by Maggie Ryan
“I swear, I don’t know! You kicked me out of class and the last I heard, you and she left together.”
Quentin’s next blow never landed, as his arms were pinned against him and he was dragged back. His curse and struggles did nothing to relax the arms of steel. “Let me go! He has Grace!”
“Quentin, stop!” Sammy tightened his grip when Quentin continued to struggle to get free. “Son! Stop!”
Quentin stilled as he recognized Sammy’s voice, but wasn’t yet freed. “Matthews has been here all night,” Sammy continued.
“No, he took Grace from the hospital…”
“No, son, he couldn’t have. He only just left. Trent said Brody called with instructions to lock the club down and not let anyone leave. I’d just seen Matthews going out the back so I came out to see if I could stop him. The police don’t want anyone to leave until they get here. I swear to you, he didn’t take her.”
Shrugging free only because Sammy allowed him to, Quentin shook his head, feeling sick. How could he have been so wrong?
“Just because he didn’t take her, doesn’t mean he’s not in on it. Where was he going if the police said to lock the club down? He’s got a partner…”
Conner was smart enough not to move as he said, “Look, I didn’t know about the lockdown or I wouldn’t have left. I know you don’t think much of me, but I swear, I’d never hurt a woman simply because you pissed me off.”
Before Quentin could react, the flashing strobe light of a car lit the yard as it pulled into the driveway and stopped. More lights flashed as additional cars arrived, policemen spilling out, all of whom quickly moved in different directions. Some entered the back of the club where Sloan was standing, holding the door open, some circled the house to go in the front. The only one Quentin was interested in was the detective who stepped from the first car, his gun drawn.
“Hands where I can see them!” Jason barked, and all three men raised their arms.
“It’s not him,” Quentin said, finally accepting the fact that Sammy wouldn’t lie to him.
Jason nodded but continued towards them, instructing Conner to step away from the Jeep. Since the driver’s door had been left open, the light making it easy to discern what was inside, Jason moved to the back of the Jeep, popping open the lift gate.
“What’s in the duffel?”
Quentin felt his heart stop, imagining Grace unconscious or worse, unable to breathe in the confines of a thick canvas bag. He took a step towards Cullen, who instinctively ducked.
“It’s my toy bag!”
“Open it,” Jason said, motioning him forward and keeping the gun pointed in his direction. When Quentin attempted to follow, Jason shook his head. “Stand back.” It took everything Quentin had to obey, his fists clenched at his sides.
Conner unzipped the bag, pulling it open to display various toys that he used in his play. “Satisfied?” he asked, stepping back and turning towards Quentin. “I swear to you Doucet, I had nothing to do with Beth’s murder, and nothing to do with Grace’s disappearance.”
“Let’s take this inside,” Jason said, holstering his gun. When Quentin hesitated, he said, “You can’t just run off looking for her. We’ve got the hospital on lockdown and their head of security just called. They found the Cokes Grace had purchased on the floor downstairs and a wheelchair outside the emergency room.” He paused and put his hand on Quentin’s arm. “They also found a shoe, a black…”
“Ballet flat,” Quentin said, his anguish at the news audible. “So whoever took her already has her out of the hospital, don’t they?”
“It appears so, but I’ve got officers still searching. We need more information but I swear, not a soul will stop looking until we find her.”
“Come inside, son,” Sammy said. “Maybe someone knows something that will help.”
Quentin nodded and, walking to his bike, he put it into gear as he didn’t want it rolling when he lifted it. Since it had fallen onto its right side, he lowered the kickstand to keep it from falling on him as Sammy helped him get it upright. There was no smell of fumes or sheen of oil to indicate any of the fuel lines had been damaged in the fall. Quentin was grateful that he’d not only slowed to make the turn into the drive, he’d slowed further while swerving to avoid the Jeep. Once the Indian was stable, he turned and followed the other men inside.
