by J Paton
I took another sip of water, hoping it would help my dry mouth. “I believe the lower level is where Immanuel might be found. His name was amongst others in the LC file. What I’m surmising, until Gabe can confirm or refute it, is that they’re picking subs and making decisions on one or more unknown factors.
“File three, CM, is where Ferron’s name was found. As I said, I’m going with Criteria Match for CM because there’s a sum of fifty thousand pounds next to his name.”
“Fucking hell!” Gabe rubbed his hands over his now ashen face.
I kept my own feelings hidden as I continued to lay it all out. “This all points to the club being a front for the selling and trafficking of subs. At least that’s my gut instinct. On the list with Ferron there are another one hundred and forty-three men. Some have fees attached, others don’t. Again, I’m not going to surmise why until we know more. I’m hoping that with Gabe’s entry into the lower level he’ll be able to find out more, and check out the number of subs who frequent that part of the club. The list of subs where I found Ferron only seems to go back four years, so I wasn’t able to confirm whether this was Devon’s first purchase of a sub.”
This news was met with silence, both men’s eyes narrowing with equal measures of disdain. “There’s something else.”
“Like that’s’ not fucking bad enough,” Nix spat out angrily.
Understanding his anger wasn’t directed at me, I nodded. “It is, but sadly there’s more. There’s something at the bottom of the second list that doesn’t bode well.” I swallowed hard. “There’s a section where all the names are red.”
Gabe was up out of his chair first, his hands running through his hair again as he met my stare. “You think they’re… dead?”
I sucked in a shaky breath, nodding slowly. “Whichever way I look at it, it comes back to that same probability. So yes, I do.”
Nix sat forward. “Is Immanuel’s name in that section of the list?”
My heart thudded painfully against my ribs. “No. No, it’s not.”
Tucker
The overly stuffy room buzzed with activity as I logged on to my computer and ran through what I had planned for my day. Opening up my email, I sighed at the overflowing inbox. My senior position meant I was copied into a pile of crap emails, which were usually deleted after I’d skim read them. It was a waste of time, but bureaucracy deemed they were essential.
It took an hour to get my inbox down to the emails I needed to take action on. I was filling in the electronic calendar with pending court dates for a couple of cases I’d need to give evidence at when the ring of the phone on my desk pulled me from what I was doing.
“Detective Chief Inspector Parks.”
“I have a call for you, Sir. It’s a Mr. Ferron Robertson, he’s requesting to speak with you directly,” a voice that wasn’t familiar to me informed me from the control room.
My hand tightened around the phone as images from five months earlier, from New Year’s Eve, replayed in my mind. What did Mr. Robertson want? The court case was scheduled for the following month; I’d just put it in my calendar. Was this to do with the court case? I shook off the thought. The guy would have no reason to call me about that. So… what was it about?
With a heart rate starting to kick up a bit of a stink, I answered, “Put him through.” With my face a neutral mask, I didn’t pay those around me any attention while my mind raced to come up with a valid reason for the call.
The busy office noise faded into the background as a hesitant voice spoke. “Hello, is that Detective Chief Inspector Parks?”
“This is Detective Chief Inspector Parks, what can I do for you Mr. Robertson?”
There was a hesitation, the sound of heavy breathing the only sound on the other end of the phone. “I was hoping you could come to my home. I need to talk about… some things.”
His answer gave nothing away, and yet my senses started to hum to life. A distant memory, that I’d thought there was more to what had gone down at New Year, surfaced. Had I been right? It makes no difference. This isn’t your case.
Other than giving evidence on what we’d discovered on the night of the attack against Mr. Robertson, the involvement of my unit had all but ended. Poised to suggest he contact the team involved with the case, I somehow lost my sanity. “I have some time available tomorrow morning.”
