by Tatum Throne
Hard Hits 11
Training James
James Anderson is no longer the chief of police. He’s now working with IA to weed out the bad guys. When the new chief asks him for a favor to help find a missing officer, James knows he has to help.
Lt. Layton Shaw has gotten caught up in something he has no control over. When James walks into his life, all he wants is to tie him up as his sub. As a Dom, he always choses his subs carefully. Will James say yes or will he have to romance him into submission?
James is a gay man who has never been with a man. He’s ready. But is he prepared to hand his body over to a Dom? He never expects to fall hard for a man he once worked with. Will Layton want him for the long-term or only a few sessions?
Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), BDSM, Contemporary
Length: 26,377 words
TRAINING JAMES
Hard Hits 11
Tatum Throne
EROTIC ROMANCE
MANLOVE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ManLove
TRAINING JAMES
Copyright © 2014 by Tatum Throne
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63258-583-7
First E-book Publication: November 2014
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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DEDICATION
For the Throne boys. Always.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About the Author
TRAINING JAMES
Hard Hits 11
TATUM THRONE
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
James Anderson had wanted to get fucked tonight but not fucked over by the new acting police chief. They were standing in James’s kitchen. The man so wasn’t his type, and he really didn’t care for this type of bullshit being dropped on his doorstep. So that left him between this rock and a hard place that had nothing to do with him. At his side, TJ stood like a sentinel ready to go into battle. The two men were hardcore police officers who didn’t like obstacles in their way.
The pair had come to his apartment like he’d invited them over for coffee. They had looked around his bare-bones place with questions and concerns in their eyes. Their eyes took note of the takeout boxes in the trash and the one on the counter. The loft had been moderately priced and just the type of place for James to try to start over. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to stay in Cincinnati.
“No. I’m not going to do it,” James said.
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. You’re the only one qualified to go into the field to do this type of search. You have the experience that I don’t have.”
James shook his head. He wasn’t buying what the new police Chief Mason Rask was selling. Nor was he on board with this. He was six months into his so-called retirement which was just another fancy word for working undercover for Internal Affairs. His balls were already locked in a vice so tight he wasn’t sure he’d ever get free from it. Things could get really messy if he went to work for Rask and IA at the same time. That was the last thing he needed now.
“We’re wasting time. Any second lost is one we could have spent finding Layton,” TJ said.
A shiver of fear raced through James’s gut. Layton was missing? James had trained Layton after he came out of the Academy. The man was one of the best. What had happened to him? “Lt Layton Shaw is missing?”
“Yes,” TJ said.
It was all over the news. One of Cincinnati’s elite SWAT members had been kidnapped by the cartel for getting too close to something he shouldn’t have. Why hadn’t James made the connection that it was Layton Shaw? The man had risen quickly within the ranks at the CPD. He was an excellent LEO and, he was the first man who had ever caught his eye. At the time, James had ignored the attraction.
Rask looked at TJ and nodded toward the door. “Give us a minute,” Rask said.
TJ looked at James. “It was good seeing you anyway.”
With disappointment in TJ’s eyes, he headed for the apartment door and stepped into the hallway. James stared down Chief Rask. “You need to contact the FBI. I’m not the right man for this.”
“I have. Their guys are working on another case. They’ve sent over a new profiler just out of the academy. I don’t trust him to find Layton before it’s too late.”
Frustration vibrated through his body. No one knew that he was secretly on the IA’s payroll. If he was going to maintain his cover, he had to do something to help them find Lt Shaw.
“Please. You’re the only man I trust for this job.”
James ran a hand through his peppered black hair and down over his chin. Since leaving the job,
he’d started growing his beard out. He’d stopped giving a fuck about himself and what happened to anyone else. That was a bad position to be in when he was trying to start over.
“Okay. I’ll help.”
Relief moved over Chief Rask’s face. “Thank you, James. We picked up a low-level drug dealer this afternoon. I want you in on the interrogation.”
