The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  He queued up the outside feed, fully expecting to witness a murder. The fight appeared to start more or less even—but Roman had the advantage of a full view and inside knowledge. Shep wouldn’t have known that every blow he landed was because Stone let him. Seeing the bastard bleed did put a smile on his face, though.

  Just as Stone treated Shep to an effortless full-body slam on the screen, Roman’s doorbell rang.

  His first instinct was to ignore it, considering it was three in the goddamned morning. The next was to grab the gun he wasn’t supposed to have, in case Ozzy Stone had somehow found where he lived and come to finish the job his buddies started two years ago.

  He forced away the panic and turned on the small monitor for the camera at his front door. There stood the last person he expected, who obviously hadn’t been murdered in front of Kat’s a few hours ago.

  Curiosity won out over annoyance, and he went to the door and opened it. “Shep,” he said cautiously. “I don’t remember inviting you.”

  “Hey, freak. Figured you’d still be awake.” Before Roman could react, Shep pushed past him and strode into the house. “Hope you ain’t got any boyfriends over. I don’t wanna see any of that freaky shit you do.”

  “Eloquent as always,” Roman sighed. Louder, he added, “You’re wasted.”

  “And?” Shep dropped into a chair, grinning. “I know you like to spy on people,” he said. “So I got a job for you.”

  Instantly, Roman understood two things. The man was talking about Ozzy Stone—and if he gave any indication he knew the bastard, he was dead.

  “Sorry,” he said. “My slate’s full. You’ll have to find yourself another freak.”

  “You ain’t heard the job yet.”

  I don’t have to. Roman bit back the urge to correct Shep’s grammar and decided he’d better let him talk. “All right. What is it?”

  Shep’s grin vanished. “Kat’s got a new front man,” he said. “Name of Ozzy Stone.”

  The name made Roman wince. Christ, this was really happening. “Yeah?” he said.

  “Yeah. Big tough guy, thinks he’s gonna be cock of the walk.” Shep clenched a fist. “I want you to find him and watch his place a while, so I can figure the best way to get rid of him. You know. Accidental-like.”

  A chill went through Roman. “You’re asking me to help you kill a man.”

  “Nah. I’ll do the killing.” Shep stood suddenly and started pacing in front of the couch. Whatever he was on, it definitely wasn’t a downer. “You just keep an eye on him. I want to know everything—” He froze and stumbled, just barely catching himself. His head turned slowly toward Roman’s workstation. “You sleazy bastard fuck-weasel,” he said thickly.

  Oh, shit. He’d paused the video on Stone’s little love toss.

  “So I guess you already know why I want this guy.” Shep came on fast, grabbing his shirt to wrench him forward. “And now you’re gonna do the job for free.”

  “You know I work for Kat,” Roman said evenly, despite the rage flowing through him. He’d gotten much better at controlling the urge to frenzy every time someone touched him. But it didn’t always last. “Want to put me down, hoss? I’m not negotiating from here.”

  “Ain’t no negotiatin’ about it.” Shep let go and shoved him. “You do it. Understand?”

  Roman took his time straightening his shirt. “I’ll do it,” he said. “But not for free. There’s a huge risk in this for me. If you get caught, I go down—and I’ll get it worse than you. I’m an ex-con, remember?”

  “Yeah,” Shep said with a sneer. “You a real badass. What you go to jail for, littering?”

  “Never mind. It’s going to cost you five for the whole thing.”

  “Hundred?”

  “Thousand.”

  Shep sputtered and fumed. “You got steel balls askin’ for that kind of dough.”

  “It’s a standard fee,” Roman said. “And don’t bother saying you don’t have it. I know what you sell.”

  “All right, freak. Five thousand.” Shep’s eyes narrowed. “But I’d better get damned good stuff out of this, know what I mean?”

  “You will.” He walked to the door and opened it. “Don’t come back to my house. Ever. Have one of your flunkies drop the cash around back, in that hinged can by the fence. It’s secure. I’ll get the reports to you.”

