by P Nelson
“I know.” Arthur sighed. Flynn looked back at his brother to find him slumped in his office chair. “Look at them like they are a hungry pride of lions. The problem is I’m their favourite meal. I feel like that Greek guy who gets his liver pecked out by birds every day.”
“Prometheus? You are poetic.” Flynn chuckled. It was the first time he cracked a smile since he asked Calla to marry him. “The board likes any Banroch liver it can get in its teeth into. You’re not the only one they ate alive, Arthur. Why do you think Dad had a heart attack?”
“Because he was a surly bastard who couldn’t love anyone.” Arthur prompted. Flynn shook his head. It was the first time in years, maybe ever that the two of them had a straightforward conversation. It felt good. To have a brother who wasn’t reliable yet, but who might get there one day.
“Arthur. Go home. Get some sleep. The next few days will be rough. The stock will take even more hits. Your job is to reassure our investors. The reality is the trial could take days or weeks. Hell, if my suspicions are correct whoever is behind this will want to drag it out for months. Bring Banroch Industries and me to its knees. Force us to start thinking about selling assets. We need to stay strong. This bastard is out for blood.” By the time Flynn finished his speech Arthur sat back up in his chair nodding in agreement.
“Whoever this is, Flynn, we will make sure they pay.” It was the most bloodthirsty Flynn had ever heard his brother.
“Good. Now go home. Sleep. You get to step in shit all day tomorrow.” Flynn grinned at him.
“I’ll remember this at Christmas.” Arthur retorted. He sobered, his expression concerned. “Take care, brother.”
“Likewise, brother.” Flynn returned. The screen flashed blank and Flynn drank half the contents of his glass down. He had agreed to come out to Whistler to avoid the zoo of reporters in town hoping to get a sound bite. His lawyers would release a statement tomorrow morning, a sign they were in no hurry address the allegations. Everything was perception now. His phone buzzed. Master Dillon one of the Doms at The Cage and successful porn star turned producer texted a picture of a ball gag with the caption. “Looks like some reporters downstairs could use a little resistance training.”
Flynn’s laugh barked out, and he shook his head. Master Dillon and his partner the Domme in Residence at The Cage moved into the apartment he loaned them during their own problems with media attention. Now Master Dillon was keeping him updated on the mob out front.
In fact since the news of the charges broke this morning, Flynn received a constant stream of texts from his friends and colleagues in the BDSM world. Last night Calla had been right. People needed him, just as much as he needed them right now. Flynn always knew his kink life made him vulnerable to his enemies. But he chose a long time ago not to live by anyone else’s rules. He was rich and he could ride the storm of public opinion much better than someone whose job depended on the goodwill of the public. A teacher, nurse or doctor wouldn’t fair well. Now Flynn needed to stand up and take his licks. And he didn’t mind.
What he minded was people going after the employees of Banroch. Threatening their jobs and their livelihoods because they wanted a piece of Flynn. He finished the rest of the scotch and walked over to where the crystal decanter waited on a sideboard. One more glass and he would go over the reports Chamberlain sent him. He was following a lead, but couldn’t say much more.
They did a good job keeping the connection between the detective and Flynn under the radar. At the moment, his superiors in charge of the original investigation were making discreet inquiries into what the evidence against Flynn was and where the fuck it had come from. At this point, his lawyers prepared to subpoena the prosecutor’s office to get whatever they had on Flynn. Because at the moment Queens Council Alwen wasn’t playing nice.
Right now. Flynn didn’t feel much like playing nice either.
&
Calla held back tears watching the wharves of Prince Rupert come closer. It had been a long day of new experiences for her on the fishing rig. Not all of them were bad. The crew of Lady Luck and Captain Stan were a great group of men. They treated her like a princess and Calla did her best to pitch in, but she was not a fisherwoman.
“Good luck with everything.” Captain Stan pulled her into a warm hug. His heavy sweater smelled of tabacco and fish. Part of the reason Calla would never make a good sailor. Her stomach pitched for the hundredth time.
