Death By C*ck (Fetish Alley Book 2)

by Susan Mac Nicol

  She strode over to the door. “Time for you both to go. Fuck off and don’t come back.”

  Clay couldn’t get out the door quick enough. He’d faced mad bombers, terrorists, kidnappers, and soldiers intent on gutting him, but Ingrid Vos was a whole new kettle of fish. The woman was crazy. He had no doubt. The feeling she’d had something to do with JJ’s death grew stronger, and no doubt Tate felt the same from the revulsion on his face.

  As they waited for the lift, Clay quirked a brow at his partner. “What have you got hidden under your jacket?” he murmured. “I hope like hell it’s something that can prove she was the bitch that killed him, because, man, that woman needs to be put in a jail cell and never see the light of day again.” He felt his face darken. “I know we shouldn’t put all our faith in one suspect being the killer, but since we don’t have any other leads, and she seems most likely, I suppose we need to exhaust all possibilities.”

  Tate smirked and opened his jacket. He pulled out a blue glass bottle. “This was in the bottom of her wastepaper bin in the bathroom. It’s full of fingerprints, so I’m hoping if we get anything back from the inhaler, we can match it up to hers.” The lift door opened, and they stepped out. “I’m sure Rick can find an excuse to get her down to the station at some time to get an official set.” His face grew grim. “She did it. I’m sure. That grape vape? That’s what Taylor must have smelt, not perfume. It can’t be a scent from over a month ago. It would have disappeared by now. Simon Shaw also said he smelt something too the night after JJ was killed. In my mind, we have a one hundred percent viable suspect. All we have to do now is make sure we have enough proof for Rick to arrest her.” He winked at Clay. “And I’m going to order some of that bubbly-wubbly shit and ask Taylor and Simon Shaw to give it a sniff, see if it triggers any memory for them.”

  Tate smiled wolfishly. “That selfish bitch isn’t getting away with anything. Mark my words.”

  Chapter 10

  “You do know she's going to die, right?” Taylor sat cross-legged on the couch in his and Draven’s apartment as he deftly fielded a huge slice of pizza toward his mouth. “I mean, it’s always the damn psychic ones who are the first to be killed, or have their brains explode.” Tomato sauce was smeared endearingly around his mouth.

  From his position on the floor, leaning against Clay’s legs, Tate sniggered as he waved his beer bottle around. “Tay, it’s usually the first one who says, ‘I’ll go investigate’ while the others all cower down and stay put, that is the one who gets eaten, or the serial killer jumps out and wham, instant blood fest.”

  As he said those words, there was a bloodcurdling scream from the giant television screen mounted on the wall in the lounge, and Taylor spluttered. Draven grinned and poked Taylor. “You said it, babe. You must be psychic.”

  “See what I mean? That poor woman was trying to convince the ghost to move on and now she’s a red splodge on the wall. Being like me sucks.” Taylor scowled and took another bite of his pizza.

  The film they were watching was a horror story about an old mental asylum and a group of people trapped in there due to a fierce snowstorm. It wasn’t going to win an Oscar, Clay thought in amusement, as his fingers played idly with Tate’s hair. But it was a great excuse for him and Tate to meet up with their friends and catch up.

  Draven reached over and wiped the sauce off Taylor’s chin, then sucked his fingers clean of mess. “Christ, you need to wear a damn bib. You have sauce everywhere. You’d better not have got it on the new couch.”

  Clay acknowledged the couch was indeed an improvement on the previous one. The new one was soft, plush tapestry fabric, comfortable enough to lie on lengthways, even for him, and looked as if it would give a good night’s sleep.

  Taylor rolled his eyes as he reached for his glass of wine. “BéBé, since when have I messed up your new couch? We all know that if I hadn’t convinced you to remove it, it would still have the plastic all over it.”

  Draven scowled. “Don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t do that, it’s tacky. All I’m trying to do is have a decent piece of furniture for a change. That old couch of yours was a death trap. It was all springs and gaps.”

  Taylor looked up, eyes dancing. “The gaps were great to keep lube in. And I recall you didn’t mind the couch springs too much when I was face down trying to suck air into my damn lungs. I remember when—”

  Draven placed a hand over Taylor’s mouth. “Enough already, these guys don’t want to hear our sex stories.”