“Give me ten minutes to get cleaned up.”
“I’ll be waiting outside.”
As Rask left his apartment, James went into his bedroom and stripped. He dressed in black tactical pants and a black SWAT T-shirt. He looked at his beard and grabbed his electric shaver. Two minutes later, he looked like the man he once was. He wouldn’t ever be that man again. He was a divorced father of three grown children. They’d sold the house in record time and his ex had moved across the country to live with her sister. He was moving on and moving forward as a gay man who had never ever been with a guy before.
With his keys in his hands, he locked up his apartment door. He was out of the house within eight minutes instead of ten. Rask was waiting inside his car. Thunder vibrated across the sky. He powered down the window as he came up to it.
“I’ll meet you at the station. I’m going to issue you a firearm.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is.”
* * * *
Layton Shaw was in trouble. Big time. He’d fucked up and gotten himself caught up in something he wasn’t sure how he could get out of it. His hands were zip-tied and his feet duct-taped. He’d been blindfolded when they had taken him in, from what he could tell, he was in some kind of underground tunnel. How long had he been under there? The days had bled into a really hard week. His hands felt dirty from trying to feel his way around and look for an exit. They’d kept him under guard. He could hear them chatting in Portuguese. They never left him alone.
Water dripped down from somewhere above, and the tunnel stunk like a stale storm drain. He’d first thought of the abandoned underground rail system that Cincinnati had stopped working on fifty odd years ago. These tunnels went on for miles. He was so screwed. He closed his eyes, straining to listen. From far away, the sound of the highway seeped in. He was definitely in the abandoned rail tunnels. His abductors had interrogated him, beat him, and dumped him there when he wouldn’t talk.
Regret filled Layton’s heart when he thought about all he hadn’t done in his life and all he had been putting off. He hadn’t had a date in over a year. He’d put all his time and energy into work—look where that had gotten him. He was thirty-five and fast approaching forty with no family and no kids. When had he given up? Was it the moment they stuck him in this hole or was it the days that were starting to feel like months?
Bitter resentment filled his heart when he thought about how it would all be taken away at the hands of some low-level drug dealers. He didn’t want to die this way. He suspected the cartel was going to try to ransom him. Or maybe just make an example out of him. They had been talking about him in Portuguese. Layton didn’t know very much Portuguese. In his travels, he’d studied the language but couldn’t recall much of it now fifteen years later. He had recognized a few cuss words and their long debate about what to do with him. It sounded like they were debating on how to kill him and most likely dump him in the river. The cartel had grabbed him just outside his house so many days ago. It didn’t help that he lived out in the middle of nowhere.
All the superficial crap he thought was important really wasn’t at all. If only he had someone hoping he was found. If only he had trusted someone to love them with all his heart and soul. Tears misted Layton’s eyes. He usually wasn’t a man who gave up so easily. If he lived, he was going to take a chance at love. If he got out of here, he promised himself that he would do something naughty to reward himself. A broken smile cornered his lips. He wasn’t getting out of there alive. He was going to die in this hell. Why him? Why now?
Silence echoed off the walls. The bitter sound of water echoed down with a punishing drip, drip, drip. Finally, he no longer heard the voices of his captors carrying through the cement tunnel. Was he really alone? Layton sat up so fast it made him dizzy. Beautiful silence surrounded him.
“Hello?” His voice cracked in the dizzying echo and darkness. “Hello!”
They were gone. Layton didn’t know how long he had. All of his training and worst case scenario crap came back to him in a flash. Years ago, the department had hired a consultant that went through a kidnapping scenario. He had recommended that everyone replace their shoelaces with paracords. TJ had given them all paracords and confiscated their old shoelaces like drugs. That moment so many years ago—so fleeting and unimportant had probably just saved his life.
