by L. E. Harner
“No, I don’t. It’s a fair exchange. Sex for money. Not one damn bit different than what Jeremiah signed on to do with you—except for the length of the agreement. Not any different than what a sub gets from his Dom, either, is it?”
“Safety?” I wasn’t going to think about the truth of Ben’s comment right now. I patted my pockets, touched my gun, making sure I had everything I needed.
“Yeah, look how safe Jer is now. Safety is an illusion for guys like me and Jeremiah.”
I took my wallet out, and tossed four bills on the table. “All right, hard ass. I’ve paid for your fucking time. Stay until you hear from me.”
Chapter Three
Nothing is ever as easy as it seems. I made the drive through Atlanta on the early fringe of weekend evening traffic. The term rush hour wasn’t big enough to describe the constant ebb and flow of Atlanta’s traffic.
The neighborhood wasn’t as exclusive as ours, but it was good enough to merit a security gate. So I rolled passed the entry and scouted out the surrounding roads. I could have convinced the rent-a-cop to let me through, but not before he’d recorded my name and driver’s license onto his clipboard. That would severely limit my activities and I wanted all my options open. If George did any fucking thing to hurt my boy—I’d kill him. And I wasn’t going to waste one minute of time wondering what that possessiveness meant.
A plan started to form as I cruised, but I was going to need help. I used the cellphone’s hands-free mode to call Archer.
“What did you find, Zachary?”
“Shadow Hills is a gated community, nothing under a half mil, at a guess from the front. There’s a single, manned entrance, exit is an automated gate triggered with a sensor, not by the guard. The security is provided by Homelight—maybe you can call Robbie and check on the status of a home alarm?” Robbie was both a friend and an occasional dabbler in the leather clubs. I thought he might give Archer the information about Delaware’s house. I waited until Archer stopped tapping on his keyboard before I continued.
“It would be nice to know if there was a home alarm before I arrive, but I can circumvent it if I need to. Strolling up to the front door and asking if Jeremiah can come out and play isn’t likely to meet with any more success than calling George’s cellphone. He isn’t going to answer if he knows it’s us. It’s safe to say that part of the attraction of taking Jeremiah has to do with getting a little revenge, Archer.”
“Agreed. I am already working on something to shut George down completely when you have Jeremiah safe—don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
I didn’t say anything for a long moment.
“That’s an order, Zachary. Bring Jeremiah home, then together, we will ruin George Delaware.”
I sighed and looked out the window at the line of people waiting for their caffeine fix. Most times, I could overlook his natural tendency to take charge, but this wasn’t one of them. I bit back my first response, and went for reasonable. We had better things to do than argue. “Archer, this isn’t a scene, and I’m not your sub at the moment. I don’t work that way. Especially not on the job and I won’t work that way with you now.”
It was his turn to sigh. “Forgive me, of course you’re right. It’s just…I don’t want to lose you, Zachary. Promise me you’ll come home and we’ll bring George down together.”
“I—I’ll try. I don’t know if I can make it a promise, Archer. If he’s—”
“Where are you right now?” Archer’s voice dragged me back.
“A coffee drive-thru just off Peachtree. On the south side of Delaware’s subdivision. I’ve driven the perimeter, and have a pretty good feel for the easiest access. The south side borders a park and strip mall. The east side is a non-secure subdivision and there are plenty of vehicles parked on the street. I’m not going to get any closer until it’s full on dark. I have a few supplies to pick up first.”
“Do you want me to call in Marcus or Wick for you?”
I thought about that for a minute, weighing the pros and cons of working with either man. It might be even harder to keep my promise of waiting to extract revenge if I called Wick. He and I were just a little too much alike.
“I’ll take care of it. I’ll call Marcus, if you don’t think he’ll mind.”
“No…I don’t think he will. He has that whole vigilante streak going on, ever since Jeremy was murdered. I think this might be just what he needs to get him out of his own head for a while.”
“Yeah…I need to go, Archer. I’ll call you once I have him.”
