Death By C*ck (Fetish Alley Book 2)

by Susan Mac Nicol

  “He is currently being encouraged to find somewhere to stay until they get it resolved.” Aurelio continued. “Apparently, it should not take too long, but they would feel better if he were somewhere with people. Somewhere safer.”

  “Will he be bringing said trouble with?” Clay asked. “Because it would help to be prepared.”

  Aurelio shook his head fervently. “No, he does not believe so, thank God. It appears the police have things under control, even down to knowing who the internal mole is, but…” He looked at them, a faint smile on his face. “Reading between the lines, I think he has been causing havoc down there with the authorities and they wish him to be elsewhere. We all know how exasperating that young man is.”

  “Too right,” Tate muttered. “They have my sympathies.”

  “And mine,” Aurelio said, seeming a little less stressed now. “He is, without doubt, the most wilful person I have ever met.” He didn’t say it like it was a bad thing, and Tate knew that there was something still going on between the two men.

  “And he called you,” Clay murmured. “Interesting.” Aurelio shot him a sharp glance, but Clay’s expression was noncommittal. Tate knew Clay like no one else and he could see the whirring behind his blank façade.

  Clay thinks the same thing I do. It’s so bloody obvious no one could miss it. Houston, I think we have a romance in the making.

  Chapter 6

  Damn, this place looks sad, Clay thought with a pang as he navigated his way through packed boxes and surplus office equipment. Now that steps had been put in place to create secure workspaces at their own homes for the four people working for M&W, his old office looked a little like a war zone. There was no laughter, or chatter from his team, and the coffee machine in the alcove was strangely quiet. Clay was used to it working twenty-four seven.

  The office, for all intents and purposes, was gone, and all that now remained was for Clay and Tate to move what remained of their stuff back home.

  The end of an era, he lamented. He made a pot of coffee as he looked around. “I know things move on,” he grumbled to the machine as he put a filter in and filled up the water. “But all this damned technology is taking the personal out of working as a team. I like seeing people in person when we’re chasing down killers or thwarting some great plan to undermine the crooks. What do you think, hmm?” The coffee machine, strangely enough, was silent and Clay huffed a frustrated sigh. “That’s it, I’ve finally lost the plot talking to a machine.”

  He was glad Tate wasn’t there to see his decline into chatting with inanimate objects. His man was busy on another of their cases, chasing down yet another potential witness for the human trafficking case from Dover. Clay was tasked with packing up the last belongings into the cardboard box ready and waiting in their office and then taking it home.

  First, however, he had a call to make. He ambled over to his office, with his coffee mug now duly filled, and slumped into his chair. Moodily, he picked up the business card he’d gotten from Malcolm Perry, eying it as if it would bite. He didn’t want to call a known mobster and solicit his help. For Aurelio’s sake, though, he’d bite the bullet and do it.

  He picked up his mobile and dialled. The ringing lasted a few seconds then a terse voice snapped, “Malcolm Perry. Who are you?”

  “Mr Perry, it’s Clay Mortimer from Mortimer and Williams. We met some time ago when your son was injured. I hope he’s doing well, and has recuperated.” Clay leaned back in his chair and scowled at the mess of shredded paper in bags on the floor. He hoped someone had arranged for the disposal service to come by and fetch it.

  “Of course, Mr Mortimer. I remember you.” Perry’s tone grew warmer. “Anthony is doing well, thank you for asking. How are you and what can I do for you?”

  Clay ran a finger round the rim of his coffee mug. “I have a rather sensitive matter I wanted to discuss. It involves the patrons of Fetish Alley and my friend Aurelio Borese.”

  There was silence. Clay waited, senses on high alert. When the other man spoke again, there was a tinge of puzzlement in his tone. “I know the place, of course, and I know who Borese is. What does your sensitive matter have to do with me or my business?”

  Clay sighed. “I’ll be blunt. It appears some of the patrons of the alley have been threatened into making certain protection payments under pain of death and other bodily injuries. Borese seems to think it is your doing and I offered to call you and discuss the matter on his behalf. Seeing as how we have a connection of sorts.”

