THE PENANCE LIST Complete, Steamy Psycho Thriller

THE PENANCE LIST Chapters 52 - The End

THE PENANCE LIST

(Book I of THE DAVID TRILOGY)

Chapters 52 - END

Chapter Fifty-Two

Helen and Josie fell out of the hotel room, giggling. They ran down the corridor to the lift, Josie’s mink trailing behind her as she scrambled to put on a shoe. Helen, naked beneath her coat, desperately trying to button up. Collapsing into the privacy of the lift, the doors closing behind them, they screamed with excitement at each other.

“Oh my God Josie, oh, sorry… Josephine. What the hell was that? Jeff will never be the same,” Helen’s hands covered her giggling mouth.

“NEVER am I gonna bring you out wiv me again…Venus. We stayed for four hours, we only got paid for one hour, you’re gonna bankrupt me… you’re not supposed to enjoy it quite so much!” Josie reorganized her dishevelled appearance in the mirror, realigning her stocking tops, amazed they hadn’t laddered with all the action.

In her haste to leave she’d stuffed her panties into her purse. Pulling them out, she awkwardly balanced on one stiletto heel then the other, stepping into them, managing not to topple. She dragged the black lace up her legs and wriggled it into position.

Helen watched, anxious the doors wouldn’t open before her friend had finished. She’d left her nightdress behind in the rush to get out before Jeff asked for more. Her coat thankfully covered her state of undress; no one would suspect her naked beneath it.

The doors opened onto the hotel’s buzzing reception area. A glamorous elderly American couple, the man in a smart cowboy hat, and a young porter were waiting patiently for the lift, their luggage trolley stacked high with matching tartan luggage.

They stood aside to let Helen and Josie step out, cool, calm, and collected, not a whiff of suspicion re the chaos moments earlier. Helen, desperately trying keep up with Josie striding through the lobby, looked back over her shoulder to see the young porter pick something up off the lift floor just as the doors were closing, the elderly couple were peering over his shoulder.

She recognised it as the pack of three bright yellow banana flavoured condoms, magnum sized, ribbed for maximum arousal, Josie had in her purse. They must have dropped out... well, we certainly hadn’t needed those, poor Jeff didn’t get a look in. Venus had kept Josephine all to herself!

The young porter flushed a deep red and quickly stuffed the condoms into his waistcoat pocket. The American lady twinkled at her cheeky eighty year old husband, as he wound the boy up, doffing his hat.

“S’okay son, you keep ‘em, the wife’s not keen on banana, and that ribbin’ plays havoc with her dentures”.

Exiting the hotel’s revolving door, Josie hailed a black cab and the girls piled in the back with relief.

“Let’s go back to my place Josie, and have a nightcap, I can’t go to sleep now, I’m too hyped up, please, please…,” Helen begged.

“Ok, ok, but not for long, I’m knackered and need a shower,” fearing she was making a second mistake of the night.

Josie redirected the taxi driver. They sat back in the cab, the soothing chug of the engine calming them. London looked magical at night, the streets, buildings, and monuments dressed in gold yellow lights. They didn’t talk, just enjoyed being near each other, silently watching the view, as the city rushed past dirty cab windows. Helen had never felt so happy, so complete, was she in love with a woman?

Her flat was the top floor of a large period block, overlooking Hyde Park. The views were spectacular. A large terrace ran along the length of the floor, accessed through French windows off three bedrooms, a dining room, and living room. It was a second living area, with comfortable sun beds, sofas, tables, and chairs and a host of overflowing plant and tree pots. Through the summer, what little summer they had, she lived on the terrace; it was the main room of the home. The two sun beds lounged snugly at one end, private, perfect for nude sunbathing. She would sometimes sleep there all night, watching the stars and waking up to the sound of birds. It was high enough to lose the city noise, Knightsbridge traffic reduced to a soft hum.

The girls made their way up the large central staircase. An old-fashioned gated lift ran down its centre but they decided to run, Josie said it was good for their thighs. Shoes in hand, they chased each other to the top, the plush red carpet feeling good under aching stiletto tired feet.

“Beat you… you lazy old dog,” yelped Helen as she fell onto her front door, panting and sweating. Fumbling for her key, she opened the door; a wheezing Josie leaned against the wall behind her.

“Not so much of the ‘old’ thank you, God I’m so effing unfit,” she panted. “I need to get back to the gym, but it’s bloody boring runnin’ up steps and ridin’ bikes that go nowhere. If you did this staircase run every day, you’d be fit as a butcher’s dog… not in a fur coat though, darlin’ s’not a good idea.”

Josie rested her head back against the wall, stared up at the ceiling, and giggled as her mink slid off her shoulders to the ground, for the second time that night.

“Oops, there it goes again,” she laughed, remembering Jeff’s face.

Helen looked back at her as she punched in the code for the alarm... God, she’s beautiful. A gushing sensation rushed through her body... shit, what’s happening, where were all these feelings coming from, had they been there all along, just staring her in the face?

The girls dragged themselves into the flat, landing unceremoniously on a sofa each. Helen stared at Josie as she closed her eyes and got her breath back; she was looking at her in a new light; it all seemed so obvious, so right; did Josie see it?

“I need a shower, can I borrow something to wear?” Josie jumped up, and went into bathroom; she stank of champagne and sex and felt trussed up in her stockings.

Helen gave her a pair of pink pyjamas, and while she showered, prepared food and drink, she decided to stay on champagne, as they’d been on it all night... rude not to… she opened a chilled bottle and pulled smoked salmon out of the fridge.

It was a lovely evening. Still wearing the mink coat she took a tray of food and drink onto the terrace, lay it on a coffee table between the two loungers, and lit a few candles. She threw pillows and blankets over sunbeds, making it cosy, wondering why she was going to all this trouble.

She then jumped into the shower, scrubbed up, emerged ten minutes later in a baggy old nightshirt to find Josie lying on a lounger sipping champagne, staring up at the stars. A classical string quartet soothed from the music system.

“Don’t larf, I fort we needed a bit of sophistication, babes,” Josie explained. “But, honestly ‘el, ave you got anything else besides classical stuff? I can’t pronounce half the names in your CD collection,” Helen shook her head. “But, no worries, it’s nice, I’ve put it on low, we don’t wanna wake the neighbours.”

Helen giggled, her mum had got her into classical music, it had always soothed her. She jumped on the lounger beside Josie’s, snuggled up under the blanket and reached for the glass that had been poured for her. They lay in silence, looking up at the clear sky; they could just make out Venus as it twinkled beside a crescent moon. The light fairy notes of the solo violinist tripped along the terrace and floated up into the night sky. The girls lay quietly enjoying the magic.

There had been a subtle gear change between them. They both sensed it, but neither wanted to broach the subject. They had had sex, great sex, loving, passionate; downright dirty sex that they’d thoroughly enjoyed. This was new territory, and felt very weird for two girls whose main topic of conversation had always been men, men, and more men.

Champagne did its trick of loosening the tongue, eventually Helen broke the ice, too shy to look at her friend, she spoke up to the moon.

“You were bloody fucking fantastic Josie; I loved every minute of it. What a great act, I couldn’t believe it was my mate doing all that sexy stuff; where did you learn it, whore school?”

She wanted more of what, wanted to reach out and touch Josie, but didn’t know how. How the hell do you tell a woman you want her? ... shit, this is weird. She’d never thought about touching a woman before. Maybe it was just a phase like all her other sexual exploits. Ironically, this was the sort of stuff she would normally discuss with Josie.

“It’s just a job, a game you ’ave to act out, but thanks, I’ve ’ad a lot of practice. Jeff enjoyed it, he got much more than ’is money’s worf… he’s gonna want that treatment every time now, the poor wife won’t get a look in… unless he wants me to roger the wife, oh gawd!” Josie giggled into her champagne glass, emptying her second.

“I’ll do it again!” Helen jumped in, a little too quickly. “Any time, I loved it,” she blushed.

“’el, it won’t necessarily be like that every time, tonight was nice ’cause it was new to ya... and Jeff was not a fat, smelly, ugly jerk. If you ’ave to do it night after night to order, it loses its mystique, I can tell you… it’s whoring, a man is paying you to…”

“Enjoy myself… what can be wrong with that? I had a great time,” enthused Helen.

“Yeah, but it’s not always like that... we’re not doing it again, you asked me to let you in once, and I’ve done it, end of. It’s not a game; it can be violent, frightening, disgusting. Sometimes I get ’ome and am physically sick… it’s a one-off, ’el, leave it.”

Helen feared rejection more than anything; the old feeling of worthlessness began to wash over her, tears welled, panic began to build. She couldn’t let this go, if it was a man, what would she do? But women weren’t like men. Surely a woman wouldn’t fall for the flirty stuff? If it were a man, she would let her body do the talking, play with him a little, expose some flesh, flatter his ego, sit on his lap. But a woman would laugh at behaviour that obvious, wouldn’t she?

Stretching out on the bed, she decided to give the seduction routine a try.

“Yeah, you’re right, guess I got overexcited,” Helen agreed, sounding almost bored.

She kicked off her blanket as if too hot, exposing her bare legs to the night air. Yawning, she stretched out her body the length of the lounger, her shirt rose up around her hips, she wasn’t wearing underwear. She changed her tone back to chatty mates.

“Anyway, Josie, when’s your next job; do you have one every day?” she asked, turning onto her side, her shirt fell open, exposing her right breast; her skin shimmered in the moonlight. Josie noticed.

“Err… I’ve regulars yeah; I’ve one tomorrow afternoon and anuva tomorrow night. I check in with the agency each mornin’, I try to just go for the most lucrative jobs now, and work less. In the beginning I didn’t ’ave a choice, but now it’s a little easier, I pick and choose my clients.”

Josie pulled the tray of smoked salmon towards her, and popped a piece in her mouth. She felt uncomfortable, wishing Helen would cover up. She had a flashback of the hotel room and remembered how soft Helen’s mouth was, how good she tasted. She should get out of there, this was weird.

“Mmmmm… good salmon, ’el, thanks, didn’t realize ’ow ’ungry I was,” she fingered another sliver into her mouth. “Mmmmm, want some?”

She leaned over the coffee table to pop a piece into Helen’s mouth, something that was natural for them to do as friends, they often fed each other. But Helen no longer wanted to be friends, she leaned forward, exposing more of her cleavage as she did so, she opened her mouth and let Josie feed her. Her warm lips lingered on Josie’s fingertips as she took the offering. Josie jumped, retreating her hand. Helen was obviously playing one of her games.

“Was that the first time you’ve made love to a woman?” Josie’s question came out of the blue.

“Err…yes, I suppose it wasn’t for you, you probably have to do it all the time,” Helen stammered, suddenly feeling naïve. “How did I rate… good, bad, average?” she asked angrily.

“Don’t be silly, babes, it’s not a question of that,” soothed Josie.

“That’s what we do with men, isn’t it? We discuss the size of their cock, how good they are on a score of ten, whether they’re a good kisser or not. Well, how’d I do? Out of ten, Josie, go on.”

Helen was getting upset; the feeling of worthlessness building up again. Josie said nothing, trying to figure out why her friend was getting so aggressive.

“Well, go on, not good enough to have another go, eh?” her voice getting louder. The orchestra in the background hit a crescendo, adding to the atmosphere between them.

“Don’t shout, ‘el; this was your idea, not mine; remember, you should never mix business wiv pleasure and this is exactly why.”

“What was I like, Josie, TELL ME!” shouted Helen, tears welling in her eyes. “TELL ME!” she shouted.

“Ok, ok, you were great, it was great... you wouldn’t shout at me if I were a bloke, would you? You wouldn’t shout ‘HOW WAS I?’ at a guy after you had bonked the ass off ’im, would ya… why do it to me? This is bollocks, I’m off,” she jumped up.