  “I’d like to,” Tate murmured, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Feel free to carry on with your hot sexploit tales.” He pushed his head back into Clay’s hands, and Clay increased his activity. His man had a thing for having his head massaged.

  Draven ignored Tate and turned to Clay. “So how is your investigation going down at the alley? Tate mentioned something to Tay about having a strong lead.” Draven raised a quizzical eyebrow at Tate. “You want him to sniff something, I believe. I have to say, that appears a bit of an unusual request, even for you. Is this some sort of weird kink you two have got going on?”

  Clay laughed. “He has kinks, but sniffing isn’t one of them. No, we discovered something in a suspect’s flat and wanted to test a theory.”

  Draven looked intrigued. “Tay, you’re the bloodhound, sweetheart. Something else to rag you about.”

  Taylor sniffed. “Like you don’t rag me enough already…” He shot Draven a fond glance then sighed. He picked up the remote and paused the film. “So, come on, Sherlock Holmes. What’s this stuff you need me to smell?”

  Tate got to his feet and went over to his jacket. He took out an e-cig and fiddled with it while Clay looked on, perplexed.

  “You actually intend smoking that?” he queried. “I admire your attention to detail.”

  Tate looked over at him with a smile. “Best way to re-create the scene is to do it the right way. You’re damn right I’m going to smoke this thing.” He frowned and fiddled a bit more. “I need to get this refill thing sorted and we’re good to go.”

  Draven snorted. “You know how to use that thing? You’ve never smoked, have you?”

  Tate glowered at him. “How hard can it be? You put it in your mouth and suck. That part I’ve had plenty of practice with…”

  Clay shook his head in amusement. “Go on then. Let’s see you do this.”

  Tate stared at the e-cig, then nodded to confirm it was all set up. Clay watched as Tate put the mouth tip in his mouth and sucked. It started off looking cool, but Tate’s face grew pink and within seconds, he was not only blowing the smoke out but coughing up a lung.

  Clay started to laugh, Draven joining in. “Oh Jesus,” Draven managed to get out. “That was so smoothly done, mister. You’re a natural at this vaping shit.” His laughter was cut short by the sight of Taylor sitting stock still on the couch, eyes wide open, a blank expression on his face. His breathing was deep, as if he was struggling with it. His hands clenched and unclenched in his lap.

  “Crap,” Draven swore. “Taylor’s reacting to the vape.” He sat down next to his fiancé and rubbed his shoulder. “You still with us, baby? Take your time, wait it out.” He cast a quick glance over to Tate, who was red-faced but no longer coughing. “I think your smelly smoke triggered something. I guess that’s a yes to whatever you thought he might react to.”

  “Shit,” Tate said, his face pale. “I didn’t mean to cause him any harm. Is he okay?” Clay got up to stand next to Tate.

  Draven nodded, his fingers gently caressing Taylor’s cheek. “He’s good. It’ll take him a couple of minutes to come back. But he will.”

  Clay kneaded Tate’s shoulder while they waited for Taylor to recover. “Not your fault,” he murmured at seeing the stricken look in his lover’s eyes. “I’ve seen this before, he’ll be fine in a while.”

  Tate nodded absently, his eyes focused on Taylor’s face. “He looks really spaced out,” he whispered. “I guess Draven is right. That scent is the one that Taylor pi
cked up on in the shop.”

  Taylor’s eyes flickered, and he took a deep, heaving breath then stared wildly around the room. “Shit a brick. I went off, didn’t I? That smell brought back one of the visions I had at the shop. The ‘I can’t breathe, I’m going to die’ sort of vision.” He shivered as Draven passed him his wine. “It was definitely that fragrance I smelt.”

  “Drink this,” Draven instructed. “Wine always makes you feel better.” He rubbed Taylor’s back and turned to Clay and Tate. “I think we can say that was a success, then.”

  Tate nodded. “Yeah. I’m glad you’re okay, Taylor.”

  Taylor shrugged. “Well, that’s debatable.” His voice went low and monotone. “I mean are any of us okay? Or are we all striving to get through this life without busting a gut and enjoying what we can of it?”