  Shep started toward him and stopped, right in his face. “You screw me over, and you’re gonna be planted right next to him,” he said. “I won’t bother bein’ subtle with you. Ain’t nobody gonna care if I beat you to death. Hell, you’d probably enjoy it.” His lip curled. “You make me sick. You know that?”

  “Thanks for the news flash. I had no idea. Now leave.”

  Roman watched him tromp across the porch and down the stairs to the Jag parked drunkenly at the curb. He withdrew and locked the door, then walked slowly to his workstation and slumped in the chair with a long, shuddering breath.

  Goddamn it. Now he’d have to save Ozzy Stone’s life—because if anyone was going to bring the bastard down, it would be him.

  Chapter 5

  Ozzy slept better than he had in a long time. He was up at five, putting himself through a two-hour workout in the garage gym. Then he headed out for breakfast and to find somewhere to waste the hours until eight tonight. The less time he spent in that house, the better. He’d thought about selling it and getting an apartment somewhere, but that’d be letting himself off too easy. He deserved the guilt of living here.

  But he didn’t have to wallow in it all the time.

  He ended up hiking through one of the bigger and less populated nearby parks for most of the day, and napping for a few hours under a tree in an attempt to adjust his sleep patterns. He hadn’t seen the other side of midnight in about fourteen years, so the first few nights could be challenging.

  Around seven, he headed back toward town and stopped into Jimmy’s to thank him for the recommendation. He even managed not to order a shot or two for the road—but his flask was half empty by the time he pulled into the lot at his new job. There weren’t as many cars here tonight, and he found a spot for his bike in the first row by the building. Then he took a minute to refill the flask.

  When he headed in, he half expected to find Shep back at his station waiting for him with a crowbar. Or a gun. But the vestibule was empty, so he let himself in with his card.

  The music wasn’t nearly as loud this time, and most of the patrons sat quietly at the bar. Kat, draped in emerald green silk tonight, stood by the door talking in low tones with a girl who was clearly distressed. The girl had bright blonde, shoulder length hair and wore a black corset-style top over a tight red micro-skirt and thigh-high black leather boots. Dark makeup ran in ragged streaks down her face, and her eyes were red from crying.

  Kat glanced up and motioned him over. As Ozzy approached, she said to the girl, “Just go, hon. Take care of her. You can come in tomorrow if she’s feeling better.”

  “No, I can’t,” the girl sniffed, swiping at her face. “We need the money.”

  “You know I’ll give it to you anyway.”

  “It’s all right. Really.” Her breath hitched, and she half-turned and caught sight of Ozzy. “Wow,” she said as her eyes went wide. “You’re big.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “You could say that.”

  The girl laughed a little. “Is he for real?”

  “Seems real enough,” Kat said with a smirk. “Ozzy Stone, this is Teryn Frasier. She works here, too. Even though she shouldn’t tonight.”

  “Hey there.” Teryn held a hand out, then glanced down and pulled it back. “Um, I better go wash up,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Ozzy.”

  “Likewise.”

  Kat watched the girl with a concerned expression as she crossed the room. “It’s her little sister,” she said softly. “She needs a heart transplant. She’s been on the waiting list for almost a year, but…well, she doesn’t have much time left.” After a minute, Kat vis
ibly pulled herself together and smiled. “Let’s give you the grand tour.”

  “All right.”

  “You don’t get excited about much, do you?”

  “Bourbon,” he said. “That’s about it.”

  She laughed. “Okay. So this level’s pretty much what you see is what you get. Dance floor, bar, stage, lounge,” she said, pointing to each feature. “You won’t get many disturbances up here. Mostly it’ll be out back, like I mentioned, or down in one of the playrooms.”

  Ozzy arched a questioning brow.

  “You do know this is a BDSM club,” Kat said.

  “Yes. But I’m not…”

  She frowned. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”

  “No,” he said. “I just don’t know that much about it. Yet.”

