. The leather portfolio he’d been holding fell to the ground. Fred leaned over and picked it up.

  “What the damn hell do you think you’re doing? What is this? What’s going on here?” Mitchell tried to rise, but Cam and Jack held him down. “Give me that.” Mitchell gestured toward the iPad. “That’s mine.”

  Fred folded his hands over the tablet. “I think not,” he said calmly.

  “What’s going on here?” Mitchell demanded. “These aren’t prospective clients. You got me here under false pretenses. This is some kind of setup.”

  “The boy’s about as sharp as a bag of wet hair,” Jack said dryly.

  Mitchell twisted back to glare at Cam. “What’re you doing here? What is this place? Let go of me! Goddamn, I said let go!” Cam could hear the fear beneath the bluster.

  “I advise you to listen to what we have to say,” Tony interjected in an authoritative voice. “That is, if you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in prison.”

  His words seemed to have an effect, because Mitchell stopped jerking in their grip as he turned back to the table. “What’s all this about? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied.

  “Allow me to enlighten you,” Tony said. “I’m going to read a document that outlines your position. You’re going to listen, and then you’re going to sign on the dotted line.”

  “I’ll listen,” Mitchell said in a tight voice, “because I have no choice.”

  He stiffened again in their grip. “But I’m not signing shit.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Tony said with a cold smile. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the document he’d prepared earlier. He began to read. “’I, Phillip Mitchell, did knowingly and in violation of the law and of the terms of agreement between HIF Software Solutions, my employer, and St. Beatrice Hospital, our client, place an illegal capture device on the personal laptop of Dr. Marissa Roberts while said laptop was in her office at the hospital.’”

  “Hey, you can’t prove—“

  “Shut up or I’ll shut you up,” Jack growled.

  Cam squeezed his shoulder. “Christ, you’re hurting me,” Mitchell gasped. Cam didn’t let up.

  Tony continued as if there had been no interruption. “‘I forced my way into Marissa Roberts’ personal residence, wherein I proceeded to molest, terrorize, torture and threaten her for nearly two hours. I attempted to coerce Dr. Roberts into silence about what I’d done, threatening that if she told anyone, I would publish a private, personal video I had stolen from her laptop, as well as reveal the nature of said video to the hospital’s chief of staff, Dr. Frederick Hession, with the express intent of causing her to lose her job and her license to practice medicine.’”

  “Lies! All a pack of lies!” Mitchell twisted back once more toward Cam, his eyes rolling with fear and rage. “She came on to me. I know it’s hard to hear it, but your little girlfriend is a cock tease. She invited me to her place. It was all consensual. Whatever she said, it’s her word against mine. And anyway, I have the video of you two perverts that will—“

  “Shut up,” Cam said in a voice dark with fury. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” He realized he wanted to kill Phil Mitchell, and the awareness caused him let go of Phil’s shoulder as if the man were on fire. He took a step back. Mitchell must have seen something in Cam’s face, because he paled and finally shut his mouth. Jack met Cam’s eye and something in his calm expression penetrated the rage. Cam swallowed and nodded, feeling somewhat back in control.

  “I’m okay,” he said in answer to Jack’s unspoken question. Jack nodded.

  Tony continued. “‘I know there is no way to undo the heinous crimes I have committed, but I am willing to make full restitution. First, I agree to be punished for my actions and humbly ask that Master Jack Morris mete out said punishment, which I am aware I richly deserve. Furthe
rmore, I fully approve of the recording of said punishment, the full rights of the recording which I assign without limit or reservation to Master Jack to do with as he will.’”

  “What? What the hell? What are you saying?” Phil croaked, his voice cracking.

  “I’m not done yet,” Tony said. “But hang on. We’re nearly there.” He continued reading. “’I further grant Master Jack full access to my place of work and to my home. I will allow him to thoroughly search the premises, and to remove any item he deems offensive or to have been acquired illegally.

  “‘Finally, I agree to resign my position at HIF Software Solutions, effective immediately. Once I have permission from Master Jack to leave, I agree that I will move out of the state of New York, and I will never return.

