FatalSubmission

by Nicole Austin

  “What’s the number?” Cam asked.

  Idiot! Mason wanted to smack his forehead.

  The display screen showed a number he’d called. Conveniently, a pad and pen sat next to the phone base.

  Cam grabbed both and held the pen poised over the paper, waiting for Mason to give him the phone number.

  “No, wait.” He snatched the pad out of Cam’s hand, held it close to the lamp and tilted the paper. “Write the number on something else. There’s an impression on the paper that might lead us somewhere.”

  Cam opened his wallet and scribbled the number on the back of his business card. He was already on the phone, calling in a favor with one of their friends on the police force when Mason went in search of a pencil.

  “Come on, Claire. Give me something to go on.”

  On her small desk he found a cup of pens and pencils. Switching on a gooseneck lamp, he directed the light at the pad and sat on the edge of the chair. Turning the pencil almost parallel to the paper, Mason carefully rubbed on a thin layer of lead. As the indents created from what she’d written were revealed, he shouted, “Bingo!”

  An address. She’d written down an address for someplace out on the far edge of Urbana.

  Cam ended his call and held out the business card where he’d written down the same address.

  “We going for a drive?”

  “Hell, yes.” Mason was already up and headed for the door.

  “Any chance you’re going to wait for daylight?”

  He yanked the door open, no longer worried about being seen by the neighbors. “Nope.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  Taking the stairs at a rapid clip, he still didn’t miss the smile in Cam’s voice with his next question. “Do I get to come along or you gonna be stingy and have all the fun yourself?”

  “Get in. You’re my witness—or alibi—depending on what goes down.”

  Cam cracked his knuckles, a huge grin curving over his lips while he waited for Mason to unlock the door. “Been too long since we kicked some ass together.”

  Neither one of them had gotten their hands dirty since they’d been out of the Corps. Would do them good to get out some aggression.

  “You think it’s too much to hope he’ll make it a challenge?”

  Mason snorted. “If the douchebag touched her, you won’t get a hand on him, he’ll be all mine.”

  Chapter Six

  In the course of toying with the lovely yet obstinate submissive, Daniel had discovered she enjoyed doing the opposite of what he asked. When instructed not to call him Carl, she proceeded to use the name exclusively. A demand to call him Master had Claire inventing obnoxious names for him. Repeated commands to thank him for her punishment resulted in cursing him. He used the pattern of behavior to get what he wanted.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a dickwad, Carl?”

  He ignored her declaration and attached clover clamps to her rosy nipples, ensuring he had her undivided attention. “Call me whatever you wish, love. Just never call me Daniel.”

  Next he positioned the breastplate over her sternum, inserted the crossbar and hooked the clamps to hooks dangling from each end of the bar. When he had the nipple tree assembled, he adjusted the tension by turning the screw until her nipples were stretched taut and she sucked in a harsh breath between clenched teeth.

  “You, Daniel,” she hissed, “are a certified bastard.”

  He hid a pleased smile and tightened the screw another turn. The attitude adjustment was immediate.

  Claire panted, taking shallow breaths, not taking the risk of breathing deep and increasing the pressure on her sensitive nipples. “Please, Carl. Take it off. I’ll be good.”

  “Certainly, I’ll take it off.” Hope sparkled in her eyes, the color becoming more green than brown. “As soon as you ask properly. What have I asked you to call me, love?”

  Deep brown pushed out the green, a sign he’d discovered indicated a flair of impatience. Then her eyelids slammed shut, accentuating the lines of pain bracketing her eyes.

  He took a moment to enjoy the view. She was a bit chunkier than he liked his women but he found her rather attractive restrained spread-eagle for his pleasure. Even more so appealing was the challenge she presented. To master this woman would be a true achievement, unlike the others who had all caved with little effort on his part.

