Jase did as he’d been told, trying not to worry about what was to come. He knew…and couldn’t do anything about it. He just had to endure. It had been the same for years. Kneeling on the bench, he spread his legs wide while clenching his hole to hold in his butt plug. He stared down at the plush carpet. At least the surroundings were lovely. That wasn’t always the case.
Master rattled around the room, open and shutting drawers and undoubtedly looking for the right things with which to torment Jase. He thudded over, his fury marked by each heavy tread of his feet. Master’s moods swung violently these days. His cocaine use was not helping matters. He loomed in front of Jase’s bowed head, yanked his chin and shoved a latex penis into Jase’s mouth without preamble. He sent it hard and deep enough that Jase would have choked if his gag reflex hadn’t been trained out of him. He worked his mouth to hold it in without drooling.
Next came the beating. Master wasted no time in walloping Jase’s bare ass with a wooden paddle—Master’s favorite instrument because it was both painful and easy to use. “Did you like it, boy? The way that man touched you and leered at your naked chest, fussing over your being cold and hungry? Did it make you feel special and wanted? Do you wish he were here instead of me?”
Every question, all of which were really accusations, was punctuated with a brutal swat of the paddle. The jarring smack layered upon old bruises was agony. Jase lurched forward with the force and cried out around the gag. He didn’t try to hold back his fear and pain. That was what Master wanted to hear, of course. It was proof that he, and only he, owned Jase, body and soul. It was nothing new—the same old thing—and Jase weathered it with the meager comfort that it wouldn’t last long. Master didn’t have that kind of control.
Soon, the beating stopped. Master yanked the plug from Jase’s ass and replaced it with his cock. There was no lube. There never was, but the plug helped keep his channel open. The burn was a familiar sensation and nothing like the pain from paddling.
As he shoved his way into Jase’s battered body, Master muttered and swore incoherently. Except Jase knew the words by heart and they came down to one thing. He was the property of Master and always would be.
* * * *
“Who was that asshole I ran into out there?” Emil asked the question as he plopped down on Alex’s office couch. The visitors’ chairs were too narrow for his comfort.
Alex twirled his chair around and crossed his feet on the top of his desk. “The man or the boy?” When Emil merely glared in response, Alex replied, “Of course, the man. Washburn is his name and he’s a new member. He’s also an asshole, isn’t he?”
“I just said so, didn’t I? You admitted him to the club?”
“I did. I had to. His references from three club members were impeccable—and so is his bank account. He appears to be an upstanding businessman, although new to Boston. He lived in Miami for a few years prior to this, apparently.”
“He’s got the kid on a leash,” Emil felt compelled to point out. The sight of that pretty, young boy improperly dressed for the season and being treated like a pet had bothered him. A lot.
“So he does. This is a club that caters to the BDSM community, remember?”
Emil folded his arms and huffed. “Yeah. I don’t get it.”
“You don’t have to, as long as it’s consensual.”
“That kid looks too young to consent to anything.” And scared. He didn’t add that observation, but it was true, nevertheless. Beneath the silky fringe of white-blond hair had been bright blue eyes with a haunted look shining through.
“According to the paperwork submitted, he’s eighteen. Val confirmed its authenticity.”
Emil snorted. “I don’t care. Eighteen is young.”
“Quinn is eighteen,” Alex reminded him with an icy stare.
“My point still stands. Everybody is too damn young around here. Or,” he added, tipping his head back, “maybe I’m old.”
Alex chuckled. “That’s possible. I certainly am feeling my age these days, despite the refreshing cold of the season.”
“It’s Dracul. He’s making us crazy, all the more so for lying low these past few months.”
“That expression the humans have about waiting for the other shoe to drop comes to mind.”
“Except this is like waiting for the thousandth shoe.” He exhaled noisily. “I’d like it to be over.”
“As would I. Never more so now that I have Quinn to lose.”
