“What the fuck?”
Racing across to his desk, with trembling fingers and a racing heart, he picked up the note and began to read.
Hello Brandon.
Don’t bother looking for your phone. It’s with your computer at the bottom of the Thames.
Darren Hardcastle is dead.
His safe has been cleaned out.
His laptop and desktop computer have been removed from his premises.
The people who have been victimized by your former employer are now released from their shackles. If we hear even a hint, that you are attempting to exploit any of those victims for any reason, you will join your former boss who is currently burning in the flames of hell, but before we send you on your way to join him, we will cut off your dick and stuff it in your mouth.
Of course, if you don’t want to take the chance of something you say being misunderstood, you could always move out of the city.
We understand Australia can be welcoming to immigrants from the UK.
His entire body was quivering, and a sickening churning had started in his stomach. Leaping from his desk he made a mad dash to his bathroom. Five minutes later, after throwing up his dinner, he splashed cold water on his face and hurriedly began to pack.
A couple of hours later, a secretary arriving early to the law offices of Steven Parker & Associates, discovered the place had been ransacked; locked file cabinets were wide open, their contents strewn across the floor. As she stood at her desk, about to place a panicked call to police, she also realized her computer was gone. Running through the workplace, she discovered there wasn’t a single computer left on a desk.
In his home, Steven Parker had made love to his wife, showered and eaten breakfast, and had stepped into his study to pick up his briefcase and head for work, when he too, found a white sheet of paper where his desktop computer and tablet once had sat.
Hello Steven:
Don’t bother looking for your phone. It’s with your computer at the bottom of the Thames.
Darren Hardcastle is dead.
His safe has been cleaned out.
His laptop and desktop computer have been removed from his premises.
The people who have been victimized by your former employer are now released from their shackles. If we hear even a hint, that you are attempting to exploit any of them for any reason, you will join your former boss who is currently burning in the flames of hell, but before we send you on your way to join him, we will cut off your dick and stuff it in your mouth.
Of course, if you don’t want to take the chance of something you say being misunderstood, you could always move out of the city.
Australia might be to your liking. We understand Brandon Witherspoon may be moving there soon. Once you’ve relocated, no doubt the two of you will have a lot to talk about.
The sun rose above the city, and blinking his eyes open, Simon rolled over to hug his beautiful Belle, but to his dismay her side of the bed was empty. Sitting up, he glanced down at Goldie’s foam pad; also empty. Stretching his arms above his head, he was trying to decide whether to get up or to wait for her, when he heard her running down the hall, breathlessly calling his name.
“What is it,” he called back, “is everything okay?”
“Darren Hardcastle, he’s dead,” she panted, as Goldie bounded into the room ahead of her, “quick, turn on the TV.”
“Dead? What? Are you sure?”
“The guard downstairs was watching his tablet and it’s all over the news.”
Grabbing the remote control, Simon pushed the power button and turned to a local morning news show.
“Police say it was an execution-style murder, and the note the killer left behind is already stirring controversy, having been distributed to several newspapers this morning. Entrepreneur Darren Hardcastle, found dead in his home early this morning, killed by a gunshot to the head. Back to you, Karen. I understand you have a copy of the note in your possession.”
“I can’t believe this,” Simon exclaimed.
Pulling off her sweatsuit, Belle crawled back into bed to cuddle next to him and listen.
“The note, which is already in at least two newspapers, says the following,” she began, as a picture of the typewritten letter appeared on the screen.
“For all those victimized by this malicious man, you may now rest easy. The contents of his safe have been destroyed, and we have made sure he carried his secrets with him to the gates of hell.”
Taking a pause for effect, the news anchor stared into the camera.
“It appears Darren Hardcastle has been murdered by a person or persons unknown, who believed him to be a blackmailer, or perhaps a victim of blackmail themselves. While this is all speculation, he was known to have led a colorful life. We are waiting word from his spokesperson, and hoping to hear from his clients, most notably Robbie Cobalt. We’ll be back after these messages.”
Simon hit the mute button and whistled softly.
“Like you said, I can’t believe it,” Belle agreed. “I mean, he was at The Ivy, just yesterday, and now…”
“I’m sure he had many enemies,” Simon remarked.
“Do you think they’ll find whoever did it?”
“Hard to say,” Simon replied. “If it was one of the people he was blackmailing or has scammed, probably, but if it was a professional hit, no, they won’t.”
“A professional hit? Whoa, that’s intense.”
“You know what just popped into my head?” Simon said thoughtfully. “Those two guys who were following Joseph. He overheard them say something about, the big night. He probably still has the recording of that conversation.”
“That’s really scary,” she murmured, her eyes wide.
“I’ll bet they were following him because he unexpectedly appeared on their radar. They needed to know his connection to Hardcastle.”
“You mean, to see if he was a bodyguard, or someone new that was working with him, something like that?”
