Vouloir

by J. D. Chase

  ‘I convinced myself that it was him. That he’d found me. I started sobbing in defeat. After being so strong for so long, hope escaped me. He’d finally broken me.’

  I feel an ache in my chest. It’s an unfamiliar feeling for me. I’m too fit to be having a heart attack . . . or at least I hope I am. I reach out and place my hand on her arm. The thought of escaping only to be captured is too much for even my hardened soul to bear.

  She doesn’t seem to notice that I’m touching her.

  ‘Even when the hands lifted me and carried me to the car, I sobbed. I vowed to hang myself on the neck brace the very next time he used it. I couldn’t bear any more. I just couldn’t.’

  Her voice is scratchy. I know she’s fighting her emotions and that what I’m feeling is nothing compared to the hell that she’s reliving in her head. If that bastard took her back there . . .

  I’ve got a lump in my throat. I can’t speak. I squeeze her arm gently, hoping that she’ll understand.

  ‘I think I blacked out. I don’t remember anything about the car ride. I woke up when I felt heat. I was being lowered into warm water. My eyes couldn’t adjust to the bright light overhead. I didn’t understand what was happening so my survival instinct took over. I tried to scramble but I heard soothing noises as hands held me still. My brain finally realised that it was a female voice. I calmed and squinted my eyes. I saw Helene’s worried face. Then Thierri’s. He was holding me naked in his arms. I felt that I should be embarrassed but I was too relieved. And too drained.

  ‘He lowered me into the water and left the room. Helene bathed me but didn’t ask me any questions. She dried and dressed me in her clothes. She’s a slip of a thing but everything hung off my bony frame. She took me to a bedroom and told me to make myself comfortable. Within moments she returned with a bowl of Heinz cream of chicken soup and a bread roll.’

  She laughs. ‘There’ll never be meal that can rival that one and it was chicken fucking soup!’

  I force a smile but I can’t bring myself to laugh with her.

  Jesus. I knew this woman was strong. I knew she’d suffered. But this?

  ‘Was he put away?’ I ask instead, then almost kick myself. Of course he would be put away for that. He was a fucking monster. The question I should have asked is how long was he put away for?

  She turns to face me and shakes her head.

  ‘What? You’ve got to be kidding me? He’s a fucking monster. He deserves to die a slow, painful death.’

  She gives a wry smile. ‘That’s what Thierri said. He was already arranging it. But I didn’t want that on my hands. Nobody has the right to take another person’s life. I believed that then, and I believe it now.’

  She’s looking into my eyes. She knows the likely impact of her words. She knows that I’ve most likely taken lives. I let it go.

  ‘So why didn’t he get sentenced?’ I just don’t understand it.

  She shrugs. ‘He was never tried nor convicted.’

  ‘What the hell?’ Is she mad? ‘Why the fuck not?’

  ‘Because my parents are proud people, as I am. I didn’t want it to define me and I didn’t want it to break them. Can you imagine having your face splattered all across the tabloids, the news channels . . . everywhere? During the court case, having the whole sordid tale put on public viewing? No, thank you. But mostly, I couldn’t face seeing my parents’ reactions. It would kill my mum and dad if they knew that had happened to me—the fact they’d not known. They would never forgive themselves. My dad would still be serving time for attempted murder . . . or worse. And all the gossip and finger pointing that would follow them and me around? No way. I needed to walk away from it and put it behind me. I didn’t need it all raking up over and over again. Trying to move on was hard enough as it was.’

  ‘So he got away with it? He walked away from it?’ I cannot comprehend it. ‘What would stop him doing this to someone else?’

  ‘Thierri made sure of it. I told him not to end his life. I didn’t say he shouldn’t be punished.’

  ‘What did Thierri do?’ Whatever it was, I doubt it came close to being harsh enough.

  She turns to face the windscreen again. ‘I don’t know exactly what fate befell him. I know he would have suffered and I know that he went to jail for other offences. Offences he was no doubt framed for, just to keep him behind bars without dragging my name through the courts . . . and the mud. Before Paul received his first jail sentence, he was on bail. He tried to kidnap me in the middle of a busy town. I screamed and kicked him in the balls. Then I ran. Just when I thought I was safe, I heard a car’s engine. He mounted the kerb but I saw him coming and managed to dive into a shop doorway. He clipped me but I escaped with cuts and bruises.

