by Wolfe, H. M.
"Colin Rafferty," Tarquin whispered. "I was never good enough for you. Just the plain, tainted, mousy blond who was stupid enough to fall in love with you and believed your empty promises." He sighed, slowly shaking his head.
"Tarquin, listen to me, please, there was never anything between Colin Rafferty and me or any other guy, I swear. The only reason I went to see him alone was..."
”Was that I was lying in bed, depressed, haunted by suicidal and self-destructive thoughts instead of moaning under or on top of you. And you had to find someone else to take care of your needs. Colin Rafferty was there, so why not?”
"Tarquin, please..." the raven-haired tried to touch the blond's cheek, but he flinched away from it.
"Don't ever touch me again, Daniel Bloom. Ever."
CHAPTER 36
"I’m looking for a woman," Carter said, stepping inside the brothel run by the Russian Mafia organization known as Bratva.
"Aren't all the men who come here looking for the same thing?" the blond woman from reception replied in an acid tone. "What are your preferences? Blond, brunette, red-haired, in her twenties, thirties, forties? We don't do underage girls or virgins, everything's legal here," the receptionist continued in a professional voice.
"I'm here for this specific woman," Carter pulled Julianna's picture from his wallet, putting it on the desk.
"Ah, this one," the woman behind the desk rolled out her eyes. "Don't get me wrong, all women from here are prostitutes, but this one...She's a greedy whore, I'll tell you that."
"I'm not here to sleep with her," Carter said as calm as he could because the woman was starting to get on his nerves, "I want to talk with whoever runs this place because I want to buy her contract."
The woman's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait a minute, please, I'll go and get the boss," she managed to articulate, visibly impressed by the man's words.
Carter took advantage of the receptionist's absence to look freely around the reception area. Judging only by it, the place was somewhat classy and elegant, not some dirty hole like many other brothels ran by gangs, where the sex slaves were forced to serve up to fifty-sixty clients a day.
The other Bratva brothels Carter had been in, looking for Julianna, were also clean. They had been well-aired, pleasant smelling, and well-organized. A receptionist had greeted the clients and asked about their preferences. The psychiatrist liked that, seriously considering to implement the model once he opened his chain of brothels with young boys instead of women.
The noise of a door opening and closing warned Carter about the presence of another person, so he went back to the chair the receptionist had offered him. A muscular, but not bulky man stepped inside, going behind the desk. After studying the psychiatrist for a couple of seconds, he finally spoke.
"One million dollars. That is how much you have to pay to free Julianna and take her with you. That woman's Satan's spawn and I won't let her go for less," the man spoke in a rugged voice. "Cash, no checks," he warned dryly.
"Deal," Carter replied, cautiously bending and picking the little briefcase he'd brought, off the floor. He opened it, pushing it in front of the other man. "Now bring her," he spoke impatiently.
”Bring the whore to the reception area,” the man spoke into his phone. ”Hurried, are we?” he said with a grin, showing his teeth.
But Carter didn't bother to answer. Instead, he looked to the door the man come through earlier. It opened, letting in the receptionist who was shoving a gorgeous woman. In spite of the few wrinkles at the corner of her mouth and eyes, Julianna didn't look a day older than thirty-five, although she'd turned forty-eight, a couple of months earlier.
"He's going to be your master from now on, whore," the Russian spat, casting her a disgusted look.
"I forbid you to talk to her like that," Carter snapped. "She's my property now, so you'd better treat her with respect," he growled. "Let's go, Miss Julianna."
The ride to the hotel was a silent one. The woman carefully studied the man whose generosity had saved her from her life at the brothel. It wasn't the sex part that bothered her, as all the clients were putty in her hands, but the fact that she'd been ordered around.
Julianna ate, slept, showered, took care of herself according to a rigorous schedule, and that drove her crazy. She couldn't stop wondering if the man who sat next to her also had the intention to control her. The woman smiled to herself, as she thought how naive he was, thinking that he would succeed.
The taxi pulled out in front of a top-class, five-star hotel, the man helping her to get out and then offering his arm. The elevator took them to the top floor of the building, and, minutes later, Julianna stepped in a luxurious suite.
"I'll leave you for now," the man spoke, "so you can refresh yourself a little and grab a bite. I'm sorry, it's not a good time for a formal dinner, as our associate is to arrive in less than three hours."
"Oh, I'm sure there will be a lot of opportunities," Julianna gave the man one of her disarming smiles.
"Yes, I suppose you are right," he said. "By the way, my name is Carter. Now, if you'll excuse me..." he slightly bowed, leaving the room.
Much to the psychiatrist's displeasure, Roberto Schilacci came accompanied by a man in his late forties to early fifties, that spoke trouble from three miles distance. Besides, he had an air of superiority that didn't settle well with Carter, an alpha male himself. He decided to express his disapproval, showing the newcomer that he was not wanted there.
"Signor Schilacci, could you tell me who your friend is? I thought that I made myself clear enough when I said I don't want strangers involved."