“If I was so great, why don’t you fancy me? Why don’t you want to do it again?” pushed Helen.

“What are you talkin’ about, you and me on a job?”

“No, you and me alone, lovers...”

“What?”

“You must have felt it Josie, we were great, we rocked, you came three times, no faking, I know it, you loved it… admit it.”

“I loved it… yeah…,” admitted Josie, she should never have let Helen get involved, it was a stupid mistake, she knew Helen was sexually unstable at the best of times, what possessed her to ever let her join in.

“Look, you know it can’t go anywhere, it was a one-off, I don’t wanna lose our friendship, it’s too risky... this is stupid, the champagne talkin, I’m off before I make a fool of me’self, we’ll talk in the morning. Good night ’el.”

She walked off the terrace, into the flat; a solo violin sang out from the speakers… so much for the calming influence. She grabbed a pair of jogging shoes abandoned by the front door, stuffed her clothes and bag in a ball under her arm, and ran out of the flat, slamming the door behind her… sod the neighbours.

Helen’s trainers were two sizes too small making her waddle like a duck; no way could she run down the stairs, so she took the lift. Slamming the gate shut, pissed off at herself for allowing Helen to do the job, and pissed off with Seb for making Helen so bloody emotionally paranoid.

As she stepped out onto the doorstep, the cool wind hitting her face, a voice screamed from the apartment block’s entry phone, she jumped with shock.

“Josie, get back up here NOW!” it was Helen.

“No, get stuffed,” she replied realising that she standing in a street wearing pink pyjamas, shoes that didn’t fit, shouting at a wall, for all and sundry to hear. Passers-by turned to stare at her; she looked like a bag lady, her clothes scrunched under her arm.

“Get back up here now, or I will scream the house down.”

“Go ahead, spoiled little rich girl, see if I care,” she stepped out onto the street, looking for an elusive taxi.

“Come up here now, get into my bed, I want to fuck you… NOW,” echoed down the street.

Josie was mortified; she rushed back to the doorway, covering the speaker box with her hand in an effort to quiet the sound.

“Shhhhhh, bloody ’ell, ’el!”

“I want to fuck you NOW,” repeated Helen, her voice getting louder.

An old couple in evening dress had just returned from an evening at the opera. The gent in black tie was fumbling with his key to open the main door; his shocked wife held on tightly to his arm and her diamante evening bag. Being terribly British they tried to ignore the girls’ conversation.

“Shhhhhh… people can ’ear ya,” Josie hissed into the box.

“I don’t care. I want to fuck you now… NOW! I won’t shut up until you come back up… I want you, Josie, please... I love you, I wanna hold you, taste you... please come back.”

Helen’s voiced purred out of the speaker box, making the old lady tut with disgust, urging her husband to hurry up with the damn key, he promptly dropped it to the ground in his panic to speed up.

Josie felt a small twinge of joy as Helen’s words pulled at her, did she feel the same? … urrgh! She needed time to think about it, the champagne was clouding her judgment.

“Me too… err… I think… but can we talk in the morning after some sleep, it’s all a bit crazy fast, ’el,” praying that Helen would stop… where the hell is a taxi when you bloody need one, her eyes scanned the street.

“If you don’t get into my bed right now, I’ll come down naked and fuck you there on the doorstep. I am counting to five.”

The old lady looked as though she would pass out; the gent finally got the key in the lock and opened up the door, helping her in. He turned back to Josie.

“You know, my dear, it’s none of my business, but I would prefer it if you’d be kind enough to do as the young lady says, only I do want to get some sleep tonight. My dear wife hasn’t been exposed to any form of fornication since 1959. I am not sure what kind of fit she’ll have listening to two banshees at it on the doorstep, if you would be so kind.”

“ONE…TWO…THREE…” Helen’s voice screeched through the entry phone.

With a questioning, raised eyebrow, he held the door open for Josie to step inside. Sighing, she relented and forlornly waddled back to the lift, stocking tops trailing from her underarm bundle. The old boy shook his head, feeling sorry for the girl.

“Poor dear, women can be so demanding,” he leaned in close to the speaker box. “She’s coming, dear,” he hollered, and trundled off to calm his mortified wife.

Helen was waiting in the corridor. She jumped on Josie the minute the lift gate opened, not giving her a chance to speak.

“I so fucking want you… let’s just give it a try,” she beseeched. “If it doesn’t work out, we are big enough to remain friends, please, I promise it won’t affect our friendship ever,” Josie stared at her, still unsure.

“You know, there are some bonus points, I’ll always leave the loo seat down, share the TV remote, give you better head than any man ever could, and cook a mean spag bol… what more do you want?”

“What the hell, if you put it like that… no being stingy on the bolognaise sauce though, I like loads of the stuff,” smiled Josie, kicking off the damn trainers.

“Race ya to the bedroom,” they charged back into the flat, falling over each other with excitement and giggles.

They had made an old gent on the ground floor very happy. His wife had only moaned about the ‘youth of today’ for twenty minutes before their night time single malt knocked her out.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Fifteen years earlier.

Heddington Forest.

David had waited for this day; the promise of it had kept him sane for years. Today was the Headmaster’s penance.

After his mother had died and he left Heddington Hall, his father put him into a day school near their home to finish his exams. A nanny, Ms Philbeach, had been employed to run the home and look after the children. She moved into one of the spare rooms. David hated the fact that he was left in the charge of a nanny, the interfering woman spied on his every move, curtailing his freedom.

His father had not coped well with his wife’s death. He threw himself into work to suppress the pain, he avoided his children, they reminded him of her, both had her striking good looks, particularly David. Not understanding their father’s behaviour, the children felt rejected.

Ms Philbeach, a matronly, religious lady, cooked, cleaned, and kept house. For the most part it was just her and David, Helen had moved to London to start an exciting new job as a runner in an advertising agency, and Mr Howard spent more and more time at the office apartment, seldom returning, too many memories.

Ms Philbeach felt David’s disdain for her and gladly stayed out of his way. Initially she’d tried to be understanding; his mother had just died and it must have been a terrible blow, but she soon learned that David was not a normal teenager; he was a rude, evil bully.

She’d seen the ‘experiments’ in his room, if that’s what he called them; she would have called them ‘persecutions’, disgusting ungodly acts against God’s little creatures. She was considering calling in the RSPCA, but at her age it was difficult to find a job.

David frightened her; she took to locking her room at night and staying out of his way in the day. This suited David; he preferred to be alone, he was busy with Devil’s work.

He’d made a few trips back to the village of Heddington, where his old school was situated, and used the local phone box to make secret calls to the Head. He’d kept their sordid relationship alive with promises of new games to play.

They’d finally planned to meet in the local forest later that day. David couldn’t wait. He knew his plans would be safe, the Head wouldn’t tell a soul where he was going; secrecy was part of the game. They hadn’t seen each other for nearly a year. It was to be a romantic reunion.

David felt a tingle of excitement as he waited at their secluded meeting place, deep in the woods. His black holdall held his beloved camera, tools, and clean clothing. He was dressed in his old school uniform; it just about fitted, giving him instant ‘boy’ appeal. As he knotted his old stained school tie, excitement began to build.

Through the trees, he could see the tweed-suited Head on his bike. He spotted David and gave an excited little wave, causing the bike to wobble, until with two hands safely on the handlebars, he managed to get it back under control.

David couldn’t believe that this pathetic old man had managed to torment him for so many years. Having been away for a year and now seeing him again with fresh eyes made him realize how insignificant the old boy really was. How could he have had so much power over David, not to mention the staff, who obviously knew what was happening; they never spoke out. Maybe they were all at it; all had their special little boys to play with.

He wondered how many other ‘innocents’ this man had buggered in his lifetime, how many other little worlds he’d ruined with his sordid perversions. How had David let him rule for so long? Disgust retched bile to the back of his throat; he noisily snorted it to the front of his mouth and spat to the ground. The bullying days were over, the worm had turned.

As the Head grew nearer, David could see he was smiling, how pathetic he looked. Did he really believe David still wanted to see him, still wanted to be abused by him? He’d sounded so excited on the phone, he’d even mentioned the word ‘love’.

He’d taught David about ‘love’ all right, the power that came from abusing it. Love and vanity had got the better of the Head that day; they led him into a trap.

A leather whip was tucked under the Head’s arm, making steering difficult. He’d come prepared. David guessed the lubricant and tissues were in the little wicker basket on the front of the bike. If only the parents of his pupils knew what he got up to behind closed doors with their beloved sons.

The forest’s terrain proved too difficult for the bike; the Head eased off it and walked the final distance, pushing it with laboured breaths. David went into little boy lost mode, head bent, knees together, hands behind his back, waiting for his master’s instructions. The game had started. Head brought his bike to a standstill in front of David; panting, he let it fall against a tree.

Eyeing up David, he got his breath back; the boy had grown. He was possibly a little too big now for his tastes, but a final thrashing would be fun; the boy had obviously missed him.

He started the game by walking around David, slapping the whip into his palm while telling him off for some fictitious deed he was being punished for. He then told him to strip ready for a beating. David dutifully complied, meticulously folding his clothing into a neat pile that sat on top of his shoes.

Things did not go to plan for the Head that day. David did strip, but when naked, he overpowered the old man, pinning his hands and legs to the ground. Laying him out on the cold forest floor, he slowly tortured him. Telling him all the while what he thought of him, spitting curses into his agonised face.

First he burned him with cigarette ends; the sickly smell of burning flesh and chest hair hung in the air. Then he beat him with the whip until he bled. Then he fucked him, over and over, without lubrication, until he bled some more. The Head’s screams went unheard, lost and muffled in the blanket of trees.

For the final act, he pulled a tray of dissection implements out of his bag. The Head turned his tear streaked face and saw the blades. Hooded, bloodshot eyes knew death had arrived. In that moment the Head gave up, he knew he was over, his cries softened to childlike whimpers, the heart attack had begun. He started to pray, probably for the first time in his cruel, bullying life.

“God won’t help you now; he gave up on you a long time ago. The Devil has come to do his dirty work, payback time, old man! What do you think the penance should be for years of ruining young souls, years of abuse? One Hail Mary and an Our Father? Two Hail Marys, ten, a hundred, a thousand? What would clean the sheet so that you can get a pink pass and go to heaven? Well, you don’t get off that easily,” hissed David into his blood-soaked ear.

He heaved the whimpering body and rolled it over onto its fat gut. With painstaking precision, he cut through the remaining clothing and pulled it back, exposing whip cut flesh.

“Next I am going to take out your heart, you never really used it properly, cut out your tongue to stop the lies and cut off your dick to stop the you forcing it on any more little boys, but first I’m gonna give you a taste of how you felt to us, for all those years; this is what you put us through bending over that desk of yours… enjoy, old man.”

The double-edged knife pushed silently up inside his anus, and slowly twisted a full circle. The Head’s final scream tore from his body with such a force that it swept the menacing audience of black crows up into the grey sky, calling out a warning to each other as they fled. David laughed and laughed. He was going to have fun with his penance list.

Chapter Fifty-Four

He fussed around his angel. He’d stripped her and gently laid her out on one side of the bed, leaving enough room for him to snuggle up beside her. Her hands and feet were tied to the bedposts with enough slack in the rope for each of her limbs to be moved around with ease, but not enough to allow her to escape. He’d given her ample medication to knock her out for the night, and he would top her up with injections periodically to keep her sedated.

He’d lain naked beside her all night, a white sheet covered them. He made a promise to himself that the first night he would not touch her; he would savour the moment, the bittersweet torture of waiting.

It was almost unbearable to be so close yet not reach out to touch her. He would lift the sheet and stare at her flesh, longing to run his fingers along the length of her body, remembering how it felt, tasted, how she reacted to his touch the nights he visited her.

