Death By C*ck (Fetish Alley Book 2)

by Susan Mac Nicol

  Tate waved a hand. “Company policy is, if it’s company equipment, it’s company business.” He grinned lazily. “I’ve known you since I was eight years old. If you think I don’t know your passwords after all this time, I’d be one shitty investigator.”

  He crooked a finger at Clay. “We got the post-mortem report. It contains some surprising and rather awful information. Come take a look.”

  Clay walked over and put his hands on Tate’s shoulders as he leaned into the monitor. “Give me the short version.”

  Tate sat back and groaned as Clay massaged his shoulders. “Time of death was estimated at between eight pm and ten pm. It’s pretty wide open. Cause of death was suffocation caused by an asthma attack. Initial findings said he had an episode, which was exacerbated by a ‘foreign object’—that damn penis—being shoved into his mouth, bruising his throat. Whoever was responsible knelt on his chest, which made things worse and contributed to one broken rib on the left side, and serious bruising and contusions.” He looked up at Clay, his face grim. “It was a horrible way to die. Being suffocated like that, someone on top of you watching you take your last breath. Jesus. That was pretty cold of the killer.”

  “Cold, or mad as hell,” Clay mused. “The woman I met today had anger to spare. I think she’s capable of hurting someone. Especially her ex, who dumped her.” He walked over to the mini bar and took out a bottle of water. “This killing seems personal, almost,” he hesitated, “gleeful, as if someone was saying to JJ, ‘Fuck you, look at me. I’ve got the power, not you.’”

  Tate nodded thoughtfully. “I agree. This doesn’t seem like anything premeditated given no one could have anticipated the poor bastard having an asthma attack. We need to dig a little deeper while making sure we spread the investigation wider.”

  Clay was on board with that idea. Their suspect pool was shallow, and it would do no good to focus on one person. He sipped his water. “Did Rick and his team come back with anything else as motives or suspects go? Was there any CCTV footage to look at?”

  Tate shook his head. “No CCTV footage in the immediate area, although they did look at the streets surrounding the shop. Nothing jumped out. Only a lot of people walking home from work or heading down to the theatre district.”

  He sighed. “If we had a suspect, it would make it easier to know what we were looking for. Rick and his team have no leads yet. Although, on a completely different matter…” His voice trailed off and he looked over at Clay musingly. “One of the plainclothes detectives canvassing the area got the impression a couple of people feared talking. Not in the ‘this is our alley and you’re an outsider’ sort of way, but more that they were petrified to open their mouths. One man let slip that they were done being beaten down and had nothing more to give. He didn’t realise the guy was a policeman until after he said it, then clammed up. The report said it looks as if some people are being forced to pay protection.”

  Tate picked up his pen and tapped it on the table as he thought. “We’ve experienced that scenario before, when we were looking into Dixon’s death. Remember Sid Cantrell? Aurelio said he had it under control, but I’m not sure he has.”

  Clay schooled his facial expression. That would certainly bear out given that last phone call. He remembered well the previous incident when they’d investigated what had looked like a straightforward heart attack, but with some puzzling elements. It had turned out the man’s body had been moved so as not to incriminate certain patrons of the alley who believed they were above the law.

  During that case, there’d also been an unpleasant incident at the club when some goon had tried to extort money from Aurelio. The recent phone call from Tomas asking whether Aurelio was all right led Clay to believe all these events must be connected. Definitely time to talk to Relio again, he thought, and to share he’d also been contacted. He needed to find out the extent of the problem.

  Tate chuckled. “I can see your little gears turning,” he murmured. “I have a feeling we’re going to be going to the club soon to ‘interrogate’ Aurelio?” He stood up and stretched, his t-shirt riding up and showing the firm muscles of his stomach, and the dark treasure trail to the top of his jeans. Clay never tired of the sight, and the memory of Tate spread out on their bed last night was doing wicked things to Clay’s groin.

  He cleared his throat. “I think that’s the plan. I’ll give him a call and set it up.” He sat down in the chair Tate had vacated and peered at the on-screen report. His brow furrowed. “The report says the police didn’t find a mobile phone or anything belonging to JJ at the scene. There wasn’t even a wallet, only a few notes in his jeans pocket.”