That was a minor blessing for Emil. He didn’t have someone he loved to worry over. But that wasn’t true. He didn’t have a lover, yet he did love his compatriots and their families. He worried about Kitty and Logan and Damien. There was a lot Dracul could take away from him that would break his heart.
For some reason, he pictured the boy from the hallway again. “What’s his name?”
“I told you, Washburn.”
“No, the boy.”
“Oh…Jase.” Papers rustled. “Jason Purdue. Washburn called him Jase.”
“Jase,” Emil repeated. “He needs fattening.”
“You think everyone does,” Alex retorted. “If you could, I swear you’d feed the world.”
“True that. I don’t understand how humans can allow their own to go hungry. There’s so much I don’t get about these creatures, even after all this time.”
“You have a big heart, Emil.”
He sighed. “For all the good it does me.”
“It does others good, and that’s one of the reasons why I appreciate that you stayed loyal to me more than I can say.”
Raising his head, Emil looked his captain in the eye. “Why are you always surprised by those of us that stuck by you? It’s the ones that were bent by Dracul who are unfathomable.”
Alex smiled. “You are a treasure, my friend. I don’t say that enough.”
Emil grunted and rolled his eyes. “I’m a cook and sometimes a soldier. That’s all.” He sat forward. “Do you think if I bring them sandwiches, he’d let the boy eat them?”
Alex dropped his feet with a thud. “No! You don’t disturb couples when they are playing. You should know that by now. If you need a refresher on BDSM etiquette, check in with Val. He’ll tell you that disturbing a scene is one of the worst things you can do to practitioners.”
A growl popped out of his mouth before he could stop it. Something about the idea of that boy being hurt brought out his protective instincts. “What if he’s hurting him?”
“Emil, that is rather the point. The boy likes being in pain the same way Mackie does—or, at least, I assume so.”
Emil leaned forward, unable to drop the subject for some reason. “What if he doesn’t? Did you talk to him? The asshole said the kid couldn’t talk to me without his permission. I suppose that’s another part of the lifestyle I don’t get.”
“Hmm.” Alex rubbed his chin. “I didn’t, as it happens. Technically, Washburn is the member. We only asked for ID for Jase because he’s going to be a recurring guest of a member. I confess I didn’t speak directly with the boy at all. He didn’t appear to be in distress. His heart rate was normal and I scented no sweat. If he was afraid, he hid it well.”
“He would, wouldn’t he? If Washburn controls him, has trained him, he’d act as if everything was fine, yeah?” Emil narrowed his gaze. “He was fearful when I bumped into him, although I think it was the sight of me that did it,” he added ruefully. Sometimes his enormous size was a liability when it came to interacting with humans.
He didn’t add how much of those few seconds as he held on to the boy, listening to the rapid tattoo of the human’s heartbeat and catching his sweet-and-salty scent, had captured his attention. Even now, minutes later, he recalled the power of the interaction.
“I wish there were some way to check on them.”
“You know we don’t spy on our members. There’s no security cameras in the playroom, only a panic button. Everyone deserves their privacy, and we aren’t voyeurs.”
Wat
ching the boy being beaten or whatever was the last thing Emil wanted to see. He understood Alex’s point, but the club had also been conceived with the expectation that everything done was consensual. “He can’t ask for help if he’s incapacitated.”
“Good Lord, Emil… Why are you suddenly worried about what our members are up to?”
Emil shrugged. “I can’t say. I just am.” It was this boy, naturally. For some reason he’d gotten under his skin within the span of a minute of minor interaction.
Alex sighed. “Very well. Would it make you feel better if I ask Val to dig deeper?”
“Yes.”
“And maybe I can have Quinn and Mackie befriend Jase and get their take on his situation?”
“I’d like that,” he said with a nod. “If the asshole will let him talk to the boys.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange, and we really need to stop referring to our newest member as ‘the asshole’, don’t you think?”
“No.” With that, Emil rose and left Alex’s office. He had work to do, and if he spent his time thinking about the boy while he did so, that was his business. And his problem.