He’d waited a long time to have her to himself, he no longer had to look at her through a lens, or sneak around in the darkness. He almost felt sorry that she would have to die, but she was on the list, she had to pay. They all had to pay.

He lay so close he could feel the pounding of her heart vibrating through the mattress. Her smell aroused him, becoming more potent as the night went on. Careful not to touch her, he would lean over her body and place his mouth over hers, taking in her exhaled breath, stealing the air that had been inside her. She would then inhale his as he blew gently over her mouth and nose, creating a cycle, until giddy from lack of oxygen.

She’d tossed and turned through nightmares, he’d soothed her, whispering gently that everything would be all right. She appeared to hear him, trust him, and fell back into her deep sleep. Eventually, he slept also, with a smile, in anticipation of the days to come.

It was now morning; finally he would allow himself to indulge his fantasy. First he took a long hot shower, preparing his body for pleasure. He then set up his camera, placing it on the bedside table in easy reach. Dressed in a white towelling robe, he sat beside her on the bed.

It was 9 a.m., time to start his day. Start his work. He would finish at 5 p.m. and take an hour for lunch. He would do this for three days, then dispose of her. She was his work, his masterpiece. He was almost scared to start, as that would mean a finish. What would he fill his time with after she’d gone? Seb, then what?

He guessed the police would eventually suss him out, even though he’d been careful to cover his tracks. The spy apartment rent had been paid for in cash with a fake ID; he’d always worn gloves and made sure he hadn’t been seen entering or leaving her building.

He planned to leave the UK for a while. He’d set in motion the process for funds, ID, and a new face in Mexico. He could suffer it there for a few years until his killing spree interest had died down.

Looking down on her, she looked so peaceful. The face of his angel, the face that had helped him through the Head’s little sessions, had fed the abuse and become an extension of it. The Head had been dealt with; it was now her turn. She’d abandoned him, rejected him; he would return the favour, let her experience rejection, pain, and worthlessness. Let her beg, he would mentally disassemble her, then end it.

Before his scalpel would take her last breath, he would gain her trust and make her shudder with pleasure until she begged for him, like he had her.

Taking his time, he slowly pulled back the sheet, exposing her torso. He watched as the cold air covered her in goose bumps. Her nipples hardened, he brought his mouth down to suckle them. He could be as hard or as gentle as he liked; with the strength of dosage he’d given her she did nothing, just lay like a rag doll.

He turned on the four spot lights; they lit up her body, no more spying in the dark. He pulled back the sheet, letting it slide to the floor. Her arms were flopped at her sides; ropes tied at her wrists led to the bedposts above her head; ropes from her ankles to the posts at the foot of the bed; she looked like a discarded puppet, dumped by a child that didn’t want to play anymore.

He slowly licked, stroked and tweaked her from head to toe, tasting every morsel, searching every crevice, he could do with her as he wished, he took his time. He got up and walked around the bed, surveying her vulnerability from all angles. Parts of her skin were glistening with his saliva. He picked up the camera and took a few shots. He spread her legs wide and took some more.

Click, click.

He sat on the side of the bed, with his camera on his lap, and gently stroked her pubic hair, then down between her legs, enjoying the difference between the soft baby skin and the coarse hair. He knew exactly how to get her going, he had nights of practice. He heard a quiet moan deep in the back of her throat, how easy she was, he played and played until she was soaking wet.

Licking his fingers, he picked up his camera again, taking more close-ups, rearranging her legs for a better view. He would shave her later, and take the same angle, before and after shots would be fun for his collection.

Click, click.

His cock nudged its way out of his robe, insisting on being noticed. He held it from time to time as he worked, massaging backwards and forwards. He pulled a condom from his pocket, tore off the foil, and rolled it down the length of his cock. He didn’t want to catch anything; he knew where she’d been, naughty girl.

Click, click.

He worked his way around the bed, taking shots of his gorged cock resting against various parts of her body; her mouth, cheek, hand, chest, between her legs, inner thigh and feet.

Click, click.

Enough waiting, it was time; he shrugged off the robe, chucked the camera on the bedside table, and knelt between her legs. Leaning forward he thrust deep up inside her, her body shunted up the bed, she was silent. He would come quickly because he knew that he could do it again and again and again...

Chapter Fifty-Five

He couldn’t come.

He pummelled away at the comatosed Tara until midday, with no joy. He couldn’t come, why? He’d waited years for this moment and couldn’t fucking come... shit!

He gave up, dosed her up with more drugs, left the flat to post another gift to the newspapers and meet Seb for coffee.

It was good to get out; he needed the air, needed to think. Why couldn’t he come? He’d finally got his angel to himself and couldn’t bloody deliver! He’d never had a problem coming.

Had she’d been drugged too much? He’d given her more than he normally gave her on his nightly visits. Maybe he needed her to be a part of the proceedings, even if just a little, to hear her groans and feel her body react to his touch; it turned him on to see the pleasure he aroused, empowered him. Fucking an inert dead object gave him nothing, any old fool could do that, and he wasn’t some ugly loser that couldn’t get a date; he did not need to rape.

He would reduce the dosage, sober her up a bit. She may initially be a bit difficult and reject him, but his success would be in turning her around, making her want him, beg for more. Control her, feed his power.

He would try again later, meanwhile Seb.

He turned the corner and skipped up the steps to the coffee shop; Seb was patiently waiting with two steaming hot coffees and two seats in the window, flicking through a newspaper.

Seb got straight down to questioning him about the text he’d sent to Tara the night before. David pleaded ignorance, but wasn’t sure Seb believed him.

“Why the hell did it have your address, David?” Seb questioned.

“I have no idea, dahling boy… maybe it was a joke from one of your so-called friends. Maybe a warning that they know about your little secret.”

“Oh, yeah… like who?” Seb was pissed off that David belittled him and his fear of coming out of the closet.

“A little tetchy this morning, aren’t we?… Well, Franco for a start…weren’t you with him last night? He could have done it.”

David knew that Seb had a crush on Franco, and was happy to shift the blame onto him. He kicked himself… fuck! How could he have been so stupid not to have deleted the text after he’d sent it? He was getting sloppy, losing his attention to detail, he’d better be careful.

“Don’t be stupid, Franco would never do anything like that; he’s a mate. Besides, how would he know your address? Although I was with him when I found it,” David had managed to put a seed of doubt into Seb’s mind.

“Anyway, I’m meeting up with Tara this afternoon, I’ll find out then what happened… she didn’t turn up at your place last night, did she? I sent a message to her phone, but I can’t tell if she got it; she’s going to be in a right mood.”

“Why?” asked David innocently, carefully sipping his hot coffee.

Seb pointed at his paper.

“Have you seen the papers this mornin? Her place will be crawling with press, again. She should get out of town for a while.”

David hadn’t seen the papers so Seb filled him in. Maria had gone to the press; she had finally cracked and splashed her side of the story across the tabloids.

“Tara will go bananas,” sighed Seb.

Oh no, she won’t, she will never find out, thought David.

“Anyway, David, got time for a quickie, shall we go back to your place?” Seb grinned naughtily, the text and Maria forgotten.

“Sorry, baby, I’m busy today, maybe tomorrow… I’ll call you.”

“Oh, go on… just a quickie,” whined Seb, David had never turned him down before, he didn’t like it.

“No, it’s good for you to miss me, makes you want me more, big boy; besides, you’re off to see Tara,” David grinned salaciously as he stroked Seb’s thigh, it was good to taunt him, make him wait.

Seb was not happy, but at least he’d forgotten the text message. David knocked back his coffee and gave Seb a lingering full-on kiss, said his apologies, and left. Leaving Seb turning pink at the public display of affection.

David returned to the flat; on the way he posted his gift to the press and bought a bottle of milk, a newspaper, and a baby’s bottle. He would use it to get liquids into Tara; he didn’t want her dehydrating on him just yet.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Bloody hell, fuck David…

He’d been feeling so horny as well. He could really have done with a quick session. Instead, he’d been left to pay the bill and finish his coffee alone; he felt horny, dejected and frustrated. What a waste of a good stiffy.

He had a good mind to jump in a cab and try out a few of the bars in Soho, pick up someone new. Now he knew how bloody wonderful it was, there was no stopping him. Why the hell hadn’t he done it long ago? What a waste of years of pleasure… what a dick!

Sadly Soho would have to wait, he had to get back to work and track down Tara, they needed to talk about the new spin. He’d read her email to Pete Wells; it was a good idea and could save the day... God bless her, that’s my girl.

He dialled Tara’s home number on his mobile, and waited for it to connect up. Staring thoughtfully out of the window, he noticed what looked like Franco’s Mercedes parked up in front of the coffee bar. That’s funny, what would Franco be doing around here? He would normally be at training at this hour.

Tara’s answer phone voice clicked in.

“You know what to do after the beep…”

Beeeeepppp.

“Tara babes, it’s me again; left a message earlier… look… give me a call. Love the new spin idea, come over to the studio today, we should go through it before you meet your lot… err… sorry about Maria, she’s a dickhead. Today’s news is tomorrow’s fish and chip paper and all that baloney… call me… will try your cell phone.”

He disconnected, scrolled to her mobile number and called, it was ringing…good.

Looking up while waiting for her to answer, he saw Michael, Franco’s driver, walking toward the coffee shop. He was coming from the direction of David’s flat, he was alone.

Without thinking, Seb jumped up and banged on the window, waving frantically for him to come in… why the hell did I do that? He didn’t have time for a chat, and he hardly knew the guy… hopefully he’ll refuse, but Michael didn’t.

On seeing Seb, he nodded and walked briskly into the shop to shake his outstretched hand, while Seb left another message on Tara’s voicemail.

“Darlin’, it’s me again, trying to track you down, where are you? Have left messages on your home phone, we need to meet… today… call me,” he snapped his phone shut and turned his attention to Michael.

“Michael, how goes it, what you doin’ around here? Where’s Franco?”

He patted Michael on the back, noticing how stacked his shoulder muscles were... must be all that SAS combat training.

“Do you want a coffee or something? Sit down,” he pulled out the stool David had just vacated.

Michael cautiously took it. It was not like him to fraternize with his boss’s friends but he was about to rely on his instincts and take a risk. He hoped he could trust Seb not to panic and go off the deep end, but if Franco trusted him, maybe he was a good sort, besides, he didn’t have much choice, he needed help.

Seb got up to get them both a coffee. Standing at the till waiting for his change, he looked back at Michael. He’d taken his jacket off, hung it over the back of the stool, perched one leg over the seat of the stool, and was leaning on the table, scrolling through his phone... hmmm, very hunky, nice ass!

He giggled to himself, now he’d started he couldn’t stop, he was looking at everyone in a new light, it was fan-bloody-tastic; he just prayed no one could read his mind.

Gently balancing the two mugs, he brought them over to their window stools and sat down beside Michael.

“Here we go, so what are you doing around here, killing time before you pick up Franco?”

Michael looked troubled.

“Well, err, Mr Maloney, I ’ave something to…”

“Seb, please, call me Seb, no airs and graces here, mate,” Seb interrupted, punching his very strong arm.

“Seb,” Michael started again. “I ’ave sumfin to tell you that may sound a bit off the wall. I want your word you will listen to me till I’m through and not tell Mr Rossellini anything unless I agree to it.”

He looked deadly serious, his voice hushed and low as if reporting a secret spy mission. Seb had an urge to giggle, but kept his cool.

“Err… yeah… of course mate, fire away,” intrigued.

“It’s my job to protect Mr Rossellini; I’ve taken it under my wing to investigate a few misdemeanours that seem to be occurring within his domain, so to speak.”

“Bloody hell, mate… very secret squirrel’ish… what misdemeanours exactly?” chuckled Seb.

