At the moment, that seemed to be nowhere. A complete stranger had approached the woman and joined her on the couch. They appeared to be flirting. And the barman was busy mixing yet another drink, focused on his customer and their alcoholic pleasure.
"Damn it," I muttered, as more people flooded the room. "It's getting hard to see a bloody thing."
"How about we circulate," Damon suggested. "Part of attending these events is to get ideas. You need to get closer to decide what you like."
"You would know," I whispered, getting up off his lap and turning to face the room.
I felt unusually philosophical about it all. Damon had come here, he lived in this world. And it was miles away from mine.
His heat flooded down my back a second before his arms wrapped around my body, trapping me against his chest.
"One time," he whispered in my ear, his face over my shoulder. Then his teeth scraped the lobe and he offered a nip.
My heart thudded inside my chest, a frantic beat like the wings of a frightened bird. What did he mean?
"Come on," he said more assertively, his hand stroking down my arm until his fingers gripped mine.
He started tugging me in the direction of the rack, a poor sod hung suspended, his arousal on display for all to see on one side of the device, while his heated butt cheeks were suffering the indignity of a whipping with a short, soft looking, leather strappy crop from behind. The handle thicker than the copious strips of flapping leather. The person wielding it relishing teasing the guy with tender strokes across his back, around to his chest, and down each thigh. He whimpered every time she rattled the tails. His hips jerking, his cock leaking pre-come.
There was no denying he was enjoying himself. Humiliation and pinked butt cheeks aside, he was as turned on as I'd ever seen a man get.
"Please," he pleaded. No, more like begged. "Please, mistress."
"Have you been a very bad boy?" she asked in a singsong voice, her stiletto heels - the only thing she was wearing by the way - tapping out a rhythm on the wooden floor of the stage.
"Yes. Yes, yes, Mistress. I've been so bad. So, so bad."
My mouth parted in incredulity. Really? This worked?
"Sometimes pleasure can be found in make-believe," Damon whispered in my ear. "For instance, if you were to dress up in a nurse's uniform I would be beside myself with joy."
I rolled my eyes, which was a wasted move, because he couldn't see my face. Then watched as the woman smoothed her hand over the guy's butt cheek, and for all to see, slipped a lubricated finger up his arse.
Oh, boy. This was an education.
With practised ease she massaged his prostate, whilst giving him a hand job, until he spilled in a spraying arc, shouting out his exuberant release.
"Please tell me, that doesn't turn you on," I muttered, turning my head to whisper the words into Damon's skin.
"Not as such." Well, damn. "But if it were you tied to the rack..." he left the sentence open.
I wanted to do another eye roll, but the blonde on the sofa had disappeared. As well as her stranger.
I'm not sure why, but panic consumed me. My stomach roiling, my chest squeezing tight. I stood up straighter, straining to get a look into every corner of the room. My gaze returned eventually, and with a certain clarity I wished I didn't have, to the bar. There was only one barman still serving; the one who had given the blonde her RTD was long gone.
I stood stock still, trying to join the dots. Telling myself not to jump to conclusions, while Carl shouted in my mind, Don't fuck this up!
It was no good. Whether I was seeing too much in things or acting on an instinct Inspector Hart said I was lucky to have, I had to follow my gut.
I stepped away from Damon, who it was becoming clear understood more than I had given him credit, because he was alert beside me, scanning the room.
"Which way?" he asked, no doubt in his mind that my assessment was right.
I glanced around the space again, leaning sideways to see around fornicating couples, ignoring looks from some of the clientèle who'd noticed we weren't watching the new action over on centre stage. You certainly did stand out if it looked like you weren't having fun.
Damon and I were not happy sex room attendees.
"There!" I said, indicating the only other door to the room than the one we had used to enter. It obviously led to the main club. "Now, what should I expect behind that?" I asked over my shoulder leading the way to a huge Pacific Islander - Samoan from the looks of those tats - in a full suit, standing by the door. Had to be security, he was wearing way too many clothes.
"The main club," Damon confirmed, then said what I needed to hear. "And private rooms."
"They'll be in one of those," I bit out, pulling my badge from inside my bra and flashing it at the guard. "Police," I announced, because it always pays to show and tell.
"You can't leave this part of the club," the guy said, moving to block the door.
"Mate," I started, just as Damon's fist flew past my face and connected with the guy's jaw.
"We don't have time for 'mate'," he pointed out, stepping over the now dazed and barely conscious guard.
And God dammit, I knew he was right.
Chapter Twenty
"Evil is cruel. Evil is ancient. Evil sucks all the goodness from the air."
I wasn't carrying my gun.
I felt more naked because of that than from my ridiculously short dress. But unlike the movies, having anyone else hold your service weapon for you was a sure-fire way to get suspended. My gun was always either on my person or in my safe. And as I had nowhere on this poor excuse for clothing to hide a gun, I was currently weaponless.
I did not like it one little bit.
The door led to another hallway, but Damon seemed to be familiar with the layout here. Thankfully, no more oversized security personnel were waiting for us, just the muted thud, thud, thud of music coming from the back room through the now closed door. Damon had dragged the guard through with us, somehow managing the manoeuvre without anyone alerting the staff.