  Malcolm Perry snorted. “You mean I owe you one and you’re here to collect?” He laughed sharply. “Hah. There are no flies on you, are there? Well, you’re wasting your time and your favour.”

  Clay frowned. “How so? Because you aren’t open to negotiation or reason on the matter?”

  “Because I have fucking nothing to do with it. I’m not into that sort of thing. It’s more the sort of thing Borese’s old family confederates would have been into. Mafia protection is still a thing in this city. But it’s not my area of business.”

  Clay tapped a pencil against his mug thoughtfully. “So, you don’t know a man called Sid Callow? I understood he works for you, along with some others involved in this protection racket with him.”

  There was another silence. Clay waited.

  “Is Sid the one doing the asking down there?” Malcolm’s voice was flat, and even Clay shivered at the hidden menace in his words. “He works for me, yes, but it looks like he may be engaged in extracurricular activities. He and his minions have not been authorised to run any sort of racket in the city, let alone Fetish Alley.”

  A prickle of unease sliced down Clay’s spine like the cold blade of a knife against flesh. “Are you saying he’s doing this solo, that he doesn’t have your blessing?”

  Christ, have I just gotten a man killed?

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Perry stated evenly. “And when my employees decide to take things into their own hands, then, Mr Mortimer, as a responsible employer, you can understand I need to nip it in the bud?”

  Clay cleared his throat. “Let’s be clear. ‘Nip it in the bud’ doesn’t mean his body will be floating in the Thames, does it? Because if it did, then you’d be putting me in an awkward position.”

  “Would that be such a bad thing, the first part of that sentence?” Perry asked softly. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  “It would be a really bad thing,” Clay murmured. “I’d take it as your personal favour repaid in full if you could stop the activity in the alley and retire Mr Callow and his associates in such a way that does not involve violence or their untimely death.”

  He held his breath while he waited for Perry’s reply.

  “I tell you what,” Perry said finally, amusement tingeing his tone. “I’ll tell him to cease aggravating the residents of the alley, and send him on his way, along with anyone who helped, but I’m afraid I will have to exert a little bit of pressure on him and his team. I can’t have my other employees thinking I’ve gone soft, can I?”

  Clay closed his eyes in resignation. He supposed that was a compromise of sorts and in all honesty, more than he could expect. “Of course, I can’t stop you. Truly, I appreciate your cooperation.”

  “You’re an interesting man, Mr Mortimer,” Perry said slowly. “Given your background in the SAS and your lover’s past experience with the drug gangs, I’d have thought violence would not have been such an anathema to you. Especially after what happened to Mr Williams.”

  Clay lost his breath for a second then found it. He shouldn’t have been surprised Malcolm Perry had done his homework. Clay supposed he should have expected it. The man didn’t get where he was without knowing his friends and his enemies inside out. “That’s a different time, and a different job. I like to think I have a line I won’t step over.” He crossed his fingers because, once, he’d almost stepped over that line.

  “Perhaps,” Perry remarked with a savage hint of satisfaction. “Thoug
h if someone had done to one of mine what was done to yours, they’d not have lived a minute past the time I was facing them and could slip a knife between their ribs.” He paused. “Standing behind your line may make you a better man than me, but we all have our weaknesses, don’t we?”

  By now, Clay’s heart pounded so loud in his ears, he thought the damn thing might give out. He wasn’t going to get into the fact he’d tracked Tate’s kidnapper and torturer for days after Tate was released close to death. The fact Clay had come close to killing Sonny Armerian only to be pipped at the post by a car bomb planted by a rival gang member, who’d sensed Armerian’s weakness was Tate and taken advantage of it.

  “Yes, well, the world would be a boring place if we were all the same,” Clay replied. “May I advise Mr Borese that the bullying will stop and that the alley residents can stop looking over their communal shoulders?”

  “You may, Mr Mortimer, you may. Consider this matter closed and my debt paid in full.” The phone went dead. Clay puffed out his cheeks and stood up, walking over to the large window to stare down at the garden outside. He felt dizzy.