Michael took a slurp of his coffee, still not sure if he should divulge his information, he hadn’t got it completely sorted out in his own head yet, but discussing it with someone would help. Taking a deep breath, he continued.

He told Seb that he’d been following Tara since she started seeing Franco, initially to see if she’d had anything to do with the vandalizing of Franco’s car. Someone had scratched “BITCH” on the hood, so, he’d watched her to eliminate her from his list of suspects. He’d also been keeping an eye on his boss’s girlfriend, Maria, lover boy Ed, and Tara’s friends.

“It seems that Tara meets up with her girlfriends regularly for lunch, which is fine, but a guy, we’ll call him Mr X, follows them and takes pictures. Mr X had an apartment above Tara’s, it seems he’d it wired up to take private pictures of her. Cameras were linked to her apartment; I guess he also had a tap on her phone ’cause he knows of her movements. I happened to be outside Tara’s apartment before she came home from work the night the Ed pictures were taken, I saw Mr X arrive and go up to his flat, then Tara, then Ed. None had left by early next morning, when I had to leave to take the boss to training. Photographs of Ed and Tara then arrived at Mr Rossellini’s house. I got Maria to bring them over to Italy, the rest is history.”

Another slurp of coffee, Seb was leaning in closer to hear him, this was fascinating. Who was the mysterious Mr X? He still wanted to giggle but bit his lip.

“Yeah, I saw those pictures, the bastard, he needs to be sorted.”

Seb, now intrigued, shuffled his stool nearer to Michael, two secret agents together.

Michael nodded his agreement.

“I followed Tara last night, I ’ad the night off. She went around to Mr X’s flat and hadn’t come out by 7 a.m. this morning, when I had to go and collect the boss. That’s why I’m parked up here now, wanted to see if anything was ’appening. Mr X is dodgy, she should be nowhere near him, in my opinion. Bumping into you may be fortuitous, I need your help.”

“Sure, how can I help?” Seb asked, thinking of Tara’s text the night before, a deep dread building in his stomach.

“Well, Mr X is your boyfriend, Mr Maloney. I did wonder if you were in on it at first, wiv bein’ a photographer an’ all. But if my hunch is right, you’re not. Am I right, Mr Maloney?”

“Seb, for Christ sake, man, call me Seb. What do you mean ‘in on it’? Me? Jesus, what boyfriend, I’m not ga…”

He stopped, why was he still denying it? Whose bloody business was it anyway? So what if he was gay. Michael stared him out, daring him to deny it; this was no time for games.

“Sorry,” he raised his hands in apology. “OK. I’m gay, but only just… only once… I mean… I’m new… I’m not used to admitting it yet. People have a tendency to be small-minded about this sort of thing, you know,” sensing Michael’s impatience he got back to the point.

“My boyfriend… you mean David, David Howard?”

“Yes sir. Look, sorry, didn’t mean to spy on you but I was watching him. I need to break into ’is place, I’m afraid she’s still in there against her will.”

“Now?.. wow, wait a minute, why don’t you just call the police? I’m not going to be involved in any break-in, no action man stuff for me mate,” Seb laughed nervously, putting his hands up. “No way,” this was rapidly turning from a fun secret spy mission into an arrest on Sky News.

“If I call the police, they’ll bungle it, and the press will get involved. The boss is under a lot of pressure at the moment. If we can handle it quietly ourselves, all the better for everyone involved, including you. You don’t want pictures of your lover all over the papers, do you?”

“Jeysus, no! I may be coming out, but I don’t want the world to know just yet thanks,” Seb cringed.

Michael was right, maybe they could sort it out amicably, he could also be wrong, making a mountain out of a mole hill.

“How can you be so sure she’s still in there? She may have left this morning while you were away. Did you try her flat? I’ve just called her, there’s no answer. She could be anywhere, could have done a runner for a few days, getting away from it all,” Seb paused. “Shyte, do you think he’s dangerous? Jeysus!”

Granted David was a little weird sometimes, but would he do something like this?

“Well, you shag ’im; do you think him dangerous, Mr Mal… Seb?”

Seb flinched, Michael’s voice turned hard. It would be bloody typical that his first lover turned out to be a psycho. He thought on Michael’s words, David was different, but why would he be interested in Tara, a woman?

Seb’s heart began to beat faster, it dawned on him.

“You’re right about the pictures; he took them… feck, feck feck, I bloody know it. He has a room in his flat with pictures of Tara all over the wall, well, I think it’s Tara, the same black-and-white style, grainy, like the Ed shots,” Michael gave him a glare, why hadn’t he mentioned this before?

“Sorry mate, I’ve only just remembered,” Seb hunched his shoulders.

“She hasn’t returned to her apartment, I checked, no answer. She must still be in there, with your fuck-buddy.”

Hearing Michael speak so crudely reminded Seb that you didn’t mess with ex-SAS. He was finding Franco’s chauffeur more and more attractive.

“He’s a bit violent, yes, but I don’t think he would hurt anyone,” defended Seb.

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve been doing a bit of homework on our Mr Howard, through a few old connections at the Met (Police). It seems he was the local tart at his boarding school, had a big thing goin’ with the Headmaster, your old school I believe. A year after David left, the Headmaster was found murdered in a forest, a science professor and priest were found a few months later, copycat killings. Not enough evidence to pin the murders on anyone, but the investigating police officers suspected David. You don’t want to know how they died, not a pretty sight, I’ve seen the crime scene photos. Also, a home help went missing that same year, Ms Philbeach, the old dear had been working for David’s father when she disappeared, her family reported her missing. Again no evidence, not even a body this time, but the local police suspected lover boy.”

Seb remembered the Heddington Forest murders well. In his last year at school, the boys had been protected from the full details, but there were gruesome rumours; he couldn’t believe David had anything to do with it. He shook his head.

“Your lover boy also goes wiv women, I’m afraid to disappoint you.”

Michael was getting cheeky now, enjoying telling Seb about his lover’s failings.

“He uses prostitutes, into the sado-masochistic scene. Not a nice man, a control freak, has a few issues, bit of a complicated character, you might say,” Michael knocked back the dregs of his coffee.

“Anything else you have to tell me?” Seb’d had enough of this talk, he felt sick.

“Yeah, Helen Howard, his sister, Tara’s mate, your ex, has been vandalizing cars, she seems to have issues with Tara... and, oh yeah... Josie, Tara’s other mate, she’s a hooker, calls herself Josephine,” Seb was gobsmacked.

“Life is never dull with you posh totties, is it mate,” Michael grinned at the ashen-faced Seb, his jaw on the ground.

“Fuck me!” exclaimed a shocked Seb.

“Ok… your place or mine?” winked Michael.

Seb wasn’t the only one with secrets.

“What?” Seb’s head was spinning, he did a double-take. Michael laughed, saying nothing, letting it sink in.

“You little shit, and there you were giving me a hard time about David!”

“Nah, only about your bad choice, Mr Maloney, you have no taste! David may be a pretty boy, but he is a total fuck up,” chuckled Michael.

They looked at each other in a new light, the atmosphere lightened. Seb decided that he rather liked Michael, maybe they should get to know each other better... he wondered what he was like in the sack... but, hey, first they had to put their heads together and devise a plan to save Tara.

Sporjakk took a back seat. He ordered more coffee.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

He had contemplated popping into her flat and packing a suitcase of bare essentials to make it look as if she’d gone away for a few days, but with the paparazzi camped outside, it may be too dangerous. He’d been lucky so far; returning to the building may be pushing it.

He kept her phone charged and on, so that he could monitor who was trying to get hold of her and the messages they were leaving. She had come to him the night before manned only with her flat keys and phone, pathetic really. He already had a set of keys, they were no use, but the phone was. The ringtone was annoying, so he set it to vibrate and checked on it periodically.

He listened to her voicemail. A few journalists had sourced her number and were giving her an opportunity to tell her side of the story, offering her large sums of cash to spill the beans. A Mrs B, Ned Bromley, and Pete Wells were trying to get hold of her to attend a Sporjakk damage limitation meeting.

He loved it that he had them all running around like headless chickens. They would just have to do without her; she was his now.

Seb had called persistently, he was not sure he believed him about not sending the text; he would have to keep an eye on the boy.

Since his ejaculation problems that morning, he’d been pulling her out of her drugged state. He fed her water through the baby bottle, gently holding her head in his lap and stroking her hair while she drank, tentatively at first, then hungrily. She slowly started to come around. He spoke softly, as if to a baby, coaxing her around, his voice hypnotizing, gaining her trust.

She felt as if she were waking up to the mother of all hangovers. Her body heavy and cumbersome, she could barely move her limbs. Water trickled down the back of her parched throat as she winced through the pain of dry swallowing.

She began to remember events leading up to her passing out. She knew where she was and with whom. She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes; she wasn’t ready to see what had happened to her just yet. Hiding behind her lids she squeezed them tight shut. If she could keep them closed, she could keep him out.

His voice soothed in her ear, his hands ran over her head, stroking damp hair away from her face. His fingers had a powerful magnetic effect on her skin, she recognized the touch, she’d dreamt about it, she must keep him out.

The mugginess in her head started to clear. She could feel she was naked, on a mattress and covered with a sheet. What had happened to her clothes? How had she got there? Her brain struggled with angst questions, was she going to die? A wave of panic rushed over her, tears pricked her eyes, she couldn’t loose it. She had to stay calm, get out of there, away from him, but how?

The weight in her limbs began to lift; she could feel the sensation of bindings around her ankles and wrists, she a prisoner. Her head felt as if it were resting in his lap. He was administering water, with what? It felt like a plastic teat, was it a baby’s bottle? Her head ached with dehydration, she sucked hungrily grateful for the cool water waking her senses. The smell of his musky, heady cologne began to hit her. She breathed in, enjoying its relaxing sensual effect.

The distant hum of traffic meant that she may still be in his apartment. He was whispering in her ear, his voice low, she couldn’t make out what he was saying but the tone was rhythmic and reassuring. Behind his voice she could hear classical music; its peaceful cadence slowed her heart. The panic subsided, she began to feel safe.

Another sense kicked in, an ache in her abdomen, her bladder was full to bursting, she stopped drinking. Turning her head away from the bottle, the teat dragged out of her lips, she spoke in a barely audible voice.

“No more… no… please.”

He smiled, she was coming around. She looked like a child lying in his lap. He gently wiped away the trickles of water from the sides of her mouth, with a corner of the sheet.

“Are you hungry, my love, what can I get you?” he soothed.

“Why are you doing this? What do you want? Who are you? Please let me go,” her voice rasped as she tried to lift herself up.

“No, no, no young lady, relax, I’m going to look after you for a while; you collapsed but you are safe, trust me... now, are you hungry?”

“No… I need the bathroom, I need to go now... please,” she lurched forward but couldn’t move.

Her bladder was painfully full, she didn’t feel she could control it. Her body began to shake, a splitting headache seared the back of her head, her skin began to crawl as if covered with tiny creatures. What was happening? She was going to piss herself. Another wave of panic hit, she started to pant, trying to gain control. She mustn’t lose it, she had to stay calm. Eyes tight shut, don’t let him in. Tears rolled down her face.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry chica, let’s get you to the bathroom, everything’s fine, you can have a nice hot bath,” the drugs were wearing off, she was coming down, he needed to keep her calm.

Sliding her head gently off his lap onto the bed, he went to the bathroom and turned on the taps of the Jacuzzi bath. He poured in a mixture of bath salts he’d shipped in from Paris; they cost a fortune but were wonderful. He hummed cheerfully to the music as he worked.

Letting the water run, he returned to his angel and undid her bindings, lifted her out of the bed, and took her to the bathroom. He sat her gently on the toilet seat, kneeling in front of her, letting her head rest on his chest as he waited for her to relieve herself.