Clearly the act currently on centre stage had their full attention.
He was out cold, so we left him propped against the wall, and proceeded down the narrow corridor at a decent clip. I limped along behind Damon, unhappy he was in the lead, but using whatever former knowledge he had to speed things along. The woman had been gone for several minutes at least, God alone knew what had happened to her by now.
"How many private rooms?" I asked in a whisper.
"Six, that I'm aware of. They may have added on since I was here. It's been a while."
I ignored the missed beat of my heart, concentrated on the pain in my foot to clear my head, and asked, "How close is the main club?"
"The private rooms are between us and the main club floor."
Good. At least we wouldn't have to cross another crowded area to get where we were heading.
Sweat had started to bead on my forehead and beneath my mask. So I ripped the blasted thing off and chucked it to the floor. It's not like I needed anonymity now, I'd announced my profession, and the proverbial cat was out of the bag. I just hoped we had enough time to secure the scene, determine the woman was drugged and call in back-up before the guard woke up and yelled, "It's a raid!"
Damon removed his as well, but simply tucked the soft material into his jeans pocket. Absently, I wondered if he was keeping it for the next time he chose to come here.
I growled softly and quietly to myself. Get a fucking grip! Focus.
"How much farther?" I demanded, perhaps a little more curtly than I needed.
"First door's right here," he shot back, giving me a strange look over his shoulder. I couldn't decipher it, and anyway my mind was on what we'd find behind door number one. "How do you want to play this?" he asked. "These rooms are locked. We could get management to just open them up."
I shook my head. "They'd request a warrant. I'm working off little more than my gut. I don't have eno
ugh to force Police prerogative. I need to see her, to determine if she's been roofied and to force their hand."
"Then we break them down," Damon said, taking a step back and lifting his leg to kick the door open, right at the lock.
It took two efforts and a hell of a lot of noise, which thankfully seemed to be drowned out by the music in the main areas - back room and club floor - or the noises the occupants were making in the neighbouring private rooms. The ones inside this room, however, were well aware their door was being kicked in.
I stepped passed Damon with my badge held high.
"Police, show your faces!"
A slightly overweight, middle aged man stood up in all his naked glory, not in the least worried about his jutting tackle.
"This is preposterous!" he exclaimed. "What right do you have to invade a private room? I'll have my lawyer take your badge for this!"
I ignored him. "You're clear. Carry on," I said, turning and shutting the door behind us. "One down, five to go."
"This is going to get worse, isn’t it?" Damon remarked.
"He was all bluster. Did you see his hands shake? But the next one might have more balls..."
"Good analogy."
"...And call in security. Once they arrive we're up shit creek. Next." I announced, nodding to a closed door.
"My pleasure," Damon replied, then kicked the fuck out of the lock. The wood splintered, a high pitched creak sounded out and then a squeal from the occupants inside the room. The smell of sex met my nose as I stormed in, badge held high.
I did the whole "Police, show yourselves," thing, and found an empty room.
Well, it looked empty; rumpled navy blue satin sheets on a king-sized bed stood sentinel in the centre of the room. Whips, restraints and various other sex toy paraphernalia dotted the walls. And an ornate oriental screen perched in the corner.
"Come out from behind the screen," I instructed. "Don't make me come and get you."
"We've not done anything wrong," a shaky male voice said. He sounded young and nervous.
"We're looking for someone in particular, if you're not them, we'll be moving on, no questions asked."
"Promise."
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. We didn't have time for this.
"Promise." I sounded like I was lying through my teeth. "Bloody hell," I mumbled when they still didn't move.
Nothing for a beat or two.
Ah, fuck it.
I walked across the room, grabbed the silk screen and pulled it forward until it toppled to the floor. The girl sheltering behind squealed again, the young man - no more than early twenties - yelped. Not our targets.
"Have a nice day," I said and spun on my heels, limping across the room with a scowl on my face. This was taking too damn long.
Damon raised an amused eyebrow at me, clearly noting how close I was to losing my rag.
"We're going to have to split up," I announced, once we'd exited the room and shut the door on the two still shaking occupants.
Damon started heading further down the hall. "And how do you plan to break in?" He eyed my hobbling gait.
"Just hurry up, then," I groused. I was feeling antsy about this. Part of me unsure if what we were doing would pay off. Had I got it right? Part of me aware of how bad this could go for the department, if we didn't catch them and got ourselves caught by the club's security instead.
"Why are they even doing this?" Damon asked, puzzlement in his tone, as he approached the next door. "It's a sex club, for Christ's sake. They could have any number of willing participants."
"It's not the sex," I replied. "It's all about control. They've taken the choice away from her. They're in charge."
"Like any other rape."
"More or less," I agreed. "They may believe though, that they have a right because she's here, in this setting. They still want absolute control, however. Probably because what they want to do is bad, even for back in there." I nodded up the hall where we had come from, indicating the back room door.
If I wasn't mistaken, Damon looked a little shocked at that. And for the first time since this whole back room club scene scenario was brought up, out of his depth. Unable to comprehend that level of depravity, or on closer inspection, deeply disturbed by it. Date rape will do that to you, but I think it was more personal than that. Damon looked aggrieved.