“Exactly. They must have decided he wasn’t an issue and let it drop.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Belle sighed.
“I wonder if he knows,” Simon frowned, and picking up his phone, he dialed the house.
“Sinclair residence, may I help you?”
“Henry, I need to speak with Mr. Cardinelli, it’s important.”
“Yes, Sir, I’ll transfer the call to his room.”
When the phone next to his bed announced an incoming call with its shrill, insistent ring, Joseph and Lucinda were still sleeping, and it took a moment for Joseph to drag himself out of his dream.
“Yeah, hello?” he mumbled, finally picking up the receiver.
“Joseph, it’s Simon, I have some shocking news…”
In a remote area of the Scottish Highlands, inside a 16th-century castle perched on a knoll, overlooking a loch, Patrick McManus, the patriarch of the McManus family, and owner of McManus Brewery, was also watching the news, his daughter Katherine at his side, sharing a pot of tea and toast with jam. The library in which they were seated was filled with first edition books and works of great literature.
“It’s over sweetheart,” he said, taking her hand, “but you’re to stay here for a while as we agreed, get your head back on straight, then we’ll talk about your future.”
“Yes, Daddy, I’ll stay,” she nodded meekly. “I want to stay. I don’t care if I never see London again.”
“Look around you, all these books, all these great writers, men and women both. Fill your time with their words, their stories, their minds, and I think you’ll find a new path for yourself.”
“I will. I’m so glad that horrible, toxic man is dead. He had so many victims.”
“Yes, he was evil,” her father nodded. “I have no doubt he is burning in the flames of hell.”
“I need to call Robbie,”
“You do that. I’ll see you later,” he smiled, and kissing her on the forehead, ambled from the room.
Entering his office, he found his eldest son waiting, a small suitcase unzipped and open, sitting on top of his desk.
“How much, do you think?” he asked, staring at file folders, flash drives and large bundles of cash.
“Hard to say, but millions, I think,” his son replied.
“Let’s start finding out who it all has to go back to,” Patrick declared, “and how we can do it discreetly.”
EPILOGUE
Though it was short notice, Simon invited a select group to join him and Belle at Chatsworth Hall for a lavish dinner on Saturday night and an overnight stay through Sunday.
Shortly following Belle’s requisite spanking on Friday evening at 8 p.m., a quick affair with her bent over the kitchen island, the tasty spanking delivered with a wooden spoon, Lucinda and Joseph arrived to follow them down, wanting to wake up in the country on Saturday morning, and then leave on Sunday afternoon to head off on their holiday. As a thank you for Joseph’s help, Simon had arranged for them to stay at a high-end, country inn, owned by a close friend.
Tyler Anderson, his wife Cheryl, and his niece Cordelia Cartwright would be arriving Saturday afternoon, as would Simon’s father, Harry, and his mother and stepfather.
As they zipped down the motorway, Belle sitting a tad gingerly, Simon thought she appeared preoccupied, almost solemn, and reaching across he picked up her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Everything okay over there?” he smiled.
“Yes, fine, why?”
“You seem quieter than usual.”
“Oh, yes, I guess I am,” she admitted. “Just thinking about everything that’s happened. It’s been such a heavy week.”
“That’s an understatement,” he agreed. “I think I should put some things on hold for a few days. We can stay on at Chatsworth after everyone leaves. If the weather cooperates we could take the horses out for a ride, maybe even drive further south and visit that spa resort for a night or two, get some massages, hot rocks, all that indulgent nonsense,” he grinned.
“Simon, that is an outstanding idea,” she sighed. “I would really love that. A chance to really relax.”
“Anything to keep my girl happy,” he said warmly, and bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers gently.
Shortly before the celebratory dinner the following evening, Simon asked his father to join him for a private word in his study.
“I wonder how many people are cheering the death of Darren Hardcastle,” Simon remarked as he closed the door behind them.
“I can’t say I’m surprised someone did him in,” Harry commented, watching his son pour them both a brandy.
“As I said to Belle, he had many enemies. I wonder what will happen to Hardcastle’s ill-gotten gains. It’ll be interesting to see if a will surfaces. Here you go,” Simon smiled, handing Harry the large crystal snifter. “I want to make a toast.”
“To?” his father asked.
“To balancing the karmic scales,” Simon smiled.
“Happy to drink to that,” Harry replied, lifting his glass. “To balancing the karmic scales.”
They sipped the warm, amber liquid, and Simon ambled across to his desk.
“Now that we’ve made the toast, exactly how do we achieve the goal?” his father asked.
“I believe I may already have,” Simon declared, handing his father an envelope.
Simon watched, his heart swelling, as Harry opened it and stared at the banker’s draft for eight million, seven hundred thousand, five hundred pounds, the amount remaining after Simon had paid the taxes and other costs associated with the sale of the land.