Before the group made it down the hall and into the dining room, Quentin reached out and managed to grab Conner’s arm before he could be stopped, though Jason had turned as well.
“Doucet, that’s not going to help,” Jason said, “let him go.”
Instead of obeying, Quentin shoved him hard against the wall, pinning him with a forearm across his chest as he pulled a cellphone from his pocket.
“If you had nothing to do with Grace’s abduction, then how in the fuck do you explain this?” He’d remembered that he’d instructed Grace on how to download the app necessary to enable her to record incoming calls. He’d wanted to have audio proof if Brooks called with additional threats, or simply to harass her. He’d made her practice answering, showing her that she needed to remember to press the number four button to begin the recording. He’d had the same capabilities for years, and it was an automatic response for him to record all calls, instantly able to stop the recording with a simple press of the same button.
Turning the speaker on, he held the phone up and replayed the call. The significance of the godawful crowing sound was instantly acknowledged by the color draining from Conner’s face. The woman’s scream had him looking up into Quentin’s face.
“That isn’t me. God, I… shit, how could I have known—”
“Known what?” Jason said, stepping closer as Sammy did the same on the other side, effectively pinning the man between them even as Quentin removed his arm.
Conner shook his head. “Look, I fucked her but I—”
Quentin’s roar had Conner ducking and Sammy grabbing him, this time barely able to keep the man he considered a son from committing murder.
“Not Grace! I never laid a finger on her! I was pissed, and so was she. We got together after class the other day. Had a few drinks and, well, one thing led to another and we wound up in bed together. Fuck, you even ruined that,” Conner said, looking at Quentin. “All she kept doing was topping from the bottom, telling me that she didn’t need some pussy, she needed some man strong enough to dominate her. I… I guess I told her to shut up, that subs need to keep their mouths shut and that she wasn’t cock of the walk, I was.”
“Who is she?”
Conner met his eyes and gave the answer.
Jason said, “Call Brody, he’s got his laptop. Get her address…”
“I’ve got it,” Quentin said, “it’ll be in her folder…”
“That won’t help,” Conner said. “The one she gave is a townhouse on the square. We didn’t go there. She actually laughed and said that she couldn’t be free in some place where neighbors could hear what went on when she played.”
“Fuck!” Quentin snarled, “Then where the hell did you go?”
“She has a place out in the swamp,” Conner said, his face paling again when he met Quentin’s glare. “It-it’s right across from where… where Beth was found. I can show you.” The moment the information left his lips, Quentin ran for the door, ignoring Jason’s call to wait.
***
“That’s better. Now, rise and stand at attention.”
Grace did so, not caring that it took lurching to get to her feet. Gracefulness was the least of her concerns. Once up, though swaying a bit, she felt her attacker approach and her stomach almost heaved again at seeing the gleam of a butcher’s knife. Her inadvertent whimper was met with a laugh as the knife was waved about.
“Don’t fret, I just realized that something is not quite right. Your little proclamation of undying adoration for Master Quentin was made before class actually began, wasn’t it, Miss Hensley?” When the knife stopped moving but stopped to point directly at h
er stomach, Grace forced herself to answer.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s yes, Mistress, you stupid bitch. No wonder my Dom has to constantly remind you of the simplest rules.”
Grace wanted to spit out that Quentin was not her Dom, but the knife was weaving about again. “Yes, Mistress.”
“I suggest you don’t move unless you’re into the sight of your own blood.” Grace held her breath as the long blade of the knife was slid inside her t-shirt, slicing through the thin fabric from her waist to her neck. It took a few more strokes to cut the shirt from her body, but only three to slice through the straps and front of her bra. Her skin pebbled instantly in the cool air and she managed to let out her breath and take another as the knife began to slice through her jeans. In moments, she was completely naked but for her one shoe.
“Tsk, tsk, are those the proper shoes… make that shoe, Miss Hensley?” Not waiting for a response, the woman continued. “I expressly remember you being instructed to wear heels. I suppose it’s just another sign of why Quentin prefers me over you. It’s time for you to learn how to properly submit. Take the ‘Present’ position.”
