by J. A. Kerr
The memory of his introduction to the prison service made him blanch. He closed his eyes. The humiliation of the strip search was still fresh in his mind. Robbed of all dignity, he’d stood naked and exposed under those harsh, unforgiving lights. The barked commands played havoc with his frayed nerves; they broached no argument. In shock and numb, he complied. Being told to bend over as a prison officer examined intimate parts of his body for concealed contraband was the lowest he thought he could go. He shuddered. While the process was routine to other prisoners, it would always feel like a violation to him. He recalled his apprehension as he approached his cell, knowing it would be his home for the next seven years and wondered if he would survive. Fear quickly replaced his despair on entering it. He became aware of the male staring at him intently.
He was a big man, and his bulk dominated the small space. His gaze was openly hostile and threatening. Arms and thighs as big as tree trunks, he sat glowering on his bunk, emitting the demeanour of a grenade with a wobbly pin. His bald head was a crazy pattern of healed and fresh scars. His face radiated anger and violence. But it was his eyes that frightened Nick the most; dead eyes, full of malice and hate. Nick felt bile rise in his throat but utter terror made him swallow. All this information was processed when their gaze connected for the briefest of seconds. Trapped, Nick looked around wildly. The guard was behind him, he had no choice but to continue inside the cell. He shuffled slowly towards his bed. He realised with horror he couldn’t get past unless his cellmate moved his legs.
“Barnes, move!” screamed the prison officer. Nick froze as the air became heavy. He didn’t lift his gaze, just stared at the unmoving feet in front of him. The prison officer pushed him out of the way. He shoved his face until it almost touched Barnes.
“I said move!” the officer bellowed.
Spittle flew from his mouth and there was a volatile vacuum and then all hell broke loose. Nick felt an explosion of pain as a fist connected with his face. His nose broke, blood splattered onto the ground. Dazed, he staggered backwards as blows continued to rain down on him. He fell to the floor. In the confusion it felt like hours before he heard feet thundering and shouts.
His relief was short-lived as a loud snap sounded in the room. Unbearable pain shot through his leg. The attack was over in minutes. Hands reached down and pulled him. He screamed in agony but no one paid any attention and then there was a voice in his ear.
“How does that feel, you fucker? Breathe a word to anyone and I’ll break your other leg,” the prison guard hissed.
Nick screamed again as someone kicked his broken leg and then mercifully he lost consciousness. They’d broken his femur, it was quite a difficult thing to do, apparently. He would have a steel rod inserted into his leg during a lengthy operation. He hadn’t felt his fingers breaking as the boot stamped on his right hand again and again. However, he would feel the pain of them healing. Coming round from the surgery, he struggled to think where he was, and then it all came rushing back. He moaned as he relived the attack, but no one noticed. Heavily sedated, it would be his only kindness. Appalled by the injuries to his hand, tears sprang to his eyes and turning his head, he wept into his pillow. His surgery was far from straightforward and he would endure a further three operations before his leg was correctly repaired. He got several infections in his wound and angrily put it down to the sanitation, or lack of it, around him.
He was a bad patient and frequently rude to staff. The nurses often chose to ignore his buzzer, which infuriated him. It didn’t matter how often he pressed, if they were busy he just had to wait. He hated being helpless and reliant on them. My God, he even had to rely on them to take a piss. The bitches waited until he was almost wetting himself before they came with the bottle. As he lay seething, in constant pain, his thoughts turned to Siena, the root cause of all his current problems. Suddenly the despair and fear receded as a new emotion took over—hatred. It consumed him. Eventually he was released and transferred back to prison. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the attack in the cell had been planned, knew that bastard Harrison was behind it, but he said nothing. He burned with loathing as he moved his stiff, misshapen hand towards a book and winced as he lifted it. Little beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he turned and moved awkwardly towards the chair, his leg dragging.
He was alone now, in a singular cell, although he never felt safe. He called his lawyer as soon as he was able. Mr. Quinn had photographed everything and requested copies of all his clients’ x-rays and medical records. Quietly they built their case and the medical and photographic evidence was damning. He exchanged his silence for his current cell and the understanding he would be protected. He even treated the inmates, his hypnosis techniques being very much in demand. Prisoners were desperate to stop their vices. For example, the chain smoker driven mad by his addiction, but unable to feed it. He used his techniques to help him quit. Whether it was drugs, smoking, or drinking, addiction could be treated. The same applied for depression, insomnia, anxiety, and phobias. The list was endless. His reputation was growing within the prison and often, he would fool himself into thinking he was back in his clinic.
He was making friends and making trades. Prisoners couldn’t pay for his services in hard cash, but their knowledge and criminal experience were payment in kind. For others a favour was held against their name until Nick called it in. As Nick’s body slowly healed, his mind was the opposite, gradually deteriorating as he gathered the sickening information he gleaned from his fellow prisoners. Heinous crimes were revealed under hypnosis. It was like they opened their mouth and breathed Nick in. Like he was there inside their frontal lobes, flicking through their memories. Nick listened in awe, awkwardly jotting down notes. He realised he would have to record his sessions. His hand struggled to hold a pen and write for any period. Those faculties weren’t available to him at first.
