Death By C*ck (Fetish Alley Book 2)

by Susan Mac Nicol

  Clay had already filled Aurelio in on the latest developments while they’d had their calamari starters, which had been delicious. “The other lead the police had, the tall man in the car, turned out to be nothing more than a violinist on his way home from practice and fancying a little distraction in the Lewd Foods shop. They have CCTV and he was clearly in there around the time of the murder then was shown in the car-park getting into his car minutes later.”

  Clay huffed. “We should have the analysis back on the fingerprints in a day or so. If they are Ingrid Vos’s, Rick will pull her in again for questioning and get her to provide her fingerprints down at the station, under the premise of excluding her from the scene. I’m not sure how he’ll work it, but he says he’ll do it somehow. That way there’s no question of the inhaler being thrown out, because the bottle was obtained without a warrant. Tate and I are sure it’s her, and we’re hoping she’ll crack under questioning.”

  He regarded Aurelio thoughtfully. “We think Eleanor Lixer was involved with JJ romantically. It’s a feeling we have, and Rick checked her out as a person of interest. Her alibi stood up to scrutiny. She wasn’t even in the UK at the time of the killing. She was away at some spiritual workshop in Paris with some fifty witnesses.”

  Aurelio pursed his lips. “Interesting. I am not aware they were in any type of relationship.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “However, if she has been discounted from the enquiries, I imagine it is of no consequence.”

  Clay nodded. “The same conclusion we came to. She seems like a lovely woman.” He grimaced. “I wish I could say the same about Ms Vos.”

  Aurelio grinned. “She has appeared to cause some turmoil in the alley. Since JJ started going out with her, the word was that she is indeed a vindictive, unpleasant woman.” His face darkened. “JJ deserved better. He was a bright young man cut down in his prime. I hope he gets his justice.” He reached over and covered Clay’s hand with one of his. “I am truly grateful for all that you and Tate are doing for us down at Fetish Alley. The patrons respect you both, and that is not something that is easily earned. I am fortunate to have you as friends.” He looked at Clay slyly. “Even if your man is still jealous of me.” He preened. “It is good to know I still have it.”

  Clay burst into laughter. “Oh God, I know. I keep telling him you and I were over a long time ago, but he can’t get it into his thick skull.” He quirked an eyebrow at their handholding. “If he saw us doing this, he’d freak out.”

  Aurelio chuckled and removed his hand. “It is good to have someone who loves you to distraction. As long as they are not too possessive, I think a little jealousy goes a long way to spicing up the relationship.”

  He pushed his chair back. “Shall we depart? We can take a gentle stroll to the station so you can get your train home. I will walk back to the club. It will be good for me.” He shrugged into his expensive grey Rubinacci blazer, which Clay thought probably cost more than Clay’s two best suits combined.

  Walking along pavements crowded with people was one of the things Clay loved about the place he lived in. Jam-packed with a diverse population, accents from all over the world blending into one another, coupled with the bright lights of a vibrant and thriving city was something Clay would never tire of.

  Street stalls promised food from every corner of the globe, buskers sang husky songs of love and loss while strumming guitars, and all around him the city buzzed with a rhythm that was uniquely London.

  When they reached the tube station, Clay drew Aurelio in for a tight hug. “Safe journey home,” he said. “I’ll update you if I hear anything, or if anything turns up.”

  Aurelio nodded. “You too, my friend. Thank you for your time tonight. And please, don’t worry about me.” He gave a faint smile. “Tomas has not broken my heart, only bruised it. I will survive.”

  With one last wave, he disappeared into the throng of commuters walking past. Clay watched him go then went down the steps into the tube station.

  Chapter 11

  “So… what’s the verdict?” Tate leaned back insouciantly in his chair. Across the metal table they sat around, Clay looked over at Rick, who grinned as if he’d discovered the secret to life eternal.

  When Rick had invited them down to the South Bank restaurant for a drink, both Clay and Tate had jumped at it. The past few days, Tate had been involved with a new case, one that meant doing a load of tedious research on a private hospital that was charging patients too much for their consultations and potentially illegal medicines. As the industry wasn’t one he knew well, to do it justice he needed to do a lot of background sleuthing and check out the online forums to see what the people in the know were saying.