* * * *
“Jesus H. Christ, these old warehouses go up like kindling.”
“Yeah, and they always seem to do so in the middle of the night.”
Trey didn’t care that his fatigue and weariness could be heard in his tone. He and Karl had been partners long enough that they could relax and be themselves at o-dark-thirty in the morning. And with a biting winter wind cutting through his coat, he simply couldn’t be indifferent to being called out on a possible homicide through arson. He didn’t even have a cup of coffee to ward off the chill or brighten his outlook.
“I got to tell you I’m glad I didn’t have plans last night. I was feeling sorry for myself, but falling asleep on my recliner means I’m not quite a zombie right now.” He gave Trey a sideways glance. “Looks like you can’t say the same. Had a hot date last night?”
Trey grunted. “If you call getting sucked off by a rando in the hallway of a club a date, then yeah.” And so what if the guy had been way younger than Trey was and sporting long dark hair. “He was hot, though.”
Karl snorted. “God, you’ve got it great. It’s easy to find guys who’ll do that for you. I’m thinking of turning gay to get more sex.”
“Right, Karl. ’Cause that’s how it works. All you have to do is change your orientation.” He kept his tone light and teasing. He knew his partner’s remark was his way of confirming he wasn’t freaked out by some of the explicit things that popped out of Trey’s mouth, especially when he was dead on his feet and caffeine-deficient.
He caught sight of Benson, the local fire chief, already on scene and heading in their direction. “I don’t know what we’re doing here. It’s just going to be kicked over to the fire marshal, who will bring in the Fire Investigation Unit. We’re ancillary at best, if this was deliberately set.”
“But we’re still closest, and you know how much Benson loves us. Hey, how’re they hanging, Bennie?”
Benson pulled off his hat and swiped his sooty brow with the back of his hand. “I swear, Anderson… You always sound like you’re out of some seventies mafia movie or something.” He grimaced and looked back at the smoldering wreck. “Fuck, this is a bad one. We had to call in two other houses to help us put it out.”
Trey stamped his feet in a pointless effort to unthaw them. “Still only the two DBs?”
“Yeah. It’s too unstable to look further right now, but based on the statements from the survivors, it was only the two we found left inside.”
Karl snorted. “That thing occupies practically a city block. There could have been dozens of homeless spread around it.”
Trey eyed the group of people huddled by the ambulances, wrapped in blankets and sipping cups of coffee. Lucky bastards. “I don’t know. They tend to stake claims and form, if not tight-knit groups, at least familiar ones. Big building or not, I bet they’d know everyone squatting in the place.”
“That’s what they claimed,” Benson confirmed. “They said the two vics were a couple and went into another part of the building for a little privacy. Next thing anyone knew, there was an explosion close enough that it knocked a few of them flat. Then they had trouble finding their way out, due to thick smoke. They were kind of helping each other by the time we got here.”
Trey eyed the group by the ambulance again. “Are you sure they didn’t accidently start the fire themselves?”
Benson nodded. “I’ve already determined that the fire started in a different area than where we found evidence of their squatting. They had a small, home-made brazier kind of thing lit, but that’s not ground zero. The bodies were under debris near the epicenter. Poor bastards never stood a chance. The smoke alone would have gotten to them before they could make it out.”
Karl yawned loudly. “Sorry. Didn’t get my eight hours last night. You’re sure it was an explosion?”
“That’s what I’m putting in my report. The fire marshal can take it from there.”
“Right,” Trey confirmed and stifled his own yawn. “We’ll go take official statements from the witnesses. Thanks, Bennie.”
The fire chief gave him a two-finger salute before donning his helmet and walking off. Trey headed over to the homeless group with Karl by his side. He idly wondered if he could snag some coffee from the Red Cross person who’d rushed on-scene. Interviewing people who were naturally suspicious of the police took an extra amount of patience, and he wasn’t sure he had any at the moment. His stress level dealing with his alien-vampire friends was on the rise, and that was despite the fact that he was truly starting to think of them in that way. When you attended someone’s wedding, it strengthened a bond, whether you wanted it to or not.