Grace would never submit to this woman. She knew that doing so would put her at a distinct disadvantage. The woman was not only taller than she, but she’d seen how fit she was. If Grace had any chance, it would have to be while she was still on her feet.
“I haven’t learned that position, Mistress. I knew I was not ever going to be as perfect a submissive as you and quit before I could embarrass myself any further, remember?”
Her statement, softly spoken, with respect bordering on faked awe, had the response she’d hoped for.
“That’s right. My Dom failed you for your inability to serve.”
“I was too clumsy,” Grace said, “Not as graceful as you, Mistress. I was so horrid that I never got to see how a submissive is to offer herself properly.”
“You are just like that other woman. Both of you think that this is nothing more than some kinky game.”
“What other woman, Mistress?”
“The slut who tried to steal my Dom. Kept telling me she’d get me some help, like I was crazy. I didn’t need her fucking help! All she had to do was go away, but she refused.” A laugh that rose the hair on the back of Grace’s neck rang through the swamp. She hated to listen, and yet knew the longer she could keep her talking, the longer Quentin had to find them.
“You’re right. You can’t be crazy… you have to be very smart. I mean, no one suspected you, no one could figure out how she was in the club and then just vanished.”
“That’s because she wasn’t in the club. She was right over there.” A finger pointed towards the tangle of roots, and Grace felt a sadness flood through her. “She wouldn’t give me her ring so that I could surprise Quentin so, well, I borrowed it, but he wasn’t in the club or his apartment.”
“But she had her ring when she was found,” Grace said.
“Of course she did. I’m not a fucking thief! I said I borrowed it! I knew Quentin would give me my own.”
Not a thief? Just a murderer! No, you’re not crazy, you’re completely insane, Grace thought to herself. She honestly didn’t wish to hear any more, didn’t want to think about the terror Beth must have felt with the horror of her impending death.
“Even in death she tried to screw with me! Quentin went away and I waited and waited. I knew he’d come back for me one day, and then you… you showed up, and he couldn’t give me the attention he wanted because he kept having to correct you!”
The change in her voice had Grace’s breath hitching. She was now ranting, her voice becoming shriller as the knife flashed back and forth. How did one talk down an insane person?
“I-I’m sorry…”
“Shut up! I’m sick of hearing you whine and beg. Get on your fucking knees!”
Instead, Grace bowed her head and bolted forward, putting every ounce of her strength into it and praying that God was with her as she rammed her head into the woman’s midsection. The woman staggered backwards and then cried out as her foot caught on a root. Her arms flailed and the knife dropped away as she landed hard on her ass and Grace fell to her knees beside her.
Attempting to get the knife, Grace cried out as her hair was caught, and saw the knife being picked up. “You’ll pay for that, bitch.”
“Go to hell!” Grace said, twisting to kick whatever body part she could, her teeth sinking into flesh with the ferocity of a rabid animal. The woman howled and yet tightened her hold, pulling Grace’s head back until she feared her neck would snap. When the silver blade of the knife was lifted and pressed against her throat, Grace didn’t flinch, her eyes not on the woman or the blade. They were lifted towards the sky as the moonlight shimmered around an impossible figure and when she spoke, Grace felt peace in the face of death.
***
Quentin could hear the sirens behind him as he roared through the streets. Once he hit the highway, his speed increased until the motorcycle was nothing more than a blur. It was only with God’s grace that he managed to weave in and out of traffic without losing control of the bike, and he was still flying when he hit the exit ramp. The sirens were fainter now and he knew they had taken another road. They could look all they wanted at the house, but his gut was telling him that not only was this the same person who had killed Beth, but that while she might like to scream in her own house, she wouldn’t want to sully it with the screams of another woman.
