by J Paton
Mr. Robertson sobbed against his partner’s chest as the DI answered. “As I said, I need to speak to my superiors. I’ll convey your wishes regarding the possible delay. They’ll be taken into consideration.”
Even as the DI continued to talk about procedure, my heart sank at the knowledge that Mr. Robertson’s feelings would not be a deciding factor on what transpired next.
There was a knock at the door, the police surgeon entering the room. He was an unassuming man, dressed as I imagined a grandfather would, in comfortable clothes that seemed too bulky for the weather.
The door remained open for a few seconds, two men having a heated conversation in the corridor. My brow wrinkled. Fuck, it looked like someone was getting a dressing down. I scratched my ear. What were they doing down here? Had they come to watch the interview?
This part of the building was dedicated to the victim support team only. There was no other reason to be down here unless they’d been watching the interview, which begged the question why they would be interested?
I was pulled from my thoughts as Mr. Robertson’s voice became strident. After the surgeon had suggested Mr. Corrigan leave, he was insisting his partner stayed with him.
It took several minutes to calm the situation and, by the time I left the suite, the corridor was empty, my mind occupied by what information had been shared with the DI. He’d disappeared faster than a rabbit down a rabbit hole, exiting the room twenty seconds before me.
I dithered in the hallway, trying to talk myself out of following the DI. Evidently though, my head wasn’t listening to reason and I entered the DI’s office a short while later to find he wasn’t at his desk. Where had he gone?
With no other option, I headed back to the lift to return to my own office. I was frustrated as I made my way through the building, my mind on the choices open to me.
Should I leave things alone?
That was the most sensible option, but the least attractive.
Chase DI Thompson down and insist he share the information?
Given that the DI had already warned me that the interview today was to be the last involvement I had in the investigation, that was asking for things to bite me in the arse. So that choice was a non-starter.
Seek out Mr. Corrigan and ask him what information he had?
That would be a major overstep, and again could result in disciplinary action, which was something I’d avoided throughout my whole career. So, I didn’t know why I was even contemplating it?
I rubbed my temples in an effort to ease the persistent throbbing. It seemed I bloody was. Did I have some kind of knight-in-fucking-shiny-armour syndrome? It sure felt like it. I groaned, sitting down at my desk and burying my face in my hands.
I jerked upright as a hesitant voice asked, “What’s up, boss?” How had I missed Mulroney sitting at the desk next to mine?
I ran my hands through my hair as I answered truthfully, “Right now, fucking everything.”
Mulroney’s brows shot up as his eyes widened. “That bad? Anything I can do to help?”
Mulroney was okay. A little thoughtless at times with his throwaway comments, but he was diligent and hardworking. In this field of work, I had to trust the people I worked with to have my back. That trust required sharing personal shit, but no one I’d worked with had earned all of my secrets. It was far too fucking dangerous for me and Jup. “You can find Detective Inspector Thompson, the SIO involved in the case from New Year’s Eve.”
That got a head bob from Mulroney as he turned and grabbed the phone on his desk. Mulroney was already talking into the phone before I could change my mind.
Christ’s sake, did I have an arse kicking fetish?
***
Three hours later, and with no sign of the SIO, I got in my car to head home, my frustration having reached epic proportions. I couldn’t focus on anything other than the list of injuries I’d managed to access from the police surgeon’s report on Mr. Robertson.
My fingers tightened on the steering wheel as I eyed the heavy traffic, indicating to switch lanes on automatic pilot as I married the injuries found on Mr. Robertson to my recollection of how he’d said he’d received them.
The extensive scarring to the soles of his feet was from where Devon had strung him up and placed a bed of nails under his feet. As a result, any sagging from Mr. Robertson pushed the nails into the soles of his feet as a means to torture him.
Bile burned in my chest as I envisioned exactly what he would have endured. My vision blurred as tears ran down my cheeks. Quickly scrubbing at my eyes with the back of my hand, I took my foot off the accelerator. Horns blared behind me, but I couldn’t have given two flying fucks. I was more concerned about getting myself under control so I didn’t cause an accident. There was no way I could return home this distressed. Jup had been doing well this past week. The last thing I wanted, or needed, was to set him off again.
At the sight of a parking space up ahead, I changed lanes, indicating to pull over and then stopping. Once the car was at the curb, I lay my head on the steering wheel and let out an angry cry, a cry I’d been holding in all afternoon. Then another and another, until my chest heaved and my throat was raw.
Why had I thought following up on this case was a good idea? Past undercover work had already left enough scars. Did I really want more? Was I a glutton for punishment?
The questions hung there in my mind as I refused to think about the past. It hurt too much, and I couldn’t give it space in my mind. I couldn’t go back and change the fate of the men who’d suffered that fateful night no matter how many times I ran through the events that had led up to it. Nothing changed the outcome; it still remained the same. Was the past making me see similarities between the two cases that weren’t there?
Stop thinking about it!