  “I think that’s the most words I’ve heard you say in a row.” She touched his arm, a comforting gesture that warmed him through. “Come on, I’ll show you,” she said. “I can practically guarantee that whatever you’ve heard about our little corner of the world, it’s dead wrong.”

  He followed her to the big dungeon doors with cautious interest. She opened them onto a winding set of stairs, complete with stone walls and electric torches. They descended in silence, and at the bottom came to a hallway leading left and right, with a plain padlocked door straight ahead.

  “That’s the prop room,” Kat said, waving at the locked door. “The basement is laid out basically like a hotel. Our guests have their cards coded to a numbered room, depending on what they’re here for. Some of them have a scene in mind, and some just wing it. We have themed rooms, bare rooms, hardcore rooms—we can create pretty much anything you could imagine.”

  Ozzy moved forward and looked up and down the hallway. More doors, with swipe card locks like the one upstairs. Another corridor at each end. “It’s quiet,” he said.

  “We don’t get real busy until around nine. And all of these rooms are soundproof.” Kat winked. “Hearing a bunch of random people screaming kind of breaks up the fantasy.”

  “I guess it would.”

  She headed down the left hall and beckoned for him to follow. “I won’t show you all the rooms,” she said. “There’s just a few things you should know about. Here, this is one of our most popular themes. We have three rooms like this.” She stopped in front of a door numbered 2, produced a card and swiped it through the lock. The light flashed green.

  When Kat opened the door, he was surprised to see an office a lot like hers upstairs. There were no photos on the walls, but it was virtually the same carpeted and sophisticated setup. “People like to…do this stuff in an office?” he said.

  “Oh, yeah. Plenty of folks fantasize about their bosses, or their coworkers, or someone else’s boss. The office is huge in BDSM.” She walked into the room and ran a hand across the polished surface of the desk. “Lots of handy furniture, too. The implements are in there,” she said, pointing to a slim metal cabinet.

  “Implements.”

  “Paddles, straps, canes, hairbrushes. Stuff like that.”

  Ozzy stared at the cabinet, not willing to open it and look inside. He’d avoided thinking about this side of the job until now. It did bother him, the kinds of people who’d come to a place like this—bullies looking for victims who wouldn’t fight back. “So, your employees,” he said. “They just let a bunch of random strangers beat them all night?”

  Kat’s mouth dropped open, and then she laughed. “Oh, no,” she said. “Most of our guests come here to get beaten. Only a few want to give it.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Completely serious,” she said. “You’d be amazed at what a good spanking can cure.”

  The comment made his neck flush. “But why?”

  “Oh, everyone has their own personal reasons. I can tell you this, though—very few, if any, are indulging in some kind of fucked-up reenactment of childhood abuse. Most of us are normal, healthy people, and probably a hell of a lot more balanced than any vanilla.”

  His brow furrowed. “Okay, two questions. Vanilla, and…us.”

  “Those aren’t actually questions, you know,” she said with a smile. “With questions, your voice kinda goes up at the end, like this? But vanilla means people without kinks. And of course I’m into the scene. Why on earth would I run a BDSM club otherwise?”

  “What do you…do?”

  “I’m a switch. Means I like to give and take.” She tilted her head a little, and said, “By the way, I wouldn’t recommend asking any of the guest what they ‘do.’ They might consider it rude.”

  “Got it.”

  “You’ll be fine, then.” She walked around to the other side of the desk. “Come over here. There’s one more thing I want to show you.”

  Ozzy hesitated for a moment, thinking maybe she was going to offer a demonstration. He did understand the whole thing a little more, bizarre as it still seemed—but he wasn’t ready to try it out. At last he decided she wasn’t the type to force a conversion.

  When he joined her, Kat pointed to a small red button on the edge of the desk. “This is a panic button,” she said. “Each room has at least three of them. If a guest gets rough, rowdy, uncontrollable, or out of line, my people push this button. An alarm goes off in the control room, and Mike will send you down to the room to show the guest out. They don’t get a warning.”

  “And Mike is…?”

