Saving Sebastian: A Catharsis Novel (Custos Securities Series Book 3)

by Luna, David

  Zavier and his partner, Braden, sat beside the hospital bed. Though they both had their eyes on the doctor and hadn’t seen him before he stepped behind the curtain, a small smile flitted over Sebastian’s face. He’d really liked Braden when he’d done a composite sketch of the man’s stalker. At least a year had passed since then, but he still remembered meeting both men that afternoon, and the quick comradery he’d felt with Braden.

  “Braden, you know she just wants to go home so she can be waited on hand and foot by her male harem. Isn’t that right, Nana?”

  The woman Sebastian now knew to be Clara Cross, his 1:30 p.m. appointment, laughed. “Finnegan, darling! Come give me some sugar.”

  As Dr. McCade hugged the petite woman, Sebastian did his best to backtrack and escape the little family reunion that was happening. He figured he’d just wait outside for a bit and give them some time. His messenger bag had other ideas, however, and clunked loudly against the door. As his face grew hot with embarrassment, he pulled the door open just as he heard the hanging curtain being yanked back. Dr. McCade grinned at him, raised a brow in challenge, winked and walked back to Mrs. Cross.

  Sebastian turned and smiled uncomfortably at everyone else in the room, hating the attention he’d just brought on himself, and waved self-consciously before he fumbled behind him for the door handle and pulled it open, again. “Uh, hi. I have an appointment with Mrs. Cross, but I’ll come back.”

  He watched as Braden and Zavier stood, a surprised look on both of their faces. Sebastian continued to try to give them the privacy he was sure they’d prefer, and began to back out of the door. Braden reached out towards him beseechingly. Zavier, soothing Braden, ran his hand up his partner’s spine and clasped the back of his neck. Sebastian had seen the gesture the first time they’d met and his heart pinched watching it again. He wanted that.

  When Zavier spoke, Sebastian stopped. “Sebastian Phillips, right?” When he nodded, Zavier placed a hand on his own chest. “Zavier McCade. I’m not sure if you remember, but you helped us with the composite sketch for Braden’s case. Please, stay.”

  “I re—” Sebastian cleared his throat and tried again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I remember.”

  Of course, he remembered. The man was impossible to forget. Add to that the faux flirting and joking around he’d forced himself to do, in order to relax Braden into being comfortable while he had to draw the man who was terrorizing him.

  He found it nearly impossible to make his escape at that point, held still by some invisible force. Looking down, he fiddled the cross strap of his bag and avoided eye contact with the enormous man. There was just something so arresting about him. A low-level hum ran through Sebastian—just like he remembered from the first time he’d met him—a sensation he only ever got at the club. It made him wonder about the relationship dynamic between Braden and Zavier. Knowing that was none of his business, he tucked his curiosity away.

  Mrs. Cross tilted her head examining him and beckoned him closer. She was a tiny little thing and looked rather frail on the bed. She touched her face, indicating his. “Are you all right?”

  He blushed and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’m just fine.”

  She only nodded and then asked, “You gonna work some magic and help me remember more than I think I will?”

  Sebastian smiled. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

  She scoffed at that. “Call me Clara or Nana, young man. I’ve never met a sketch artist before. Come sit and chat with me.”

  He approached the bed, not knowing quite where to sit. Zavier reached out his hand and they shook, putting him a bit more at ease. “It’s good to see you again, Sebastian. Why don’t you take my seat and I’ll head down to the café with Finn and see if we can’t scrounge up some mediocre coffee.”

  Sebastian cleared his throat again and nodded. “Thank you.”

  He set down his heavy messenger bag beside the chair Zavier had vacated and was about to speak to Mrs. Cross when she spoke to Zavier’s brother. “Finnegan, I wanna get outta here.”

  Dr. McCade sat on the edge of the mattress and clasped her casted hand in his, kissing her fingers. “I’ll be back in a bit and I’ll look at your chart and see what’s what. Maybe we can blow this popsicle stand and ride off into the sunset. What do you say, beautiful?”