  ‘Thierri was mortified that I’d had such a close call. He vowed to keep me safe, whatever the cost. That meant us moving down here, to where he was born. From what I understand, a few years before I met him, he’d moved up to the Midlands and opened his first BDSM club, where he met Helene. Nobody knew it at the time but he’d run an empire that was cut-throat and volatile since his late twenties. He’d moved north to lie low for a while but continued to run his empire from afar. When I asked him about it, he wouldn’t be drawn except to say that he was keeping his hands clean because he was the organ grinder. Monkeys were ten a penny.

  ‘Eventually, he opened up Vouloir and let his empire burn. He was still a man of influence though. Few made the mistake of crossing him. Nobody underestimated him, even in his sixties. He was my mentor when I decided to become a Domme. A privilege as I’m the only dominant he’s mentored. He was reluctant; he was convinced that I only wanted to travel down that path to protect myself from men.’

  ‘Did you?’ It’s a valid question, despite the glare I receive in response. Eventually, her eyes soften and she shrugs.

  ‘Maybe. Initially. An understandable response, given the circumstances. But whatever the stimulus, it’s what I am. Who I am. Even Thierri had to agree in time. I had a crazy twelve months of healing through learning. At first, I’d jump at my own shadow and I went everywhere with Thierri after the failed kidnap attempt. Once Paul was safely behind bars for a five year stretch, I began to relax. Thierri was furious with the sentence. I’ve no idea what it was for but apparently, it carried a maximum of fifteen years. I knew that Paul would be out in three. But it gave me three blissful years to stabilise myself and put myself through my degree.

  ‘As soon as he was released, Paul committed another offence and was kept in custody. And on it went. You’d think he would learn, leave the country or something. The only worry in my mind is that he managed to get a message to me via Helene a few years ago. She passed on a package without realising who it was from. It was a photo of me and him and on the back, he’d written: “I’m coming for you. You can keep running but I’ll find you. When I find you, I’m going to make sure you’re by my side for all eternity.”’

  Nice. The problem with putting him behind bars—and I could see why Thierri was doing it—was that his psychotic mind was not receiving attention. He had a lethal obsession that nobody knew about: Veuve. By my side for all eternity—that makes me visualise a graveyard.

  ‘Yesterday Helene remembered that Paul had been due for parole some months ago. With the crisis over Thierri’s health, she was unsure whether plans were in place to put Paul back behind bars and to keep him away from me in the meantime. Even if they had been, Thierri hasn’t been well enough to be on top of his affairs. Vouloir would have got into a right mess had Gabe and I not been on the ball. So, as of last night, I’ve no idea where Paul is. Whether I’m safe—or not. And the only person who might be able to help me is being held captive down there by his sister.’

  I sit up. ‘Right, that’s it. We’re going down there and she’s going to let us see him.’

  She shakes her head then gives me a smile. ‘No, Thierri’s health takes priority. He’s too ill to cope with all this shit.’

  She sees me open my m
outh to object and puts her palms up to stop me. ‘I’d love to speak with him—about this, but more importantly, to find out what his wishes really are about Helene, his funeral and his will.’

  ‘Your safety is paramount. Thierri is dying and there’s nothing you can do to change that. You’re alive and well . . . and in danger.’

  The curl of her upper lip shows her disdain.

  ‘I mean it, Veuve.’

  She shrugs. ‘You do what you like. Don’t expect me to call the dogs off when they’re tearing at your bollocks. They will; that’s how they’ve been trained. And, assuming you club them to death and get inside before you bleed out, Thierri won’t speak to you. He doesn’t know you and would probably assume Paul had sent you. So, not only would you achieve precisely fuck all, you’d most likely be responsible for speeding up his demise because Thierri would try to strangle you with his bare hands. From what I hear, it wouldn’t be the first time that fate had befallen someone.’