I quickly made my shopping list—I didn’t need much: cable ties, duct tape, and a black windbreaker. I had a pocket toolkit stored in the trunk of the car, along with my lock picks. Both would fit easily in the windbreaker’s pocket. In truth, I had a gun and was prepared to use it—that was the only real tool I needed. Everything else was for show. Next on the list was Marcus.
The phone was answered on the first ring, the voice tense. “Ben? Is that you?”
“Marcus? This is Zack Carmichael. Is everything okay?”
The breath he blew out spoke volumes, but he didn’t elaborate. “Sorry, Zack. I thought you might be someone else. What can I do for you? Is Archer okay?”
“Funny, I just got a call from a Ben, but I’m looking for someone else…” I shook my head to clear the random thought. “Sorry, my mind wandered. Archer’s good. I hate to call out of the blue but we have a little problem. I know you aren’t into the club scene, but you ran interference enough when you were on vice. I’m not sure you ever ran into George Delaware, but he used to play pretty hard with his slaves. He didn’t always know when to quit and he didn’t always wait for permission. Archer and I had a problem with him because he would take a man in, break him down, then abandon him. It seems George took something…uh…someone of ours. He took our boy, Jeremiah, and I’m going to go get him back. I could use a little backup, if you have time tonight.”
There was a long silence before Marcus answered. His voice was a deep growl that scraped across my taut nerves. “I’m sorry, Zack. I can’t go with you tonight, it seems I have lost something…someone of my own. But if this Delaware has taken anything from your boy without his permission, make the motherfucker pay.”
*
The house was dark and other than the presence of George’s Escalade, there was no indication that anyone was home. I tried not to think what the dark windows would mean if George wasn’t here. Archer had already run a property search and there was no indication that Delaware owned a second house. Archer was still working on the credit card records, too, in case the bastard had rented a hotel room. I put my money, and possibly Jeremiah’s safety, on finding them at his home. As a serious Dom who lived the lifestyle and trained slaves, George would have all he needed right here.
With a healthy thirty-five hundred square feet to look through, I should have brought backup, but when Marcus had declined, I’d just moved on with my preparations. Now I didn’t hesitate as I moved through the shadows, to the back of the long, low ranch style house, just mentally rehearsed moving from the front of the house to the rear. George took himself seriously—there would no doubt be a playroom, and that was most likely where I would find them.
Robbie had come through big time and managed to deactivate the home alarm system, which left me free to use the picks on the back door. Twenty seconds after I started there was a satisfying snick. I turned the handle, and the door swung easily inward. Normally, I would wait to make sure the alarm really was deactivated or to make sure that a not-so-friendly watchdog wasn’t going to eat my leg. Tonight, I wasn’t willing to wait, because even if the alarm was blaring, I was going to go find Jeremiah. He was here; I knew it down to my bones. With my gun in my hand, I stepped inside, ready for anything.
The back door opened into the kitchen and an open floor plan that let me see straight through the dining room and into the formal living room. The rooms were dark, unoccupied. I by-passed the garage for now, too. This wa
sn’t a search for evidence or clues; this was a rescue mission.
Barely breathing, I continued, moving silently through the hallway on the thick pile carpet. The doors to the rooms were open, and I quickly glanced in as I passed. Guest room. Home office. Master bedroom. The en suite of George’s bedroom was the only room with any sign of recent use. Rivulets of water streaked the shower stall door, making me think of the bars on a gate. Or a cell. Damp towels were in a pile on the floor. Scissors, a safety razor, extra blades, and two cans of shaving cream were lined up next to the sink. Fine dark hair littered the surface. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Resisting the urge to throw something, I moved more quickly back down the hall. Only one door remained, and it was closed. A steel hasp with a heavy-duty padlock hung open, the key still in the lock. Pressing my ear to the door, I strained to hear any noise from inside and caught a faint sound, as if someone was whistling through his teeth while he worked. Bingo.
The knob turned easily in my hand and I pushed the door open, making my decisions in slow motion increments of observation and action. Door opens? Push in. Dim lights? Move slower. Spot the target with his back to the door? Scan the rest of the small dungeon-like room. See Jeremiah spread and bound on a table? Turn attention back to the target.