As though these assailants were attacking him.
He stared at the next door for a second, a frown marring his beautiful face, then just as he lifted his leg to kick it down, three security guards rounded the corner at the end of the hall.
Cameras. They must have had cameras and saw us breaking down the doors.
Damon's head shot up, I lifted my badge for them to see, but turned to look at Damon and said, "Do it."
It would be our last chance. After the guards made it to our sides, we'd be shut down.
Time seemed to stall. I watched, heart in my throat, breaths all but stopped, as the guards started running towards us yelling, "Cease and desist," which vaguely impressed me.
And as Damon managed to get a solid kick to the door, the first guard pulled a taser from his belt.
"Police! CIB!" I yelled back, blocking Damon. If I took the shock, he'd at least get in the room and see if we'd lucked out. "Lower your weapon!"
The guy lifted the taser further, sighting it like a gun, a clear indication he was ignoring the whole assaulting a cop routine. He skidded to a stop a few feet away, stance wide, two handed grip on his weapon, settling in to fire.
Damon kicked the lock again, the wood cracked, the door swung open, and the security guard fired the stun gun. I threw my weight into Damon, launching us through the now open entrance to a brightly lit room. My toe screamed out in protest at the force required to move both of us at that speed, as a whoosh sounded out over my head, with the click of the electrodes quickly following as they locked into the wall where we'd just been.
No electric buzz sounded. You can't fry wood.
I rolled to my feet, feeling ungainly without my weapon in hand, and came up next to a tripod stand. My gaze flicking from the camera currently filming, to the bed where the woman was tied, her mask removed, tears trickling down her cheeks. To the naked barman standing above her, leaning over the side of the bed, a ball gag under his hand, partly positioned in her mouth, but not yet tied in place. I shifted my head to the stranger who had flirted with her in the back room, as he sat in an armchair at the end of the bed, getting a clear view of her bound and spread legs.
"What is the meaning of this?" he inquired pleasantly.
"Remove the gag," I instructed the barman, aware that security was now crowding the room at my back.
"Don't," the seated man countered, and then to me, "You have no right to barge in here."
"I have every right. Detective Keen, Auckland CIB," I introduced myself. "We have reason to believe this woman has been drugged against her wishes."
"That's ludicrous. Stacey is a willing participant in our games," the man said, crossing his legs, drawing my attention to the fine cut and material. He had money. I was betting that money would buy him a lot.
I turned to the nearest guard, not the one who had fired at me, he was standing at the door looking a little worried. I was betting he regretted the whole tasering incident. Especially as things weren't looking good in here. Filming within the club was against their rules, I'd say. What happens at Zero, stays at Zero, and all that. Plus my words just now would have hit a worried nerve.
"Nice camera," I said, looking at the machine on the tripod. "Filming inside Zero allowed, is it?" I asked the guard.
"No," he replied, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Do you have a warrant?"
"The Crimes Act, 1961, section 317," I quoted. "Doctrine of necessity."
"What the fuck does that mean?" the guard demanded.
I ignored him. "Remove the gag," I repeated to the barman instead. "Or I'll arrest you for obstructing justice."
With a s
haking hand he reached forward and tugged the ball from the woman's spread lips.
"Cover her up with a sheet," I demanded as I approached her side. "And untie her."
The man in the chair rose, taking a step away from the scene.
"If you move another muscle, hot-shot, I'll have you for resisting arrest."
Fuck, I hoped this wasn't a bust. I reached the woman's side, the barman having covered her and releasing one of her arms already. Her face was pale, tears streaked her cheeks. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess, as though fists had clenched the strands. It was hard to see how dilated her pupils were, she needed to blink. I couldn't be certain that she was sedated, because she kept darting her eyes around, making me think she was too alert to be drugged.
I prayed Damon was covering my back as I sat down on the edge of the mattress, currently it was to the room at large, including the expensively clad gentleman from the armchair and the security guards. But so far he'd been an exemplary partner. I had to hope he was watching the exit, the culprits and me. Because I sat myself down on the side of the bed, shielding the now openly weeping woman from view.
"My name's Detective Lara Keen," I said softly. "What's yours?"
"St..Stacey Lawrence." Was that a slur? Or just a nervous stutter?
"Stacey, I have to ask you some questions. I'm sorry if they upset you." She nodded. It was slow. "Are you in this room willingly?"
She frowned, sucked in her bottom lip. "I..." her voice was barely audible. I leaned down so I could hear.
"It's OK, Stacey," I assured her. "No matter what, you are not in trouble."
"I came here willingly," she whispered, and my stomach twisted into knots.
I swallowed the acrid taste of my failure and nodded. OK. I'd fucked up. But I had probable cause, protected under law, section 317: The Power To Enter A Premises To Arrest Offender Or Prevent Offence. I possibly wouldn't lose my badge over this. Unless the rich dude was a whiz lawyer. God, I felt sick.
"But..." she added, sucking in a fortifying breath while I held mine. "I don't remember... how I got... on this bed... in this room. I should memember, right?" Definitely a slur.
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