I lifted my head with a huge effort and stared out at the busy street. The warm weather was evident in the summer clothes the people wore as they scurried about. Some were smiling, others just looked pissed, but they all seemed to have a place to go on this warm evening. When was the last time I’d taken an evening stroll to get some fresh air?
When no answer came to me, I scowled. Would life always be about hiding?
Maudlin feelings I didn’t often give into plagued me as I pulled back into traffic. Just like I did every day, I’d sent Jup a text message to let him know I was on my way, so he’d be expecting me home soon.
A little while later, I parked outside my home, checking my reflection in the rear-view mirror. There wasn’t much I could do about my puffy eyes. Hopefully, they’d go unnoticed, but the grim lines etched into the sides of my mouth would be harder to explain. The front door opened to reveal Jup, and I plastered a smile on my face that I was a long way from feeling.
His nervousness was evident as he hopped from one foot to the other, never venturing past the threshold of the door. After not seeing the sun for years, his skin was pale and waxy. Should I suggest we take a trip out?
As soon as the thought registered, I shook my head. What was wrong with me? Don’t forget the rules!
Those rules had kept Jup hidden, and prevented anyone asking questions I couldn’t answer. So why did I want to say fuck the rules?
Had I lost my mind?
Evidently…
Dom’s Haven
It was the scent of filthy, unclean bodies mixed with cum and blood that invaded my nostrils, that caused tears to leak from my bruised eyes. My mind was sluggish as it surfaced from the darkness, but not sluggish enough not to know where I was.
I’d failed. Why couldn’t I end my own torment? Why wasn’t someone—anyone—listening to my pleas?
“There is no one going to listen to you. Why would they? You deserve to be here with the devils in this place,” the voice in my mind whispered gleefully.
I cringed away from the sly voice, pain accompanying full awareness. With the red-hot burning of my buttocks came the agonising understanding that it would be days before I’d be heal
ed. Pain throbbed mercilessly through the whole of my body, leaving no diversion. I balled a hand and shoved it in my mouth to stifle the sob that wanted to tear at my swollen throat. It came anyway, ripping my windpipe like broken glass despite my attempts to hold it in.
“The cameras are watching. If they see you’re awake, they’ll come back for you,” the sly voice whispered again.
I inhaled what little air there was in the room past the stench. It remained stuck in my chest as my heart hammered against my injured ribs. A wave of desolation swamped me, and left me seeking the place in my mind that shut out the world, that shut out the reality. It was a place I was visiting more and more. It was warm and safe, and didn’t have monsters.
“Why did you do that?” came a whispered plea from the cage next to mine.
Another sob caught in my throat, my eyes opening as far as they could to slits. It was difficult to make out the cage in the dim light of the storage room we’d spent far too many days in. It’s better than the alternative, remember!
Is it?
I moved my head the tiniest of fractions to check out the other forty cages. I’d had a lot of time to count them, to count the number of men that had come and gone from those cages.
All full, they’re all full. That meant the evening entertainment was over. No one was ever left in the cages unless they were too injured to perform, which was often—the monsters did like to break their toys.
“Answer me, please?” Immy begged.
His broken sob gave me the energy to reach through the bars and touch the man lying in the cramped cage. “I’m… sorry,” I croaked out in a choked whisper as his fingers touched mine. The only gentle touch in this place was Immy’s. He’d been my saviour and I’d initially clung to his hope, but now…
“You promised me,” he whispered fretfully.
The pain in my throat made it impossible to speak, so I used what little strength I had left to offer a gentle stroke to his hand. I wasn’t sure whether Immy had been picked for play time too.
More tears leaked down the side of my face to soak the lumpy mattress I lay on as Immy squeezed my fingers gently, showing that I was forgiven for breaking my promise to not let the bastards break me.
Only they had. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could scream for them, whether I could still give them what they wanted—my terror. The black hole inside me was growing; it was stealing all the light that had once lived inside me. It was that that had made me fight, that had made me hope that I could escape this prison, this hell. The thick layer of oblivion was there waiting to take me into its loving embrace. I willed it to take me, to swallow me whole. I no longer feared what happened to the men who disappeared out of the door, that none of the chosen had initially ever wanted to be taken out of. If subs were taken out of that door, they never returned!
I was broken, my mind and body no longer belonging to me. Instead, they belonged to the monsters to feed off. That made that door my saviour. The wall at the back of my cell where I’d scratched the number of days into the brick, had changed from months to years. What was left for me here?
Nothing!
That door was the only salvation I had left.
Tucker
By Friday afternoon I’d started to think that DI Thompson was avoiding me. No matter how many times I’d sought him out, the man had managed to evade me. Monday would see the return of my boss, and I didn’t have a clear plan to explain how I’d disobeyed a direct order.
I’d been left with two options, put it all to bed and let the DI deal with the case, or seek out Mr. Corrigan and find out what information he’d shared. I should have chosen the first and let sleeping dogs lie, but there was something about this case that wouldn’t let me rest. And that was the reason why I’d taken a few personal hours and decided to head to The Playroom to talk to Mr. Corrigan.
At worst, it was career suicide, and at best a written disciplinary warning on my record.