  ‘Are you always this overly dramatic?’ I ask. ‘Not to mention stubborn.’

  ‘Do you always have such stupid plans? It’s a wonder you didn’t blow yourself up in the Marines.’

  I burst out laughing and it lightens the tense atmosphere.

  ‘I’ll do you a deal. How about we work out a way to get what we both want? I’m not a patient man, Veuve. You’ve given me the responsibility for your safety. I take that seriously, and nothing and no one will get in the way of that. Not even you.’

  Her eyes flame. ‘You’re learning under my hand, Jones. You’ll learn restraint and patience. And you’ll learn to do as you’re fucking told or the deal’s off,’ she hisses.

  I know she means it. The problem is, I mean what I say too.

  THE RINGING OF MY mobile interrupts the standoff between me and Jones. I slide my phone from my pocket without taking my eyes from his. It hits me then that I’m discussing my past openly—something I rarely do, preferring to keep it buried—with a man who is the closest visual representation of the evil one that I’ve ever seen. And I’m holding my own and standing my ground. It feels good. It feels powerful.

  Oh fuck.

  Home is flashing on the screen. It’s The Kid.

  He never calls me.

  I swipe the screen. ‘Hello.’

  I can barely hear his voice for the ear shatteringly loud wailing in the background. It’s the fire alarm at the flat.

  ‘Jones,’ I begin but he can hear the alarm and he’s already starting the car. ‘Home. Quickly.’

  ‘Make it stop,’ The Kid says, sounding scared and bewildered. I’ve never done a fire drill with him. I just didn’t think.

  ‘Is there fire in the flat?’ I shout to make myself heard. He doesn’t reply.

  I repeat my question but he just shouts, ‘Too noisy.’ He’s getting hysterical now.

  ‘Go and stand outside by the entrance. If there’s too many people, go into the garden. We’ll find you. We’ll be there as soon as we can. If you need to, call me again. Just get out and stay calm. Everything will be fine.’

  I debate dialling 999 but I don’t know for sure that there’s a fire. I try calling The Kid back to check that he’s outside and to ask him whether there actually is a fire. It rings and rings. Of course! He doesn’t have a phone. Even if he’s taken the cordless landline phone outside, it will be out of range of the base.

  Curses fly through my lips on a regular basis because . . . well, that’s all I can do. Curse and hope. I’m rubbing the pendant and praying to nobody in particular that he’s safe.

  Jones is tearing through Stratford but there’s fucking traffic everywhere. Why oh why didn’t I buy a flat near the tube? I know why. It freaked me out when I first moved to London. Too many people crammed together. I didn’t feel safe. I couldn’t see who was and, more to the point, who wasn’t in the carriage. It didn’t matter that Paul was vacationing at Her Majesty’s Pleasure at the time.

  By the time we get back to the flat, two fire engines are parked outside. That freaks me out but not as much as the smoke I can see pouring out of the vent for the extractor hood in my kitchen.

  I dash out of the car and rush forward. I can’t see The Kid so I run into the garden. Jones is with me. There’s no sign of him. We call him repeatedly and ask everyone if they’ve seen him, giving a description. I’m racking my brains trying to remember what he was wearing this morning.

  I dash back to the front of the building and throw myself at the burly firefighter who’s blocking the entrance.

  I hear myself scream nonsense—at least it’s unintelligible to my ears, maybe because of the whooshing noises brought on by panic and the fear that’s unfurling in my chest. He pushes me back so I try to push past him, beating his chest with my fists when he holds his ground.

  All I can hear are my screams. All I can see is The Kid inside my mind. Another face appears over his shoulder. It looks like Dan’s face. It goes quiet; it’s like time stops. I lost Dan—that was bad enough. The Kid . . . my Kid, as I’d come to view him . . . I can’t lose him. But the image is growing stronger in my head and I’m sure that’s what it’s telling me until Dan smiles faintly.

  Arms band around me from behind. I shriek and struggle like a wild animal caught in a trap. I don’t want Dan to take The Kid. I need to get upstairs. I need to save him.

  ‘The Kid’s safe, Veuve. Calm down. He’s safe.’