  “Good job. That’s almost what a question sounds like,” she said. “Mike watches the cameras. There aren’t any down here, but we monitor the entrance, main room, and front and back outside. I’ve also got a guy who reviews the feeds every night and reports to me if he spots anything suspicious or interesting.” She pulled out a cell phone and glanced at it. “Speaking of him, I’ve gotta get back upstairs. And so do you. It’s time to work.”

  Ozzy nodded and followed her out of the dungeon. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a long night after all.

  Chapter 6

  Roman and sleep never managed to hook up after Shep’s little visit, so he spent the rest of the night alternately fuming and plotting. The first thing he did was make a hard copy of footage from his house system, with Shep talking about killing Stone. If all else failed, he’d hand that over to the cops and let the bastard fend for himself.

  He cut it off before the part where he agreed to the job. No one had to know that.

  No need for him to find out where Stone lived—he’d taken care of those details when he first came to Tomasburg. A quick check confirmed that the utilities at the man’s deceased parents’ house, at 1929 Ridgeway Drive, were currently active under the name Oswald David Stone. He even had a birth date and a social security number on the guy.

  He didn’t really want to bug the place. Shep’s bulb wasn’t too bright, and Roman could probably get away with shooting some stationary footage of the empty house, and then grafting Stone into it with video from Kat’s security feed. But first, that would be a huge pain in the ass—and second, he needed careful control over what Shep saw. It’d be hard enough laying a false path with raw footage. Working with doctored stuff would make it impossible.

  So he’d headed for the nice part of town around eight in the morning with a bunch of pinhole cameras and a lock pick, and parked his rusted hunk of truck several blocks away. He’d guessed on the timing—Stone had been in the Army before his second career as the bane of Roman’s existence. He figured the man still got up at Revelry, or whatever they called their butt-crack-of-dawn ceremony, and would hopefully be gone by then.

  The house had been empty. He’d broken in the back, installed cameras in the living room, kitchen, and upstairs hallway, and gone home to smolder some more.

  By the time he struck out for Kat’s that night, he was ready for some serious stress relief. He’d driven himself to exhaustion more than once on the weights, bruised his knuckles against the padded wall in the basement, and still he felt numb. Once he reported to Kat, he’d book himself a room with Antonio and stay a whil
e.

  He knew he’d have to face Stone sooner or later. Probably sooner…likely tonight. He half hoped the man wouldn’t recognize him. He’d gained some new tattoos, considerably longer hair, and about twenty pounds of muscle in the past two years, and he wasn’t dressed in prison blue. So there was a chance.

  The vestibule was empty. He swiped his card and slipped inside, heading immediately for the thickest part of the crowd he could find. On the way, he spotted Stone far across the room, arms folded and standing half in shadow like a goddamned gargoyle. Wearing an earpiece like he belonged here.

  Seeing his ex-cellmate in the flesh made his blood boil. He curled both hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms to stay focused as the memories fought to surface. He wasn’t about to let them—not here, not now.

  Someone grabbed his arm, and he flinched.

  “Roman.” Kat’s voice calmed him instantly. “You all right, hon?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.” He smiled and almost managed to touch her in return. Maybe next time. “Are you busy right now?”

  “Not at all. Actually, I was watching for you,” she said. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  His gut turned inside out. Christ, she was going to introduce him to Stone. It was bad enough knowing he’d have to make contact eventually. Having Kat facilitate their little reunion would be a thousand times worse. “Er, can we do that later?” he said. “I’d rather give you the report first.”

  “That’s just it,” she said. “I want him to hear it, too. Get him up to speed.” She flashed a smile and nodded in Stone’s direction. “You must’ve seen that I replaced Shep last night.”

  “Yes, I noticed that,” Roman said weakly. No way he was getting out of this. He’d just have to hope Stone didn’t recognize him, or remember his name. Fat chance. “All right. Let’s meet him.”

  Kat gave him a strange look. “You don’t think I should’ve kept Shep around, do you?” she said. “You’re the one who caught him in the act, so you know that’s the only way I could’ve taken him out.”