"This, mio caro Mister Williamson, is professor Conroy Winters. He's the associate of the doctor I told you about, and he has not only one, but two substantial reasons to be here," the Detroit mobster smiled.
”Oh, is it so? Could you name at least one of the two reasons that brought you here?” Carter asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
”Of course I can,” Conroy spoke calmly. ”First of all, I seek revenge against Alastair Stark, the man who helped the poor excuse of my ex-husband to take something very precious from me. And, since the Starks and the Blooms are closely related...”
”I see,” Carter nodded, the edge in his voice almost gone. ”And what about the other reason?”
"Well, our mutual friend here," Conroy pointed to Schilacci, "spoke to you about Doctor Vincenzo Valeriani, a brilliant scientist, who was laughed at and ignored by the Starks, the Blooms and their allies. As his closest collaborator, I want to revenge this cruel treatment by bringing down the ones who caused it."
"Oh, Mister Winters, you knew our good doctor," Julianna spoke. "What a great man he was, how much I admired him," she continued in an affected voice. "I'm here to help you with whatever information you may need. These monsters filled my poor son's head with lies, creating a rift between us, and they deserve the greatest punishment for it."
The three men looked at her, each of them feeling a different thing at that moment. Carter smiled in approval, satisfied that the million dollars he invested in her were already starting to pay off. Conroy gave Julianna an annoyed look, as he utterly despised women and their pathetic attempts to infiltrate themselves into the key positions everyone knew were for men.
Last, but not least, Roberto Schilacci admired her for the conniving spirit that was of great help when it came to escaping, from potentially dangerous situations. Suddenly, he remembered that there was a pressing matter, at least for his family, that he needed to discuss with his associates.
”I need your help with something, my friends,” he spoke in a honey-sweet voice. ”According to some information I got recently, our sworn enemies, the Della Rovere family, sent a messenger to Giuseppe Fenelli, to remind him about revenging the death of Stefano, the youngest son of that family.”
"But didn't you tell me that your enemies are in Detroit? I'm afraid I can't help you with that," Carter shrugged.
"Yes, but his consigli
ere is here, and if the messenger meets him, the consequences will be catastrophic for every one of us," Roberto replied in a low voice, the possibility sending cold chills along his spine.
"I know the right person for the job," Julianna slyly smiled. "The man is completely loyal to me, although a little dumb. He would take the fall for all of us in case something went wrong," she added.
”How do we know that?” Conroy replied, distrust obvious in his voice. ”What if this man rats all of us out?”
Julianna gave him a cold stare. "He won't, because I educated him so. The man is my adoptive son, in case you were wondering. I heard people speaking that he’d won his freedom from the fight circuit Daniel Bloom threw him in and that he's still in the city. I'm going to find Leonard and tell him what he has to do. And no, I don't need help, I have my methods."
Carter nodded. "If that's the case, I would say we meet again once Miss Julianna tracks down her adoptive son and brings him here. Us meeting too many times would raise the suspicions of our enemies, and none of us want that."
The men nodded their approval, and then they left after Carter promised to keep them posted with the progress of the events.
**********
"Stupid bitch!" Paul spat, punching Alasdair in the stomach with full force, making him kneel, hands clutched over the damaged area. "Why didn't you come the other day, when I messaged you?"
The redhead sucked in a breath, fighting back the tears pooling in his eyes. "I told you, my uncle visited us, and I couldn't leave him and come here. Please, believe me, Paul, I wouldn't dare to..."
"Bullshit! I don't care about your stupid relatives, and you shouldn't either! Not when I expressly ordered you to come here! But no, you chose to defy me, without thinking about the consequences." A deadly silence followed as Paul started to unbuckle his belt.
"No!" Alasdair screamed in pain, as the first hit landed on his back. "Please forgive me, just this time! I'll be a good boy. I'll never disobey you again!"
"Stay put, bitch!" Paul grabbed the redhead by the hair, slamming him on the bed, face down, then started to hit him with the belt again and again, until he was tired. "Good," the boy spat, "he is going to be satisfied with the way you look. I will tell him that you prefer the belt," he snickered.
Alasdair's spine went ice-cold at the mention of him, as the teenager suspected something terrible was hiding behind the simple word. "Who's he?" the redhead spoke through hitching breaths, summoning all his courage.
"Your next master. Come on, bitch, move!" Paul yelled at him. "Don't make me look bad in front of him, or else."
Rummaging through one of the drawers, he pulled out a collar with a leash attached to it, put it around Alasdair's neck, viciously tugging at the leash. Once out of the house, Paul shoved the redhead into the trunk of his car, then started to drive. After about half an hour, the car stopped abruptly, the well-built boy brutally yanking the redhead out of the trunk.
"We're here, bitch, behave!" he said, tugging harshly at the leash and slapping Alasdair on the back of his head.
"Who are you and what brings you here?" a man into mid to late twenties, two times bigger than Paul asked.
"I'm Paul Anderson. I'm here to see your boss. I brought him the bitch boy, as I promised, and I want payment as we agreed."