Desperation made him plant his first request to a particularly hard and revered inmate. He asked him to get him a phone that could record and bring it to his next session. It was that simple…he couldn’t believe it was so easy. Once he had these vicious and barbaric men under his control they were like putty in his hands, although he knew ultimately they were uncontrollable. Documenting patients’ revelations took up most of his time. The material was dynamite and perfect for a book—writing under an alias, of course—but he was sure it would sell. He had material for several books, in fact. Within fourteen short months, he was established within the prison system and completely untouchable.
He had everyone fooled as his programme of rehabilitation and attrition continued. The information that interested him the most? How his patients were caught. Witnesses were the biggest factor…that and DNA. He also listened to crimes they’d committed, but hadn’t been convicted of, and their ingenuity astounded him. He struggled to write and often got frustrated transferring his recorded sessions into a master file he was compiling. An idea started to form in his mind. It would become his sole motivation throughout his stay in prison. He had plans for Siena—big plans. He would break her. First, her body. He looked at his crippled hand with distaste—yes, he’d enjoyed slapping her. In fact, he’d more than enjoyed it, he’d loved it, and the bitch had stolen that pleasure from him too. He could still hold things, though. He massaged the play dough with effort, grimacing at the pain. He was to use it to build up his grip. He imagined holding a stick or crop and smiled; his left hand worked just fine.
He lifted the length of rubber band he had been given by the physiotherapist to help improve the strength in his arm and hand. It had been cut to a ridiculous size in case he had suicidal tendencies. He felt like laughing; kill himself and let them win? No way the bitch was getting away that easily. Suicide never entered his mind. He knew no one would mourn for him, and Siena—she’d love it, a convenient end to a nasty irritation. She’d played him for a fool before, but no more, he was coming for her. His hand tightened around the band. He lifted it up and whipped it against the desk in anger, the thwa
ck sending shivers down his spine. He imagined whipping Siena, bringing the stick down again and again on her naked flesh. His thoughts excited him. After he broke her body, he would break her mind; he would make her watch when he killed that bastard Harrison.
His finale: he’d make sure she knew it was him that killed her nasty little kids. First one, then the other. They couldn’t fight him as he put his hands around their necks and squeezed. The real fun would begin when he got out of this stinking hellhole. He would make Siena suffer until she wished she and her kids had died that day.
Chapter 22
The Braille Club, London, One Year On: The Stoicum Zone had specifically designed equipment that was currently being trialled. There was a Stoicum Hood, Stoicum Sensory Suit, Stoicum Restraints, and Stoicum Chair. Each would deliver pain, the intensity decided by the assignee. No need for a safe word. When the bell rang, it was an end to the pain and the game.
London 2014
Benedict
Siena and Benedict were regular visitors to the Braille Club, those early months when the twins were newborns the only exception. They had been too exhausted. The court case had been a terrible strain but the Braille Club had been their release, their saviour during that dark, distressing time.
They had a date night every week, and it was never dull. Siena, Benedict, and Guy had a system. Guy would experience the Mono Zones and Siena and Benedict the bonded ones.
Benedict and Siena arrived in the newly completed underground car park and drove into their reserved lot. Benedict wasn’t sure about tonight and felt tense. He was continually on high alert concerning Siena and the twins’ safety. Nick Waters might be behind bars but his legacy lived on, and Benedict having failed them once, he would not do so again. Siena’s parents were looking after the twins and Carl was no fool, he reassured Benedict anything unusual…anything out of the ordinary, he would call. The house was like a fortress and he had a visual feed direct to his phone to every room but still he felt on edge.
They had just made an offer on a large property that needed renovation and the first feature he would install was a safe room. He hated to leave the house—how could he protect his children when he wasn’t with them? His face burned as he remembered his reaction over the DNA results. He felt he’d let his daughter down. It shouldn’t have mattered, and he was ashamed that it had. Reeva filled his mind, her blonde curls and angelic smile melting his heart. She was his, they both were, and a fierce protectiveness came over him.
***
Siena
Siena pulled the new membership card she had designed from her bag and ran her hands over the smooth plastic until she felt the dots and smiled. She could sense Benedict’s tension as she handed it over to the receptionist. She needed to break this cycle before it took over their lives. She realised Benedict blamed himself and nothing she could say would convince him otherwise. Taking control, she turned to the Braille Club; she would soon find out whether it worked for them. Having lived with a controlling man for ten years, she had no desire to do so again.
Wearing a pager each, they moved towards the doors and Caligo. Siena paused as she stepped inside and inhaled the scent of Braille. She still had her coat on and moved towards the table at the back with the reserved notice on it while Benedict headed for the bar. She asked for a whiskey sour and watched the barman place it along with a malt on the bar. Benedict liked 15-year-old Macallan over ice. She saw him lift the glass to his lips and knock it back. She frowned and hoped it was to relax him. He was so tense these days. She saw him order another. Siena untied her coat as The Saturdays’ “All Fired Up” pumped through the speakers and instantly she began to move. She spotted Guy, and delighted, pulled him onto the dance floor. She felt radiant in her blue silk dress, her white blonde curls cascading down her exposed shoulders.