  Sebastian couldn’t help but smile at the scarlet tint flushing the woman’s cheeks as she giggled. “Oh, go on with you then.”

  Dr. McCade grinned and leaned forward to buss her cheek. He stood, winked at Braden, and walked toward his brother. Both men exited and he found himself transfixed by the two tall, self-assured men. By the time he turned back towards Braden and Mrs. Cross they were both grinning at him knowingly.

  Blushing again he reached out to shake her hand and she reached up with her left hand and clasped his, making the embarrassing moment seem a bit less awkward. He reached over to Braden to shake his hand and answered the man’s wide grin, feeling a warmth in his chest when the other man clasped his hand in both of his and squeezed.

  When Braden let go of his hand he scooted behind Sebastian and picked up his messenger bag with a grunt. “Good lord, Sebastian, what have you got in here? Rocks?”

  Sebastian smirked. “Yes. Pet rocks, actually. It’s my thing. I bring them to all of my appointments.”

  Braden laughed as he’d expected and handed over the bag. “Here, sit closer to Nana so you can work with her on the sketch. I’ll sit in the other chair.”

  Sebastian nodded and took the proffered chair. “Mrs. Cross, how are you doing?”

  The woman huffed. “Please, call me Clara at least. Mrs. Cross sounds so formal. To tell you the truth, I’ve been better. That rat bastard came outta nowhere! Yanked my purse from my arm. I lost my balance and fell. Got all scraped up and I’ve got a broken arm that they said may take up to ten weeks to heal. I was about to leave and I got a little dizzy, so now they’re checking everything under the sun. Drawing blood, asking about my medications, taking my blood pressure every other minute. I mean really!”

  Braden sighed. “Nana, they just need to make sure everything is okay before you leave. You weren’t steady on your feet and your knee is very swollen, add in the blood pressure issue and they just want to dot all the I’s and cross all the T’s.”

  “Well they can leave my I’s and T’s alone, as far as I’m concerned. They want me off my feet with my leg elevated for a couple of days! And if that isn’t bad enough, I had to cancel my date tonight because of this! Ira is in high demand and that broad Irma is gunning for him. She’s constantly reminding him that their names are so alike that it must be fate. Fate my ass! He better not go sniffing around her while I’m on my ass with my legs in the air!”

  Sebastian hid his smile behind his hand and had to fake a cough when a laugh nearly escaped after he heard Braden let out a muffled, “Jesus Christ.”

  He knew he couldn’t look at Braden or he’d continue to laugh, so with an effort he got himself under control. “I’m so sorry, Clara. Maybe we can pass the time drawing what you remember of the suspect and you can leave soon after?”

  She agreed and he flipped open his bag, pulling out his supplies. “So why don’t you walk me through your day, from the moment you woke up, and we’ll go from there.”

  She looked at him confused but did as he asked. When she got to the mugging, she made a dismissive noise in her throat. “I don’t remember much except hitting the pavement. Then when I looked up, I saw him glance back at me before he turned and ran. Another woman stopped and called nine-one-one and stayed with me until help came.”

  Sebastian talked her back around to what she’d seen and began from there. Eventually he’d had to get out his facial identification catalogues—the pet rocks in his bag—to help jog her memory. He spent about an hour and a half on the sketch and when he was done and showed her the final results her eyes popped wide. “Wow, you’re really good at this! I never would’ve thought I’d seen as much detail as you
got out of me, but that’s him!”

  He grinned at her enthusiasm. “I’m glad. You did great. Most of the time people don’t have confidence in what they’ve seen or if they’ll be able to explain it to me in a way I can use, but usually I can get more out of people than they think.”

  He never knew how successful his appointments would be, nor how long they would last and depending on the type of crime involved, he’d schedule more or less time with his clients. Most of his time was utilized making the client comfortable. He had to build a certain level of trust with each person in order for them to relax enough to remember details they never thought they knew or had subconsciously buried in their minds.

