by J Paton
Whatever I’d envisioned, nothing could have prepared me for the poor, defenceless souls suspended from chains around the room. Their fear was palpable, permeating the air and making my skin feel way too tight for my body. There were anguished cries, that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with pain. They came at me from all directions in the dimly lit room. It added to the ambience, leaving nowhere to hide from what went on in this place.
The walls were painted a dark red. Not that I could see much of them, some ingenious fucker utilising them to display their merchandise. There was no other way to describe the men who hung from chains, their mutilated bodies displayed like a macabre buffet.
Subs were unnaturally still, appearing desperate not to draw attention to themselves. Even in the dim light it was easy to make out the sheer amount of damage that had been done to their bodies. The strong coppery scent in the air spoke of a huge amount of blood spillage. Blood play was evident—only without boundaries.
The air of depravity chilled me to the bone. The men’s faces were shrouded by their hair, that and the lack of light leaving only their eyes visible. We kept walking, and for those men I was courageous enough to look at, their eyes held a world of suffering—a memory that would mark me forever. There was no way of unseeing what these animals were doing to these men. They were prisoners.
My reason for being here fled from my mind, and I had to use every part of my training to keep the revulsion off my face as I turned to Riley and forced my lips into a smile. “Quite the buffet you’ve got here.”
Being careful to hide how difficult it was to look at the subs, I feigned interest in the Dom’s. Only that interest became real when I noticed that those playing, or sat watching, were… feeding off the fear of those being tortured. Their hunger was stark and ugly. These men came for one thing and one thing only—to feed their evil needs. I’d met men like this before and that hunger only grew until nothing would satisfy them—except death.
This place wasn’t designed to give pleasure to a sub, the weight of it pressing against my skin and tarnishing it, along with the air of hopelessness. It was overpowering.
Bigger picture. Bigger picture. You need to find Immanuel!
I kept it on repeat as Riley’s smile grew, and I barely resisted the urge to ram my fist in his face.
“I like that. I’ll have to remember to use it to entice members.”
How I kept the smile on my face was anyone’s guess. My jaw ached with restraint as I shoved my hands into the pockets of my leather jeans where they were out of harm’s way. “Anything to help.” I winked. “But will it get me a discount?”
“Erm, no.” He slapped a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll buy you a drink though, to call it quits.” He walked off to the bar, one noticeably different to the one on the floor above. There were no bottles of hard liquor, soft drinks on display instead. Clearly these men wanted to keep a clear head when they…
I shut down my thoughts, not needing any other reminder than the one I was already enduring. The chaos surrounding me was enough of a reality check without me punishing myself further. I’d get to do that later once I left this hellhole.
Doing my best to avoid looking at any of the men on the walls, even though I was going to have to, I leant against the bar, my gaze traveling in the direction of a Dom using a cat-o-nine-tails with spikes. There were red stains and what appeared to be skin on the ends. Each slap of the leather was followed by the metal spikes striking together before hitting flesh. The tied down sub writhed in agony, his cries lost beneath the loud grunts of a Dom sat watching the show and wanking.
“Mike likes to put on a good show,” Riley said, indicating in the direction of the Dom who was paying us no attention.
I nodded, at a loss to do any more than that with bitterness burning the back of my throat. Lowering my eyelashes, I pretended to watch while my gaze actually stayed on the floor. I’d never doubted my ability to do my job through the entirety of my career, never had problems distancing myself from what I had to witness. But right then I wasn’t sure I could do it. I wasn’t sure I could subject myself to this again and survive.
It was cowardly, I knew it, but there was fuck all I could do about.
***
The second the door shut behind me, I tore off my clothes. In my hurry to get to the bathroom, they landed haphazardly on the floor. Heading straight for the toilet, I got down on my knees and vomited violently into the bowl. Acid and bile burned my throat and nose as my stomach relieved itself of its contents. Tears dripped into the toilet as I continued to cough and choke on my own vomit. For long minutes, I retched, letting my body rid itself of the vileness of the evening.
