Sins of the Master
Catherine Taylor
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, any person living or deceased is entirely coincidental. Any references to real places or events are used fictitiously. All characters and storylines are products of the author’s imagination.
© 2015, Catherine Taylor
Smashwords Edition
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Cover design by Catherine and Leah
Cover photograph © Tom Cullis www.tomcullisphoto.com
Cover model: Alex Minsky
For more information about the author and her books please visit
www.catherinetaylor.co.nz
About this book
SINS OF THE MASTER is the follow-up to MASTER but takes up nineteen years later, where THE LINE TRILOGY ends. Many readers who have followed the story began with The Line Trilogy where they were first introduced to the elusive Dylan Tyler in A LINE CROSSED and who returned in A LINE DRAWN.
MASTER was the story of his past and set in Ukraine in 1995. From there he went to New Zealand, where he began to build his empire, and where he met Mairead Kavanagh, heroine of The Line Trilogy, and one of the most frustrating, annoying and exciting characters of this series. Master was a book that pushed the boundaries of what is considered erotica or romance, with the author opting to build on a complex plot, thriller elements and social issues, rather than the usual elements of erotica/romance books.
With Sins of the Master, the author pushes those boundaries further, with a plot that delves into espionage, organised crime, cybercrime and murder. Extensive research has gone into the creating of this story, and then a little poetic licence has been added. The author also brings a lifetime of experience with social issues at a very personal level and has made every effort to afford them the sensitivity they deserve. However some themes could be disturbing to some readers.
Readers, please be aware that this story contains graphic violence, explicit sex scenes and fetish elements, including BDSM, age play and anal play. It also deals with sexual abuse, alcoholism, depression and suicide.
The story has an array of characters, some known to readers, and with many new ones added. It is told from a multi POV perspective. With a word count of approximately 260,000 words, the author was strongly advised to release this story in instalments, but chose not to, having always dreamed of writing an epic novel. Sins of the Master allows enough information to be a standalone story with a conclusive ending, as are all her books.
Dedication
This one is dedicated to my readers, the thousands of people I have never met, who have purchased my books, sent emails of support and encouragement, and who have waited patiently for me to finish this story. You’ve changed my life, and allowed me to live my dream of being an author.
Acknowledgements
The story of Sins of the Master would not have been possible without the support of many people who have been there through the months of writing, researching and editing. As always, my family have been my greatest support, giving me their love, encouragement and humour to get me to the end.
My love and thanks to my husband, who has invested time to read, advise and edit, and listen to all my doubts, anxieties and triumphs. He has sat with me through the long hours of editing, finding those little bits so easily missed.
Appreciation and thanks to Alex Minsky, who graciously answered an email from a little known author who wanted his picture on the front of her book. His help to make that happen was much appreciated.
My thanks also to Tom Cullis, brilliant photographer, for arranging the use of Alex’s image.
To my dear friend, Leah, once again you’ve been there with your astounding creative skills and together we’ve put together another cover that I’m proud of.
And of course, my much loved Mikyla, your feedback and encouragement helps me through those doubting days and helps clarify my thoughts.
It has also been my privilege to be part of a writer’s group in my little home town. Every person in the group has given me encouragement and support, and many have taken time to read and edit my work. Thank you Becs, Abby, Edna, Bev, Adrian, Michelle and Steve, brilliant writers themselves and wonderful friends.
Having other authors to talk to, has been a rare privilege, and two especially have given me great support. Firstly, Abby, taking your time out to read my book, giving me feedback and enormous encouragement has helped me through a very difficult time.
To Christine, your friendship, encouragement, advice and experience is much appreciated, as is being able to chat about the wonderful worlds of kink and writing.
And last but not least, to my readers. I wish I could thank each and every one of you for coming along on this incredible journey with me.
PROLOGUE
Wellington, New Zealand April, 1999
Thursday night often saw a large gathering of politicians at The Diamond Bar. Their week’s requirement to be in Wellington for Parliament often showed on their strained faces as they knocked back their first drinks. The journalists that drank there knew better than to bother them. This was a neutral zone where politics remained outside the doors and opposing parties could socialise together. Any infringements were dealt with swiftly by the bar staff, and a nosy journalist would find themselves issued with a life ban from the place.
There was still much to be learned through observation and by eavesdropping on conversations, amplified by several rounds of drinks. Three journalists were seated in a central booth where they could watch and discuss their speculations among themselves. It didn’t matter that they were from competing newspapers. Sometimes you had to give a little in order to get a lot back.
Gary peered at his colleagues. “So who are you betting on for the outcome of this trial?”