  The last time she’d passed out, he’d moved Claire to the St. Andrew’s Cross, which had been modified to suit his purposes. The cross was mounted to a wooden lever that allowed his submissive to be positioned supine, erect or at any angle of his choosing. Pulling the pin, he quickly rotated her from supine to semi-erect, causing her eyes to snap open and cloud over with disorientation.

  “You will find that I have very few rules, love. In time, you will embrace my desires and strive to please me as my pleasure leads to your own.”

  He retrieved a small whip from his workbench and moved to stand between Claire’s legs. “Now I will teach you the true meaning of being pussy-whipped.”

  Fear and anger burned in the brown depths of her eyes but for once, she kept her mouth closed.

  “You will experience pleasure but you will obey my most important rule, love. Do not come without permission. Doing so will bring a premature and permanent end to our fun.”

  Sheer disbelief was easy to read in her stunned expression. Daniel didn’t offer further comment, deciding to prove his words through his actions.

  He gave the screw on the nipple tree another turn then focused on the layers of tender pink flesh at the juncture of Claire’s thighs. As the first strike landed, she gasped and her eyes went as wide as saucers. With the second she moaned, the muscles of her legs tensing in an attempt to close. On the third she flexed her hips, lifting her pussy the slight amount permitted by the tight leather bands holding her in place. The fourth carefully placed blow landed a mere inch below her clitoris, which had perked up and begged for attention.

  Pink skin swelled with blood, the color deepening to a delicious crimson shade that glistened with moisture. Ah yes, delightful. No matter how hard a submissive fought, a skilled master could still coax her body into betraying the wishes of her mind. And Daniel had long ago learned how to master the most reluctant of women.

  “Beautiful, love. That’s it. Succumb to your Master’s will.”

  He watched in amazement as a lone tear dripped from the corner of her eye and begin to roll down a cheek flushed with arousal before Claire turned her head, depriving him of the sight of her agonized pleasure.

  “That’s all right, Claire. Attempt to hide from me all you want. The emotions will still surface for my enjoyment. You will give me everything I want because I am your Master.”

  Quick as a flash flood that steadfast, fiery core surged to the forefront, drawing him even deeper under her thrall.

  “Fuck you, Carl—Daniel—whatever. You couldn’t master a kitten, you sick bastard.”

  Flames danced in her eyes as those pretty lips contorted into an ugly scowl and she released her fury in a blast of words meant to strike him down. Instead, her rage only spurred him on, increasing his determination to gain control of the fierce woman. Bend her to his will.

  Exquisite. She bewitched him. Everything else faded away. All his cares and troubles disappeared, leaving nothing for Daniel other than the desire to harness Claire’s magnificent spirit.

  “Don’t break the rules and come,” he cautioned. For her to succumb this soon would be a huge disappointment. And yet he would do his best to drive her to the brink with pained pleasure over and over again.

  He flicked his wrist and delivered stinging swats to each side of her pulsing clitoris. Close enough to enflame but not to trigger an orgasm. The passionate woman writhed, fighting her body’s responses, struggling to deny the thrill coursing through her flesh. A buzz echoed in the sizzling blood racing to engorge his cock. He rode the edge of his own control, fighting an internal battle to make this last, exte
nding both of their pleasure.

  “Better g-get that, Carl,” she panted, interrupting his rhythm.

  He paused, taking himself out of the moment, going completely still. After several slow breaths the blood stopped hammering in his ears, allowing him to hear a different sort of distant pounding that made it past the soundproofing.

  Daniel glanced at the woman, taking in the gloating smile that failed to lighten the pain suffusing her tensed features. He didn’t want to walk away but whoever knocked on the door wasn’t giving up.

  Discipline and Order. The defining, fundamental properties that ruled his life.

  He took a few more cleansing breaths before returning the whip to its proper place on the pegboard and cleaning up his work area. When everything was as it should be, including his sub, he stepped into the small bathroom to smooth out his appearance and center himself.