By the time my stomach had stopped clenching, sweat was covering my body, and shivers had taken hold. I wiped my mouth and stood on rubbery legs. At the sink, I brushed my teeth without once looking in the mirror above it. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to look myself in the eye again. The man’s cries of distress clung to me, to my bones. No matter how many times I’d tried to tell myself that what I was doing was for the greater good, it hadn’t made any difference.
My hand shook as I placed my toothbrush back in its silver holder. Going over to the shower, I leaned against the glass wall to steady myself as I reached inside to turn the valve on. My limbs were weak and my bones ached. Once in the shower, the heat of the water did little to allay the shivers that wracked my body and made my teeth rattle. The tears continued to run down my face, mixing with the scalding hot water. Staring at my bathroom through blurry eyes, I tried to find something else to focus on besides the images painted inside my mind. Those images had followed me home, wanting to make sure I didn’t forget what I’d witnessed, what I hadn’t stopped.
With that came the knowledge that after tonight I had no choice but to continue on this path to wherever it took me. I wasn’t going to be able to rest until every one of those rat-faced bastards were strung up by their balls to suffer like those they’d chosen as fucking playthings. I was going to make each and every one of them pay for what they’d done to those men, even if it was the last thing I did
I shut my eyes at the despair of leaving behind…
Closing my mind to that train of thinking, I left one thought on replay. Make them pay!
Tucker
An alarm on my phone alerted me to the fact that it was time to head down to reception to greet Mr. Robertson. I had a tendency to lose track of time when I was busy, so I used this method to stop myself from getting hauled over the coals for being late to important meetings.
As I stood, the phone on my desk rang. I guessed it was reception advising me of Mr. Robertson’s early arrival. That suspicion was confirmed and I advised the front desk officer that I’d come down straight away. At the thought of failing to be downstairs early enough to prevent Mr. Robertson from hanging around the reception area, my shoulders tried to relocate to just under my ears.
“You got a hot date, Sir?” Officer Mulroney joked as I stepped away from my desk and smoothed down my uniform.
Sometimes the dark humour was hard to listen to after the shit we dealt with, and right now was one of those times. I gave Mulroney a hard stare, the cheeky grin on his face fading.
“I’m going to meet a victim of sexual abuse.” I arched my brow. “If you deem that as a hot date, then I’d suggest you need to revaluate your life choices.” I stomped out of the room without giving the crestfallen man a chance to respond.
Harsh, man. Get it together!
It was probably more than Mulroney deserved, but with each day that crawled by I’d grown more and more anxious about today. There was also the small matter of avoiding my boss after finding out he’d be on leave this week. I hoped it would be enough of an excuse not to get my arse handed to me on a platter when the DS returned and found out I’d disobeyed a direct order. There was a fifty-fifty chance of Detective Inspector Thompson checking that I had indeed been given approval. They were semantics that I hoped
to navigate at a later date—like never.
After years of undercover work, I’d got used to making a lot of decisions in the moment. With the Human Rights Act and the introduction of RIPA regulations, that had changed. Now, there needed to be justification for all actions. It was designed to protect the public, but sometimes it left the officer in a bind and was part of the reason I’d chosen to give up undercover work. Jup’s face appeared in my mind. I quickly shut it out as I quickened my pace to get to the front of the building.
At the side door that led into reception, I swiped my pass and stepped through. The only occupied seats were those taken by Mr. Corrigan and Mr. Robertson. Mr. Robertson was fidgeting in his chair, looking pale, his eyes never staying put on one thing for more than a second. He startled as I approached.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. If you’ll follow me, Mr. Robertson.”
Holding Mr. Robertson’s hand, Mr Corrigan stood. “I’ll be staying with, Ferron.” His tone was assertive.
My brows rose. “If that’s what Mr. Robertson wants?”
