by J. A. Kerr
She didn’t want to think about work, she wanted to get away from it. She stood at the glamorous bar and noticed him immediately—bad boy. What, two in one day? Yip, her radar was going off the scale. She ignored him and ordered a glass of champagne. She was celebrating after all. When she saw his hand on the bar she didn’t flinch; the stumps at odds with his otherwise immaculate appearance. Chloe was unique in the sense everyone was equal in her eyes. Recently, she’d worked with plus size models alongside her regular models. Her campaign to highlight clothes were beautiful on any shape or size had been well received. She treated them all the same. In her eyes, their strength was their real beauty. Things had been crazy ever since. The plus size market was lucrative, as Chloe was discovering, but she didn’t want to think about business today.
She was distracted by the sensation of being watched. Her gaze darted to the man beside her and found him looking at her intently but she ignored him, determined to start as she meant to go on.
She settled in her seat, acutely aware of his presence.
“Celebrating?” she heard him ask.
She turned. “Yes.”
He was not conventionally handsome, his nose obviously broken, but he radiated a raw magnetism. Chloe reverted to her standard chat-up line.
“So are you here for business or pleasure?”
“Guess?”
Chloe paused. “Business?”
She watched his eyes narrow slightly. “Are you a detective?” His lips twitched upwards.
“Yeah,” she laughed, “a frustrated one. Am I right?”
He nodded but gave nothing away.
Chloe sipped her champagne. “You’re not drinking,” she said by way of explanation. “That’s why I thought you were working.”
She drained her glass and saw him notice. He didn’t offer to buy her another. She sighed, her type never did.
“Can I get you another orange juice?” she asked as she tried to catch the barman’s attention.
“No, thank you,” he refused but smiled this time.
Usually when someone smiled it softened their features but in his case, he looked more menacing. Unnerved, Chloe ordered another glass. “What business are you in?”
“Security,” he replied.
“What type of security?”
“You tell me...you’re the detective.”
Chloe laughed and studied him. She knew his suit was expensive, possibly custom made. He wore a Patek Philippe watch. His shoes were Italian leather. Her brain processed these observations in a second. Fashion and appearance was her bread and butter after all.
“High end would be my guess.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Why do you say that?”
“Your clothes are expensive. Your watch is expensive.”
“Maybe I’m from money.”
“Your accent would suggest otherwise,” she said. “No offence intended.”
“None taken,” he replied but his smile was gone.
“Am I right?” she asked tentatively, aware she’d upset him.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Can you guess what I do?” she asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
His gaze swept over her and she felt uncomfortable. “From what you’re wearing I’d say fashion...maybe a designer...if not, you’re trying too hard.”
Heat suffused Chloe’s face. He got her in a nutshell. In her forties, of course she was trying too hard. This time it was her smile that faded.
“R-r-right,” she stammered and quickly stood. “Nice to speak to you.”
Quickening her pace, she crossed the lounge. When she noticed an empty armchair in a more secluded spot, she headed towards it. She sat and brooded. Her attraction to bad boys was a dangerous pursuit. She no longer wanted any part of it. Her last bad boy had given her a black eye, three broken ribs and a missing tooth. Sadly, it wasn’t the first, but she vowed it was the last. In the past, she never pressed charges. The physical violence always cured her lust. The scales fell from her eyes and she would wonder why, she failed to see...what others so obviously did. They all had the same characteristics: attractive, bad attitude, underlying violence and last but not least, cruelty. However, Chloe was trying to change. Her last encounter had scared her. She’d thought he would kill her, if that couple hadn’t intervened, he might have?
She shivered at the memory. Drunk, her senses dulled, she’d ignored the warning signals her muddled brain had tried to tell her. She’d left with a guy she’d barely known, and he turned nasty very quickly. She’d been so shocked when he’d hit her and never saw it coming. He wanted money. He wanted her watch. Stupidly, she gave him neither, and he didn’t hesitate. He smashed his fist into her face. Her scream pierced the night. She hadn’t noticed the other couple. Obviously her attacker didn’t either but two guys came hammering down the lane, and her attacker fled. Sobbing hysterically they’d calmed her down and even made her laugh. Chloe had learnt her lesson the hard way. She applied for her Braille membership soon after the attack. She decided she must seek her thrills in safer surroundings. The fee was expensive, but Chloe was what they called a dot-com millionaire. It hadn’t brought her happiness.
“Sorry, that was rude of me. Can I join you?” His face was apologetic.
Chloe hesitated. “I thought you were working?”
He indicated the waiter hovering near him with a tray. He placed a beer and glass of champagne on the table. “I decided to take the night off.”
Chloe, still smarting from his earlier comment, shrugged noncommittally.
“I’m Evan.” He held his hand out. She had noticed the missing finger earlier but gripped his hand warmly.
“I’m Chloe.”
“Pleased to meet you, Chloe. I’m Evan Radley."