He had watched her ‘pee’ a hundred times from the spy apartment, it was nothing new.

“I can’t with you here… I can’t, please go,” she may have been out of it but she still had dignity. “I need clothes, please,” her hands tried to cover her bare chest.

“No, it’s ok, I’m not looking, come on, Tara, then you can have your bath, it’s lovely, look at it.”

She refused to open her eyes, but smelled the bath salts and heard the noise of the water cascading out of the taps.

“No, I can’t, please leave me to do this alone,” she whimpered.

He didn’t have time for modesty; he hauled her up and carried her out of the bathroom, down the corridor to the wet room. He pushed her under the showerhead. She fell into the corner, huddled up against the cold tiled wall. He turned on the tap and freezing water poured ruthlessly down on top of her. She let out a scream with the shock and stood, head bowed, crying, holding her shivering body until the water gradually heated to bearable.

Lifting her face up into the powerful stream, she cried out loud, the noise of the shower drowned out her sobs, tears mingled with water, lost on her cheeks. The pain in her bladder was finally too much to bear; she gave way to the embarrassing release.

The hot golden liquid trickled down her legs, filled the shower tray with yellow swirls, circled her feet and snaked down the plug hole. She wailed into the water, angry and humiliated that he should see her piss herself.

He turned off the tap, put a towel around her and walked her back to the bathroom, guided her trancelike up the steps of the Jacuzzi and down into its warm soapy water. She sat on the ledge seat that circled the inside of the tub, her arms still locked around her body, rocking, nursing, trying to stay calm.

David stripped off and stepped into the water beside her. He reached over and turned off the taps. The abrupt silence ceased her tears. She was aware that he was close to her, sitting beside her. He must also be naked; a new fear hit her… rape.

“You are safe, angel, don’t worry, open your eyes, it’s ok,” he whispered. “Look how lovely it is in here… look… I will not hurt you… look… you are safe I promise,” his soothing gentle voice coaxed her.

She let her eyes open, prising them slowly against the soft light; they took a while to focus. She was sitting in a large deep Jacuzzi, warm water up to her chest, candles lit around the room. In any other situation, she would have loved it, but David was sitting beside her, watching her every move... shit, he’s naked, she jumped to the other side of the Jacuzzi, covering her breasts with her hands.

“What do you want, why have you done this?” she demanded.

“Well, you passed out my darling; I was just looking after you until you came around. Once you’re better, I’ll let you go. Don’t worry, I won’t harm you, you’re my angel, remember,” he spoke softly, as if he meant it.

“What do you mean, I passed out, you put something in my drink, it made me giddy. Why did you do that? I feel like shit, I can’t stop shaking.”

“You are my angel,” he repeated, “do you not remember who I am, Tara? I wrote to you years ago, confessing my undying love to you. I am David Howard, Helen’s brother… have you forgotten?”

She stared at him across the water, trying to avoid their legs touching. Her thoughts galloped through groggy brain, trying to take in what he’d said. Helen’s brother... oh shit! the nerdy geek that always followed her, yes, she did remember him. She giggled nervously, this was ridiculous. Where was Helen? Did she know about this?

“I used to look after you, if I remember,” memories coming back.

“Yes, you did,” pleased that she hadn’t forgotten.

“I used to stick up for you, when everyone would pick on you… I felt sorry for you… why would you do this?”

“Because, fair lady, you threw my love back in my face, I needed you and you threw me aside.”

He moved crablike around the ledge to get closer to her, she backed away, keeping the distance between them.

“You’re still running away from me, I’m not a leper, you know; why do you despise me so much?”

He looked offended at her efforts to get out of his reach.

“I was only young and you were even younger, how the hell did we know anything about love? I didn’t know your feelings for me, I remember that letter, and felt so sorry that you had taken my kindness the wrong way. I was only protecting a little kid that was being bullied, I wish I hadn’t bloody bothered now,” she huffed.

His face darkened, making her regret her words.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wrote back trying to explain, I even remember telling you that one day you would have loads of girlfriends and look at you now, you are really handsome, I’m sure you’ve got loads of…” remembering that he and Seb were lovers, she chose her words carefully. “…admirers.”

“But I wanted you, Tara, I fell in love with you… do you really think me handsome?” he beamed cheerfully.

He changed tack and tone mid-conversation so easily, it unnerved her. Her mind was still fuzzy; she shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. At least the warm bath had mellowed her body; she stopped shaking and could move with ease. The water was so inviting she wanted to relax into it.

Was he really Helen’s brother, after all this time? As a child he was weird, she always felt that he was watching her, but ignored it as a schoolboy crush. Helen was not going to believe this.

A memory of the pictures on his den wall came back to her; she realized he was the sicko that had taken the pictures of her, Ed, and Franco.

“You had the flat above mine, didn’t you… you took all those disgusting pictures… you are sick!”

“No, just paying you back for the hurt you caused me, baby… I’ve been watching you for a long time Tara. I know everything about you. You didn’t answer me, do you think I’m handsome?” he grinned cheekily.

“Yeah,” his change of tack threw her again, “I suppose you are…”

Looking at him properly, she realized he was. He had, amazingly, grown into a strong, confident, hunk of a man. She marvelled at the memory of him as a boy, the transformation from spotty school kid to sex on legs was amazing. Helen had kept that quiet, or maybe sisters just don’t notice how good looking their brothers are.

“Can I go now you have played your game? How long have I been here?”

“No, not yet; I want to make it up to you, I want to look after you until you are fully recovered and then I will let you go… for now you are my guest, ok? Relax; you may as well enjoy my hospitality.”

“Look, I’m feeling fine now, please let me go, I’ve got work to do. I’m truly sorry to have hurt you all those years ago. You have paid me back tenfold; I have never been so frightened, please…”

“Yeah, I have frightened you, haven’t I? Now, I’m going to make you very happy, Tara, and then you can go.”

His voice took on a serpent-like quality she didn’t like… shit! what kind of sick game was this? If he was gay, surely rape couldn’t be on the agenda; what then, what did he want?

He sunk low in the water and let it wash over him, closed his eyes and rested his head back against the tub. He looked beautiful, serene, like a model in some glamorous perfume ad. She could definitely have fancied him, if he were straight. Taking his lead she relaxed back also, playing along with his game. She didn’t have a lot of choice.

They sat quietly for a few moments, classical music playing in the background. The warm water softened her mood, he certainly knew how to set the scene, music, candles, scented water, and the tub was huge; you could throw a party in it.

She wondered if he were a good lover, then immediately put the thought out of her mind. For heaven’s sake, she was held captive by a lunatic and wondering what it would be like to fuck him. She was sick, not him.

Finally, he spoke: “You like baths, don’t you, Tara?”

“Yeah, I love them,” she answered, without thinking.

“I know, I used to watch you,” that serpent-like voice again.

She snapped out of her relaxed state and sat upright to watch him. Without opening his eyes, he let his hands run down his body, caressing his chest, then down to his thighs.

“You would stroke yourself, Tara, like this,” his hands trailed down his glistening chest, beneath the water to his lap. “You would think no one was looking, but I was; I was doing it with you.”

His voice was low and husky, he slowly rubbed himself beneath the water, head back, eyes closed, enjoying her watching him for a change.

“What did you think about, Tara, when you were doing it? What did you feel?”

She knew what he was doing, although she had to admit he did look gorgeous, if it had been anyone else she would probably have taken over for him. But this was sick, an invasion of her privacy, he had bloody got off on watching her, the bastard. She sat quietly, saying nothing, letting him play. His hand was working faster now, his breath shorter. The bastard was going to come... how the fuck dare he!

A showerhead lay on the side of the bath. While his eyes were shut, she quietly reached for the nozzle, turned on the cold tap full blast, stood over him, and showered freezing water over his face and chest.

He jumped up so fast he hit his head on the nozzle. He was frozen, not able to breathe with the shock.

She laid into him.

“You bastard, how dare you, you little shit. You film me in the privacy of my own home, kidnap me, and sit here, wanking in front of me. Well, fuck you, I’m off, I’m going straight to the police, Helen’s brother or not. Gay, my ass… what planet are you on?”

She stood to get out of the bath; dropping the showerhead, it writhed around under the water like a demented snake, smashing against their legs. He fell back laughing, she was spunky, he loved it.

“You know, Tara, you are absolutely right, enough games… are you hungry? I’m famished, come on let’s eat; I’m going to prepare you some pasta to die for,” the serpent had been replaced by the cheerful best-of-friends tone.

He turned off the shower, pulled the plug on the bath, and jumped out in search of towels, still laughing at her. Tara sat on the ledge, bemused, the water getting lower and lower, leaving her cold and vulnerable. She couldn’t believe it, what was so bloody funny? He was mad… now they were going to eat?

He threw a folded towelling robe at her; she caught it just out of the water. Her energy and senses were back on form, which was a good sign.

“Are you going to come and help me, or do I tie you up while I prepare it? And by the way, you won’t go to the police, because I have evidence that would ruin your friend Seb’s career, just like I have made a laughingstock of you and your Italian stallion... capiche?,” the serpent whipped back for a final word.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Franco was fed up with Maria. Initially, he’d let her hang around rather than be alone, but she was driving him nuts. Her bits and pieces were everywhere; she’d slowly moved in and taken over the apartment. She was even talking about getting a puppy.

It had been his fault, they had never actually discussed her moving in, but by him not having the courage to question her on it, he’d encouraged her. The longer she stayed, the harder it was to disentangle her.

More frighteningly, he was not sure she was taking her contraceptive pill; he’d seen unused packs in the bathroom cabinet. Puppies were the lead-up to a baby. He’d gotten into the habit of withdrawing during sex.

She’d caused war with his interior designer, Miss Arty Farty, Felicity Ramsey-Jones. The two women hated each other on sight, and fought over the control of his domain. Felicity had installed luxurious cream silk curtains in the living room; shipped in from Venice they were obscenely expensive but beautiful. Delicate gold threaded tassels adorned the length of each edge. Maria thought they were crap and pruned the tassels with her nail scissors.

When a stunning antique chandelier arrived from a Knightsbridge auction house, to be the centrepiece of the living room, Maria had the delivery boys install it in the guest loo. It was ridiculously large for the small room; only a small child could now take a pee in there without smashing his head, but Maria was adamant; it was crap, so should hang where one took one. Felicity went bananas and promptly resigned, leaving Franco with a half-finished apartment and a massive bill for services.

That morning, on his way to the stadium for a match, Michael silently passed him a newspaper; from the look on Michael’s face he expected more lurid photographs of Tara and him. He hadn’t seen this one coming; Maria had sold her story to the press.

“What the hell... ?”

He’d only just left her asleep in bed, she didn’t get up until midday, she hadn’t mentioned anything? Scanning the article, he sighed with relief; an opportunity for her exodus. He now had to summon up the energy for a showdown.

The match had been disastrous; they lost 2-3 to a team at the bottom of the table, a win should have been a walk in the park. He’d been the whipping boy for the opposing fans; they didn’t lay off the chants, going to town on the latest Maria developments. The opposing players had fun winding him up with subtle comments out of earshot from the ref.

He finally let one of the cruder slurs get to him; head butted the culprit, and got red carded. Down to ten men, his team conceded three goals, and lost the game. Woody was mightily pissed off and ignored him after the game.

He crashed into the apartment, chucking his kit bag at the lift doors.

“Maria, where the hell are you?”

Maria sauntered out of the bedroom dressed in cream cashmere, cool as a cucumber, a grin on her face.

“We are over; it’s not working. I don’t love you; we are going to finish this once and for all,” it felt good to blurt it out.

Maria looked up at him, doe-eyed, not taking him seriously.

“Now, now, Franco, dahling, you’re not pissed off about this stupid article, are you? It’s nothing, just putting the story straight; I did you a favour; she’s a deceitful cow, now, let me get you a drink; how did the game go?”