  He absentmindedly thanked Clara for her time while he unfolded his legs and leaned down to place the rendering in his completed sketches folder so it wouldn’t get bent. He put his catalogues away as well and stood up to stretch. He tugged the legs of his jeans back down, zipped up his hoodie, yanked up the hood, and hooked his sunglasses in the V of the hoodie’s zipper. Distractedly he continued to get ready to leave and slid the strap of his bag over his head, tightening it against his chest.

  He leaned to clasp Clara’s left hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “You did great, Clara. I hope Ira realizes what a catch you are and brings you flowers and waits on you hand and foot. If he’s smart, I’m sure he’ll do just that.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. “Now, if you remember anything else or have any questions for me, give me a ring, okay?”

  She took the card and clasped his hand before he could pull it away. She tugged him down to her level and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Sebastian. You were very patient with an old lady such as me.”

  Blushing, as he’d never had someone kiss his cheek like that, he grinned self-consciously and did his best to move the focus from himself. “I don’t see any old ladies in here, do you, Braden?”

  He turned, seeking the man’s eyes and found himself looking at a bemused Dr. McCade, sitting where Braden had been, an iPad balanced on his crossed leg. Beside him was a hospital reclining chair where Braden sat on Zavier’s lap. He blushed even deeper, realizing that he’d been so intent on his work that he’d had no idea the other men had returned.

  He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Sorry it took so long. I’ll get out of your hair. I have an appointment in…” He checked his watch. “About twenty minutes with another client that I need to prepare for.”

  He made his way toward the door and was nearly able to escape when Braden stopped him with a question. “Sebastian, do you like coffee and pastries?”

  Caught off guard by the non-sequitur, he paused before answering. “Um. Yes, I do.”

  Braden stood and approached him, handing him a card. Sebastian saw Sugar n’ Spice Café on the front and looked up questioningly. Braden took it from his fingertips and flipped it over, handing it back. “I wrote my cell number on the back. I co-own the café with my friend Maya. I’m the pastry chef there. Maybe when you’ve got a break in your schedule someday you can come visit and we can have a coffee.”

  Sebastian was taken off guard. He knew the name of the café, as it was where his friend Zoe worked. It also sounded as if Braden wanted to befriend him and as he wasn’t really familiar with that feeling, he found himself at a loss. He stared at the card, turned it over again, and rubbed his hand over the penned number on the back. He realized after several long, drawn-out seconds he needed to respond in some way. He smiled shyly at Braden, who looked concerned. “Thank you. That sounds nice.”

  Braden smiled in return and Sebastian tucked the card in the front pocket of his jeans. He didn’t have much time and needed to watch a few of his visual retraining videos on his phone before his next appointment.

  Sebastian tossed back a bottle of water from a vending machine in the cafeteria. He had about fifteen minutes before he had to meet his next client. Taking Braden’s card out of his pocket he smiled when he realized that Braden had taken Zavier’s name, that fact not surprising him at all.

  He flipped over the card and ran his finger over the handwritten mobile number again. His heartbeat sped up when he unlocked his phone and went to his contacts. Nearly empty, his list contained several people at the station, the number to the art co-op where he rented a studio for his other work, the number to the laser center where he had his treatments, and finally Zoe, the only person on the list he would call a friend. A small smile flitted over his face as he added Braden’s number to his short list of contacts.

  IT HAD BEEN A WHILE since Sebastian had been to the club. He’d had his last laser treatment and then gotten caught up with work. He’d made plans earlier in the week to go to Catharsis on Saturday night with Zoe, but she’d cancelled earlier in the day because she’d caught some kind of bug. He was disappointed because she was always fun to be with, but he needed an outlet that night and wasn’t going to skip it.

  He faked his way through social situations, which didn’t lend itself to making many friends. Pretending or playing a role was something he’d had to become adept at from an early age, when he’d figured out that having a crush on the cute boy in the Sunday school class at his parents’ church wasn’t normal for boys his age.