“I’m tipping the government for this one,” Alex replied sullenly. “I mean it takes balls to go up against them, but you just got to know that they’ll all be closing ranks. Hell, they’re not even letting the poor bastard see the warrant.”
The youngest of the journalists shook his head in disgust. Brendan North hadn’t been in his reporting career long enough to have developed the cynical attitude of the older men.
“If it happens to one man it can happen to any of us. Anytime the government want to know your business, then all they have to do is send in their heavies and rip your household apart. It’s not right. There are laws.”
The door to the bar opened and instinctively they looked to see who the newcomer was.
“That’s Sean Kavanagh,” Alex told them. “Poor bastard lost his wife to cancer, just over a year ago, leaving him with a kid to raise.”
“No doubt he’ll play on that one to get the sympathy vote.”
Alex shook his head. “No, from what I’ve heard he’s half a decent man. His wife was a stunner too. Can’t be easy raising a kid when you have to be away half the week across the country.”
They returned to their former conversation until the next patron entered.
“Oh shit, it’s Grim Mary,” Gary smirked.
Brendan turned to see a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. The pencil skirt and business jacket she wore hung loose on her thin frame and looked as drab as her mousy brown hair caught back in a bun. Thick framed glasses were perched on a long thin nose and her
mouth was turned down as if she was displeased with her surroundings.
“She’s been coming here every Thursday for the last four years,” Gary explained. “I think she hopes to find Mr. Right in here, but I’ve never seen her get lucky.”
“Not exactly a centrefold, is she?” Brendan observed. “What does she do?”
“Assistant to the Clerk of the House. Just about runs the Beehive. Does all the menial jobs, picks up everyone else’s slack. Works fucking long hours. I feel sorry for her. She’s not that bad looking, but she’s boring as shit and I doubt she’s ever had a decent fuck.”
Brendan laughed. “You seem to know an awful lot about her.”
“Like I said, I feel sorry for her. Sometimes I yack with her, but the only thing she’s interested in are the laws around legislation. I tried once to get a bit out of her what goes on in the Beehive, but she gave me this long lecture, and I mean long, on how and why civil servants of our Parliament should refrain from idle gossip and have a duty and legal responsibility to keep their mouths shut.”
They watched as Mary stood at the bar, being ignored by the staff until she started waving her card at them.
“She’ll get a gin and tonic and sit there trying to strike up conversation with anyone who sits next to her, but everyone knows what she’s like and tries to avoid her.”
Brendan frowned. “We should invite her over.”
“Are you mad?” Gary leaned in towards him. “Unless you want to know what the latest amendment to the Employment Act of 1975 is.”
“Actually, that would be 1992,” Brendan grinned. “But hell, she must know heaps of interesting shit. You know what they say: It’s always the quiet ones.”
“Yeah right,” Gary chuckled. He sat back and shrugged. “I’ll go get her, but don’t say you weren’t warned.”
Brendan and Alex watched as he went across to the bar and spoke to Mary. When she looked in their direction they both smiled and waved. Mary stared back with her mouth hanging open, but followed Gary back to their booth and slid in beside him.
After introductions she sat silently, sucking on her drink through a straw.
“So have you got plans for the long weekend, Mary?” Brendan asked.
Her eyes widened. “I’ve got holidays.”
“Sweet. Are you going away anywhere?”
Mary bowed her head and kept sucking on her drink. She didn’t look at them as she answered. “Yes.”
“So where are you off to?”
She raised her head and stared at Brendan fearfully. “Why do you want to know?”
He leant back and saw Gary pursing his lips together tightly, trying not to laugh. “I was just interested.”
“I don’t know where I’m going. I can’t talk about it.”
“Fair enough.” Brendan glanced at his amused companions. “We were just talking about the trial going on in the High Court this week.”
Mary nodded. “The government has to act swiftly when they suspect threats to security of the country.”
“Yeah, but this guy is hardly a radical and yet the SIS smash their way into his home, take all his files and won’t even show him the warrant.”
“The Security Intelligence Service doesn’t behave irrationally. They have just cause, and there is a warrant, signed by the Prime Minister himself and most certainly valid. This is not something that should be discussed in establishments of this sort.”
Brendan smiled. “Well, what do you like to talk about, Mary?”
Again, the fearful look passed over her face and she looked about at them. Her thin lips opened and closed until she finally spoke.
“Have you ever felt terrified about doing something, but you know you have to do it, because if you don’t you would never know what might have happened, and it would haunt you for the rest of your life?”
She now had all their attention. Brendan peered at her. “You might need to elaborate a bit more, Mary.”
She shook her head and looked at the watch on her wrist, before fumbling about in her handbag and drawing out a ten dollar note.