  Well, that hadn’t gone too badly. Now if his heart would return to normal sinus rhythm, maybe the world would stop tilting. He hoped he’d stopped whatever nefarious activity was going on in the alley and stopped a few people from being executed. Clay counted that as a win. He smiled wryly. Tate would be upset hearing the scumbags making people’s lives a misery were going to get off easy. In many ways, Tate subscribed to Perry’s form of justice.

  As Clay pootled around the office, his nerves began to settle, as he made sure everything was packed, often stopping to give a whimsical smile when he found something that reminded him of the happy times: a small bottle of lube hidden in the secret compartment of his desk drawer.

  Thank God I remembered, I’d hate whoever buys this desk to have found it. The memories of the sexy times he and Tate had shared in the privacy of his office were ones he treasured. There were sets of expired coupons for Big Mac meal deals at McDonald’s tucked away under his desk blotter. Clay regarded them sadly.

  In Tate’s workspace, the adjoining office to Clay’s, a near-death Dieffenbachia pouted, screaming for sustenance. Clay gathered it up and popped it in the box.

  No point giving you water now, you’ll leak all over the seats. Sorry, little fella, you’ll have to wait until we get home.

  There were other reminders of his office life, and when he’d finally finished with everything he needed to do, he was left with two boxes and a plant.

  Casting one more nostalgic glance around, Clay left the office he’d worked in for many years and made his way home.

  ***

  “So Perry told you it wasn’t him and that he’d deal with it himself? And not kill anyone? Huh.” Tate swung his foot idly from his relaxed pose sprawled over the couch. “That’s a first for a mobster.”

  Clay turned away from fixing a drink at the mini bar in his study. It was well past sundown and he needed it. “It wasn’t negotiable. I wasn’t having any deaths on my conscience.”

  “What did Aurelio say when you told him?” Tate accepted his bourbon with a murmured “Thanks” and took a deep swig. He gave a satisfied sigh as Clay sat down next to him.

  Clay pushed Tate’s leg aside to make more room. “Geez, babe, stop hogging the damn couch.” He slumped against the seat back as he relaxed. “He was surprised at hearing Perry had nothing to do with it, but was relieved that he was taking care of things.” Clay flapped a hand. “Said he’d ‘wait and see’ and thank you for intervening. I told him we’ll pop over next week and see how things are going.” He sniggered. “I think Relio had his hands full, and that might not be a metaphor. I’m pretty sure I heard Tomas in the background.”

  Tate nodded. “So it’s not only me then who thinks something is going on between those two?”

  Clay pursed his lips. “There’s definitely something happening there. I hope Relio knows what the hell he’s doing.”

  “Huh,” Tate said thoughtfully. He shifted his legs back up the couch and draped them over Clay’s lap.

  Clay chuckled. “Do I need to take you shopping for new socks?” He clasped Tate’s left big toe, which peeked through a hole in his sock. “I thought Jax and Dare bought you those graffiti ones for Christmas. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear them.”

  Tate eyed his sock gloomily. “I put them away somewhere and I can’t find them now,” he confessed. “I love those socks.” He jumped as Clay poked at his toe. “Hey, stop that. You know I’m ticklish there.”

  “Oh, I know,” Clay acknowledged with a wicked grin. He put his drink down on the side table. Swiftly, he pulled the offending sock off Tate’s foot and threw it onto the floor. Tate gave an indignant yelp. “And I’m in the mood to tickle.”

  He laughed as he gripped Tate’s foot tightly and drew his fingers along the bottom of the sole, as his lover squirmed to get away.

  “You fucker. Stop that. Jesus, Clay, I swear I’m going to deck you.” Tate wriggled like an eel as he attempted, unsuccessfully, to stop Clay’s torture. Tate’s other foot shot out, aiming for Clay’s chest, a move Clay avoided by leaning away.

  “Playing dirty, are you?” he said huskily as Tate’s foot dug into Clay’s groin in his effort to escape. Clay’s cock was already stiff, Tate’s ministrations doing nothing to minimise the effect. “That deserves payback.” He reached out and took hold of both Tate’s ankles, pulling Tate in closer. “I have another use for these. Resting on my shoulders sounds like a plan.”

  Tate went still, his eyes darkening. He licked his lips, and Clay groaned at the sight of that wet, full mouth. He let go of Tate’s ankles as Tate smiled gently, the promise in his eyes driving Clay breathless.