Mr. Robertson nodded. “It is.”
I led them back through the door and down a maze of corridors all painted beige. We passed a number of people but no one said anything. By the time I came to a stop outside a closed door, my nerves were humming. I opened the door to the suite and stepped back to allow the two men to enter.
My gaze travelled the room, trying to envision what it might look like through Mr. Robertson’s eyes. It was decorated in soft pastel colours, the comfy-looking chairs a soft apricot colour. A mirror ran the length of one wall, hiding the camera that would film the interview.
A woman stood, a plastic cup in her hand as she gave Mr. Robertson a friendly smile. I assumed this had to be the victim support officer.
“Who are you?” Mr. Corrigan asked without any preamble.
“I’m Virginie. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll explain my role here?”
The two men were directed over to the apricot sofa, Mr. Robertson appearing reluctant and dragging his feet before eventually taking the seat closest to the door. Mr. Corrigan took the seat next to Mr. Robertson. I sat myself next to Virginie so that I faced both men.
Virginie didn’t waste any time before explaining her role.
Mr. Robertson blanched at the term “victim support” as Virginie relayed what was going to happen. By the time she’d finished, my own stomach was knotted tighter than an eighteenth-century corset.
“Could I have a drink of water?” Mr. Robertson croaked out, his face flaming with colour.
Before I could oblige, Virginie retrieved a cup of water from the table in the corner of the room.
Mr. Robertson froze in place as the door opened and Detective Inspector Thompson stepped into the room. Introductions were carried out, the fearful expression Mr. Robertson wore throughout making it clear he was having second thoughts.
As I wracked my brain to come up with something to allay Mr. Robertson’s fear, his partner leaned in to whisper something in his ear that I couldn’t catch. Whatever it was that Mr. Corrigan had said, it seemed to do the trick, Mr. Robertson relaxing a fraction. The knuckles of his hand were no longer white around the cup of water he held as he whispered a response back.
Once the interview got underway, I had to pinch my thigh several times to stop myself from speaking. Detective Inspector Thompson had made it clear the day before that it was his show, and I was to sit and observe only. Why the fuck had I agreed to that?
As the minutes crept into hours and Mr. Robertson’s horrific story was laid bare, each and every torture he’d endured documented, the heat in the room that had started off as pleasant became intolerable. Sweat slid down my back, gathering at my waistband.
To give him his due, Detective Inspector Thompson was clearly sensitive to Mr. Robertson’s plight, and Virginie helped by ensuring that they kept taking breaks to give Mr. Robertson a chance to re-group.
Detective Inspector Thompson shifted in his seat. “You mention that Devon took you out on a couple of occasions, can you explain why you didn’t attempt to leave the first time this happened?”
Watery eyes filled with pain met Detective Inspector Thompson’s and I held my breath. “Have you ever known real fear, known what it’s like to be suffocated by it? Been so terrified of what a person will do to you? Not because you’d done anything more than kneel too slowly, or walk too fast, or not suck him hard enough, or suck him too hard. They are only a few of the reasons he used to punish me. He instilled in me a terror so huge that all I knew was what he’d do to me if I disobeyed him. Only you learn really quickly that nothing will stop the torment.” A tear slid down his ashen face as Mr. Robertson waited for the Detective Inspector to answer. The anguish was just as real as the first time he’d spoken about what Devon had done to him.
Virginie couldn’t quite hide her distress, but Detective Inspector Thompson’s face was a stoic mask as he answered, “No, no I haven’t.”
If that question had been given to me to answer, I knew damn well I’d never have been able to hide behind a mask of indifference. I’d witnessed first-hand the type of horror Mr. Robertson had endured. To stop myself from showing any outward signs of distress, I dug my fingers hard enough into my thigh to leave a bruise.