  The continued thud of a fist smashing into the front door tested his iron-fisted control as he calmly made his way upstairs, stopping to secure the dungeon before heading toward the door, which shook within the wooden frame.

  An exciting rush of adrenaline streaked through him. Was it the police? Was someone looking for the girl? So far no one had come anywhere close to ferreting out his involvement with the missing women. Had someone with higher intelligence finally caught on? Someone who would make the game of cat and mouse more interesting?

  He rubbed damp palms on his slacks before opening the door. The men lying in wait on his porch had him squaring his shoulders and standing a bit taller. A natural air of authority radiated from both men.

  Dominant men.

  Oh yes, things were definitely looking up. First a fascinating submissive to challenge him and now two impressive Doms. Hunters.

  He glanced from one to the other, taking their measure. Men of military bearing. Worthy opponents.

  He pictured the pretty submissive as he’d left her, caged in his dungeon, her hard nipples stretching upward and reluctant arousal dampening her cunt. When they’d first met she’d talked about the Dom courting her but moving too slowly. Was one of these men her overly cautious Dominant?

  The slight glint of gold drew his attention to the left hand of the raven-haired man and Daniel turned his attention to the other. Ah yes, this man’s rough and raw masculinity would tempt the prickly submissive.

  He maintained rigid control over his expression and bit back a smile, remaining carefully blank. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  Let the games begin.

  * * * * *

  Slogging through a shallow creek, Mason cursed silently as chilly water seeped into the toe of his boots. He moved through the trees without making a sound, another shadow among many. Even highly trained soldiers would have a difficult time spotting him.

  The cover of vegetation thinned as he neared the road. Staying low, he quickly moved across the open blacktop and slipped along the side of his Bronco where Cam waited. Sensing Mason’s presence, his friend glanced his way.

  “Anything?” He didn’t have to elaborate.

  “Nada. House is locked up tight.” Cam raked a hand through his hair. “Side windows of the garage are blacked out. Doesn’t look like there’s a basement.”

  He’d found the same thing in his search of the property surrounding the house. Not one damn thing to raise suspicion yet the short hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

  “Fuck. This is the only damn lead we have.” They had to be missing something.

  Cam shrugged. “It’s a dead end.”

  “There’s something off. I can feel it.”

  “So what do you want to do?” One dark brow arched. “Knock on the door and ask if she’s been there?”

  The hunter within him went still, considering the possibilities. Mason pulled the dark ski mask off his head and rubbed a hand back and forth over a couple of days’ stubble covering his jaw. “Why the fuck not?”

  “All right, man.” Cam nodded. “I’ve got your back no matter what.”

  Mason opened the door and grabbed the gym bags from behind the seat. Both men made quick work of swapping the dark gear for street clothes. By the time they drove up in front of the house the sun had cleared the tree line.

  “Owner might not appreciate someone showing up at the butt crack of dawn.”

  “Too fucking bad,” Mason grumbled.

  As he passed the pricey foreign sedan parked in the driveway, he held a hand over the hood, detecting no heat. The car must have been sitting for a while. Cam had checked inside the car earlier, discovering the registration matched the name of the homeowner.

  They climbed the steps onto the front porch, making note of one table lamp left shining in the living room. Otherwise the house was dark.

  “Rise and shine.” Cam chuckled as he pounded on the door.

  They waited in silence, listening for any sounds of life from the house, and took turns banging on the door. Cam had just slipped a hand into his pocket for his lock picks when they heard footsteps.

  The flashy man who opened the door didn’t fit in the quaint country house. He would have looked more at home in some slick modern high-rise. The sun had barely risen on a Saturday morning and he wore expensive, neatly pressed clothes and leather loafers. Who the fuck got up early on weekend mornings much less dressed as if going out to some snooty restaurant or club?

  He put off a relaxed, casual attitude but Mason sensed this to be a thin veneer to divert focus from his alpha male tendencies. To the trained eye it was clearly visible in the confident air of superiority surrounding him.