Chapter 8
The Braille Club Reborn
Evan
Benedict Harrison’s request was not unusual, however his club was, and it had piqued Evan’s interest. So much so he found himself walking through its grandeur. Benedict told him to look around and he’d taken him up on his offer. Did he know of Evan’s condition? It was hardly a secret. What he told him about the Braille Club had Evan sitting up and taking note. Although Evan could not feel pain...he could feel touch. As he sat scanning his surroundings, he questioned why he was there. His personal life was complicated. Unable to feel pain his earlier sexual encounters had been disastrous. They all started well enough but ultimately ended badly. His first blow job was a revelation and Evan enjoyed it enormously. But as he climaxed, the girl he was with screamed. Evan didn’t know why until he saw the clump of hair in his hand. In retrospect, he was lucky she hadn’t bitten off his dick. The girl took off. Shaking, Evan thought of going after her, but her words stopped him.
“Fucking freak! Why didn’t I listen?” she spat.
He’d groaned and turned away, dropping the bloody clump of hair on the ground. Things did not improve with sex. He inflicted bruises because his grip was too tight; the girl’s shriek of pain deflating his arousal immediately. When a girl said harder, Evan was terrified of hurting her; the sex became unsatisfactory, for both of them.
Evan Radley had been in the care system since he was four years old. His collection of injuries removed him from his mother. Despite her protests she had never harmed her son, no one listened to her. She wasn’t allowed to see him and Evan cried himself to sleep, night after night at the hospital. The kind voices of the nurses his earliest memory. They would often stroke his face to soothe him. His bones mended and he was placed with a foster family. He didn’t like them, he wanted to go home, and he wanted his mum. He was back in the hospital three days later, having bitten off three of his own fingers.
He remembered the blood and the screams of his foster mother as she packed his dismembered fingers in ice as instructed by the hospital. The surgeons did their best but they couldn’t be saved. His fingers were mangled beyond repair and he was left with two stumps on his left hand where his index and middle finger had
been. His right hand lost a pinkie. The doctors started a battery of tests and discovered he had “Congenital Insensitivity to Pain.” He literally could not feel pain. They told his foster mother, better he’d chewed off his fingers than his tongue. They took the drastic step of removing all his teeth until he could understand and manage his condition better. His previous injuries were now explained. His mother hadn’t hurt him she just hadn’t protected him. When he’d fallen off the swing at the park, he’d broken his arm. That fall had taken him to the hospital and his arm had swollen to almost twice its size. It was while he was getting x-rayed that other injuries were discovered.
He’d broken his toe having stubbed it repeatedly against his bedroom door in a fit of temper. He had tantrums like any normal toddler but for Evan he didn’t feel a thing when he struck his head off the wall. A normal parent would have noticed his injuries but his mother, a hopeless junkie, spent her life in a different existence: a drug fog where he’d suffered neglect rather than physical abuse. She died when he was seven and all hope she would someday reclaim him was snuffed out for good.
Evan was called after his father. The worthless piece of shit had been his mother’s dealer but Evan had no desire to locate him, quite the reverse. His father was in prison doing time for dealing. He knew this because it was Evan who put him there. An anonymous tip-off to the police was required, and Evan had no hesitation in doing it. Right from the beginning, other children sensed he was different no matter what Evan did to fit in. However, he didn’t fit in because he was different. Even the sexual predators prolific in the care home system stayed away from him. His finger stumps both fascinated and repulsed the staff and children around him. They all knew he had bitten them off himself.
This event would be superseded by others. The home was filled with angry and damaged children, who grew into angry and damaged adults. Evan would suffer broken bones because of many of them, but in the end, they always left him alone. Unable to hurt or intimidate him, they grew bored and moved on to someone else. He gradually accepted he would remain in the home as a long term case. The fostering was never repeated. Evan learned to use his affliction to his advantage. He became a protector of sorts. He was happy to stand up to the bullies to protect some of the younger children—absorbing vicious punches with a grin on his face. Yes, even then he was an enforcer of sorts and as he grew up in the school of hard knocks, he learned fast.
He was sitting in the Harrison’s busy bar. His gaze took in the expensive surroundings and the glamorous people. He looked at the girl beside him and did a double take. Hardly a girl, she was older than he’d thought but had the frame of a child: small and petite. Her brown hair worn short like a cap on her head; the heavy fringe swept over her face to the side. She reminded him of Hannah, he thought with a start. They were similar in appearance. He hadn’t thought of Hannah in years.
Not wanting to repeat his earlier sexual experience, Evan had sought a professional. Not because he had to pay for sex, his hard but handsome face attracted girls in droves, but because...he wanted to. The girl he chose was young, his age. But she had been born old, or perhaps her profession made her look twice her age. Evan explained, and she listened. Hannah had a raw vulnerability he didn’t want to exploit, but knew sex was her business. Better she was with him than some fat old pervert. He’d paid for her for an entire hour; all his money, scrimped and saved from his part-time job. Hannah had been amazing. She started with her mouth, her lips clamping on to his erection. He didn’t touch her but groaned when she started to suck. She told him to hold the bed, and he did. It was over in seconds. Hannah laughed but Evan felt both release and relief. Like any teenager, he was soon ready for more and Hannah was ready to oblige.