When I put the phone down, Ferron’s address scribbled on the notepad in front of me, I cursed under my breath. Images of Mr. Robertson’s abused and battered body, along with the other victim from New Year, flooded my mind. Anger followed as I recalled what they’d both been subjected to. In my opinion Devon Critchlow was a certified lunatic with grandiose ideas about his right to own another human being. If there was any justice, his rants should see him locked away for a long time. What else was there to this case?
It’s got nothing to do with you. I squeezed my hands together to stop them from shaking as I stared at my phone.
Was I really going to do this? You know full well you are. Stop kidding yourself. You’re a sucker for a bleeding heart and you constantly have the need to fix things.
This time, a curse slipped free, Mulroney looking up. “You okay, Sir?”
“Yeah,” I lied, waving away his concern, my gaze moving to the computer screen. “Just a pile of crap e-mails.”
He sighed. “I hear you, Sir.”
My mind was already whirring with what was going to happen the next day. Images of another time kept plaguing me. One I’d done my best to separate myself from. It was impossible though, due to the guilt that swam through me, dragging me back under the waves and sucking me right into the misery of a time I’d rather forget.
The hand on my shoulder squeezed in a friendly way that was deceiving. I gave Macintosh a wolfish smile, one he expected as the subs were paraded in front of me and four other Dom’s. We’d all been led to an upper level that could only be accessed via a code through a locked door. The place was nothing like downstairs.
This room was half the size, with an expensive appearance that had been created to pamper to the rich. The place was decked out lavishly—thick carpets in a muted green and plush velvet, a darker green fabric draped over the furniture. The walls were a pale mint colour. The soothing undertones did fuck all to calm the butterflies attacking my stomach like ravenous beasts who hadn’t had a meal for a month.
The main floor area was left uncluttered, so that those sat on the bank of seats I was currently on were able to watch the small booths housed on the opposite wall. They were designed for a maximum of three people. The bar at the far end of the room was small, but there were several subs roaming the room serving drinks. Those who came to this room clearly wanted the full VIP treatment.
I swallowed the bile which was attempting to work its way up the back of my throat so that I could speak. I nodded towards the line of men. “Is this what I’m paying for?”
Macintosh’s eyes glittered, his gaze appraising as it ran over each sub individually. “You, my friend, are in for a real treat, I assure you. In here, satisfaction is guaranteed.”
He spoke loud enough for the subs to hear. Two of them betrayed their fear as they quivered. The other seven showed no outward signs of reacting to the threat. And a threat it was, the months of getting close to Macintosh revealing there was more going on in the club than I’d first suspected when I’d started my undercover work. It was why I’d put in a request to the SIO investigating Macintosh for additional funds, so I could join the elite members and get closer to the action in order to figure out what Macintosh was really into.
“The subs in here are specially trained and know how to give a Dom everything they crave,” Macintosh continued as he beckoned to a waiter, a man who looked to be no more than twenty. He was naked and wearing a leather collar around his neck. His young face revealed nothing; it was a blank mask.
Had he been trained too?
My attention went back to the nine subs. They were all small, slim an
d pretty, their bodies holding the scars of long-term abuse. Their gazes never lifted from the floor as they held perfect poses of submission. One that I suspected ‘Macintosh’s training’ had beaten into them to make it perfect. No one could miss the fear rolling off them. To the uninitiated it might not have been so obvious, but the Dom’s with me were anything but. This was what they came here for, to revel in the fear of the subs.
For me it was suffocating, and it made it extremely difficult to maintain a casual interest without revealing my distress. It didn’t matter how many times I reminded myself that this was part of the job, it became more difficult to control the battle inside myself as I spent more time with the fucking monsters. During my last meeting with my handler, he’d warned me that if I dropped the ball now, I’d undermine all the months of hard work it had taken to get Macintosh to trust me, to get myself invited into his domain. The warning was clear— fight my demons in my own time and keep my feelings under wraps to get the job done.
I’d worked in undercover ops for years and I was a seasoned officer. Yet this time round, all the skills I had didn’t seem enough. There were lives at stake, and I was reminded of that whenever I looked in the mirror. These men were counting on me to get them out—alive, and hopefully in one piece.