He frantically worked his laces out of his shoes and tied them together with his fumbling hands. There wasn’t much time. They hadn’t left him alone for very long at all before. They usually came long enough to give him bread and water. He was so fucking sick of bread and water. When he got out of there, he was going to order the biggest steak he’d ever had. With his shoelaces tied together, he worked the end through the zip ties, rubbing his wrists raw. Once the shoelaces were through, he tied the ends together again. He worked the end over his foot and lay back on the ground. He worked the parachute line in a frenzy, sawing through the zip tie in record time.
It snapped, flying across the tunnel. With the zip tie broken, Layton went to work on the tape around his ankles. He ripped it off and spun it across the floor. He was breathing heavily as he stopped to listen. Nothing. He worked his shoelaces back into his gym shoes. He had to be smart about how he got out of there. He was unarmed and pretty much lost in a catacomb of tunnels. Layton edged his way down the tunnel. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light. They were really gone. Where were they?
Fear raced through Layton’s blood. If they caught him, they would kill him. This was his only chance to get away. Sweat dripped down his temple from the stagnant heat in the tunnels. Despite being weak from days of captivity, he worked his way down the huge tunnel. Litter was scattered everywhere, and he desperately tried not to fall over it. As Layton got closer and closer to the tunnel entrance, the smell of rain hit him hard. Tears rushed to his eyes. The fresh scent of rainwater flooded him with hope, but it didn’t last long, as the tunnel was blocked by a steel gate. Layton slammed his body against it.
“No! Fuck!”
He gave the gate a hard jostle with his hands. It didn’t budge at all. A thunderstorm had kicked up hard. Lightning flexed an angry muscle across the sky. Rainwater splashed down from the lip of the tunnel, hitting Layton in the face. It was the most amazing feeling he’d had in days. The water refreshed his senses. Water twisted down the muddy embankment and rushed into the slopping ditch. Unable to turn back, he slipped his hand between the bars that were now his prison and felt the rain. He glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t want to turn back but he had to if he wanted to find another way out.
Layton raced down the other side of the tunnel but stopped when he heard voices carrying off the cement walls. They were back. Layton froze. He was so fucked.
Chapter Two
“Where is he?” James asked.
“I don’t know!”
James shoved the drug dealer into the chair at the interrogation table. He flipped open the file folder on the table and took out three photographs, placing them down in front of the man. “This is your partner. Isn’t it?”
The guy grabbed his head, rubbing his hands back and forth. He shook his head. “Oh man! He’s dead! He’s fucking dead!”
“Pulled him out of the river. I’m thinking you did it.”
“No way! I had nothing to do with this!”
James looked at the guy, leaning onto the table. “Now tell me where our guy is.”
The man shook his head as though he struggled with the truth. “They’re going to fucking kill me.”
“Tell me.”
“All I know is they were taking him to some tunne
ls.”
James knew exactly what the guy was talking about. They had to move. He picked up photographs. “Stay put.”
Rask was on the other side of the two-way mirror and already waiting for him when he came out into the hallway.
“The team is moving out now,” Rask said.
A uniformed officer went into the interrogation room to deal with the drug dealer. James was ready to find Shaw tonight. “Excellent. I’m going with you.”
* * * *
Rain hammered James’s shoulders. The drug dealer had given them their lead and the team had been working tirelessly over the last three days to find Layton Shaw. They had searched the less used underground tunnels beneath the city and the prohibition tunnels running between the city streets. Chief Rask had suspected that the cartel was using the old prohibition tunnels for running drugs. It wasn’t the case. They had found nothing. Everyone’s frustration was running high. There was speculation, too, that the drug dealer was leading them on a wild goose chase. James didn’t think that was the case. He’d seen the truth in his eyes.
Time was running out. James looked around at their two-mile search area just off I-71. The dogs were starting another search of the tunnels. They had a lot of ground to cover. They had the northbound and southbound tunnels to check. James worried his lip. They needed to move on but he didn’t want to call the team back until they’d thoroughly searched the tunnel they were at.