  He’d been glad for the break and Clay, who’d been on the phone most of the morning with his peers in Malta who needed some advice on military matters, had been similarly pleased with the distraction.

  The warm July weather was the best backdrop to sitting out along the Thames, which was coated with sunshine, ships, and pleasure cruises.

  Rick took a sip of his beer. “You guys know I had to, like, give an arm and a leg to get these results so quickly, right?” He grinned. “The ladies down in the fingerprint lab love me, make no mistake, but they are so damned overworked that I had to promise to support their charity run next week, with an amount that should be illegal to extort, and also take part in the karaoke competition down at the pub tomorrow night.” He fanned himself with a hand. “Oh, the shame…”

  Clay rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Poor baby boy. It sucks to be you, doesn’t it?”

  Tate snorted loudly. “I don’t give a fuck whether you have to dance naked in the squad room, or give up your first born to be sacrificed, if you tell me those fingerprints are a match, it’ll be worth it.” He laughed at Rick’s scandalised stare. “Come on, baby boy,” he mocked. “Spill the beans. Are we arresting that bitch or what?”

  Rick took another deliberate slow sip of his drink and that was when Tate knew the answer.

  “Those prints on the inhaler are hers, aren’t they?” Tate crowed, and slapped the table. It shuddered, and Clay’s beer slopped over the rim. “Fuck me, George, we have her.” He ignored the horrified glances from the table next to them, because, yeah, children, but this victory was not to be downplayed.

  “I doubt George will be fucking you any time soon, and you might want to watch the language in public here?” Clay sighed sadly as the people next to them made a hasty retreat. “I can’t bloody well take you anywhere.”

  Beneath his dry tone, Tate heard the same triumph he felt.

  “The prints are hers,” Rick confirmed, a gleam in his eyes. “DS Meadham is arranging to bring her into the station for questioning as we speak.”

  A deep sense of satisfaction swept through Tate. “I want to watch the grilling,” he proclaimed with a wicked smile. “We both want to be there, in fact. I’ve heard DS Meadham’s interrogation techniques are something to watch, and I’d like to see them up close and personal.”

  Rick nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll let you know when we have Ms Vos in custody and you can come down.” He smiled. “Carol is pretty badass when she gets going.”

  “Fucking best news I’ve had all week.” Tate drained his beer and motioned to the server for another round. He took off his sunglasses, squinting at them in puzzlement.

  Clay reached into his pocket and took out a hanky. “Here you go, give them a clean. I know that look.”

  Tate flashed him a grin. “What would I do without you?” he murmured as he polished his lenses.

  “End up in prison, be sold to a daddy bear, who the hell knows,” Clay remarked. “Although I’d hate to be the daddy bear who got stuck with you.” He gave a husky laugh as he assessed Tate possessively. “Stubborn as hell, complicated as fuck, but sexy as sin.”

  Tate smiled sultrily as he put his glasses back on. “Babe, that daddy could only appreciate a fine piece of arse like mine. I’d keep him sweet for days.” He purse
d his lips and blew a kiss at Clay. “But then you know that, don’t you?”

  Rick groaned. “Could you two please can it with the sex talk? I haven’t seen Lauren much in the last week and my balls are blue. I don’t need you two reminding me of my lack of a sex life.”

  The busker on the side of the river, who’d been playing some sort of reasonably pleasant rock music in the background, suddenly shouted out in excitement. Tate turned to see what was happening.

  A man was on his knees in front of a woman, who was giggling and blushing bright red, as the man proposed. A crowd gathered around the pair, egging her to say yes as the busker burst into an impromptu ditty of Bruno Mars’s “Marry You.” Tate watched as the pair did their thing and even his matter-of-fact heart pinged a little when she said, “Yes.”

  Beside him Clay was clapping along with the rest of the crowd and shouting out his congratulations. Rick was grinning from ear, and Tate wondered whether he was remembering his official proposal to Lauren a few months ago. It had been über romantic, with Rick taking her to Dunrobin Castle in Scotland to do the deed.