  All three men sized each other up before introductions were offered and Mason got down to the reason for his visit. “Mr. Winters—”

  The homeowner lifted a hand and corrected, “Daniel.”

  Mason kept his face blank and gave a slight nod. “Daniel…we’re investigating the disappearance of Claire Hanson.”

  He watched for any change in body language to indicate familiarity with her name but the guy didn’t so much as blink. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out Claire’s business card that had her photo on it and held it out, giving Winters a good look.

  Winters’ gaze dropped to the card briefly. “I’m sorry, she doesn’t appear familiar.”

  The guy was good, maintained eye contact as he spoke and remained perfectly still. And yet something about him had Mason’s internal alarms clanging.

  “Are you sure?” he prodded. “She’s an independent real estate appraiser. Perhaps she’s done an evaluation of your house.”

  “I have no need of an appraiser’s services. I’ve owned the house for quite some time and have no intention of selling.”

  “Perhaps you know her from somewhere else,” Cam suggested. “What is it you do, Daniel?”

  Winters’ entire demeanor went defensive as he crossed his arms over his chest. “And you are investigating her disappearance. Tell me, do you have badges? Are you with the police?”

  Fuck.

  “No,” Mason admitted. “We’re her friends.”

  “Ah.” Winters nodded. “And you’ve randomly arrived on my doorstep before I’ve had my first cup of coffee.”

  “Look—” Mason grumbled.

  The cocky jerk held up a hand again. “No, you look.” Lifting his chin, Winters stared down the length of his nose at Mason. “I am in the middle of working in the darkroom. The image I was developing has sat in chemicals too long and will be utterly ruined. I have neither the time nor the inclination to indulge a jealous lover concerning his absentee girlfriend.”

  The door slammed in their faces. Mason’s fists clenched, crushing the business card in his grip as he debated kicking the door in.

  Cam was wise enough not to touch him but he did get right up in Mason’s face. “Come on, man. Let’s go. It was a long shot. Let’s get out of here before the pretentious dick calls the cops.”

  “Let him,” Mason barked. “Then they can search the place.”

  “No.” Cam took a step bac
k. Smart man because Mason’s fist itched to slam into a face. At that moment, he wasn’t real particular about whose face.

  “They can’t search his house without a warrant and probable cause.”

  Cam sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “It hasn’t been forty-eight hours. We can’t even file a missing person’s yet.”

  “My gut says that bastard knows Claire.”

  “And I trust your gut. You know I do. But we have to do this right.”

  Mason gave his friend the fierce scowl that made harder men shake in their boots. Cam held his ground and gave him a chance to get himself under control. After several deep breaths he grumbled, “Fine. Let’s go back to the office and plan our next move.”

  Some of the tension left Cam’s broad shoulders as they headed for the Bronco. Knowing he shouldn’t drive, Mason handed over the keys without argument. He would dig up information, shake the skeletons free of Daniel Winters’ closets and find something to nail the bastard with even if he had to make shit up. The imperious yuppie asshole was going down.

  * * * * *

  “Men. Strangers.”

  “Outside.”

  “Someone’s come for us.”

  “Master’s distracted.”

  “Get out now.”

  “Must get away.”

  Momentary hope threatened to drown Claire in emotional overload. But hope wasn’t real. She had no hope of making it out of this alive. No one knew where she’d gone or had probably even realized she was gone.

  The whispers swirled around her, gathering strength and speed, making Claire’s head swim drunkenly. Confusion reigned supreme. She had no idea of where she was, the day; she even had difficulty discerning up from down.

  “Scream. They’ll hear.”

  Scream?

  Claire shook her head. Impossible. She’d lost her voice hours ago. Or had it been days? Whatever…didn’t matter. She found the mere thought of trying to make sound come out of her raw, aching throat ludicrous. Besides, the soundproofing would prevent the noise from being heard.

  “Hurry.”

  The voices beat at her, urging her to accomplish impossible feats.