Time returned to normal speed as I sprang across the room low, fast, feral. George turned, then went down with a satisfying crunch of my fist to his face. He crashed into a large kennel cage, the water in the dog bowl spilling over the cement. George’s feet slipped as he crab-walked and crawled, trying to get away from me. When he’d backed as far into the corner as he could, he swiped at the blood with his arm. His eyes were wide with shock at the surprise assault. Had he really expected I would wait until he decided to give Jeremiah back to raise the issue in a more socially acceptable manner?
“Get the hell out of my house. I’m going to have you arrested.” The threat held no heat. The man looked more than half-crazed, dressed in leathers with blood pouring down his chin, his blond pompadour hanging in front of his face like a dead rat.
“Don’t fucking move. Don’t give me any more reasons to kill you than I already have…” With my gun trained on George, I went to Jeremiah, and clamped down hard on any feelings that might get in the way of what had to be done. He lay face down on a dark wooden table, restrained by mounted heavy metal cuffs. A red ball gag stretched his mouth in a silent scream, demonstrating George’s stupidity, as well as his disregard of safe, sane, and consensual play. The large anal plug on the table sitting next to a bottle of lube was a clear indication of what was next on the agenda. Fucker.
Working one-handed, keeping half my attention on George, I released the D-ring fastener on the leather strap that dug into the pale skin of J’s freshly bared scalp. Jeremiah didn’t move. Shit. The latches on the cuffs weren’t locked and easy enough to twist and release with one hand. With J free, I looked around the room and found a blanket and several towels stacked next to a deep sink. Jeremiah’s limbs were heavy, and there was no response when I called his name as I wrapped him securely and turned him on his side.
“What’s wrong with him, George? What did you give him?”
Delaware snuffled blood and snot, and mumbled an answer I couldn’t understand. With Jeremiah relatively safe now, there were two things I needed to focus on so I could get the boy home. I had to know what George had given him to knock him out and I needed to make the bastard pay for hurting my boy.
Leaving Jeremiah where he was for the moment, I took two steps to stand over the cowering George Delaware. “Not so fucking tough when it comes to standing up for your decisions are you? What did you give him?”
“Nothing he didn’t ask for. And I didn’t fuck him.”
I waved my hand to where J lay unmoving. “Fuck you. He didn’t ask for this…” I gripped George by the throat and slowly lifted him to his feet, putting just enough pressure on his windpipe that each breath was a struggle. He stared at my face and whatever he saw was enough to loosen his bladder. I pressed the gun to the soft spot under his jawbone.
“This gun’s not registered George. I could pull the trigger and walk away—let everyone believe you committed suicide. The cops would discover your body here in your dungeon. All your little toys and perversions exposed to the world. Convince me to keep your secret. Convince me to let you live, motherfucker.”
“It’s no big deal—I’ve used it before. A little ketamine mixed with some Oxy, a downer cocktail so I could control—”
His words cut off as I shoved the gun into his mouth. The only thing that kept me from pulling the trigger was the sound of soft footsteps behind me.
“Zack? It’s Wick, here. Why don’t you lower your gun?” Wick continued to move toward me. Stepping around the bench, he approached from my side so I could see his movement without looking away from Delaware. I blinked, trying to fit Wick into this scenario. I hadn’t called him…had I?
As if he could read my mind, Wick answered my unasked question. “Archer gave me a call. Said you were dancing with a different partner tonight, but I thought I’d see for myself what kind of fun you found.” His voice was soft, calm. “Hey, Z, where’s your backup? Got my gun out—don’t want to accidentally pop a friend.”
I kept my attention focused on George, the barrel of my gun against the roof of his mouth, pressing against his soft palate, gagging him. “No backup means no witnesses, Wick.”
Wick moved close enough that we stood side by side in the faux dungeon. “Come on, Zack. I won’t say you don’t want to do this, because we both know you do—in fact from the smell, I’d say old Delaware knows just how close he is to making this his last dance. But right now, you need to take care of Jeremiah.”