  “‘If it is determined at any time, now or in the future, that I have broken any of the stipulations contained herein, I understand that civil and criminal charges will be brought against me for my wrongdoing, and that I will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.’” Tony held out the pen.

  “You’re out of your fucking minds! This is duress! That contract would never stand up in a court of law!”

  “Are you refusing to sign?” Tony said.

  “You bet your ass I’m refusing—“

  Jack looked at Cam, talking over Mitchell’s outraged splutter. “You heard the man. I guess we have no choice.”

  “Agreed.”

  Together they hauled the bastard to his feet. Tony and Fred also stood and moved toward them. Though Mitchell struggled, the two of them together were stronger than he was, and they got him past the bar and into the inner room, Tony and Fred following closely behind.

  They dragged the shouting man toward the St. Andrew’s cross they’d agreed upon earlier and forced him into position facing the cross. Cam and Jack each grabbed an arm. They wrenched them up and held them against the cross as Tony wrapped a thick Velcro cuff around each wrist.

  Jack moved behind Mitchell and squatted. He pulled off Mitchell’s loafers, barely seeming to notice when Mitchell’s foot made contact as he kicked and squirmed. Standing, Jack reached around Mitchell’s waist. He unbuckled the man’s belt and unzipped his fly. Hooking his thumbs in the waist of Mitchell’s pants, he yanked them down the man’s legs and pulled them away, tossing them into a heap on the ground. Mitchell was screaming bloody murder the whole time.

  Ignoring his protests, Jack kicked Mitchell’s legs roughly apart. Tony and Cam knelt on either side of the cursing, snarling man and forced his ankles into the cuff restraints at the bottom of the X.

  Mitchell’s voice had risen high in his panic and his rage. “Goddamn it,” he squealed, “you fucking perverts, let me down this second! You have no right to do this! Let me down!” He let loose a stream of invective as he struggled fruitlessly in his bonds.

  “I’ve had enough of his mouth,” Jack growled. “Gag him.”

  Cam moved toward the gear cabinet and retrieved the biggest ball gag in the drawer. Returning to Mitchell, he jerked his head back by the hair and pushed the gag roughly into his mouth. He buckled it tightly around the man’s head.

  Mitchell’s shouts and curses were muffled to a pitiful gurgling. His face was beet red, his eyes rolling wildly in his head.

  Cam felt a moment’s conflict. The inner room was almost a sacred place in his mind, and a basic tenant of his BDSM philosophy included consent and respecting limits. How did what they were doing fit in with that?

  Then the image of Marissa as he’d found her last night, her body torn and bruised, the terror in her tearful eyes, loomed large in his mind. This vicious, lying sack of shit had done damage it might take years to undo. He’d created wounds that might heal and scar over in time, but could never be forgotten. What they were doing now wasn’t about consensual and loving BDSM. They were just using the location as a means to an end. It was the best way to reach this monster and hurt him where he lived.

  Cam leaned close and murmured in Mitchell’s ear. “Do you think you’re as scared now as Marissa was last night? Did it make you feel like a man to overpower and terrorize a woman, you pathetic piece of shit? How does it feel to be bound and gagged against your will? Welcome to the inner room, asshole.”

  Fred, who was standing in front of the cross, reached into his jacket and removed his smart phone. He pushed a button and held it up. “Smile,” he said to Mitchell. “You’re on Candid Camera.” He kept the phone aloft.

  “The bastard used a crop on Marissa, is that right, Cam?” Jack said as he moved toward the whip rack.

  Cam nodded. Jack returned with a long-handled crop. He held it toward Cam. “Care to do the honors?”

  Cam stared at the crop. “No,” he said quietly, recalling the bruises on Marissa’s ass. “I’m afraid I couldn’t stop.”

  Jack nodded his understanding. While Fred continued to record, Jack stepped to the side of the bound man and brought the crop down hard, leaving a neat red rectangle on his white ass. Mitchell jerked and yelped against the rubber ball in his mouth. Jack hit him again, leaving an identical mark on the other cheek.

  Jack cropped the bastard until his ass was bright red, his body slick with fear sweat. Finally satisfied, Jack dropped the crop on the counter for later sterilization and returned to the cross. The four men lined up in front of Mitchell, who sagged in his cuffs, drool dripping down his chin, hate in his eyes.