  He pulled on his skintight mesh, long-sleeved black shirt, adding his leather chest harness over the top of it. He clipped on the bottom part of the harness to the chest portion, his naked cock framed nicely by two leather straps that connected and crossed under his sac and wrapped around the underside of his ass cheeks and back around to just above his hips where they were connected to a metal ring.

  He put on his wide leather cuff bracelets that could latch to the metal rings on the harness at his hips, if a Dom chose to do so. He slid on his black, skinny stretch jeans that had black leather patches everywhere, some with zippers on them. Last, he pulled on his scuffed-up eight-eye Doc Martens and looked at himself in the mirror.

  As always, where possible, he avoided looking at anything above his neck, and the critical once-over he gave himself was just that, critical. He mostly kept mirrors around so that he could check to see that he wasn’t leaving the house with a zipper down or something else embarrassing that would make matters even worse. Shrugging, and knowing that staring at himself in the mirror wasn’t going to improve matters, he threw on his black hoodie, zipped it up to cover his chest harness completely, and tossed up the hood. He didn’t want to deal with even more side eyes than necessary out in public.

  He stepped outside just as his Lyft driver pulled up in front of his place. Hopping in the back, he buckled the seatbelt, and put his buds in. His knee bounced with nervous anticipation. Never knowing what he was going to find at the club, or if he’d find anything at all, was a source of tension for him every single time. The anticipation for the possibilities of what could happen was sometimes the only anticipation he felt some nights.

  Putting himself out there with Doms was much easier for him than trying to make friends with the other subs. His shy demeanor and inability to meet most people’s direct gaze was actually a benefit in the BDSM lifestyle. That didn’t mean he had Doms clamoring for his submission—far from it—it just meant that it wasn’t panic attack inducing.

  With other subs, he had to figure out what to say and when to say it, with Doms, they did the talking and he spoke only when asked a direct question. Even he could handle that. But it was never a given that he’d get a proposition. There was often a lot of indifference where he was concerned, and if he did garner enough interest for a scene, it was never enough for a repeat performance.

  Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it, getting all worked up for the possibilities of something happening and then coming home so often without so much as a flogging. He’d stop going for a few weeks, but then he’d realize that during those self-inflicted breaks he’d have no physical human contact of any kind besides handshakes with clients, and ultimately he’d return to see if he could get his needs met.

  He yearn
ed for human contact more than he’d ever admit to anyone—even if it was just the touch of a tawse, a whip, or a cane to his skin. But yearning for something didn’t mean it would happen, and more often than not, it would feel like he’d take anything he could get in order to make it through another week. It had become like a drug and he never knew when he’d get his next fix. Sebastian knew deep down he was lucky to receive the few scenes he got and consoled himself with that.

  He looked out the window to the street passing by and realized he was only a few minutes away from the club. He stopped the music on his phone, and opened the club’s app. Checking in, and flagging himself available for play, he took a look at who else was playing that evening. Several of the Doms he’d scened with before were there, but his heartbeat picked up when he noticed several Doms that he’d never met before. He clicked on their profiles to see what their preferences were and was happy to see there were no red flags that would push up against his hard limits. Perhaps he’d have a successful night after all.

  He stepped out of the Lyft car and walked towards the front door, surprised to see no one else out front. Not that the place was the type to have a line around the corner—it was members only, and fairly exclusive—but it was a Saturday, one of its busiest nights, and usually Sebastian arrived at the same time others were heading inside.

  He’d been a member for three months and the club itself had only been open for about eleven. Years before, it had been a gay dance club that had eventually failed, as the location hadn’t kept its clientele loyal when there were more trendy and upscale clubs popping up all over the place in other parts of the city. Rumor was, the new owner had come out of nowhere, bought the whole warehouse, and dove into renovations before the ink was dry on the permits. It had been a long renovation and though the outside of the warehouse had gotten a facelift, it still had that old industrial feel.

  People wouldn’t walk by and think the place was a BDSM club. The front door was a huge, antique looking, solid sliding metal door. The large, stainless steel letters above the door were backlit with warm yellow lighting. Sebastian would have bet his next paycheck they were heavy and made by an artist, not your run of the mill sign maker.