by Daisy March
Montague was staggering to his feet, blood dripping from where the glass of the mirror had cut his face, a red welt from the cane keeping his right eye swollen shut.
“Listen to me,” he said, spitting out blood. “We can come to an arrangement. Just think about this for a moment.” The talk was a feint. As he spoke he was reaching for something in his desk.
Slater noticed just in time as the gun was raised, firing a second later. If Montague had two eyes working he might have been more accurate.
The swollen shut left eye took away his depth perception and the bullet slammed into the wall behind Slater.
He didn’t get chance to fire another shot. Slater leaped across the desk, slamming his fist into Montague’s face. Montague staggered back, firing again.
Slater got the gun off him, tossing it to one side. He brought his fist back and then thought better of it.
“It’s over,” he said.
“It’s never over,” Montague replied through broken teeth. He lunged at Slater who stepped to the side, catching a blow to his chin.
He shot a right hook of his own which Montague managed to shy away from. The two of them circled the room and Slater noticed too late Montague was getting close to the gun.
They both went for it at the same time. Montague got there first but Slater had him by the wrists. They spun around, another shot firing, this one breaking the glass down into the bakery.
Workers began to run, another shot firing down into a vat of chemicals, smoke starting to rise from it. A second later there was a gush of steam into the air, the smell making Slater and Montague gag.
“Damn it,” Montague said, firing another shot that went into the ceiling. “Why won’t you die?”
Slater saw his chance. He loosened his grip on the gun. Montague thought he had a chance, bringing his arms forward too far.
His balance was off.
As Montague fired, Slater ducked low, shoving the other man hard in the midriff.
Montague staggered back, catching the edge of the broken window and falling through the frame, screaming at the top of his voice as he fell toward the bakery.
Slater looked down through the broken glass in time to see Montague vanish into a vat of chemicals, his hand raising momentarily above the bubbling surface, still holding the gun. Then he sank again and this time he was gone for good.
Slater reached into his pocket, lighting the incendiary and then tossing it down past the vat to the lab equipment beside it.
He climbed back through the broken mirror into the playroom, untying Beth in seconds. “You all right?” he asked.
“I am now,” she replied. “Where’s Montague?”
“In the Cake mix,” Slater said, pulling the blindfold from the other woman.
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.” He got her bonds undone as she tugged at the gag in her mouth. “Beth?” she said. “Beth Grodin?”
“You know me?”
“Billy told me about you? What are you doing here?”
“No time to talk,” Slater said, watching as a plume of black smoke rose from the bakery floor. “We need to go now.” He grabbed a dressing gown from the hooks on the wall, tossing it to the naked woman. She wrapped it around herself with a nod of thanks.
On the way out of the playroom he smashed the fire alarm with his elbow. Then the three of them were running down the corridor.
He yanked the door open at the end, yelling, “Fire,” as he went. The crowd were up and running with them a second later. They crushed into the corridor that led to the exit, bursting out into the alleyway.
In the chaos, he was able to get hold of Beth and the other woman, dragging them away as sirens began to sound in the distance.
“We need to go,” he said, running for the motorcycle. With the two of them squeezed on behind him, he gunned the motor, roaring into the night, breathing a sigh of relief as he went.
It was over. They’d done it.
“Who are you?” he shouted back over his shoulder to the woman clinging onto Beth.
“Sally Slater,” the woman yelled back. “I work at the Bugle.”
“So you’re the other journalist working the story?”
“That’s right. I’m Drake’s daughter. Came over here to find out about Cake and got a bit caught up in the story.”
He picked up speed, thinking that he needed to let Drake know where his daughter was.
He made the call when they reached the bar. “Drake’s on his way,” he said, hanging up the phone. “Montague’s lucky to be dead,” he added, nodding toward Sally. “Your pop was going to tear him into about a thousand pieces.”
“He didn’t want me to look into it,” Sally said. “Thought it would be too dangerous. Maybe he was right.”
“Start at the beginning,” Beth said. “Tell us everything.”
“I called myself Little Sally,” Sally replied. “Got a call from Billy that Cake was on the up over here. I started looking into it but Pop said it was too dangerous. So Billy did most of the work, found out it was all coming out of the club.
“He couldn’t get in there but I could. So I came over here and went in as a Little to try and find out more. Montague found out who I was. I’ve no idea how. I was really careful. Anyway, where is Billy? I need to talk to him about all this.”
“Billy’s dead,” Beth said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Dead?” Sally asked, turning pale. “I can’t believe he’s dead. How?”
Slater left Beth comforting her while she explained the story. He walked over to his crew. “Mouser, when she’s ready, you take Sally to the Bugle, make sure they get the memory card. Got it?”
“Sure thing, Prez.”
“Dooley, you’re in charge in here tonight. Keep an eye out for those two detectives. Drake’s coming over to see his daughter. Make him feel welcome.”