All of that was shoved to the back of my mind as I debated whether to go in uniform. The debate lasted all of ten seconds with the realisation that I’d be putting a target on my back. So, I slipped into a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt before heading out to the car park.
The afternoon air was warm against my bare skin as I made my way to the car. I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact with the people milling around. The last thing I wanted was to have to lie to Jup about why I was late getting home.
The journey across London was torturous in the mid-afternoon traffic. It seemed as if everyone had had the same idea to head out of work early. Turning the volume up on the radio, I hummed along to a popular tune as I slowly crawled my way across London. A trickle of sweat slid from my hair to my T-shirt, sticking it to my back. I opened the window, the exhaust fume perfume that filled the car making me sigh.
By the time I’d managed to snail pace it across London, I wasn’t in any mood to be denied of what I’d come here for. Although my R-Type Honda wasn’t uncommon, my personalised number plate was, so I parked in the underground car park, not wanting to give anyone the chance to ask questions.
Finding the lift in the underground car park needed a passkey to access it, I cursed. I headed out onto the street to the main door. I was about to press the bell for the apartment on the third floor when the door was opened at speed to reveal a ginger haired man. I jerked back a fraction, and it took a second to register that it was the club owner’s partner. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been unconscious and bleeding. He was looking much healthier today.
The guy’s face lit up with a warm smile, his fringe flopping over one eye as he tilted his head to one side. “Hey, sorry if I startled you, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be—”
The owner of the club appeared behind him, looking flustered and wearing a pissed-off expression. “Lenny, for fuck’s sake, wait up, I need…”
Seeing me, he trailed off, his eyes narrowing. There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence while Mr. Bridge’s gaze roamed over me. “Is there something you need, officer?” The only outward sign of curiosity he displayed was the quirked brow.
“I was hoping to speak to Mr. Corrigan.”
“Isaac? Why?” Mr. Bridge’s body language became defensive, and he stood to his full height, towering over me by a good couple of inches. His boyfriend’s smile dimmed and he inched closer to Mr. Bridges.
Why had I thought this was a good idea?
I held up my hands in a placatory motion. “I’m on your side.” I wasn’t sure why I’d used those particular words, but they seemed to work, Mr. Bridges relaxing a little and his boyfriend’s smile returning as he glanced between us.
“Sorry, I’m gonna be late for my shift at the restaurant if I don’t go up now,” Mr. Gawne said to his boyfriend, getting a scowl in return. It explained the chef’s cotton trousers and plain white top he wore.
“This is not over.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I told you I only had an hour. It’s not my fault… you decided you needed longer, Sir… erm, Nathan.”
I kept my expression neutral as Mr. Gawne blanched at his slip-up of using the term, “Sir.” In response, Nathan leaned towards his boyfriend and whispered something in his ear that turned his face red but made his eyes sparkle. He passed me, all but skipping down the busy street. At the corner, he waved before disappearing into the underground car park.
I turned my attention to Mr. Bridges, my stomach muscles tightening at the expression he wore.
Before I could say anything, he stood back and opened the door wider. “Come in. We’ll go up to the apartment as there are other men working in the club at the moment. Isaac’s setting up for this evening, and I get the feeling you don’t want an audience.” His gaze swept over the casual clothes I wore.
“You’d be correct.” I opted for honesty, sensing this man would kick me out if he detected any lies. The guy was a Dom, and if he was a skilled one he’d be able to read people fairly well.
He led me to the stai
rcase and I followed him up six flights of stairs.
Upon entering the apartment, the stunning London skyline that greeted me stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t remember this room having such a view, but I supposed it had been the dead of winter the last time I’d been here. Now it was fast approaching June and the weather was glorious, the sky a bright blue. The light, fluffy clouds didn’t hide the golden ball heating London. It glittered off several of the buildings, making London shimmer.
“Great view.”
“It is, and partly why I bought the warehouse. Do you want something to drink? I’ve got a selection of hot or cold ones?”
The question distracted me and I turned to face the man stood by a long counter which split the large open-plan room into two. “Any kind of cold drink will do, I’m not fussy.”
With a nod, he headed around the counter and towards a huge, stainless-steel double-fronted fridge. “Dressed as you are, I’m taking it that this is not an official visit?”
I didn’t answer immediately, instead waiting for Mr. Bridges to return with my drink. The glass was icy as Mr. Bridges handed it over.
I met his inquisitive stare. “I’ve not been able to speak with Detective Inspector Thompson since the meeting with Mr. Robertson. I’m interested in finding out what other information Mr. Corrigan has.” I took a sip of the ice-cold soft drink, the bubbles fizzing at the back of my throat.
“Sit.” Mr. Bridges indicated the large sectional sofa in front of the window. “Then you can tell me why an armed response officer appears to be stepping out of his job role.”
A curse was right there on the tip of my tongue, but I held it back. “I like to be prepared. I’ll be giving evidence next month and I don’t like surprises.”
“Is that right? Then why do I get the feeling I’m missing something, that there’s something you’re not saying?”