Something about the girl at his side drew him to her. He struck up a conversation and, when she spoke, her voice was soft and polite. It was a long time since anyone surprised him but this girl had. She was quite the detective right enough. He’d been told to call Harrison’s anytime if he’d wanted a look around. He was glad he had. Guy Walker had met him but said very little. Evan knew a cop when he saw one. Retired, he assumed. Guy Walker had that sort of air: alert and ready. Evan approved.
After their introduction, he hadn’t meant to be rude to Chloe. His natural defences kicked in before he could stop them. He hated people who judged a book by its cover, although Chloe’s assumptions had been accurate. He was glad he pursued her. Buying her a drink and apologising came next, and he found her easy to talk to. When Chloe excused herself to visit the ladies, Evan’s thoughts returned to Hannah. Everything in Evan’s life changed because of Hannah, because he couldn’t keep away.
The next time he saw Hannah, her lip was swollen and bruised. He was furious, demanded to know who’d done it. Hannah’s shoulders had sagged, “Lewis.”
“Who the fuck is Lewis?” Evan demanded.
“My pimp.”
Evan stared at her appalled.
“It was only a slap,” she said, as if that was okay.
“Why?” Evan demanded.
“‘Cause he can,” she replied.
He wanted to protect her. She laughed but Evan was serious. Hannah told him not to be so bloody stupid. Told him not to interfere, but he had. The pimp almost killed him. He fought dirty. Evan couldn’t feel the lead pipe but knew it was damaging his body and smashing his bones—he was hopelessly ill-prepared. But he didn’t fall down and after he smashed his fist into the retard’s face over and over, the lead pipe fell from his grip. He returned the favour when he grabbed the pipe, breaking the pimp’s bones as he screamed in agony. Evan hadn’t cared. He was hospitalised for six weeks. When he finally got out...Hannah was gone. That’s what got him started in the business of security. He wanted to protect the Hannahs of the world. The prostitutes soon heard of his protection...no strings attached, except his fee. The other pimps in the area didn’t like it but the story of Lewis’ beating had spread; no one wanted to take on the man that didn’t feel pain. The whispers of how he’d laughed every time the lead pipe struck him unnerved not only Lewis but the other pimps. Evan fought the pimp as a boy...but walked out of the hospital a man.
Chloe’s return made him study her face. Late thirties, early forties, he guessed. He wondered what her story was? Was she a member of the Braille Club? He didn’t know, but one thing was for sure...he was interested in joining.
Chapter 9
The Braille Club Reborn
Benedict
Benedict was prowling around his office. He was waiting on Matt. He’d not forgotten his promise to Niven. If Matt wanted this, Benedict would make it happen. Preoccupied of late, he’d almost forgotten about it. He was not a happy man and who could blame him. Nick Waters was on his mind constantly. The thought of him in his nice hotel made him seethe. The only thing to cheer Benedict up was Evan Radley. At Guy’s suggestion, Benedict made contact. Benedict had done some digging on his own about Evan. He knew about his background and his condition. It had been a risk telling him about the Braille Club but desperate times called for desperate measures and it had paid off. Evan had wanted to know more. Benedict told him to drop in and look around and, to his delight, he had.
Benedict checked the monitor again. Evan was sitting with another new club member in the Calico lounge. Their CCTV was discreet and unobtrusive but necessary in a club of this size. He’d instructed Guy to welcome him and let him look around. Guy was looking tired. Benedict told him repeatedly to go home but knew he often worked late into the night. Benedict didn’t approve, but Guy was a grown up and his own man. In contrast, Benedict was happy to clock off and return to his family. The sight of his wife and children, the only thing to soothe him these days. He rubbed his face. The agent he’d hired to market his home had been in touch. There were two interested parties. All their hard work and dreams had been tied up in that house but Benedict couldn’t wait to sell. Nick Waters had tainted his home forever. It was only bricks and mortar after all. Still, it hurt more than he was prepared
to admit. He had thought of ‘Knox’ as their forever after home. It reflected both their tastes and was the first place they’d bought together.
With Waters free to do what he wanted, Benedict knew his family’s safety must come first. When ‘Knox’ failed to protect them, he had no choice but to move them into Harrison’s. They were currently occupying two interconnecting suites complete with small but fully functioning kitchens but it didn’t feel like home and probably never would. He felt he was in hiding and was furious at their situation while that monster was free to roam where he pleased. Benedict had dissected every element of the case. He thought about the DNA evidence that almost ruined their lives. The police never resolved what happened at the lab. Benedict was convinced the files had been tampered with and changed. Nick Waters had motive. The company denied it was possible to hack into their files. When the police looked into it, there was no evidence. The company had been relieved. A breach of their firewall security and tampering of results would have put them out of business.
Benedict was frustrated at the lack of progress and decided to make enquires of his own. Guy was the go-to for information. His police contacts and IT skills made him a very useful man to know. He asked him to reach out to those contacts and Guy had come back to him.
“My contact will do what you ask?” he said.
Benedict nodded. He wanted to know if a hacker could access the lab files and alter results.
Guy looked uncomfortable. “This isn’t legal, Benedict.”
“I understand and thank you for helping, Guy. I want to know if it’s possible...I won’t change any results, I know how devastating that can be. I just need to know if it can be done.”
“Okay,” Guy sighed, but wasn’t happy.