  Jones releases me, or so I think, but his arm curls around my shoulders and tugs me into his side. My vision clears. He turns us and steers me towards an ambulance. I hadn’t even noticed it parked behind the fire engines.

  The Kid is sitting inside it, hooked up to an oxygen mask. His face is grey from smoke or soot and his dark eyes are huge. I’m both relieved and stricken by the sight of him until he gives me a little smile. I turn to the paramedic and demand a progress report. He’s okay, less smoke inhalation than it looks, given the state of his face and clothes. They’re going to take him into hospital to get him checked over properly and possibly keep him in overnight for observation only.

  He has no hospital records. In today’s system of electronic records, there’s no bluffing past that. I get the feeling that the shit may just be about to hit the fan.

  I feel Jones’ eyes on me. ‘No contingency plan?’ he all but whispers.

  What’s he talking about? I frown in irritation. I don’t have time for his stupid questions. Between The Kid’s missing medical records and the fact that my home must now resemble an incompetent physicist’s lab, I have enough to be dealing with. Not to mention the Thierri crisis. And the threat of the unknown whereabouts of the evil one.

  I sigh heavily. It feels more than a little overwhelming. I can’t even remember who my insurance is with. That’ll be what Jones is going on about—where we’ll sleep until I’ve made a claim and got the place inhabitable again. Do I have alternative accommodation as part of my policy? I’m fucked if I can remember. I certainly hope so.

  ‘I’ll sort something,’ I say, giving The Kid’s hand a squeeze.

  ‘About the hospital?’ Jones persists. ‘He might be better off seeing a private doctor.’

  Jones is staring at me as though he’s trying to tell me something, without actually saying it. What the hell is he waffling on about now? I turn away but not before giving him a look of my own. If it wasn’t for his friendship with The Kid, I’d usher him out of the ambulance. I still might, there’s barely room in here for all of us and he’s getting on my nerves with his questions.

  Suddenly the penny drops. His suggestion is a possible answer to my question . . . but how does he know about that?

  I turn to face him, eyebrows taking flight.

  He shrugs and looks at The Kid who seems to be completely oblivious. I can’t believe that he’s spilled his guts to Jones. Immediately, I wonder whether he’s told Jones more than he’s told me. I know there’s more; I can tell when someone’s holding back. But now isn’t the time—I’ll find that out later.

&nb
sp; Jones, you’re a genius. You’ve just given me an out. I give him a grateful smile.

  ‘His mother doesn’t trust the local hospitals,’ I tell the paramedic. ‘No offence but she’s had bad experiences. She doesn’t use it now. She pays for private treatment. I can call her but I know she’d rather he be seen by their private GP unless you feel he’s likely to need immediate hospital treatment.’

  The paramedic shakes his head. ‘No love. His oxygen sats are good. It would purely be a precaution. He was scared shitless when they found him in there. If it hadn’t been for a neighbour spotting the smoke coming from your front door . . . well, you get the picture. I’ll give him another few minutes here. Is it your flat?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply. My brain’s busy making up a name and address, should it be required.

  ‘If I were you, I’d go and speak with the fire service. See what you need to do there. They had to smash the front door in to get inside. You need to discuss security of the property. They’ll probably give you advice about putting your insurance claim in too,’ he says. He’s a fully paid up Samaritan.

  I nod but I don’t want to leave The Kid, not when I was convinced I was losing him. I squeeze his hand again and smile reassuringly.

  We sit in Jones’ car when the paramedic declares they have to get going. He’s given The Kid a clean bill of health and a stern talking to about getting out when a fire alarm goes off in future.

  I sit in the back and give The Kid chance to talk about it. Jones has asked whether we can look inside or get a damage report but they’re not done yet.

  ‘The noise scared me,’ he says. ‘It got right inside my head like it was trying to hurt me. I curled up on my bed and waited for it to stop but it didn’t. Then I smelled something bad, like when you’re cooking and burn the food but worse. There was smoke in the hallway but no fire. I thought you’d left something cooking and it was burning. You’ve done that before.’

  I nod; it’s true. I’m useless at putting something on the hob or in the oven and getting distracted.