  “Yeah, that is a bit odd. Perhaps the killer took them with, in case there was anything incriminating in them.” Tate picked up Clay’s water bottle and took a slurp.

  Clay rubbed his chin. “If JJ was asthmatic, surely he would have carried an inhaler with him? That wasn’t found anywhere either.”

  “Perhaps he kept one at the shop in a safe place, rather than carry it about?” Tate offered. “I’ll give Shaw a ring, see if he knows anything about it.” He took out his mobile and wandered over to the corner of the room, staring out at the duck pond below. Clay read through the report again, in case he’d missed anything.

  Nothing else seemed out of kilter. Any evidence the SOCO team had thought was relevant had been sent for testing—even the stuffed penis for fingerprinting. It would take something totally out of the ordinary to shed any light on the crime, unless they were lucky enough to find fingerprints on the object in JJ’s mouth. Clay hesitated to call it the murder weapon, but he supposed that was as good a name as any for something that had contributed to the death. The crime scene was a busy shop, so forensic evidence would include a lot of unidentifiable prints, and random bits of ephemera that would lead nowhere.

  Tate finished his call and sauntered back to Clay. “Shaw says JJ did keep a backup inhaler at the shop, and it’s still there in the sealed box. He also said JJ always had one on hand because he suffered quite a bit. Shaw knew JJ had opened a new one that morning because it had arrived via courier from his pharmacy. So we do appear to have one missing. As for the wallet and the phone…” He shrugged. “Shaw says JJ was permanently bonded to the mobile, but he never saw him with a wallet. The mobile may have been taken because it contained incriminating evidence.”

  “I’m sure Rick’s team have come to the same conclusion,” Clay said. He took back possession of his water bottle as Tate scowled at him. “No doubt they’ve scoured the premises for it. We’ll be notified if it turns up.”

  Tate huffed and went to fetch his own bottle of water. “Shaw’s closed the shop down for a while because the crime scene tape is still up, and he says he can’t do a bloody thing. He’s given a key to the police team to come and go. Apparently, there are a few deliveries on the books in the next few weeks, but he’ll manage them as they come up.” Tate made a moue. “I can’t think why anyone would want dead things as art.” He shrugged. “But each to their own.”

  “Speaking of the police team, I spoke to Rick after leaving Ms Vos. I told him she was thinking about going away and he’ll keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t do a runner while we still have questions.” Clay rolled his neck, hearing the crackle and pop. “I’ll give Relio a call and we can shoot over there anytime to learn what’s happening.”

  Someone knocked on the door and they both turned to see Draven Samuels framed in the entrance. Clay motioned him in.

  “Draven. It’s been a while. How are you and Taylor?” Draven had been on leave with his fiancé in the Greek Isles. The man looked rested, tanned, and his blond hair was bleached platinum, no doubt from the sun.

  “We’re great, thanks. Amorgos was amazing. The best diving and sailing in the world, and I’ve done a lot of it across the world. Taylor loved it.” Draven came in and sat down, lifting one elegantly clad trouser leg over his knee. “In fact, we’re thinking of buying a holiday home there.”

>   Clay raised an eyebrow. “Obviously, we’re paying you too much.”

  Draven chuckled. “Yeah, that’s it. Not the fact we scrimp and save every penny.” He leaned back and regarded Tate and Clay curiously. “We bumped into Rick Grant yesterday at the annual hospital fundraiser.” Draven’s tone was nonchalant and Clay grinned. Taylor had once had a relationship with Rick and it was something Draven still seemed a little hung up about. “Rick and Lauren were there. I didn’t realise Lauren worked for the NHS?”

  Tate perched an arse cheek on the desk. “Yup. She’s some bigwig procurement director there. Don’t ask me exactly what she does because I haven’t a clue.”

  Draven’s head tilted. “He told me you two are working on that strange murder case down in the alley? He asked whether Taylor could help on the case. See if he could pick anything up because it was a weird thing.” He snorted. “And of course my man is the one they come to when things get strange.”

  “Hey, we’ll take any help we can get,” Tate said. “If Taylor can use his ninja skills to figure out something we might have missed, I’m all for it.”