***
Benedict
Benedict almost dropped the drinks on his way back from the bar as he saw Siena on the dance floor with Guy. He gasped at how beautiful she was as she moved in rhythm to the music. She wore that sexy blue dress that clung so seductively to her body. If he could have growled he would have as pure instinct took over and he slammed down the drinks. He cut in without warning, leaving a bemused Guy standing alone. He pulled Siena into his arms. Mine, he thought. He looked around, his opaque eyes suddenly clear as lasers as he sent out a warning signal to every man.
Siena linked her arms around his neck and pulled him close. He moaned as the music flowed through them. Her body was warm in his arms as she brushed up against him. The sexy beats of Madonna’s “Give It to Me” was provocative as she mouthed the words to him.
She looked so gorgeous it was no surprise she was causing a stir. Men were openly staring at her and Benedict bristled. Breathless, they left the dance floor and returned to the table, draining their glasses before ordering refills. Their drinks arrived quickly, and throwing caution to the wind, they drained them again. Siena grinned and pulled a reluctant Benedict back on the dance floor as the next song played. They danced tight together to Beyoncé and Shakira’s “Beautiful Liar” as tensions built in the room.
Hip to hip, their bodies moulded to each other as they moved as one. Benedict loved the intimacy. She was a symphony to his senses. His eyes devoured her, his mouth longed to taste her, to smell her, to hear her gasp when he touched her. Desire turned his eyes opaque as his fingers caressed her shoulders and skimmed down her naked back, sending shivers through them both. His body ached for her, his hunger primal and intense. Siena’s beeper going off sent shockwaves through their connected bodies. Benedict stiffened and gasped as Siena broke free of his embrace and disappeared through the crowded dance floor.
He wanted to run after her, drag her back into his arms, and press his lips against her skin, slip his hands beneath the silk of that dress and caress the body beneath. His hands balled into fists as his body mourned the loss of her warmth. Outraged by this separation, blood roared in his ears as he fought for control. Dazed, he resisted the urge to follow her. It went against every instinct and fibre in his body. He stumbled to the bar, Siena in his thoughts, her scent on his clothes and her touch still fresh on his skin. He ordered a drink and sipped it, glad of the burn, glad of the distraction as his heart continued to pound. He jerked in shock as his beeper went off. Finishing his drink, he turned; his need for her made him stride through the club. He entered the door to the restrooms and located the locked door. The key he held hidden in his palm slid into the lock and the door sprung open.
He moved within, his fingers shaking as he inserted the key a second time. Inside the cubicle, he quickly changed into the black top and trousers before slipping his eye mask into place. He waited. His anger mounted at the delay. Who was keeping him from Siena? He made a mental note there would be time restrictions in the future. At last the bell rang and he entered the zone.
He ignored the others around him, focusing solely on the chair in front of him. He scanned the shape for any recognisable features. Her signature curls were nowhere in sight. Siena had designed the hood with a compartment at the back where longer hair could be concealed. He panicked for a moment, thinking it wasn’t her until he got as close as he dared and recognised her scent. Relief and longing battled for supremacy as he touched her shoulder. Her scent had identified her, he realised…he tucked the thought away.
His eyes devoured her. The tight top and leggings revealed her slender curves and thighs. He caught his breath as he saw her nipples harden in front of his eyes—was she naked underneath? The thought consumed him and lust momentarily controlled him. He reached for her, only catching himself at the last moment. He put his hands on her shoulders, his eyes on her breasts. She tensed and they lifted, as if begging to be touched. His hands travelled the length of her arms, his thumbs grazing her body on the journey down, and they both sighed. He wanted to place her fingers in his mouth and suck; instead he held onto to them, stroking and caressing as he reached for the satin binding. It was awkward, he thought,
the chair too low, and he made another mental note. He could feel Siena vibrating beneath his touch but when the bells on the bindings rang, she stilled immediately. Benedict stood again, impatient to begin. Who was he waiting on now? That would change in the future; he would wait for no one.
He continued to ignore everyone else in the room, his anger building…how long could it take to secure everyone’s bindings? Finally the zone bell sounded, everyone stilled, and then moved into place. Heart accelerating, he stood behind her…the game had begun. He could smell arousal. It sat heavy in the air, mixing with the scent of Braille. He knew it was an elixir he wanted to bottle. When she tilted her head to the side he growled in approval, again noticing how awkward it was getting as close as he wanted. He focused on her lips. He wanted to bruise them with his love. Mark her slender neck. He did neither, knowing he was too far gone, knowing he could not control himself. He wanted her—he had waited long enough. With a flick of his wrist, her bell shattered the silence.
***