“Would one of you get me another drink, please?”
Alex waved her money away and got up. “Another gin and tonic?”
Mary breathed heavily and shook her head. “No, something stronger. A whisky. Can I have a scotch on the rocks?”
“Yeah sure.”
As she put her money away, Alex gave the others a quizzical glance before heading to the bar.
Gary nodded to Brendan to keep talking.
“So you were saying about doing something scary?”
Mary looked up at him anxiously. “I didn’t say that I was doing something. I posed a hypothetical question.”
“Well, I suppose we all have to take risks sometimes, otherwise life would get pretty bloody boring.”
“That’s right.” Mary nodded emphatically. “And as long as it’s legal and you’re not breaking any laws. I would never do that, you must believe that.”
“You don’t have to convince me, Mary,” Gary grinned. “Everyone has the deepest respect for you.”
She stared at him as if he had said something terrible. “But what if I did do something that wasn’t respectful, that people might not approve of?”
“Then it would be a personal choice, of whether you live up to other people’s standards or live up to your own.”
“That is the choice, isn’t it?” She stared down at the table. “And I’ve made mine.”
Mary suddenly got up and took the ten dollar note from her purse again and laid it on the table. “Tell Alex, thank you for the drink. I have to go.”
Before they could respond, she was out of the booth and walking determinedly to the door, leaving the men staring after her, stunned.
“I thought you said that she was boring,” Brendan remarked.
Gary chuckled. “Well, whatever the crazy bitch is doing, I hope she does have fun for once.”
“She seemed to know a lot about this trial, the warrant and such.”
“She probably does. Like I said, Mary knows everything that goes on in that place.”
Brendan stared at the door, downing the last of his drink. “Yeah, I’m going to get going too.”
*****
“I didn’t tell them anything,” Mary mumbled as she hurried along the city street.
The night air was cold and the footpath void of other people, though the traffic moved steadily past her. She should have been part of it, on her way home in a taxi, to the suburbs and to her safe little apartment.
Instead, she was wandering further into the city, ignoring every sane thought of how foolish she was being. It was as if her body had detached from her mind, her feet bringing her closer to danger with every step. She cursed herself for going to the pub. If she had just gone home from work, as she had fully intended, she wouldn’t have dared to venture out again. Now the night was beckoning her, stimulating the excitement that had possessed her for the past three months.
It was excitement tainted with terror. It was all going to take place in an isolated setting and she was fully aware of the danger she was putting herself in. The risks of what she was doing were screaming out in her mind. All she had to do was turn around, walk back to the taxi stand and it would be over. She would never hear from him again, or so he had promised. The trouble was, she believed him.
Turning into a narrow street, Mary stopped and looked at the bleak scenery before her. The street was dark and empty, and halfway along it was the car park. When she ventured forward her heels clicked loudly on the concrete and echoed off the dark buildings. Soon, she could barely hear the traffic from the main street behind her. This was as lonely as it could be and yet she walked on.
The car park loomed in front of her, ten levels of layered concrete lying in darkness. A large wire gate sealed the entrance and a sign on it clearly announced that it was closed. As she got closer, Mary could see that the padlock had not been snapped shut. With trembling hands she removed it
and pulled the gate back enough to get around it. Once inside, her heart picked up pace as the echo of her heels amplified her walk into the eerie space. One dirty light surrounded by moths revealed the ramp that led to the upper floors. The incline made walking difficult and she reluctantly removed her shoes.
On reaching the first level, she peered out into the darkness, seeing only an empty space and a light over a door in the distance which said ‘exit.’ It seemed to glow back at her like a warning. Staring at it, Mary suddenly heard something, like quiet footsteps behind her. She froze and listened for several minutes, her heart thumping painfully against her ribs.
When only silence followed, she decided that she had simply heard an echo of herself. Slowly she walked on, traversing more levels, keeping close to the wall to guide her, until she had reached the sixth level. With a deep breath, she walked to the centre towards a concrete pillar with a large number ‘six’ on it. She stood next to it and waited, pressing a button on her watch to light up the time. There was still twenty minutes to go.
With nothing to do, she tried to imagine what he would be like. He had described himself as tall, with black hair and blue eyes. He had admitted to having tattoos, which should have turned her off immediately, though she was certain that he was no uncultured thug. Every night he had been there for her, his words appearing in a chat box on her computer, answering her questions and making demands of her.
“I want this to be real,” she whispered, as she unbuttoned her skirt and pushed it down over her hips. She mindlessly folded it and put it on her handbag. “I want you to be real, exactly as you told me and I will do anything you ask of me.”
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