“Then you’ll never know what it’s like to be brainwashed until all you hear is the voice of someone else inside your head. A voice telling you how worthless you are, that you only mean something when you’re with them. That if you try to leave, they’ll come for you and whatever you’ve suffered before will pale in comparison. I believed him because of what I was suffering at his hands every day.” His eyes glistened, full of the unimaginable terror he’d suffered. “When you live with a monster it’s hard to see past it, to see the possible life beyond it.”
Detective Inspector Thompson sat forward. “Then what caused you to make the decision to leave the last time?”
“He said I’d been good, and as a reward he was going to take me to the club to share me with his friends. It was the way he said it. I can’t explain it other than a sense of knowing that whatever he’d put me through, that if he took me back into the club, it would be…” Mr. Robertson trailed off and tucked himself into his boyfriend, his distress palpable.
Devon, if Mr. Robertson was to be believed, was a sadistic monster. The stories he painted were too vivid not to be believed. That being said, it offered up another dilemma. Was this the first time Devon had held a man captive?
From the way Mr. Robertson had described the house, his moves seemed practiced. It spoke of someone who knew how to keep a prisoner, and I should know. I’d witnessed other men do the same thing to protect their assets. The similarities it bore to my last undercover case were striking. Was it just a coincidence?
Lost in thought, I wasn’t paying attention until Mr. Corrigan asked, “What happens next?”
What had I missed?
“We’ll need to have our doctor do a thorough examination of Ferron—”
Mr. Robertson blurted out, “Why?”
To give the Detective Inspector his dues, he didn’t flinch at the interruption. “Ferron, your body is classified as evidence. There will be proof of the abuse that will need to be photographed and catalogued. Your body is no different than say the house, the club, or the car you were taken in. They could all contain evidence to support the case against Devon and the other men.”
“I might have some evidence linked to the club,” Mr Corrigan stated, causing both me and the DI to go still at the same time.
There was a hard glint in the Detective Inspector’s eyes as he looked from me back to Mr. Corrigan. “What do you mean you might have evidence?” His voice was tightly controlled, but his body language said he was far from relaxed.
“After someone tried to snatch Ferron off the street, I hired a security team to watch over both him and my home. They were already aware of Dom’s Haven because they’d been looking for a missing person that the pol
ice weren’t interested in. They suspected that there was something more going on, and they weren’t wrong.”
Holy fuck!
Tucker
The tension increased in the overly warm room as Mr. Corrigan shifted Mr. Robertson away from his side so that he could reach into his trouser pocket and pull out his phone. Unlocking it, he searched through it until he found whatever it was that he wanted to share. Once he had, he handed his phone over to Detective Inspector Thompson.
The Detective Inspector took it without hesitation and started to read. I leaned in to see the screen, but after squinting at it for a few seconds I gave up due to the poor angle.
As the minutes ticked by, the sense of unease in the pit of my stomach grew. What information did Mr. Corrigan have? Would it change the course of the investigation? It was already careening down a slope into some pretty deep shit. Now, it looked like we were about to reach another level of deep.
“Can all of this be verified?” DI Thompson growled, clearly unhappy at the turn of events.
Being caught unaware was never a good thing, and it seemed that whatever Mr. Corrigan had shown the DI had done just that.
“Yes, it can. I’ll give you the contact information you’ll need.”
DI Thompson handed the phone back. “This creates a new problem, one that I’m going to need to discuss with my superiors. If the information is substantiated, then it may impact on decisions linked to the pending court case in June.”
“What decisions?” Mr. Robertson asked, his voice full of apprehension.
“Firstly, we’ll need to decide if we delay the court case until we can gather more information about these other allegations,” he stated matter-of-factly.
Mr. Robertson lurched forward, nearly toppling off the seat. “Why? I don’t want it to be delayed.”
In response to Mr. Robertson’s obvious distress, Mr. Corrigan glared at everyone in the room. “Do you have to delay? Can’t you go ahead and then retry him for any other charges once you’ve gathered the information? Surely delaying it will only alert those fuckers, and put other men at risk.”