  Tate motioned at Rick. “Bring back memories? When is the big day anyway? Have you guys set a date yet?”

  Rick sighed heavily. “We’ve been talking about it. Lauren suggested some date in May next year, which is fine, but she wants this huge shindig and I’m quite happy to keep it more personal. We’re still ironing out the details.”

  Clay smirked. “That’s a euphemism for ‘she’s making the decision and I’ll have to run with it’ if ever I heard one. I’ve heard it said that weddings are for the bride so let her have her special day. We all hope it’s only going to happen once.” He chuckled as Rick showed him his middle finger.

  Tate’s gut fizzled a little hearing those words. The last conversation with Rick, when he’d slipped up and confessed that he and Lauren had been debating what would happen if Clay and Tate got married, had left Tate thinking about the subject. A lot. Almost eight months ago he’d bought two men’s wedding rings in eighteen carat rose gold, beautifully crafted with a striation pattern. He’d purchased them on a whim, loving the look and feel of them, so elegant, yet masculine, and he had put them in the cupboard for the day he’d do something with them.

  Tate hadn’t intended to wait so long to ask Clay to marry him. He’d thought about proposing when they’d gone away for Clay’s birthday, but for some reason, he simply hadn’t got around to it. The time hadn’t seemed quite right.

  Watching Clay bantering with Rick, Clay’s black hair sprinkled with silver, dishevelled from where the wind had taken it, and those long, capable fingers clasped around a beer bottle, Tate wondered why the fuck it was taking so long for him to take the plunge.

  A growing excitement filled his chest and he took a deep breath.

  Tonight, he promised himself. I am going to ask this man to marry me tonight. The sense of sheer joy at making the decision warmed Tate’s soul and skin, and he stared at Clay, hugging his secret close to his chest.

  Clay must have felt his gaze upon him because he turned from teasing Rick and regarded Tate with a frown. “You okay, babe? Do I have something in my teeth? Oh God, it’s that damn lettuce stuff, isn’t it?”

  Clay reached up to his mouth and Tate stayed his hand, clasping it tightly. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing in your teeth. I was thinking how lucky I am to have you, that’s all.”

  Clay’s gaze softened. “Back at you. I think I’m the lucky one, though.” He squeezed Tate’s hand back.

  The romantic moment was spoiled by Rick making a gagging sound. Clay and Tate turned to glare at him. Rick’s eyes widened. “What? A bug flew in my mouth, I was trying to get rid of it.” He made the sound again, and then took a deep gulp of his beer. Behind the bottle, though, he wore an affectionate smile.

  The mood shattered, Tate heaved a deep sigh and finished his drink. “I guess we should let you go home and get those insect remains out of the back of your throat,” he said caustically. I have a remedy for that, but not one you probably want to hear. “God forbid my sister’s pride and joy expires from imbibing a bug.” He stood up, leaving some change on the table for their server.

  The three men walked back to the car-park. Tate didn’t even want to play the usual rock, paper, scissors game to see who’d drive. This ride home, he wanted to sit pillion, his arms wrapped tightly around Clay’s trim waist, and contemplate what he was about to do tonight.

  ***

  Tate had faced death more than once. He’d experienced near-death a couple of times. As a drug squad undercover cop, he’d faced villains too evil to contemplate, and had seen things no human being should.

  Yet the sight of the rings in their blue velvet box lying on the side of the bathroom sink was his most frightening ordeal yet.

  “Breathe,” he whispered to himself as he towelled off from the shower and stared at himself in the fogged-up mirror. “Christ, man, you’re being a damn wuss over this. It’s just a proposal, for God’s sake.”

  Deep down, of course, he knew it wasn’t “just” anything at all. It was the culmination of a journey, one fraught with laughter, guilt, pain, fear, lust, and an incredible love. It was a trip down memory lane from when he and Clay had been boyhood friends, children adrift in a world of their own, making extravagant plans for a future yet unfolded. The last five years, being Clay’s lover, partner, friend, and confidant was about to culminate in something fucking scary, and Tate wasn’t sure he could do it.