“I don’t understand,” his father stammered.
“That money is straight out of Darren Hardcastle’s pocket,” Simon said somberly. “I did a land deal with him, for the express purpose of recouping some of your losses.”
“But…how…when?”
“The details don’t matter, but I am truly blessed that the funds were transferred before he died. It’s all legitimate, all above board. I don’t know how much you lost, but I hope that gets you well and truly back on your very fine feet.”
The dinner itself was reminiscent of days past, everyone dressed in their finest, and the five course meal was served with aplomb in the large, formal dining room.
As the weekend slipped by, though it was a happy time, Simon continued to sense that something was weighing on Belle’s mind, and finally, on Sunday night, when the guests had departed, leaving them alone in the small living room curled up in front of a blazing fire, Simon pressed for answers.
“I know there’s something in that gorgeous head of yours, Miss Somers, and it’s time to spill the beans,” he insisted.
“It’s not that I’ve been keeping something from you, not really, I’ve just been cogitating,” she explained.
“Cogitating? I haven’t heard that word in a long time. What is it you’ve been, uh, cogitating?”
“I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure,” she continued, “but I am now.”
“Sure about what?”
“Remember the dinner on Wednesday night, when I was the maid and you were the Master of the house?”
“Remember? Of course, one of the best nights ever,” he exclaimed, “and one I very much want to repeat.”
“The thing is, after we made love, I had this overwhelming desire to call you Master,” she confessed.
“I see,” he said softly, studying her face.
“I didn’t know if it was because I was truly feeling it, like we talked about, or if I was just getting swept up in the moment, then on Friday night after you spanked me in the kitchen and I thanked you, I felt it again, very strongly. I wanted to say, thank you, Master. That’s why I was so quiet on the drive down. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
“What have you concluded?” he breathed.
“What do you think?” she murmured, gazing into his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Belle…”
“Yes, Master?”
Swallowing a sudden, searing heat in his throat, born from an unexpected surge through his heart, he hugged her tightly, then kissed her with a warm, sweet softness.
“Stay there, I’ll be right back,” he whispered.
Slightly bewildered, swept up in her own engulfing emotions, Belle leaned back into the sofa, breathing deeply, his kiss still alive against her mouth. A short time later he returned, and as she watched him walk towards her, she noticed he was holding his hands behind his back, not something she’d seen him do very often.
“Now then,” he sighed, standing over her, “I wasn’t expecting this to happen so soon, but I believed it would at some point, so I had this made. I picked it up just last week.”
His hand came forward, holding a square, black velvet case.
“This is for you,” he breathed, sitting beside her.
Taking the case between her fingers, she unsnapped the lid and raised it up, gasping as she saw the contents. A silver and gold mesh choker glimmered up at her, a gold heart set in the front, from the center of which hung a silver ring. Red cabochon stones were set on either side, and as she studied it, she saw a tiny padlock at the back where the collar locked.
Laying next to it, was a matching gold and silver mesh bracelet, complete with the tiny padlock.
“Simon…” she whispered.
“The bracelet will be worn every day, and the collar when I choose for you to wear it. I have the key to both,” he smiled.
“They’re so…incredibly beautiful,” she stammered.
“Are you ready to wear them?” he asked soberly.
“Yes,” she whispered. “So ready.”
“Kneel in front of me and lift up your hair,” he directed, taking the velvet case from her hands.
Slightly trembling, her heart madly throbbing, she slipped off the couch to her knees, and holding up her hair, she watched him pick up the choker and raise it up.
“This is going to look exquisite on you.”
She closed her eyes as he placed it around her neck, the cool, heavy metal feeling divine against her skin, and when he reached behind her, deftly locking the padlock down, she heard a faint click.
“It looks even lovelier than I thought it would,” he said warmly. “Drop your hair and give me your right wrist.”
Opening her eyes as she brought down her hands, and extending her right arm, he laid the bracelet around her wrist, snapping it in place as he had done the choker.
Lifting her eyes, her gaze met his.
“Master,” she murmured.
“Yes, I am,” he replied.
UPCOMING TITLES
The Cowboy From Down Under
(Cowboys After Dark: Book Two)
The Romantic Dominant
Taming The Tomboy
(Cowboys After Dark: Book Three)
PREVIOUS MAGGIE CARPENTER NOVELS
The Cowboy’s Rules
(Cowboys After Dark: Book One)
The Rock Star and The Cowgirl
The British Billionaire Bachelor
The British Billionaire Bachelor Act II
The Spanking Psychiatrist
The Billionaire’s Daughter
Covert Cravings
Malibu Heat
Déjà Vu
An Eternal Flame
(Déjà Vu: Book Two)
Elizabeth’s Education
(Book One)
The Inheritance
(Elizabeth’s Education: Book Two)
The British Billionaire Bachelor, Act Three Page 22