  Mitchell started to struggle again, his shouts emerging incomprehensibly behind the ball gag.

  “Feels pretty shitty, doesn’t it?” Cam said, letting his cold hatred seep into his words. “Being used like this against your will by someone you despise, and then threatened into silence. Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

  “Maybe he’s learned his lesson,” Jack said. He reached for the buckle of the ball gag and pulled it open.

  Mitchell pushed the gag out with his tongue, drool streaming down his chin. “Let me down! Goddamn it to hell, let me the fuck down, you freaks!”

  “I don’t think his punishment was sufficient,” Tony commented drily.

  “I have to agree,” Jack said. “He does seem a little slow. I guess we’ll just have to put the gag back and try again—”

  “No!” Mitchell cried, jerking his head from side to side. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Please, no. Don’t do that. Please. I’m begging you.” His voice cracked and tears sprang to his eyes, which he blinked back angrily. “Let me down. Just let me down.”

  Tony took a pen out of his jacket and held it, along with the document, in front of Mitchell. “You ready to sign then?”

  “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’ll sign that thing,” Mitchell snarled.

  “Maybe a little cock and ball torture will change his mind,” Fred suggested. “We could tie him down to the exam table. We should probably shave his pubes first.” He moved closer to Mitchell. “Tell me, do you like needles?”

  Mitchell’s face paled, sweat beading on his upper lip and forehead. “Christ,” he murmured. “This can’t be happening.”

  “Oh, it’s happening, all right,” Jack assured him. “And we have all day, boy. We’re committed to the task of teaching you a lesson. How long it takes you to learn it”—he shrugged—“that’s up to you.”

  “We could always use the strap-on. I bet Phil loves a good ass reaming, am I right?” Tony said with a grin.

  “Excellent idea.” Jack moved toward the gear cabinet. “I don’t think we’ll bother with the lube though. Real men don’t need lube.”

  “Wait!” Mitchell screamed in alarm. “Okay, okay, okay! I’ll sign the fucking thing.”

  The four men returned to stand in front of Mitchell. “You agree to all the stipulations?” Tony said.

  “Yes. Yes, I said I’d sign it.”

  “You’ll give Jack the keys to your office and your home? You’ll quit your job and move out of this state?”

  “Yes. I said yes, damn it. I want to get as far away as I can from the likes of you.
”

  “We’ll be watching you,” Jack said. “Before I bought this club, I used to be in enforcement. I know people, if you follow me.” He let the implied threat of his words linger in the silence a moment, and then added, “One false move, we’ll be on you like white on rice.”

  “I got it, I got it!” Mitchell cried. “Just let me down. Let me out of here.”

  Jack nodded toward Cam, who moved to the cross and unstrapped Mitchell’s right wrist. Tony moved closer, again holding out the pen and the piece of paper. Fred helpfully placed Mitchell’s confiscated iPad underneath it.

  With a shaking hand, Mitchell scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page.

  Chapter 12

  A low, plaintive moan wove its way through Cam’s dream, jerking him from sleep. He bolted upright and reached for Marissa, who was thrashing beside him, the sheets twisted around her.

  “Marissa. Marissa, wake up. Hey, wake up. It’s only a dream.”

  Marissa’s eyes remained screwed shut as she twisted out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me!” she cried.

  “Marissa. Stop it. It’s me. You’re safe. You’re here with me, sweetheart. Wake up. Please, wake up.” Cam pulled Marissa into his arms. He could feel her heart pounding, and her skin was damp with sweat.

  Finally she opened her eyes and looked up into his face. “Oh, Cam,” she whispered, her face crumpling.

  “It’s okay, baby,” he crooned, cradling her against his chest. “It’s okay. It’s all okay now.”

  But was it?

  It had been nearly a week since they had booted Phil Mitchell out of town. Marissa had claimed to be fine, citing her credentials as a medical professional that enabled her to process the situation, her three visits to the hospital psychologist who dealt with grief and trauma, and her awareness that Mitchell was no longer a threat in their lives. She hadn’t slept at her apartment since that bastard had forced his way in, which Cam completely understood.