The huddle caught sight of them quickly and they pulled in their ranks somehow without actually moving. He tried to convey a nonthreatening demeanor with only his expression. He doubted it worked.
Flashing his badge, he said, “Good morning, everyone. I’m Sergeant Trey Duncan and this is my partner, Detective Karl Anderson. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the fire.”
No one said anything. They merely looked at him suspiciously over the rims of their Styrofoam cups. He put his badge away and took out his notebook and pen.
“So, Chief Benson tells me there was an explosion and you barely made it out okay. What can you tell me about it?” Still, no one spoke, so he decided he needed to single out one of them and speak directly. “Sir?” He nodded at the closest man, someone of middle age with wisps of white hair among an otherwise-black beard.
“What?” The guy glared at him.
Trey dug deep for that elusive patience. “What can you tell me about the explosion?”
“It was loud. Shook the whole place. Damn near choked to death on the smoke.” There was a general murmur of assent among his brethren about that unhelpful answer.
“Yes, sir. The fire chief explained that to me, but I’m hoping you can give me more details, such as whether any of you heard or saw anyone or anything out of the ordinary before that?”
The man took a noisy sip of his coffee. “Nah, it was a typical quiet night.” He shook his head. “If we’d thought something was wrong, we never would have just let Bobby and Carrie go off on their own.” There was more general confirmation. “Don’t know what you all think we can tell you more than that.”
Trey tapped his notebook with his pen. “Well, sir, what can you tell me about Bobby and Carrie, then. Were they into drugs?”
“What kind of question is that?” The man’s anger seemed real.
“They want to know if they was cooking meth, I bet,” called out a younger man behind him.
Trey glanced at Karl before addressing the guy. “Yes, sir, that is frankly something I have to consider.” It was the easiest explanation, and these days, he was looking for straightforward, terrestrial kind of crime.
The first man glared at him. “
You’ve got no call thinking that. They were good people. You cops think just because we’re on the street that we’re all criminals.”
“No, sir, I don’t think that. But I have to pursue every possible lead. Two people did die and I want to know how and why. I assume you do, as well, and cooperating with us will help make that happen.”
The first man gave him the finger.
Karl took a step forward. “Hey, you show Sergeant Duncan some respect.”
“Oh, yeah? Or what, you going to arrest me?”
“Maybe.”
“Karl,” Trey warned. This escalation wasn’t going to do them any good.
“Wait a minute,” an older woman sitting off to the side called out. “Are you Duncan? Logan’s cop friend?”
Trey turned his attention to her. “Yes, ma’am, I know Logan.” Calling her a friend would be a bit of a stretch, but he had seen her the other week at the wedding and they’d exchanged a brief greeting. “I hope she’s said good things about me.” He flashed her a smile that he hoped fell somewhere into the charming category.
“She said you’re all right, and that’s good enough for me. Give him a break, Freddy.”
The man scoffed. “Damn, woman. I’ve told him all I know, which is nothing.” He looked around at the others. “Am I right? We was sitting around, minding our own, and suddenly, boom!” He slapped his knee for emphasis. “That’s it. And Bobby and Carrie were not cooking meth. I know that, too.”
There was a chorus of “yes” and “that’s right” with a few “fucking As” thrown in, except the woman didn’t stop in agreeing about their lost companions. Instead, she said, “You know that’s not all. Tell them about what you saw when you went outside to piss.”
Freddy waved her away. “That was nothing.”
Trey leaned in. “Sir, sometimes the simplest things turn out to be important. Please tell me.”
“I don’t know.” The man shrugged. “Just a shadow, that’s all. A trick of the light on the roof.”
“The roof?” Trey looked over at the smoldering remains of the warehouse. What was left of it was about three stories high. “Someone was up there?”
Slave Dance Page 3