  He stared into hazel eyes that stared back at him filled with both trepidation and anticipation. “You can do this,” he muttered. “It’s Clay. The love of your life. The man who’s picked you up and saved you more times than you can remember.”

  He nodded at the person in the mirror and turned away, wrapping the towel around his waist. The plan was to get dressed, have a quiet meal at home, settle down with a drink and then wham, ask the question he’d been thinking about nonstop ever since he’d seen the young couple by the river.

  Tate wasn’t one for public declarations of love or being anywhere, like a restaurant, where people could see him at his most vulnerable. He’d be mortified if Clay said no and all around him there’d be the deathly silence of people looking at him in pity, the compassionate glance of the server, and Tate’s desire to melt into the woodwork or sink into the floor.

  Hell no. That wasn’t going to fucking happen. That shit was reserved for the privacy of his own home.

  The roiling in his gut lessened somewhat as he dressed in comfortable black jeans and a cut-off t-shirt. The rings were now out of the box because opening the box was a bit cheesy, and it was the rings that mattered. He tucked them away safely away in his jeans pocket. Both were in there, because he knew Clay. Knew that if he said yes, he’d want to return the favour, to make Tate his, the same way Tate had claimed Clay for his own.

  Tate turned back to take one last look at the man in the mirror, at the anxious eyes, the dark auburn-rusted hair that curled around his ears, and determination, tinged with joy, flashed across the face of that man like a child opening an anticipated present at Christmas.

  I’m fucking doing this.

  When Tate walked into the kitchen, he was treated to the sight of Clay standing at the stove, whistling softly as he stirred something in a pot. The fragrance of his renowned beef stroganoff drifted past Tate’s nostrils, and his mouth filled with saliva.

  They took it in turns to cook, Clay more than Tate, because Clay enjoyed it. And because Tate tended to cook healthy stuff, and sometimes Clay was simply in the mood to indulge with full fat dishes that would probably give a cardiologist a heart attack.

  “Smells good. Want me to set the table?” Tate moved over and peered over Clay’s shoulder at the bubbling dish. Rice in a fancy gadget Tate had never used steamed on the counter, and there was also the delightful aroma of garlic bread coming from the oven.

  Clay grinned and shook his head. “Already done. I did it while you were in the shower.�
��

  Tate took in a deep, slow sniff, smelling the aroma of food and the scent of Clay himself. He smelt like peppermint shower gel, Fahrenheit aftershave, and comfort. Tate couldn’t explain it, but Clay had always smelt like home.

  He planted a kiss on the back of Clay’s neck before turning away. “Okay, then I’ll grab us a glass of wine. I can never remember. Do we want red or white with stroganoff?”

  Clay put down the spoon he was using to stir and turned around. His green eyes shone as he reached out and pulled Tate closer. Their bodies moulded together, and Clay’s lips brushed Tate’s throat as he murmured, “I think I’ve told you this a thousand times. The Shiraz will go well with the dish. We should have a bottle in the bar. You’ll need to open it, let it breathe a while.”

  His mouth trailed down Tate’s bare throat, moving his t-shirt aside as Clay kissed the bullet hole scar on Tate’s left shoulder.

  “Is this wise?” Tate said huskily, his groin burning with need. “Something might be burning.” His words were cut off as Clay kissed him, taking Tate’s mouth, demanding entrance, and Tate closed his eyes and sighed as Clay did one of the things he did best. Tate’s cock grew harder and he pressed against Clay’s body, feeling the same need in his lover.

  “Wise?” Clay finally said as he pulled away, regarding Tate with sultry eyes. “No, but something I needed.” He smiled and turned back to his cooking. “You can go ahead and open that bottle now.”

  “Bastard,” Tate grumbled as he walked into the dining room and over to the bar. “You get me all riled up and then leave me hanging, that’s fucking cruel.” He ignored the soft laughter from the kitchen as he opened the door under the bar counter and extracted the bottle of wine. He popped the cork and placed the bottle on the dining room table.

  “How long ’til the food’s ready?” he called out as he fingered the rings in his pocket. He also took time to adjust himself to a more comfortable position.