“Thank you, captain. Better luck tomorrow.” Calla smiled at him. He nodded and climbed back into the wheelhouse. She squinted at the wharves trying to get an idea of the layout. All she wanted was a stiff drink and a warm bed. Oh and a shower to wash the aroma of fish of cigarette smoke from her body and hair, but she wasn’t hopefully either would come out.
A lone figure waited on one dock. He waved at her and Calla’s heart thudded. Excitement coursed through her and for a split second she thought Flynn might wait for her. She had a few damn words to say to him. After she kissed him to death. But as the boat drew closer to the dock, Calla realised the body type was all wrong for Flynn. This man was taller and broader in the shoulders. By the time the side of the fishing vessel bumped along beside the wharf, Calla’s disappointment at not seeing Flynn dissipated, replaced by warmth at the chance to see a familiar face.
“Joe!” She shouted over the roar of the engines. Joe Green held out his hand, and she clasped it. He helped her off the boat and gave her a quick hug. She turned to wave goodbye to the already departing Lady Luck. Her crew giving curt waves before they continued on their evening chores.
“You look done in.” Joe commented. “Good thing I have just the place for you.” He straightened Calla’s jacket, pulled up the collar and lowered her baseball cap. It was so the minor adjustments to her attire wouldn’t attract too much attention. After lifting the backpack from her and placing the strap over his own shoulder, he coaxed her forward.
“I could use a drink.” Calla admitted. She didn’t drink to medicate, but a G&T would be welcome. Or two.
“Not to worry, I’ve spent the afternoon having a look around. We’re staying at the hotel over there.” He lifted a shoulder towards one of the few tall buildings in town. Calla nodded. “But I’ve got just the place for a drink and a hot meal.”
Calla looked around. She had never been this far north before, even though she grew up in Vancouver. Her moms preferred the heat of the Okanagan. The coastal town looked picturesque in the growing twilight, the breeze from the ocean adding to the chill in the air. Calla was happy she wore a thick sweater underneath her shell.
“Have you spoken to Flynn?” Calla wanted to know everything that happened to him today. Her cell was out of service and now the battery was dead.
“Not here.” Joe warned. They walked along the main road. A few cars drove past as they strode by a visitors information centre and various local businesses hoping to cash in on the tourist trade. Joe guided her around a couple of buildings on the water until he opened the door to a small restaurant. Smiley’s Seafood Café, the sign read. Calla rushed inside, grateful for the warmth. Her mouth watered at the promise of hot food.
Joe conversed with the waitress in low tones for a minute. The place was empty save for two men finishing up their meal. The waitress led them over to where the windows overlooked the water. Calla sat with her back to the restaurant, Joe to the open water, one shoulder against the wall next to them.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Calla frowned at the menu. No G&T here.
“I’ll have a bottle of beer. Whatever is local.” Calla smiled at the woman and clutched her menu.
“Good. And you?” The waitress cocked her head at Joe and gave him the best come hither glance Calla had ever seen.
“A coffee.” Joe didn’t break eye contact with the woman. She blushed and glanced down to scribble something on her order pad. Calla opened her mouth to ask about Flynn, but Joe shook his head.
“Choose something to eat. We’ve got an early mor
ning tomorrow. Then I’ll give you a rundown.” Joe’s steady demeanour went a long way to calm Calla. She glanced down at the menu, picking a few items and was ready to order once the waitress came back.
“Everything went down just as we suspected.” Joe stirred his coffee even though he was drinking it black. He ordered nothing to eat, but nodded in approval when Calla made her selections. “The prosecutor outlined the charges. Flynn surrendered at the station. And the media is on a feeding frenzy.”
Calla nodded. None of this was a surprise. She took a sip of her beer and wrinkled her nose. She stared at the label as tried to wrap her head around everything. She would not get any more information from Joe. He hadn’t spoken to Flynn.
“What’s on the itinerary for tomorrow?” Calla asked.