“Trev, bring Jupiter down. I’m in the mood to play too.”
The air in the room thickened. I licked my lips and willed myself to remain in my seat. Did Macintosh suspect something? He rarely played with Jupiter in public. His sub was housed away from the rest of the subs.
I eyed the man next to me. He appeared relaxed as he lounged on the leather seat, his arm draped over the back of where I sat. It was a lie, the man ever watchful. He needed to be. He was a shark. One who wouldn’t think twice about attacking those who threatened him, or so we’d been informed. It was yet to be proven, though—witnesses either refused to talk or simply disappeared into thin air.
“Now, as it’s Jason’s first time in here, let him pick which sub he wants to play with first.”
The man on the other side of me nudged me in the ribs, the smile not reaching his eyes. “The redhead’s mine, Jason.”
Macintosh shifted forward to see past me. “Come on, Oliver. We’ve talked about this before. If you want exclusivity with a sub, that comes at an extra cost.”
“I already pay enough,” Oliver grumbled, but without any real animosity as he shifted his gaze to the subs in front of us. The gleam in his eyes when they landed on the redhead turned my stomach.
“If the redhead is so highly sought after, then maybe I’ll go for him.” As I spoke, Macintosh’s gaze lit up with approval.
Before there could be any further conversation, Trev, one of Macintosh’s bodyguards, returned with Jupiter. The man’s curls hung around his lowered head, hiding some of his face. Jupiter was hard to read. From the information in the missing persons database, he’d gone missing when he was fifteen—some eight years previously. If he’d been with Macintosh all that time, I could only guess at what he’d endured to get him to the stage of complete control he maintained in anyone’s presence.
“Thanks, Trev. Jupiter, kneel.” He did so without so much as a flicker of hesitation.
My heart clenched at the state of his naked body. There were fresh bruises and marks over the top of his shoulders disappearing down his back. But there were no outward signs that he was in pain.
“Sir, have you got two minutes to run over the report from last week?” asked Officer Dare.
Blinking his face into full focus, I ran the back of my hand over my sweaty brow. My fingers trembled, the past receding but leaving a characteristic nausea in its wake. As the churning in my guts continued, I took a couple of deep breaths.
“Sir, are you okay?” Officer Dare asked hesitantly.
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine, just got a lot on my mind.” I pointed to the seat at the empty desk across from me. “Grab Mulroney’s chair and talk me through what’s troubling you.”
Tucker
The following day, I pulled up outside the address Mr. Robertson had given me and surveyed the neighbourhood. The house was situated overlooking the Downs in Dunstable. It was more upmarket than I’d expected and an area of London I could see myself living in.
The large, two-storey house had a well-maintained garden with a sweeping driveway lined with trees. They bordered the grounds and offered an element of privacy.
I parked next to a Nissan Nivara, an itch developing in the middle of my shoulder blades. Exiting the car, I stayed alert as I walked up to the front door. The sense of being watched grew with every step I took. I swept a quick glance at the surroundings from beneath my eyelashes to see if I’d missed something. There was nothing out of the ordinary, but even so the feeling continued. Reaching the door, I pressed the bell and stepped back to wait.
The door opened and Mr. Corrigan appeared. He towered over me. I met Mr. Corrigan’s hard, unsmiling gaze without flinching. “Good morning, Mr. Corrigan. Is Mr. Robertson here?”
“I’m here,” Mr. Robertson said warily from behind Mr. Corrigan.
Mr. Robertson’s eyes were as big as saucers. He gnawed on his thumbnail as he hopped from one foot to the other, Mr. Corrigan glancing back at him.
Mr. Corrigan shifted back to give me room to pass. “Come in. Ferron’s just brewed some coffee if you want a cup?”
Having had no time for coffee after shuffling my morning plans in order to be able to come and see Mr. Robertson, I offered a polite smile. “That would be great.”