  Clay leaned forward. “Is Taylor okay? I remember you saying before his senses were changing and he didn’t see things the same way as he used to.”

  Draven sighed. “That’s still the case. Tay needs to touch stuff now to get a sense of things instead of them walloping him from all sides in the middle of the night, or whenever they feel like it.” His face tightened. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for it. It’s good to see him more rested and not at the mercy of whatever pulls him in. It does mean though that he can’t always help, something that frustrates him no end and makes him a little bitchy.” His wide smile took the sting out of the words. “He said he’ll go down to the shop in few days or so, see if he can pick anything up. We’re still unpacking and have loads to do because,” he looked at his watch and stood up, “I’m still officially on holiday until after the weekend.” He smirked.

  “What are you doing here, then?” Clay enquired. “You miss us that much?”

  Draven laughed loudly. “Fuck no. I’m using the time off to set up my home office now we’re shutting this one down. I came to get some of my stuff to take home.”

  “Sorry, Dray. We did a lethal weapons sweep and threw your box of sex toys into the dumpster.” Tate deadpanned. “We couldn’t risk them getting into the wrong hands. National security and all that.”

  “What? You went into my desk?” Clay could swear Draven had turned a little green. “Isn’t that an invasion of privacy or something?”

  Tate shook his head pityingly. “No, everything on business premises remains business property, remember? Company rules.”

  Clay rolled his eyes as he tried to keep his amusement at bay. Tate knew how to press Draven’s buttons. Although from the panicked look in Draven’s eyes, Clay wondered if perhaps Tate’s comments hadn’t hit the mark a little too close.

  “You seem to be inordinately well-versed in the company policies,” Clay murmured. “I wish I could get you to read the post-case reports with such diligence.”

  Tate ignored him and sniggered, then let out a belly laugh. “Oh God, Dray, your face. Classic ‘caught out’ shit right there.” His grin grew sly. “Why, Draven, you dog, have you and Tay been doing the dirty in the office? Clay, baby, isn’t there something in the company handbook prohibiting sex on the premises?”

  Draven stood up. “You think you’re so damned clever,” he snapped as Tate continued chuckling. “Jesus, Clay, I don’t know how you put up with this joker.” He thrust his middle finger up at Tate.

  Clay sighed. “He’s hung like a horse and fucks like a stallion,” he shot back, casting a glance in Tate’s direction. “Why else would I keep him around?”

  “Christ, not you too,” Draven remarked in disgust. “He’s been a bad influence, I can see it. Anyhow, I’m going to leave you two jokers alone now and check the integrity of my desk drawers.” He shot a laser glare at Tate. “And if anything has been tampered with, I’m coming back to punch you in the face.”

  Draven stormed out of the office.

  “Don’t forget to give us an update once Taylor’s been down to the crime scene,” Clay called out. Draven either didn’t hear or was ignoring him as he barrelled into his own workspace in another office.

  Tate was in stitches, eyes wet with tears. Clay stood up and moved around to Tate, pulling him in closer. “We’re guilty of breaking that ‘no sex on the premises’ rule ourselves,” he murmured. “I seem to recall we’ve transgressed that one more than a couple of times.”

  “Oh, I know that.” Tate managed to get himself under control as Clay reached up and brushed the wetness off his man’s cheeks. “And I’ll miss it, believe me. But Dray is too easy…like me.” His lips found Clay’s and his questing tongue slid into Clay’s mouth as they pressed closer together.

  Tate’s hard cock pushed against Clay’s stomach and he wasn’t complaining. Tate tasted of coffee and spearmint, his lips greedy and filthy, and it was all Clay could do to not push Tate over the desk, as had happened many times before, and screw him senseless.

  When Tate released him, Clay’s dick was more than happy to keep going, but this was work after all. Clay pressed his hand against his groin, rearranging himself. Tate wore a smug smirk as he did the same.

  “I’m going to miss doing that here,” Tate said with a sigh. “At least we have the home office to fuck around in.”

  Clay traced the swollen outline of Tate’s lips with his finger. “And I can do everything I want to you in the privacy of our home.” Tate’s pupils darkened at that comment. “Like I did the other night.”