“I can’t give you specifics.” Joe grimaced. The waitress came back with a steaming bowl of seafood chowder. It smelled like heaven. Calla abandoned her beer and picked up her spoon. “But the next two days will be long and boring. But I promise to get you where you need to go.” Joe made the solemn vow. Calla did her best not to grimace.
“Thank you, Joe.” After he nodded Calla tucked into the seafood chowder and tried not to think of tomorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
“I want you down there hunting like a pack of fucking wild dogs.” Flynn stood in front of a large TV screen with ten of his twelve lawyers present. The woman in the front wearing a dark charcoal grey suit, stilettos and an expression that had sent lesser men to their knees, spoke.
“Mr Banroch. Our firm hasn’t stopped working on your case. We have four motions to submit as soon as the courts open. We will know what Alwen has on you by noon today. They can’t dodge proper jurisprudence.”
“You said I’d have the whole dossier on my desk by noon yesterday.” Flynn stabbed a finger at the screen. “You’re late.”
“And they are stalling.” The woman insisted.
“It proves they don’t have dick on you.” An older man with grey hair announced from further down the conference table. He leaned on the polished wood with one elbow. “These charges are fucking made up. There is nothing in Banroch accounts or your personal accounts to suggest money laundering. And we all know your involvements with corporate espionage would be much different. You’re smart enough to cover your tracks.” Flynn grunted.
“Made up or real. I want what they have.” Flynn held onto his temper. “You’re the best paid lawyers on the continent. I expect some fucking results.” Flynn pressed the screen on his desk to end the call. The twelve suits disappeared from view. Flynn drew in a long, steadying breath. They would not get anywhere today. The only way Queens Council Alwen would give up her dossier was right before the trial. Whether this proved she had nothing on him was beside the point. The whole thing stank.
Right now Flynn did not understand what was coming at him. None of the Banroch internal auditors could give him any insight and Linkin had done his best to search for rumours about Banroch on the dark web. Nothing. It’s curious to face charges to a crime no one was talking about.
Oh the media was speculating over the charges. Money laundering and corporate espionage were the go to white-collar crimes for CEO’s like Flynn. Add in the fact he liked to spank and fuck women. Flynn Banroch was media gold. Every late night talk show host had gotten his licks in last night. Not that he minded being the butt of every explicit joke in North America last night. But he hadn’t wanted Calla to see any of it.
Flynn picked up his smartphone and swiped the screen. He stared at the pictures Joe sent last night. Calla curled up in bed, fast asleep. Bags under her eyes from the long day. She would not fare much better today. But at least her safety was ensured. The media already tracked down his old girlfriends, trying to infiltrate the kink world searching for titillating bits of gossip. They weren’t getting much. The Cage was running as normal. More security to protect members, but those who were going were doing so to show him support.
What the media didn’t realise was the kink world was a small place. People were family. And mostly, they protected their family. There would be a few folks who sold their story. His ex wife being one. But Flynn had faith in his community.
A call interrupted his thoughts and his picture of Calla sleeping. Chamberlain was getting in touch.
“Flynn.” He spoke into the receiver. Restless, Flynn wandered over to the same windows he had spent hours staring out last night. It was pre-season for the ski hills and few people were around. Because Linkin owned this property, high walls, security gates and multitudes of cameras protected Flynn’s privacy from any nosy neighbours.
“Chamberlain.” The man’s familiar voice broken up with static.
“Where the hell are you?” Flynn pressed the speaker button on the phone and turned the volume all the way up.
“Ottawa. Caught a red eye last night.” Chamberlain’s voice still crackled but at least Flynn could make out his words.
“You’re following a trail.” Flynn guessed.
“Yeah, I am. And if I find what I think I will find. I’ll be heading stateside.” Chamberlain informed him. “I can’t give you details over the phone.”
“Fine. We’re pressing for the special prosecutor to release whatever it is she has on me. They’re not playing ball.” Flynn’s earlier frustration came back to the surface.
“How was it yesterday?” Chamberlain asked off topic.
“I surrendered my passport and paid the exorbitant bond.” He tone dry.