The bitch hadn’t even bothered to watch the game. She wandered into the kitchen to pour drinks. Fuming, Franco followed her and pulled her around to face him.

“I’m serious, Maria. You have to go. I am not in love with you, and if you are honest nor you with me, we tried but it’s just not happening. We are over.”

As normal, she started to turn away from him, looking for something to busy herself with, ignoring his words, pretending it wasn’t happening. He was having none of it, grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her back to face him. His head close to hers.

“Listen to me, Maria…WE ARE OVER…you have to understand it once and for all,” she looked back at him with a blank smile.

“You obviously lost, dahling, you’re in a bad mood… never mind, dis eez football, up one minute, down the next,” she tried to soothe him, stroking his chest, batting her baby-doll eyelashes.

“Shit Maria, you have no idea, do you? I’m deadly serious. Be honest, you don’t love me, you love the WAG status and the credit cards, and I have stupidly gone along with it out of loneliness. Let you take over my life, my apartment, and how do you repay me? You go to the press with more crap for them to hang me by, as if they didn’t have enough already... and now my game is being affected, I fucked it today. This is not working, this is my space, and I want you out of it now!”

The next few hours were messy but she finally agreed to leave. It was agreed that Michael would bring her things over the next day. As the door shut behind her, Franco fell onto the sofa with a sense of relief. He got straight on the phone and organized with Michael to move Maria’s stuff. He could hear the congratulations, finally! in Michael’s voice, and smiled to himself. Then wondered if it had all gone a little too smoothly.

After taking the stuff to Maria’s, Michael would pick Franco up from training and bring him to Ned’s office, they needed to discuss the fallout from Maria’s story and the Sporjakk campaign. The client had come up with some salvage ideas for Franco to consider and asked for a meeting. He hoped that Tara would be there, he missed her and wanted her back, having Maria out of the way would be a good first step.

He went to bed that night looking forward to the next day for the first time in a long while, all thoughts of red cards forgotten.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

David busied himself in the kitchen. Pouring two glasses of red wine, he called her to come through and join him.

Finding a comb in the bathroom cabinet, she ran it through her bedraggled hair and pulled the towelling robe tight around her. This was bizarre; she’d been drugged and kidnapped and here he was acting as if they were lovers about to share a romantic meal together. Why didn’t she mind?

She assumed that she’d been there about twenty-four hours; he’d taken her watch and jewellery. No one would notice her missing; work didn’t expect her in as she was on sick leave. She wasn’t due to meet the girls till Friday lunch, her mum was used to her not calling for weeks on end, she could go missing for days and no one would pick up on it.

Maybe Seb, maybe not… unless he liked the new Sporjakk idea and wanted to meet, did he really know David? Who would think of looking for her here?

She could hear romantic Spanish guitar music coming from the kitchen. She walked uneasily from the bathroom into the bedroom, stood at the foot of the bed, and surveyed the scene. Candles dotted the room, flickering a soft, hazy light. Silk ropes trailed from bedposts to the centre of the bed and mingled with tousled white sheets. It looked a scene freshly abandoned by bondage lovers, she shivered.

Walking cautiously down the corridor, she could see him at the far end in the kitchen. He was lost in thought, humming to the music, conducting the air with a large wooden spoon, flamboyantly pouring red wine into a saucepan and stirring in time to the melody. His mind off her for the moment... a good opportunity to escape?

As she got to the front door, she stopped, checked he was not looking, and pulled on the heavy handle. The latch was stuck firm, she pulled and pulled, it wouldn’t budge, in her fury she kicked it, painfully stubbing her bare toe.

David looked up nonchalantly from his work.

“Sorry love,” he shouted merrily. “Didn’t I tell you? I’ve double locked and hidden the key; no way out I’m afraid. All windows and doors locked, all phones hidden... including yours, babes… never mind... chill… sit down and have a glass of wine while I cook supper, you’re gonna love this.”

His relaxed, calm attitude annoyed her, he was so confident that she could just sit back and enjoy herself. What planet was he on? Giving the door a final kick of desperation, she did as she was told, hobbled down the hallway and sat in front of him at the breakfast bar, arms crossed, jaw set tight, miserable, as he cooked her supper.

She watched him quietly, he certainly knew his way around a kitchen, which was more than she could say, cooking was not her strong point. He made it fun, dramatically chopping up herbs and spices, pouring concoctions from great heights, as if preparing some exotic cocktail.

Everything was done with a flourish, he talked her through it, teaching her as he went. He knew she was no good in the kitchen, he’d seen her at work… her fire alarm always going off, she burnt boiled eggs.

He took a quick slurp of his wine, noticing she hadn’t touched hers, he said, “not thirsty? It’s a delicious vintage, dahling, try it.”

“Oh yeah, and have you drug me again like last time. I don’t think so,” she said defiantly, tightening her arms around her body.

“Yes, you’re right to be suspicious... here, take mine,” he swapped his glass with hers and took a healthy slurp.

“See, not dead,” he smiled cheekily.

Oh, what the hell she needed a drink; she grabbed his glass and took a sip. The gloriously smooth liquid rippled down her throat, instantly warming. He was right, it was delicious and the food smelled good too. She suddenly realised that she was starving.

He turned out to be good company. He joked and regaled silly stories of Helen in her youth, they were almost enjoying themselves. Every now and then she would pull herself up and remind herself of where she was, but his funny relaxed banter made it difficult to stay on guard for long.

The food ready, he served it out onto two huge white plates and set them and fresh glasses on the dining table. The final touch was a candle, another scene for lovers.

Handing her a second bottle of red wine and a corkscrew, “here, you’d better open it, then you know I haven’t poisoned your glass,” he teased.

Shit,

they were on their second bottle already, although he’d cooked with most of it. She was feeling slightly tipsy; she wished she could just relax into the evening and have a giggle with him. He was charming, warm and funny, not to mention bloody gorgeous. His robe kept falling open above the belt, exposing his very fit six-pack... probably spends all his time in the gym and under a sun-bed, shame he’s gay... wait a minute, he was getting horny in the bath... urrrgh... probably thinking about Seb, she felt strangely disappointed... lucky Seb!

They ate in silence, the food was wonderful. She watched him, trying to work him out. He seemed so nice, but then she would remember the pictures she’d seen the night before and the tone in his voice as he told her to look at them. Bet he was a Gemini, two people in one and all that.

She wondered what it had said in her star sign yesterday: your moon is in Virgo, fighting with Uranus, you will be abducted by a tall, dark, handsome stranger… the end is nigh… phone us now on this very expensive number to find out your monthly forecast.

They finished their plates at the same time, falling back on their chairs with a satisfied sigh.

“That tasted so good, David, thank you, I should get abducted more often,” Tara laughed.

“By the end of the night, I’m going to kiss you, Tara; is that OK with you?” he was suddenly serious. “Now you wash up and I’ll get the Scrabble board, can you play Scrabble?”

His change of tack caught her by surprise. Why was he messing with her mind, and why didn’t she mind the thought of kissing him? Keep calm.

“Err… yes, but I’m not very good… look, I want to go home now, David. I’ve had a lovely time, but it’s late, I’m tired. Can we do Scrabble another night? Where are my clothes?” trying to sound as normal as possible.

“Later… you can go home later. Go on, let’s play Scrabble. You can make up any words you like, just like you and Helen used to do in the holidays, no strict rules, just for fun. I did cook you dinner and besides, it’s too early to go home yet,” he persuaded.

“Ok, just one game then home,” she agreed, deciding to humour him.

In one way, it all seemed so normal, two friends hanging out, enjoying each other’s company, in another, she knew she didn’t have a choice, the door was locked.

The wine softened her, she enjoyed being near him. Apart from being beautiful, he had a seductive way about him; he was warm, attentive, sexy, and flirtatious. He made her feel good.

His attentiveness was hypnotic; he seemed to read her mind, knew what she wanted before she asked for it; a window closed from the chill, a pillow, more wine. Always one step ahead, watching her, staring lovingly into her face, as if he saw amazing beauty, she was the most important thing in the world to him. It felt good to be adored; flattering, safe.

Then, just as his compliments were getting too sickly sycophantic, he would back off, change tack and border on being disrespectful, rude, tease her about her lousy spelling, her lack of general knowledge, split ends in her hair, being a little overweight.

His mind games fed her with yo-yoing pleasure and shame; she got a strange exciting buzz from being with him... weird or what, enjoying the company of your kidnapper!

Scrabble went on for hours; they played game after game, laughing until their sides ached. He would gently tuck a loose strand of hair from her face behind her ear, or push her shoulder playfully when she accused him of cheating; it seemed comfortable to let him touch her, she began to will it.

She found herself watching the slow measured movement of his beautiful long lean fingers as he carefully chose letters and placed them on the board. She had a strange feeling that she knew what his hands felt like. She watched his mouth as he talked and knew the feel of his lips, the softness of his kisses. Why was that? How could she know?

The den pictures of him in her bed flashed into her mind. Were they real or computer wizardry? Had he come to her in the night, was he the cause of the wet dreams she’d been having? No, it was unthinkable, no one could get away with that, she was imagining it... in your dreams girl, he’s gay!

“I wish I had known you properly at school,” she blurted, without thinking. “If I’d known you were so much fun, I would never have written that letter.”

His hand stopped mid-air over the scrabble board, he was about to add the final letter to the word he was compiling, absolution. His eyes turned on her, loathing flashed across his face.

Feeling uncomfortable, she turned away, wishing she’d kept her big mouth shut, the atmosphere ruined.

“I’m so sorry, Dav...”

He stood up, not waiting to hear her apology, and violently threw the letter onto the board, disrupting their tree of words. He towered over her, his gown falling open showing his nakedness beneath. She looked up at him... God, he’s beautiful.

He pulled a small piece of crumpled plastic from his pocket and chucked it onto her lap.

“Do you remember it?” he spat.

She looked down and picked it up, turning it over in her fingers. It was a small dried flower, a daisy, secured between two pieces of clear plastic, yellow with age, the type of sticky plastic she used to cover her schoolbooks with.

“No, what is it?”

He bent down, took her hand and yanked her to her feet, nearly pulling her arm out of its socket. The daisy fell to the floor. She let out a squeal of pain; he ignored it and marched toward the bedroom, dragging her behind him.

“David I’m sorry... please, you’re hurting me... what are you doing? I want to go home,” as they passed the front door she lunged at it, trying to escape; he yanked her again with such force she smashed into the opposite wall.

He ignored her scream and carried on to the bedroom. Closing the door behind them, he swung her around and threw her up against it with a thud. He pulled open her gown and pushed his body onto her. She stood open mouthed with shock… what the hell? He stared down at her face, watching, breathing hard, waiting for her to quieten.

Skin on skin, his mouth close to hers, he waited. She tried to push him off, but he held fast. Giving up, her breathing calmed, no point in fighting, her body relaxed.

“Can I kiss you now, Tara?” his warm breath mixed with intoxicating wine hit her face, the softly spoken serpent willed her to say yes.

“No, let me go, please, you said I could after the game, please.”

He didn’t move.

“I want to leave now,” she said unconvincingly.

“No you don’t,” he whispered.

She wasn’t sure what she wanted, he felt good… it’s the wine, this is ludicrous. She stared up at his face.

He slowly started to move his hands, all the while watching the flicker of her eyes, using them as his guide. He started with the neck, her Achilles heel, he knew it drove her crazy. She rolled her head to the side to get away from him...oh shit!

“Get off me David; I thought you were fucking gay.”

“Don’t be so suburban, putting us all in boxes, Tara. I like beautiful things, male, female; why not try both. Life is too short to be constrained by rules set by mere mortals.”