I flicked a glance at Wick, then over to the unconscious man wrapped in a blanket. With a deep, shuddering breath, I nodded, eased back on the trigger and let my arm drop. It had been a near thing. Hell—maybe it still was.
Wick kept his own weapon trained on George, hand steady, eyes narrow. “Go on, Zack. Your car is out front. I brought it around to make things easier for you, but you’ll need to put your own license plate back on. I might have borrowed some temporary plates to get through the gate. I’ll take care of things here. Archer is waiting.”
With one last look around, I set the safety, and holstered my gun. If Wick said he’d take care of this, he would. I picked up my boy, suddenly frantic to get him home.
*
Driving carefully to avoid any hard-to-explain conversations with curious cops, I waited until I was out of the subdivision before I pushed speed dial number one. I started speaking as soon as Archer answered the phone. “I’ve got him. Can you get Doc Presson to meet us? We should be there in fifteen.”
“Consider it done. Is he okay? Do you know yet?” Archer’s voice was maybe a little tighter than usual, but his calm tone settled my nerves.
“He’s unconscious, George drugged him just before I arrived. I didn’t see any marks on his skin, but he was strapped to a bench, gagged, shaved, and ready to plug. Jesus, A.”
“Humiliation play. That shouldn’t surprise us. Is there any sign that he––”
“I can’t tell. George said he hadn’t yet, but I just don’t know.”
“All right—whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. Presson’s been on standby all day, expecting your call. He should arrive right about the same time you do. You did good, Z. I love you.”
“Zack?” Jeremiah’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Our boy’s waking up, A, I need to go.” Disconnecting the call, I glanced over and tried to see Jeremiah’s face, but he wrapped the cocoon of blanket tighter, shutting me out.
Everything in me wanted to pull over and take the boy in my arms, but the right thing for him was to get medical attention as quickly as possible. We could start the holding and the healing after that.
“I’m right here, Jeremiah,” I said softly. “Everything is going to be okay, you’re safe now. I reached over and sl
id my hand through the folds of the blanket, needing to touch him, to ground him in the truth of my words.
“I really fucked up…” Then Jeremiah pressed his face to my palm, his tears burning straight to my heart.
Chapter Four
Monday morning. This was supposed to have been the day Jeremiah got his first taste of what being a submissive would mean. There were so many things we’d needed to discuss. Preferences, rules, a safe word…. Instead, he was upstairs in his room, still recovering from the aftereffects of Delaware’s assault. I was downstairs, pretending to read the paper while I sipped my coffee and picked at Margie’s biscuits and gravy. This was the first time Jeremiah had been out of my sight since I’d brought him home Saturday night, and I didn’t like it one bit.
Archer walked in, a little hitch in his step when he saw me. “Zachary. I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning, at least not until I went upstairs to visit Jeremiah. How is he this morning?” Archer poured himself a cup of coffee, and I waited until he was seated before I answered.
“Jeremiah had a long night. Nightmares woke him twice and he took three showers. He is still wearing a hat and has a hard time meeting my gaze.”
“Then why are you down here and not upstairs with him?”
“Because I told him to get dressed and come downstairs for breakfast.” I set my coffee and the paper down, then leaned in to take a kiss. “Good morning, babe.” I rested my head against his shoulder, just breathing in the smell of him, the familiar feeling of home that surrounded me when ever we touched.
“Good morning.” Archer stroked my back, his hand a comforting weight as it traced along my spine. “I’ve missed you the last two nights.”
“We’re going to change that. Jeremiah will sleep in our bed, tonight.” I leaned back and sipped my coffee. I’d thought about little else last night. It felt right.
Archer took a sip of his own coffee and studied me over the rim of his cup before responding. “I’m not sure I understand. You’re down here while Jeremiah is upstairs alone after having a rough night. He’s had a very traumatic experience. Now you want to introduce him to our bed? Have you even had any type of intimacy with him?”