“Where you going, Prez?”
“I’m taking Beth home. She needs some rest.”
17
Beth
Beth held on tight to Slater’s back. It felt different to the last time they’d ridden together. That had been on the way to the club. It felt different again to the first time they’d ridden to his house.
So much had changed since then. Her ass stung with the turns, the welts from the cane were agony at the time and it was only the adrenaline and the lingering effects of the Cake that had kept the pain at bay as they’d run.
It was all over.
That was the thought that kept coming back to her. By the morning the story would be blown wide open. She was safe. Or so she thought.
She liked the familiar feel of Slater’s leather jacket. She had her own, given to her by him while they were at the bar. She hoped she might get to keep it. She liked it because it made her feel like she was connected to him.
Her only fear was what would happen to their connection now the danger had passed. He’d done what he needed to do. He didn’t need her anymore.
She needed him. That much was clear. She had told Montague as much. The last of the Cake had been destroyed by the antidote and she was fully herself by the time Montague started caning her.
She could still remember his fury, his demand that she become his Little, that he would kill her and Slater if she refused. His cajoling, like that would work.
She had continued to refuse even as the pain whipped through her from the caning. Then he’d told his guards to kill Slater.
At that point she begged him to change his mind, told him she’d do anything to keep Slater alive. The thought of losing him had been too much for her to bear. He was the only good man in her life.
She thought of the moment Slater had burst into the playroom, the way her heart had soared at the sight of him.
He was like a whirlwind, crashing through the furniture, lifting Montague and carrying him away. She loved him more than ever. But how did he feel about it?
Her mind moved to Sally, the journalist who’d been in love with Billy. She felt so s
orry for her. She loved Billy too, but not in that way. She had no idea what Sally was going through.
She was brave though. Within minutes of finding out about the death, she was riding out with the club, making their way to the Bugle with the memory card, ready to blow the story wide open.
She wondered what was happening at The Milk Bar. Was it burned to the ground? She hoped so.
They reached the house. Slater killed the engine and then lifted her into his arms, carrying her without a word over the threshold, laying her gently on her front on the couch.
“I want to ask you something,” he said, towering over her as she shifted onto her side.
She winced as if she was sure he was about to tell her it was all over, that she could go now. Wasn’t that cruel? Bringing her back to his house just to tell her that?
“I want you to be my old lady,” Slater continued. “What do you think?”
“What’s an old lady?”
“It’s a club term. It means my other half.”
“I…I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re only saying that because you feel sorry for me. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me, Slater. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” he said, kneeling next to the couch, leaning toward her. “It’s not about whether you can take care of yourself. It’s whether you will let me take care of you.”
“You…you want to take care of me?”
“You sound like you don’t believe me. Have I not made that clear by now?”
“I don’t know. What about telling me I could go once this was over? That I wouldn’t need to pretend to be Little anymore?”
“I was stupid when I said that. I wasn’t thinking but I can see things clearly now. I want you, Beth. Not for a night. Not for a week. For life. I want you to be my old lady. I want to wake up next to you every morning and if you give me a chance, I’ll be your Daddy for the rest of your life.”
“What if you get bored of me? I’m a mess, Slater. I’m not some great catch. I’m screwed up in the head. Big time.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I. I love you, Beth. I love you because of who you are, not because of what’s going on in your head.”
“You…love me?”
“I love you with all my heart. I want to spend the rest of my days with that screwed up head of yours next to mine. Who knows, maybe we can start to mend together. I’m not exactly the most sensible of men.”
“I don’t know. I can see you as an accountant. A tax broker maybe.” She began to smile. “Might even make a good clerk of the court.”
“Are you teasing me, Little Beth?”
“I might be.”
“Is that a yes?”
“To what?”
“Will you be my old lady? Live here with me?”
“Of course I will,” she said, her heart soaring. “I just can’t believe you really feel that way.”
He leaned over, kissing her softly. She winced as she was pushed back against the side of the couch, her ass stinging more than ever.
“Wait there,” he said, getting to his feet a moment later.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve something to help with the pain.”
He returned a moment later with a plain white jar. “On your front,” he said, kneeling beside the couch once again.
As she moved, he scooped cream onto his hand. She lay still as he applied it gently to the welts on her ass. The burning sensation cooled at once, her body beginning to relax.
His hands worked for a long time and she sighed happily. “I could get used to this,” she said as he continued to massage her ass, his hands working slowly down toward her thighs.
He traced a line down her buttocks. “How does that feel?” he asked, setting the jar down beside him.
“Much better.”
“Then it’s time for your bath. It’s been a long day.”
“What if I don’t want a bath?”
“It’s not up to you. It’s up to your Daddy. You stay there while I get it running.”
She was called through to the bathroom a few minutes later. Slater undressed her slowly. She didn’t feel anything like last time.