She felt his cock nudge against her stomach. His hands moved down her chest; he squeezed nipples, hard, she moaned with pleasure-pain.

“That hurts; don’t do that,” she lied, her head tilting back against the door.

He grinned, he knew when her no’s meant yes, she was getting there. His hands slid behind her back to hold her buttocks, pulling them into him, holding her steady, as he rubbed his groin against her like a dog in heat.

She should have fought him off, punched him, instead she held onto his shoulders and looked down, watching him grind against her... shit, he’s big. She joined the rhythm, kneading her hips into him, his cock got bigger. She raised her face to his, their mouths unbearably close, she wanted him so bad it hurt.

“Why does this feel like I know you?” she whispered. “As if I’ve always known you.”

“Love, Tara, it’s called love.”

“Kiss me,” she breathed, barely able to speak.

He grinned, she was ready… so easy.

“Beg me Tara, beg me to kiss you.”

“What?” confused.

“Beg me, tell me you want me, tell me.”

He eased away from her body and slipped his hand down between her legs, she was wet. Her eyes closed with pleasure.

“Beg me Tara, beg me,” his fingers rubbed slowly backwards and forwards.

She knew he was hard, he was just as excited as her, fuck him if he thought she was going to beg.

“Fuck you David; you wanna do it, do it. I’m not gonna beg you, you want it just as much as me… you and your bloody games!”

He laughed, she was stronger than he thought, this would be fun. He set his hand to work, kneading his thumb over her clit with just the right amount of pressure, gently at first then building.

She let out a groan, her eyes disappeared beneath half-closed lids.

“Shit,” she rasped. “You bastard, you know what you’re doing… don’t stop...”

He had her. He knew his victim well, he’d studied her.

“Say it Tara beg me, go on, beg me… or I stop.”

He increased the pressure; she rode his hand, trembling with waves of pleasure.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop… I beg you, I beg you, please.”

“Please what?” he demanded.

She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, she was going to come.

“Please WHAT Tara, tell me or I stop,” he began to pull his hand away.

“No, don’t... don’t,” she grabbed his hand and held it to her.

“Please kiss me David, please fuck me… I beg you,” she no longer cared what she said.

He sank his mouth onto hers; he heard the words he needed to hear. She’d begged him, wanted him. More than anything else in the world at that moment, she’d wanted him.

He pushed his tongue deep into his angel’s mouth, searching out her gasps of pleasure as she ate him back, hungry for his sex. He’d waited so long to take her like this, for her to consciously beg for him, want him, need him; it felt better than he’d imagined.

She was going to come; he could feel it. She was soaking wet, her groaning getting louder. He pulled his hand away, lifted her up onto his hips, wrapped her legs around his waist and entered her hard.

Sinking in deep, she let out a scream; her shoulders fell back against the door. He held her waist and pumped and pumped, her head thrashing against the door. He fucked her so hard he thought the doorframe would crack. She didn’t care.

God, she was beautiful. She hung onto him like a cat until they both came; screaming into the air, sweat pouring off them. They slid to the floor with exhaustion.

He’d forgotten his customary condom... shit! he would worry about that later.

His angel had finally come to him, the joy cut bittersweet as it meant his life with her was coming to an end. As they lay on the floor, she snuggled up under his arm getting her breath back; tears pricked his eyes, why couldn’t she have always been like this?

What was wrong with him that he couldn’t have love in his life, be normal like everyone else? He’d been a good boy, why hadn’t they left him alone?

Chapter Sixty

It was midnight before she got home. Franco had chucked her out for good, this time he was determined. He was wrong of course; she knew she was right for him. To win him back she would go to plan B.

She had a little trick that she’d used successfully on a previous departing lover. She cried wolf by taking an overdose. He’d felt so guilt-ridden that he proposed to her, perched on the end of her hospital bed as she came round from a coma.

Timing was key. She knew that Michael would be delivering boxes in the morning, he was meticulously punctual (all that bloody army training), she would arrange it that he arrived in plenty of time to discover her inert body, get her to hospital, have her stomach pumped and save the day. Guilt stricken Franco would be putty in her hands.

Opening a bottle of wine, she double checked timings and started preparing the scene. She bathed in sweet smelling oils, dressed in a demure full length silk nightdress, curled her beautiful long hair and expertly applied her makeup, not too sexy siren, more the sweet innocent girl next door look. She wrote a heart-rending note to Franco, stating her undying love and how she couldn’t live without him.

She worked through the night. By 6 a.m. she was pissed, drunk enough to have the courage to go through with the next part of the plan. The alarm clock rang out; it was time for the pills.

She staggered to the front door and left it off the latch, then wandered around the apartment for a last-minute check that all was in order. She sat on the edge of the bed and swallowed as many pills as she could stand, knocking them back with the dregs of her third bottle of wine, and a bottle of gin – gagging, then swallowing back the retch, trying not to be sick.

She lay out on the bed and arranged herself as if in a model shoot, her hair spread out over the pillows. She closed her eyes, as the fog came down, a smile beamed across her perfect face… Mrs Franco Rossellini.

Chapter Sixty-One

The Mercedes pulled up to Maria’s block of apartments, just off busy Knightsbridge.

As Michael jumped out of the car, he whistled to himself; he was in a good mood. Franco was finally getting rid of Ms Moodyknickers, she was on her way out. He had a car full of her belongings packed into boxes. It was amazing how much she’d managed to smuggle into the boss’s apartment over the months.

Taking the first two boxes from the front seat, he buzzed her number on the entry phone. No answer; he tried again. A city gent was leaving the block, seeing that Michael was juggling with the boxes and noticing the smart car parked up behind him, he let him in, holding the door open for him.

“Thanks, mate, women eh,” Michael tutted. “She’s probably in the bath.”

Crossing the foyer, he caught the lift as it was closing. Her front door was on the latch as he arrived, she must have heard the buzzer after all.

He pressed the doorbell out of politeness and waited, whistling, expecting to hear her screeching voice telling him to come on in. He began to calculate how many trips he would need to get the ten boxes up here; he should be done in about twenty minutes, great. After dropping the boss off at his agent’s office, he’d promised to meet up again with Seb.

They’d planned for Seb to pop in on David unannounced that morning to see if he could get any more information on Tara.

He pressed the bell again, anxious to get goin… where is the dizzy bird?

“Maria, ’ello, its Michael, Franco sent me, I’ve got your stuff,” he bellowed through the letter box.

No answer. He checked the number of the apartment, yep, it was the right one. He pushed open the door and peered inside. The lights were on but no sound

“’ello, Maria?”

Shit, where was she, he needed to get on... bloody bitch, I haven’t got time for this.

He left the boxes in her hallway and jumped back into the lift to collect the others. It took him four trips to and from the car. He finally came up with the last three boxes and piled them neatly inside her door. Standing hands on hips, getting his breath back, he looked around, listening for any sign of life.

“Hello… HELLO.”

He contemplated shutting the door and leaving; he’d done what he was supposed to do, the boxes were off his hands and the boss would be waiting.

But something was not right; he couldn’t put his finger on it, the place felt eerie... maybe I should have a quick look around.

Crouching in back-to-the-wall combat mode, he slipped quietly into each doorway, scanned the room and moved on. He felt ridiculous in his smart black suit, stalking around like commando man, but better safe than sorry. He could smell alcohol, and something else, acidy. It got stronger as he moved to the back of the apartment.

He found her in the master bedroom, laid out on the bed. He thought she was sleeping at first, until he touched her arm to wake her, she was cold and lifeless. A low gurgling sound came from her throat; vomit was dribbling out of her mouth down her neck to the pillow, ruining the scene of beauty she’d so painstakingly produced.

With experienced eyes, he took in the rest of the room. Empty pill and alcohol bottles lay around the bed. The lady had obviously decided to put an end to it all, or attempt to make it look that way.

She was still alive.

He read the note to Franco left on the bedside table, dramatic over the top drivel proclaiming her undying love for him and without him she was nothing.

The scene had obviously been staged. The room was immaculately tidy, recently cleaned, hover marks still in the carpet. An alarm clock set for 6am and a smiling portrait of Franco stood beside a fresh vase of roses on the bedside table.

Maria lay beautifully Rubenesque over perfectly arranged pillows, her silk nightdress fanned out across freshly ironed sheets, her nails and makeup perfectly applied, her hair brushed out over pillows. The front door had been left open. It was a fake cry for help to make Franco take her back.

He pulled a chair to the side of the bed. She’d obviously timed it for him to arrive and save her… the little bitch is trying to pull a fast one on Franco, the old guilt trip number.

In any other situation he would have administered first aid , rolled her over, unblocked her pipes, removed the sick, and got her to hospital for a stomach pump. Instead, he sat patiently watching her choke on her own vomit.

When the gurgling stopped, he leaned over to feel her pulse, happy that there was none, he popped the Franco note into his pocket and called for an ambulance.

One less problem for the boss, she obviously hadn’t banked on him being a callous bastard.

Chapter Sixty-Two

Seb sat waiting in the coffee shop for Michael. They’d planned to meet that morning for Mission Tara, if she hadn’t shown up over the previous night, and she hadn’t, they’d agreed to make a move.

Seb had left countless messages on her phone and buzzed her apartment, but no answer. He’d met with the Sporjakk guys the previous afternoon; she didn’t show so the meeting went on without her. No one could track her down so it was generally assumed that she’d gone into hiding for a few days while things cooled down. But that didn’t sit well with him, she wasn’t a coward, and the new spin was her baby, surely she would have been there if she could. Sporjakk were happy with the proposal and had sanctioned going ahead if Franco agreed; he was to be briefed that morning. They were anxious to get moving, to start repairing the damage.

Seb had also put in a few calls to Tara’s mum and Helen, to see if they’d heard from her. Not wanting to worry them he light-heartedly said that he was tracking her down for a meeting, but neither had heard from her in the past few days. Gloria Warr was not best pleased; she blew a gasket down the phone at the mention of her daughter’s name. The pictures in the press had caused a hive of excitement in her sleepy country village, how could she hold her head up high at the Women’s Institute meetings? The vicar had cancelled tea, twice, the smut had overexcited the paperboy and her bridge class was ruined with sniggering. He got off the line as quickly as possible. Who cared what the WI thought, he’d seen those calendars, they certainly were no shrinking violets, quiet village types were the naughtiest.

Helen hadn’t seen her, but they were due to have lunch on Friday, and she would get her to call him if they spoke. He had difficulty hearing Helen amid muffled giggling; he didn’t know what she was doing, but she was obviously having fun. Helen got off the line as quickly as possible, Tara immediately forgotten.

His timing was not good; the girls were trying out a scene from 9½ Weeks when he called. They had gone a little overboard with the honey; it was dribbling out of control between Helen’s legs at the time, causing problems for Josie who was chasing it up with her tongue before it reached the kitchen floor.

Helen, on her back, giggled as she tried to swing her hips up over her head in an effort to change the flow direction; maybe they should have conducted this scene in the shower.

Seb had one more call to make... where the hell’s Michael? he thought as he punched in the number.

“Hi, Franco, it’s Seb, how ya doin’?”

“Fine, good news, I finally got rid of Maria last night. Michael’s moving her stuff out this morning,” that explained why Michael was late.

“Great, about time, mate… tell me, do you know where Tara is? No one has seen her recently and she didn’t turn up to the Sporjakk meet yesterday, actually, where were you, I thought you were going?”

“Nah… we had a game, couldn’t go in the end but Ned went. I’m due to meet him now, waiting for Michael, he’s late… how did it go?”

“Fine… fine… err…”

Bleep bleep

, a text was coming through; maybe it was Tara, Seb needed to get off the line.

“Err… look, if you see Tara, tell her to call me, will you?”