"Follow me," the man spoke harshly, casting a glance in Alasdair's direction. For a moment, the redhead thought he saw compassion in those cold eyes, but then his shoulders slumped, as the spark was gone.
"The ones you've been waiting for are here," the man escorting the two teens spoke, as the three of them stepped inside of what appeared to be a large storage building.
"Come closer," a voice spoke, making Alasdair flinch. It was ice-cold and sharp as a blade, but, at the same time, it gave the redhead a strange sense of safety. "Not you, him," the voice spoke again, even colder than the first time, as Paul took a step in his direction.
"Who, me?" Alasdair whispered, head down, hands shaking.
"Yes, you," the man said. "And strip. Drew will help you with that," he continued, gesturing to the hunky guy who escorted them.
With surprisingly gentle moves, he helped the shaky redhead get out of the t-shirt Paul had shredded with the belt, then took off his pants, leaving his underwear. Alasdair felt exposed and started to shake badly. To mask that, he hugged himself tightly, hoping no one would notice, especially his new owner.
"Look me in the eyes, I won't bite," the redhead heard that voice again, the one that made him feel safe, so he raised his head. "My name is Ardan, what's yours? And who did this to you?"
"I...I'm Alasdair a...and Paul punished me because...because I was defiant and disobedient," he finally managed to articulate, casting a fearful glance in his ex-boyfriend's direction.
"Look, I don't want to interrupt your lovey-dovey talk with your new whore, but I want my money," Paul raised his voice all of a sudden. "Like, really, you are so sweet that I'm sick to my stomach," he continued.
"But of course," Ardan smiled, "I'm always happy to oblige." Then, he pulled out his gun, shooting Paul between his eyes.
The teen went down on his knees first, then he landed face down, hitting the ground with a loud thud. Alasdair stared in shock at the man who'd fired the gun, at his cold, turquoise eyes hidden behind the glasses, at the pale lips tightly pressed together, thinking he was next.
"Drew, take Alasdair to his room and run a bath for him, I'll be there in a minute. Seymour, take some of the guys from the cleaning team and get rid of this mess," Ardan spoke in a commanding voice.
"Come on, kid, let's give you a proper bath and care. That bag of filth showed no mercy," Drew said, taking Alasdair into his arms.
"He...is the boss going to..." the redhead stopped in the middle of the sentence, fear paralyzing his tongue.
"No! Oh, no, dear boy, Ardan is not like that, you don't know him," Drew said, his voice passionate and sincere.
He stopped in front of a door, opened it and entered into a room furnished with everything a kid Alasdair's age might need in day-to-day life. He smiled sadly, thinking there would be no time for him to use anything from in here since he would have to be ready to serve his owner around the clock.
"Come on, big guy, your bath is ready, and the boss should be here any second. I'll leave you, I have my duties to attend," Drew said, discreetly leaving, as Ardan entered the room.
"Let's get you into the water, sweet child," the man said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Can you stand by yourself or do you need help?"
"I think I'll make it," Alasdair answered, trying as hard as he could, not to flinch away from the man's touch.
"I think I better carry you," the reply came in the same soft tone from earlier.
There must have been some substance in the water, because, after only a couple of minutes, the kid started to relax, as the man washed him all over with a very soft cloth. Looking into the redhead's eyes, Ardan gave him another washcloth.
”For your private parts,” he said, looking away. ”I thought you would like to wash them by yourself.”
"Thank you," Alasdair replied, taking the cloth. "I'm scared of you," he dared.
"Because I killed that bastard? I would do that again and again. But there are some things I would, or rather will never do. I'll never lay a finger on you, or deprive you of sleep, warmth, light, food or water. I'll never sexually touch you until you are of age, I'll never abandon, share or lend you. And I'll protect you and anyone else you want me to protect. That's a promise."
CHAPTER 37
"I don't understand," Peyton said, a thoughtful expression on their face, "if you are an only child and your mother is still alive, why don't you go home to see her? Is she that bad? Does she not agree with...you know, your sexual preferences?"
"No, it's none of that and all of it combined," Ezra answered, his heart warmed by Peyton's light green, beautiful eyes, which looked at him in confusion. "My mother is very...demanding and oppressive, and nothin
g I ever did was good enough for her. She opposed all my choices. My beliefs, my friends, everything."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Peyton said, sadness and compassion mixed in their voice. "I'm an only child, too, and I have an excellent relationship with both my parents. My dad is a very nice guy, who supports me in everything I do, and mom adores me. I feel a little guilty for that, because of you..."
"Oh, Peyton, this is sweet of you, but it doesn't have to be that way, because you feeling miserable won't make me feel better, on the contrary. You are very loving, caring, loyal, supportive, you are, as they say, the perfect boyfriend material. Why don't you have someone? Or do you?" Ezra sounded a little bit disappointed when he asked the last part.
"No, I don't have anyone," Peyton slightly blushed. "It's...complicated. I'm complicated. No one would want to risk their reputation by being with someone like me. I don't want to risk it and give mine to someone who would damage it and then throw it away like it was trash."