  The other three men looked at him in confusion and Taylor burst into laughter. “Guys, I’m messing with you. Honestly, I’m fine.” He took a swig of his wine and leaned back against the couch with a smirk. “Want to finish the film, see if any more ghost hunters or spiritualists come to a sticky end. If anyone is still hungry, I have stuff in the fridge. We can have a late-night snack while we finish watching.” He stood up and strode over to the open-plan kitchen. Whistling softly, he began assembling platters of cheese and olives, coupled with fresh bread and butter.

  Draven rolled his eyes. “Taylor’s way of getting back to normal. Either cooking or feeding people, it makes him happy.”

  “You need some help there, Taylor?” Clay called out.

  Taylor shook his head. “Nuh-huh, I’m good. You guys sit down and get comfy. I’ll bring this platter over in a jiffy.”

  Clay sat back down on the sofa, and Tate went back to his place on the floor. “Looks like we have more of the puzzle pieces in place,” Clay murmured as Draven fiddled with the remote. “I think our suspicions are being confirmed. Now all we need to do is wait for the fingerprint results to see whether we have a match there. If we do, I think Rick will be bringing her in for questioning, and hopefully he’ll have enough to charge her at least and obtain her fingerprints.”

  Tate nodded, looking up at him. “I spoke to him yesterday. He still says there are no other real leads other than a witness who said they saw a tall man drive a car away from the scene around nine-thirty pm. They couldn’t agree on what type of car it was other than a small hatchback, possibly blue, possibly black. They could give two letters of the registration plate, N and M. Ingrid doesn’t have a car, so it couldn’t have been her.”

  He rolled his shoulders. “Rick said he’d do what he could with that, but he wasn’t hopeful. But at least it’s another line of enquiry, in case we’re wrong.” His eyes narrowed. “But we’re not. I can feel it. Now all we have to do is make a case with the little bits of evidence we have and hope she cracks under pressure. Her type usually does.”

  A loud scream drew his eyes away to the television where the film had been paused again. Tate chuckled. “Looks like another one bit the dust. Taylor, I don’t think there’ll be many of them left after this killer gets finished.”

  ***

  More eating. If he carried on like this, Clay would be the size of a small mountain soon. He chuckled to himself and leaned back with a satisfied sigh and patted his belly. “That was the best osso buco I’ve ever tasted. This place certainly lives up to its reputation.”

  Across the table, in the busy Italian restaurant in Covent Garden where they sat, Aurelio toyed with his empty wineglass and smiled absently at Clay. “Good. I’m pleased you enjoyed it.” He reached over for the bottle of wine and refilled both their glasses. “It is second only to the wine. This particular bottle is one of my favourites.”

  Clay wasn’t a wine buff and he squinted at the label. “Langhe Nebbiolo twenty-fifteen,” he pronounced. “It is a good wine, I’ll need to remember that name.” He drew out his mobile and took a picture of the bottle in case his memory failed him.

  Aurelio chuckled softly. “My friend, there was a day when that mind of yours was as sharp as a knife. Now you resort to visual memories to steer you by. What is this world coming to?”

  Clay mock-scowled. “Don’t be a tosser. Why should I remember something like that when I can keep it in here,” he waved his phone, “and pull it out when I need it? And I remember things fine, fuck you very much.”

  Aurelio sipped his wine. “So now we have dinner out of the way, do you want to tell me why you invited me here tonight?” He gestured around the restaurant. “While I know you love my company, I don’t think this is a simple friendly get-together.” He set his glass on the table. “You have an ulterior motive, I think.”

  Clay did indeed have a reason for their dinner together and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Can’t a bloke ask another bloke for dinner without him getting paranoid? Honestly, Relio, you are too damned suspicious.”

  Aurelio raised one sardonic eyebrow in Clay’s direction and Clay laughed. “All right, so maybe I do have something to discuss with you. A couple of things, actually.”

  Aurelio sighed. “Ask what you must. I think I know what it will be, but I’ll let you go first.” He shifted in his chair and gazed at Clay in expectation.

  Clay put down his glass. “First, how are things in the alley? Have things gone back to normal since Malcom Perry intervened?”

  Aurelio nodded slowly. “I can confirm there have been no extortions for money, or seedy characters loitering around the businesses making nuisances of themselves. It seems Mr Perry was indeed a man of his word.”