She saw the way he was looking at her body and she felt proud of it for maybe the first time in her life.
He loved her.
She was loved. It was a wonderful feeling.
He helped her into the tub, sitting beside her, massaging shampoo into her scalp as she closed her eyes, relaxing in the heat of the water.
“I love you too,” she muttered a minute later. “With all my heart.”
She wasn’t sure if she fell asleep in the tub but the next thing she knew, she was being carried through to the bedroom, half asleep.
She settled into the bed, Slater tucking himself around her, an arm over her side, the weight of it comforting as her eyes closed.
She woke up first in the morning. Slater was laid on his back beside her. She climbed out of bed and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
As she sat on the toilet, she heard a crash in the lounge. She was about to call out when she heard a voice calling, “Police, freeze.”
She jumped up, running to the door and opening it a crack, peering out. The two detectives she’d run from what seemed like a lifetime ago were back and they were armed.
The two of them were dressed like delivery men. They were pointing their guns at Slater in the bedroom.
“Easy,” Slater was saying, appearing in the doorway. “Let’s talk about this.”
“About what? The fact our faces are on the front cover of the Bugle this morning you goddamned son of a bitch? Or the fact you burned the club to the ground? How about the fact the entire police force of the state is out looking for us? How about that?”
Beth eased the door open further. What could she do?
Sirens suddenly erupted outside the house. A loud-hailer burst into life. “Johnson and Smith, come on out. We know you’re in there.”
Slater smiled. “Might have had my boys watching out for you two. Might have had my contact in the precinct keep me informed of where your car was headed. You might have run and you could have gotten away but you had to come after me and look where that’s got you. You’re going down for murder, boys. How’s that feel?”
“Come on out or we’re coming in!” the loud-hailer called.
“Fuck it,” Johnson said, sounding furious as he lifted his gun. “If we’re going down, what’s one more murder.” He went to pull the trigger.
“Hey,” Beth shouted, grabbing a bottle of shampoo from the shelf next to her, tossing it out of the door as hard as she could. It missed Johnson by a mile but the distraction was enough.
Slater lunged at the detectives. A shot rang out and then the door burst off its hinges. More police officers than she’d ever seen ran in, swarming the entire place.
“Down! Down!” Voices yelled so loud she could hear nothing else, not even her own thoughts. Shoved to the ground, she waited, not knowing if Slater was dead or alive.
By the time the dust settled, Johnson and Smith were in cuffs being led outside. Slater was sitting up on the couch, shaking hands with one of the officers.
Beth ran over, throwing herself into Slater’s arms. “You’re all right,” she said.
“Thanks to you,” he replied, kissing her forehead. “I knew I was keeping you around for a reason.
She kissed him back, not wanting to let him go. Behind her, the officer coughed. “Dooley mentioned at the craps game that Leanne was supposed to hear from you by this morning.”
“Oh, shit,” Beth said. “I forgot.”
“It’s all right,” Slater said, getting to his feet, trying to extricate himself from her arms. “We’ll go see her now.”
“Might want to put some clothes on,” the officer said as he headed for the door which was lai
d on the floor in several pieces. “I’ll get my boys to sort this while you’re gone.”
“Appreciate it, Jimmy.”
“No worries, Slater. You two take it easy.”
An hour later, Beth was walking up to Dooley’s front door. Leanne was standing there, arms outstretched. The two of them hugged for a long time. “It’s all right,” Beth said, her voice muffled. “It’s all going to be all right.”
“I was so worried about you,” Leanne said. “I knew the kind of things your father was doing but I couldn’t do anything about it except tell Billy. I’m so sorry for what happened to him.”
“Me too.”
“The funeral’s on Friday. Are you going to accompany an old lady to it?”
“I’m an old lady too,” Beth said, glancing at Slater who nodded her way. “We’ll accompany each other.”
Slater left the two of them to talk. “I’ll be at the bar when you’re ready,” he said, handing her a couple of banknotes. “Get a cab over whenever you’re ready. I’ve got a few things I need to sort with my crew. I’ll be in the office when you get there. Come find me.”
Beth spent an hour with Leanne, filling her in on everything that had happened since she left the apartment. She left the letter behind. Leanne could have the money. She didn’t want it.
She took the cab to the bar, getting there just before noon. She was already feeling tired. It felt like it had been a very long day already.
“Is Slater here?” she asked as she walked inside.
“Office,” someone shouted from the pool table. “Got someone in with him. You might want to give him a minute.”
“Who?” she called back.
“No idea. Some woman.”
“He told me to go to the office when I got here.” She walked between the tables. There was a frosted glass panel in the door and she could see a blurred shadow through it.
She eased the office door open to find Slater in the middle of a kiss with a woman she recognized.
She turned and ran, bursting into tears as she went. Of course. That was what men did. They lied. They hurt you. He had another woman.