Mr. Robertson gave us both a nod before spinning around quickly and scurrying in the direction he’d appeared from.
Once he was out of sight, Mr. Corrigan whispered, “Go easy on him. He’s suffered enough and what he’s got to talk about will be difficult for him.”
I inclined my head in acknowledgement, my stomach twisting itself into knots for no discernible reason. “I’ll try and make this as painless as possible, but that all depends on what he wants to discuss with me.”
My reply did little to release the tension, the man giving me a threatening stare. “Let’s get it over with.”
I followed Mr. Corrigan into the kitchen, questioning my sanity not for the first time, for coming when I should have handed this over to the SIO.
Mr. Robertson’s whole body seemed to tremble as we entered the kitchen, and he collected a couple of mugs from the cupboard. “How do you take your coffee? And would you like a bacon sandwich? I was just making one for Isaac.”
There was a nervous tremor in his voice, that I struggled not to react to. I needed to work on viewing the couple objectively and blocking out my own personal experiences.
Mr. Corrigan walked over to Mr. Robertson and placed a hand on his back as he lowered his mouth to his partner’s ear. “It’s alright, little man. I’m right here with you.”
The words were muffled but I still heard them. I looked away to give them a moment of privacy, my gaze landing on the grill pan. Crap! I coughed to get their attention, pointing to the smoking grill.
Mr. Corrigan shouted, “Shit, Ferron, the bacon.”
“Bloody hell!” Mr. Robertson cried, running over to the cooker to yank out the grill pan. Smoke rose as fat spat into the air. “I’ll need to make some more.” His shoulders drooped, resignation in his tone.
“I like crispy bacon,” I piped up before I could stop myself, the part of me that wasn’t a policeman reacting to the guy’s distress.
Mr. Robertson stared at me, his brow rising. “Are you sure?” he asked, sounding unconvinced as he looked over at his partner. “Isaac will eat anything, but he’s a human garbage disposal unit. You look like you might be a bit pickier,” he stated as his eyes roamed over my body.
An uncomfortable heat rose up my neck before I could will it away.
Mr. Corrigan growled. “Hey, what are you implying?”
A good-humored discussion followed that resulted in Mr. Robertson chuckling and rolling his eyes before continuing t
o sort out the food. As the tension in the room eased a fraction, I took the seat I was offered.
Only once we were all seated with food and drinks did Mr. Corrigan speak again. “Little man, do you want to start? Or do you want me to give some of the background details?”
“I’ll do it.” Mr. Robertson exhaled gustily before shifting his gaze to me.
I wished I hadn’t taken a mouthful of the sandwich. It got stuck in my throat at Mr. Robertson’s next words. “I’m going to start by saying that I’m sorry that I didn’t talk about this before, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever have the courage to discuss what had happened to me.”
Oh Christ, what had I got myself messed up in? My brows furrowed, dread sliding around in my stomach and churning the food.
“I’m not sure where to start, so I’m just gonna talk, and if you have any questions can you wait until the end?” Mr. Robertson’s head tilted to the side, deep lines of strain etched into his face.
“That’s fine. Are you okay with me jotting down a few notes while you talk?” I asked, picking up the napkin I’d been given and wiping my fingers on it.
“Yeah, I’ve no problem with that, but won’t you want to write it all down?” The quiver of fear in his voice was unmistakable.
“It depends on what information you give, which will also determine what the next steps might be. I’ll understand that better once you’ve talked about whatever it is that you asked me here for.”
“The man you arrested at New Year was never my boyfriend.” He sucked in a breath before continuing in a rush. “He kidnapped me and held me for over a year in his home, and repeatedly did things to me that I didn’t want.”
Damn it all! Why did I have to get involved? Why?
Seeing no way out, my mind was whirring as I spoke. “Let me just recap. You’re saying the man in custody kidnapped you, held you for over a year and… assaulted you?” It took effort to keep emotion out of my voice and my expression blank.