  “Oh yeah,” Tate said huskily. “But next time you’ll be the one tied to the bed.”

  Clay’s dick liked that idea too.

  Chapter 5

  Something was going on at the club. As Tate rounded the corner, Clay close on his heels, walking slower as he checked out something on his phone, there appeared to be a lot of commotion on the steps. A small group had formed, all in various stages of agitation. Aurelio stood at the top of the steps, waving his hands and addressing the gathering.

  Tate stopped, and Clay bumped into him. “Look at that. Those guys don’t look happy.”

  Clay popped his phone back into his suit jacket as he frowned. “Looks like Relio has his hands full. Come on, let’s go see what it’s all about.”

  He strode past Tate, who looked skyward. “Super Clay to the rescue,” he muttered with a grin. He sauntered after his lover, took his bike jacket off, and slung it over his shoulder. The sun was warm on his arms, as he currently sported a tight, cut-off white t-shirt. Clay had raised his eyebrows when he’d seen it, but hadn’t made a comment, which showed admirable restraint.

  Tate was glad about that since he wouldn’t have changed anyway. The t-shirt clung to his torso and he’d had more than one compliment on it before. It was his own form of power dressing.

  As they grew closer, Aurelio spotted them. His face grew bleak. He glanced over at the woman by his side, Tanvi, and spoke to her softly. She turned her head to look in their direction then laid a hand on his arm and nodded.

  “I think we’ve been headed off at the pass,” Tate muttered as he caught up with Clay. “That looked like a classic interception move to me.”

  “I’d say so too,” Clay replied thoughtfully as he ran a hand through his thick hair. “Whatever Aurelio is talking about there, he doesn’t want us to hear.” He smiled wolfishly. “He’s not getting away that easily. He should know me better than that.”

  I bet he does, Tate thought snappily. As they neared the crowd, everyone grew silent. Clay politely pushed through them until finally he stood at the top of the steps, beaming at Aurelio.

  “Sorry I didn’t call ahead. We were in the neighbourhood and thought we’d stop in.”

  Aurelio smoothed hands down his fine Italian suit, which Tate thought had probably cost three times more than their monthly mortgage.
“Clay, always lovely to see you. If you don’t mind, though,” he gestured to the gathering,” I’m wrapping up a little community meeting then I’ll be right in. Tanvi, would you mind showing Clay and Tate to the drawing room, organise them a drink, and I’ll be in soon.”

  Tanvi smiled warmly. “Lovely to see you both.” She motioned graciously to the door behind them. “Let’s go inside and let Aurelio wrap up his meeting. I’m sure you gentlemen could do with something cold to drink.”

  Given that the woman was so pleasant and not wanting to cause trouble for her, even though Tate would have been quite happy to stand outside and see what was going on, he followed Tanvi into the building, Clay close behind him.

  Soon they were in the same room they’d come to the first time Tate had visited. He cast a look around, heaving a sigh of relief when he saw no human furniture. He did blink a few times at a new piece of art against the wall. It was chillingly disturbing. He thought he’d seen it before but couldn’t put a name to it.

  The triptique featured scenes of death and mayhem, plenty of naked people and other devilish figures. It was stunning in its detail and offset by clever lighting, the room slave to its dominance.

  Tanvi caught him staring at it as he and Clay sat down on the plush couch. “Incredible, isn’t it? You’ve probably seen pictures of it in the newspapers and such. It’s Hieronymous Bosch’s ‘The Garden of Earthly Delights.’ Not the original of course,” she added hastily. “Aurelio had it commissioned with an artist he knows in Rome and she created this beautiful oil painting.”

  Clay stared over at the canvas, his brow furrowed. “It’s striking,” he acknowledged, crossing his legs and leaning back to regard it. “Relio always had a taste for the macabre, and I remember he was partial to Bosch’s work. Not my cup of tea, I’m afraid. Too bloody dark.”

  “If I recall my cinema trivia, Guillermo Del Toro’s film Hellboy was created with visions of Bosch’s work,” Tate mused as he rubbed his chin. “It’s also inspired a lot of graffiti and street artists.” He cocked his head to one side. “Clay’s right. It’s depressing the hell out of me.”