  Clay was relieved to hear it. He’d thought Perry would come through, but it was good to have it confirmed. “Excellent. Hopefully that situation will remain the same for the foreseeable future.”

  Aurelio inclined his head graciously. “Yes. If you have occasion to speak to our benefactor again, please pass on my sincere thanks and regards.”

  Clay snorted. “I’m doubting I’ll have the need to talk to the man again, but if I do, I’ll certainly tell him.” He leaned forward. “Second, I know this might not be any of my business, and you can tell me to fuck off, but is everything okay between you and Tomas?”

  Aurelio’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask? Has he been talking to you about our…relationship?”

  Clay shook his head adamantly. “Not to me. He and Tate did speak recently, now that Tomas is back home, but I didn’t ask for details. I wondered if you’d spoken to him since the last time we saw you two together?”

  Clay crossed his fingers, hoping the fates wouldn’t strike him down for his roundabout lie. He hadn’t asked per se, but Tate had shared with Clay the gist of his and Tomas’s last conversation.

  Tomas was mortified by his drug use at the club and vowed never to do it again.

  Aurelio was a bastard and Tomas wanted nothing more to do with him.

  Tomas was looking at moving to London permanently.

  The young man had given no reason, simply announced he was bored with Kent.

  Tate was helping him find a suitable place and had been sworn to secrecy that Aurelio must never be told about the move closer to where he lived.

  Aurelio rolled his eyes and shoulders at the same time, a gesture Clay found rather entertaining. “We talked the next morning.” Aurelio grimaced. “He was not well. He was being sick at the time, and I was helping him out with painkillers and a glass of water. Piccolo idiota.” His fond tone belied the sting of his words. “He is a complicated man, our Tomas. He is young and still doesn’t know what he wants in life.” He shrugged elegantly clad shoulders. “It would appear I am not on the list of his requirements.”

  Clay sensed bitterness beneath the words, even as he heard the regret in them as well.

  “You like him,” Clay stated gently. “I get the feeling he likes you too. But I know things aren’t always that easy. My relationship with Tate is a classic example.” He took a sip of his wine. “Is there anything I can do for you, even if it’s only a shoulder to cry on? Or p
erhaps, like we are doing now, simply an ear to listen.”

  Aurelio sat in silence for a while and Clay was happy to let his friend gather his thoughts.

  “I appreciate the offer, my friend, more than you know,” Aurelio said finally. “You are correct. I do have feelings for Tomas. However, he is over ten years younger than me, and has a lot of living to do before he settles down. Strong relationships cannot be built on this. I am resigned to the fact he will move on and I will need to as well.”

  Clay thought perhaps given that Tomas was moving to London, perhaps Aurelio’s fears were misguided. He had a feeling Tomas was perfectly capable of knowing what and who he wanted, and his gut told him Aurelio was one of the things, people, Tomas wanted most. However, Clay wasn’t going to betray a confidence or interfere.

  “From what I’ve seen of you together, and what I know of Tomas, he isn’t one to decide things lightly,” Clay agreed. “Perhaps he needs some time to make sure the things on his list are truly what he wants.”

  Aurelio huffed. “Perhaps. At least I got a commitment from him that he will not do anything as stupid as taking drugs again. I suppose that is something.”

  “It is indeed. Tomas is a good man. If he makes a promise, it’s something he’ll keep.” Clay beckoned the waitress over to get the bill. “Trust me, things have a way of working themselves out if they’re meant to be.”

  Aurelio laughed, seeming a little more relaxed now. “Listen to you, being all Zen. You sound like Eleanor. She holds the same view. Each time I see her, she says, ‘It is what it is,’ or ‘What will be, will be.’” He harrumphed. “It is all most confusing. It helps not a bit when you have something to decide.”

  Clay tapped his fingers idly on the table. “I hear you. Wouldn’t it be great to have a real magic eight ball that told you exactly what you needed to do?”

  Aurelio grabbed the bill the waitress brought over despite Clay’s protests. “No, this is mine to pay. You and your man have done more than enough for my club and my patrons, and I wish to return the favour a little.” He drew out a credit card and handed it to the server. “Talking of the alley, have you any new leads since the inhaler went off to be checked for fingerprints?”