  “Yeah? That’s your evil plan?” Tate reached behind him and scooted toward Clay until his backside was on Clay’s lap. In one fluid movement, Tate drew up, straddling Clay, his hardened cock pressed against Clay’s stomach. “I can get on board with that as long as you stop fucking tickling me.” Tate’s mouth came down on Clay’s as he reached behind Clay’s head and gripped his fingers into Clay’s hair. Tate’s mouth was sinful, greedy, practised, and demanding, and Clay’s senses swam with the onslaught.

  He drank Tate in hungrily, his hands unzipping Tate’s jeans and reaching in to clasp his silken, heated cock in his hand. His own dick was screaming for freedom but Clay knew some things were worth the wait. Especially when it came to Tate.

  Tate groaned into the kiss. “Jesus, I love your hands on me. But I want you to fuck me, right here. It’s been a while since we did it on the couch.”

  He gave Clay one last dirty-as-sin kiss, and stood up, shucking his jeans and boxers to the floor. His cock thrust up proudly from a patch of neatly groomed dark hair, and Clay wanted to lick the drops that gathered at the tip.

  Tate reached over and undid Clay’s chinos, growling softly when Clay’s cock sprung free. “God, I love Clayzilla,” he murmured with a grin. Clay scowled at the nickname he’d inherited. “Your cock should have its own reality show. Like, ‘Cock in the Jungle,’ which one will make it through?”

  He laughed softly at Clay’s muttered “Fuck off.”

  Tate picked up the blanket that was always on hand for occasions like these and spread it on the couch. He lay back on it, legs parted. “Get out of those damn trousers and get over here.” He had a small packet of lube in his hand, no doubt from the stash they kept under the couch cushions.

  Tate, clad only in a shirt, with everything bared to Clay, was the sexiest sight he’d ever seen. And he intended to get his fill. He dropped his trousers and briefs to the floor to join Tate’s then straddled Tate, one knee against the couch back and one foot on the floor. Not for the first time Clay gave himself a mental pat on the back that he’d had presence of mind to buy a particularly wide leather couch some years ago. It made fucking on it so much more comfortable.

  Tate’s hazel eyes looked up at him, glazed with nee
d. “Christ, you look so sexy when you’re half naked like this. Makes it feel dirtier somehow, and I like dirty.” His legs wrapped around Clay and he pushed the packet of open lube into his hands. “Let me feel your fingers opening me up.”

  Clay wasted no time. He pushed his slick fingers inside his boyfriend, and bent down to kiss Tate, revelling in the pants and moans coming from the man beneath him. Seeing Tate so unguarded and open was always a treat.

  “Enough,” Tate finally managed to get out. “Show me that payback you promised.”

  Clay grinned down at him. “Gladly.” He pushed inside Tate, hitching a breath at the familiar sensation of Tate around his cock. Tate grunted and thrust up, as he found his own rhythm.

  One of the many great things about being in a long-term relationship that Clay loved was having a partner who knew how his body worked, and the ease of making love with someone who knew how best to deliver the sensual play that brought pleasure to both of them. Clay rocked into Tate and in turn he gripped Clay tighter, forcing him deeper inside. The harmony of sex, with all it entailed—sweat, the essence of musky semen, gasps of pleasure, warm exhalations of air against each other’s cheeks, and the knowledge that the man below him was his and no one else’s—that was a miracle Clay thanked the gods for each and every day.

  Tate moaned, his mouth finding Clay’s in a feverish display of need. His body prickled, his balls tightening and his breaths becoming more ragged. He knew from the sloppiness of the kisses Tate was delivering that his lover was ready to come. Tate always wanted his mouth on Clay’s when he was ready to blow.

  “Jesus.” Tate’s muffled cry against Clay’s swollen lips was all he needed to know how close his man was. Tate’s body bucked like shock waves beneath Clay’s sweat-sleeked body, his fingers gripping fiercely into Clay’s flanks, no doubt leaving bruises. It took him a few more thrusts into his lover’s shuddering, tight-as-a-bow body to climax too, the warm, jets spurting out and giving Clay the release he craved.