“Keep hounding her. Not all is what it seems.” Chamberlains voice drifted away for a minute. “My gut tells me there is something in play here that hasn’t come out yet.”
“My instincts are screaming at me too.” It was a relief to say the words. The prosecutor was coming at him hard. The media hounding him. But everything inside Flynn told him there was something else coming.
“Keep your head down. All it’ll take is your death to send Banroch into a tailspin.” Chamberlain warned.
“Duly noted.” Flynn squashed the sarcastic comeback he had for Chamberlain’s observation, well aware of the consequences of his death. And Calla. Without him, she would be lost. He wasn’t giving up on her without a fucking fight.
“I’ve got to go. This is all time sensitive.” Static interrupted him.
“Good luck.” Flynn managed before the call cut off. He stared at the screen for a full minute and thought of hurtling the device at the wall. There were few times in his life he felt helpless. This was one. Calla’s safety was in the hands of another man. His own future lay with Chamberlain finding out the link between Enbridge and the Canadian Government while his lawyers hounded the shit out of the special prosecutor. For a control loving Dom, it was all becoming too much to handle.
&
Calla stared between Joe, the train and the box of donuts in his hand emblazoned with the words Baker Boyz. Two paper coffee cups balanced on the top of the box. Her brain was sluggish from not enough sleep and stress. Joe had woken her up and hustled her out of the hotel and into a cab all within ten minutes. She had waited in the cab while Joe grabbed his idea of breakfast. Now she was standing in a train station in Prince Rupert.
“Jasper?” Her lips moving. “Why?”
“No questions I don’t have the answers to.” Joe shrugged his shoulders. A whistle sounded, and he looked around. “Time to get on board.”
“What if I don’t want to?” Calla sounded like a teenager, but at this point didn’t care. She had spent the entire day on a fishing boat yesterday. And now she had to get on a train. “No.”
“Get on the train, Calla. Don’t think for a second I won’t make a scene.” Joe warned. The glint in his eye told Calla he would drop his precious donuts and throw her over his shoulder, backpack and all. She wanted that coffee. Calla humphed and adjusted the pack on her back. “It’s first class.” Joe tried to cheer her up climbing up the steps into the passenger train. A man checked their tickets and walked them down the aisle to two
comfy seats with a table set in front.
“There will be several stops along the way before we reach Prince George where you’ll be spending the night.” Calla’s jaw clenched, and she did her best to give Joe the most evil stare imaginable while scooting into the seat by the window. “You are free to leave the train and grab food at any of the stops. I’ll be around with the tea and coffee cart, if you’d like something, you need only ask.” Calla managed a smile. Joe finished placing the packs in the overhead compartments and sat down.
“You are in for a treat.” He handed her coffee over ignoring her death stare. With both hands, Joe lifted the lid on the Baker Boyz box and sighed in appreciation. Calla’s eyes bugged out of her head. Nestled inside were a dozen donuts of all descriptions. He looked like Christmas morning had come and all his toys were under the tree.
“Did you get any real food?” The question was rhetorical. Calla sniffed at the coffee cup and sighed in appreciation.
“This is real food. You’ll thank me.” Joe chose one and sat back in his chair admiring the donut. Part of his attention might have been on the confectionary, but Calla knew of the subtle glances he made around the cabin. Out the windows to the train station. Rummaging in her pocket, Calla brought her charged phone out. She wanted to call Flynn, but thought she might cry. Instead, she clicked her web browser and searched for the news.
“You don’t want to read those headlines.” Joe’s warning gruff.
“That bad?” She tried to joke, but her throat closed up. Headline after headline was like reading some salacious nightmare. Pictures of Flynn accusing him of abusing women and corporate malpractice. There wasn’t a single positive story. Tears ran down Calla’s face. How was he taking all the negative publicity? Did he need her? She needed him.
“This will make it all better.” Joe handed her a baked donut covered in sugar. Calla shook her head. “I promise not to harass you if you take one bite.” He cajoled.