Knowing how sound traveled in the swamp, he forced himself to slow and then to glide to a stop, climbing off the bike. It was dark but he never considered needing light. He’d been living in the swamp, tracking, hunting, and fishing his entire life. His boots barely made a sound as he made his way to a place he’d hoped he’d visited for the last time only a few days earlier. As he silently pushed through the growth, he could swear that he felt a presence beside him.
“Hurry.”
Not startled at the word that came from nowhere, he nodded and moved as fast as he could without giving away his own presence. It wasn’t long before he heard sounds that didn’t belong to the creatures of the night. Stepping out of the trees, he knew he had but seconds left before this deranged killer took another innocent life from the world.
Forcing himself to stand as still as possible, too far away to rush them with that knife at Grace’s throat, he spoke in the sternest tone with the most absolute authority he could manage.
“Stand at attention!” Though the brunette’s head lifted towards him, the knife didn’t move.
“I expected so much more from you, Miss Wilson. I said stand at attention, and I suggest you do so immediately!”
He watched as Starla seemed to hesitate, and prayed that Grace wouldn’t attempt to move. Taking a few slow steps forward, he said, “Don’t make me sorry that I used you as an example, Miss Wilson. I’ll be very disappointed. You are at the head of the class but if I must repeat myself again, I’m afraid that I’ll have no choice but to fail you.”
“No! Don’t send me away!”
“That’s your choice, but I won’t wait long.”
Starla looked down and shook her head. Quentin took another step, praying she wasn’t silently stating that she wouldn’t obey, and spoke again.
“What’s that? You know your Dom can’t hear you unless you speak. Are you asking to be let go?”
“No… no, sir,” she said, finally releasing Grace’s hair.
“For God’s sake, don’t move, Grace,” he prayed, keeping his eyes on the knife.
Starla wasn’t graceful but she was moving away from Grace. When she backed into the root, she paused and then shook her head again, as if trying to remember what she was doing.
“Very good, Miss Wilson. Rise and prepare yourself for inspection.” It was a command he’d not yet taught but one he was praying that, as an experienced submissive, Starla would understand.
Wh
en Starla began to rise, Grace remained frozen, for which he was grateful. Finally, Starla was on her feet and lifting her arms in preparation of placing them behind her head. It seemed that it was only then that she began to come out of the submissive mode, her head turned towards the knife in her hand.
Quentin’s heart stopped as her head swiveled towards him, the moonlight reflecting in her eyes. He had managed to get close, but not yet close enough to grab her.
“Your hands are to be empty, Miss Wilson. Drop it and place your hands behind your head.”
Her head shook again and instead of keeping her eyes on him, she looked down to where Grace was still kneeling.
“No!” Starla screamed, lunging forward even as Quentin dove. The next second took a lifetime as he heard Grace scream, felt a searing heat in his back, and heard a gunshot. Rolling down the embankment, he kept Grace in his arms as they fell into the water.
“Quentin!” Grace screamed.
“I’ve got you,” he said, staggering to get his feet under him, the abandoned pirogue offering him support as he pushed against it.
“You’re hurt!”
“I’m all right,” he assured her, and though his back felt like it was on fire, he tightened his grip around her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I knew you’d find me… I knew you’d come,” she said, and only then broke into sobs.
“Shh, it’s going to be all right,” he said, his cheek pressed against her head, the water swirling at the tops of his thighs. “Everything is going to be all right.”
Lights began to bounce through the swamp until one found them. “Hang on,” Sammy shouted, half walking, half sliding down the bank. “Give her to me,” he said, opening his arms.
“Hell no,” Quentin said.
“Fine, but may I suggest you get your ass out of the water, unless you think you can also wrestle an alligator, son.”
Quentin didn’t bother to respond but started towards the bank, noticing that lights were now aimed at the shore as if to either illuminate his path or to spot the reflection of a gator’s eyes as it slid through the water towards its prey. Reaching the bank, he felt hands on his arms, Jason on one side and Sammy on the other. It took effort to pull him up as the mud was doing its best to suck his boots from his feet.