“She’s hardly likely to call me Seb, she’s in a huff about Maria, but now that’s over I might have a go at getting her back. I’ll call her later, if I get her I’ll pass your message on,” a door bell sounded in the distance. “Ok, look, must go, Michael’s finally here, see ya.”

“Yeah, bye.”

He read his text... sori, runnin late, small problem, sorted, will be there in half an hour…Michael.

Seb put his phone back in his pocket. He should wait for Michael but what the heck, he could do this alone, it was time to catch up with David anyway. If all was innocent and Tara was not there, no harm done, he could have a quick shag and be back in time to meet Michael… perfect!

Chapter Sixty-Three

They’d spent the night in each other’s arms. He’d made love to her over and over. She was completely in his power; she didn’t even mind him placing the bindings on her while they slept, it felt strangely reassuring that he wouldn’t let her go, and that he wanted her so badly. His obsession was potent, hypnotic. She knew he was charming her under his spell, but didn’t care; he’d become her world, her love.

In the back of her mind, she knew the situation was crazy; a fully grown independent woman letting herself be taken over by a relative stranger. But a part of her felt a sense of relief in giving herself up, in relinquishing the pressure of control. She was safe in his hands, he wouldn’t let anything happen to her, he was in love with her, she was his angel.

He provided a wonderful escape from her normal day to day life struggles; he took the burden of decision making. She didn’t have to make choices, fight battles, prove anything to anyone, it was easy, her body and mind were empty.

She was a puppet; she lay back and did as she was told. He fed and washed her, caressed and stroked her, made love to her over and over, through the night, until she was an exhausted quivering mess. He gave her pleasure, not pain.

He lovingly prepared breakfast in bed and fed her like a baby. The tea was drugged to make her sleep but she didn’t mind, he was in charge now, she trusted him. She smiled enjoying the feeling of peace as the drug took hold. His magical hands stroked her head as she fell deeper and deeper into sleep.

“Sleep little one, I’ve work to do, you will be free soon,” he whispered into her ear, waiting for his angel to pass out.

She looked radiant; it was a shame, he would have preferred to keep her longer, but she would be causing police interest soon, he needed to finish the job, strike her off the list and move on.

He’d accomplished the first part of the penance by cracking her spirit; she trusted him, wanted him and above all had begged him. His hours of watching tapes and studying what made her tick had paid off. He controlled her mind; she was an open book to play with.

It was tiring looking after someone 24/7, he needed a break. He would give the gym a miss today, humping up and down on his angel was exercise enough. He fancied some fresh air; he would stretch his legs, buy a paper and have a coffee whilst savouring the thought of her finale.

Checking she was asleep, he gently covered her body in blankets, he didn’t want her to get cold, it would slow the blood on incision. He jumped off the bed and into the shower.

The hot water felt good on his body. He thought about burning the carcass after the dissection, rather than leaving it as a trophy for the police to find. He’d not been using a condom; she was full of his DNA, it was best to burn everything.

He scrubbed hard, erasing her smell. His heart heavy, it was not going to be easy, he loved her.

The doorbell rang out, making him jump. Who the hell could that be? Wrapping a towel around his middle, he ran to Tara, making sure she was still asleep, he pulled the cover over her face and answered the door; it was Seb.

Seb smiled, happy to have caught him wet from the shower, he looked sexy as hell.

“What you up to, stranger? You didn’t call last night, so I thought I’d come and track you down for a coffee... or something..,” he winked suggestively at David’s groin area, and stepped forward to be let in.

“Hmmmm… coffee or cock? Cock or coffee?” mused David, holding his cock through his towel.

“What shall I choose… Hmmmm… it’s a hard one,” he looked down at the bulge in his towel.

“You bet it is,” Seb squeezed his own cock through his jeans.

“Both,” David stood back for Seb to enter.

Seb cheekily skipped into the hallway, taking David’s towel with him as he passed. He ran into the kitchen in search of the kettle.

Chapter Sixty-Four

Josie had not been home for days. She’d been ignoring her phone and was majorly pissing off her agency. Helen had called in on her behalf to say that she was sick, but they were not amused. Her impatient regulars were giving them a hard time. She knew it was risky, she could lose business, a new girl would be shipped in to fill her sessions, and the regulars may end up preferring the new girl to her.

But what the hell, she was having a good time hanging out with Helen, besides she rarely took a holiday, she deserved one.

They’d hardly surfaced from the bedroom in days. Luckily Helen’s fridge and bar were well stocked; they phoned out for pizza, Indian, and Chinese. They spent their time cuddled up, talking, eating, watching dodgy old movies, and discovering the delights of the vagina. They took labia worship to a new level. Helen had taken to peering at Josie’s with a min-flashlight and magnifying glass.

It felt weird to see it from a guy’s angle. All sweet old-fashioned comparisons with flower petals and oysters were true; it was beautiful. Helen wondered why the hell she hadn’t paid much attention to her little pot of gold before; she should have gotten a mirror out and had a bloody good look long ago, see what her lovers see.

Why didn’t women get to know their bodies? Men were more than familiar with their pieces of kit. Vaginas were amazing; they didn’t gag in your throat, shoot in your eye, or give you lock jaw; they were soft, pink, responsive, warm, welcoming pieces of heaven that tasted delish.

In between the vagina worship, they talked and talked, in their own cocooned world. That morning they were playing the truth game (not to be recommended, it always causes trouble), confessing secrets they were ashamed of.

“Well, you now know mine, I finally confessed to you guys I was a hooker,” giggled Josie. “I kept that secret for years, it was awful lyin’ to you guys, wish I’d known you’d love it, ‘el,” she playfully hit her friend, lover… oh my God, Helen is my lover!

“Telling you is the best fing I’ve done in a long time, I swear I was turning to drink wiv the weight of it…”

Josie lay back on the bed, her head propped up by the multitude of colourful cushions adorning it. Helen was going for the sexy harem Arabian night look. But it looked less of a harem and more of a rubbish tip. Chocolate wrappers, biscuit packets, orange peel, beer bottles and magazines lay around their entwined bodies.

“I suppose it’s my turn to confess something; there is something, something so horrible I don’t understand how I could do it…”

Helen turned onto her stomach, perched on elbows, lying alongside Josie. She turned to face her, their bare legs entwined. Helen looked worried.

Josie braced herself... oh gawd, what’s wrong? she thought nervously, not quite sure she wanted to hear Helens confession, maybe the truth game wasn’t such a good idea.

“I’ve been behaving like a complete bitch, Josie,” she took a big breath, “I’ve been stalking T.”

“What do you mean, stalking T, don’t be so silly,” giggled Josie, not understanding her.

“Well, not stalking exactly, but I’ve been giving her the nuisance phone calls, leaving disturbing messages on her phone, trying to frighten her. Oh God, I’m so ashamed,” tears welled; she held her face in her hands.

“I don’t know why, I love her, truly I do, but I can’t help it… I must be sick, deranged.”

“Oh ‘el, that’s not so bad, it must be a joke or sumfing. Don’t get upset, you were only playin’ wiv ’er,” Josie tried to console her, confused, not understanding what her friend was saying.

“No, it’s no joke. I really wanted to hurt her, frighten her. I even scratched stuff on her car… and Franco’s car,” Helen bowed her head in shame, tears trickled her cheek.

“Why baby?” asked Josie softly as she stroked Helen’s head, still not used to the idea of being this close to her.

“I don’t know, jealousy, I guess. T has bloody everything, looks, a job, she’s bright, everyone adores her, including Seb; it gets on my nerves… yet…”

She grabbed a tissue and hurriedly wiped her eyes.

“…I would die if I lost her as a friend. It’s weird; I love her and hate her, what craziness is that, Josie?” she blew her nose, and continued.

“I don’t deserve her friendship. I’m so ashamed. It’s bloody stupid of me… when she tells the police, they will trace the calls to me. I don’t know why I did it and I don’t know what to do…

Chapter Sixty-Five

The kettle hadn’t even begun to boil and Seb was on his knees in the kitchen. He’d arrived not 20 seconds earlier, gone to the kitchen to make coffee, was plugging in the kettle when the naked David followed up behind and pushed him down onto his knees.

“Suck on this, boy… it’s what you came for, isn’t it?” David snarled, loving the power over Seb, the fact that Tara was lying a few feet away added to the thrill.

He looked down at Seb’s bobbing head, expertly carrying out his instruction with one hand and furiously wanking his own cock with the other.

For a beginner, Seb was a fast learner, catching up on all those lost years, no doubt. It was a shame that he would also have to go, but he was on the list.

“Jeeeezzz, that is so good, boy,” David threw back his head relishing the excitement building in his cock. “Don’t stop, boy… don’t stop!”

He sounded like his Headmaster, his voice taking on a craggy, old tone; no wonder the old boy had loved this so much. The memory was too much, he let out a loud moan of pleasure, fell back onto the kitchen units, and started to explode.

Seb joined him… short, sharp, satisfying oral… bloody fantastic.

They remained where they were as their bodies calmed down, Seb kneeling on the floor and David leaning back against the units, a big grin, cock in hand, surveying the scene.

The silence after their noisy groans of pleasure was awkward for Seb; he still had not gotten used to the unashamed debauchery; his Catholic upbringing shot guilt through him.

Suddenly uncomfortable, he stood up, zipped up his fly, wiped his hands on the towel he’d stolen earlier, and politely handed it back to David.

The kettle clicked to the boil, breaking the ice.

“Coffee, David?” Seb asked, as if nothing had happened, unable to look him in the eye.

“Yeah, great… back in a min, I’m gonna put some clothes on boy,” he chucked the towel over his shoulder and sashayed out of the room.

Seb watched him, David was something else, he had the power to invoke shame and excitement in the same moment. To make you feel like cheap trash or precious cargo. When he flashed one of his smiles you were lost, he was irresistible.

Reluctantly remembering what he was there for, he quickly made two coffees whilst glancing around the flat for any sign of Tara. There was nothing obvious.

One thing that did catch his eye was a bottle standing by the sink…a baby’s bottle, what the hell is that for…

maybe for one of David’s more interesting games! Seb quivered… he’s not putting that up me ass!

Picking up the two coffees, he quietly tiptoed through the living room down the hallway. He sneaked past the bedroom door and on to the den, careful not to spill the steaming coffee. The door was ajar, he poked his head around it and tried to see into the room, the light was dim, it took a while to focus.

On the wall in front of him, he saw photographs of what looked like an old man lying in a forest, with close-ups of objects he couldn’t quite make out. He didn’t have much time, so he moved his focus on to the next wall. With a jolt, he realized it was a shrine to Tara, pictures of her littered the wall. She was in all sorts of positions and places, with friends, lovers and alone.

Seb’s stomach flipped, this was not good. Michael was right, his heart sank... trust me to give my virginity to a bloody nutter, he groaned. He heard the noise of a cupboard being closed in the bedroom, his hands shook, coffee spilt to the ground.

“Fuck!” he cursed under his breath.

Fear crept up on him as Michael’s words resonated… shyte! what the hell is David capable of?

Hesummoned courage and walked back down the hallway, performed a polite little cough outside David’s bedroom door and barged into the bedroom, kicking the door open with his boot.

“Coffee is served, Sir… white with no sugar, just as Sir likes it.”

He put on the mock voice of a posh waiter, looking as innocent as he could, stepping bravely into the room, not quite sure what he was looking for, or what to do next.

Finding David leaning into a wardrobe, he smiled at him brightly and held out the coffee mug.

“Sorry, it’s instant, can’t be bothered with all that grinding of beans, shit… it takes forever.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a mound in the bed covered with a blanket. He pretended not to notice it and threw himself onto the chaise lounge at the end of the bed, ready to watch David get dressed.

“What you doing today then, lover boy?” he asked cheekily, hoping the shaking in his voice couldn’t be heard.

David stood slowly up to full height and bore down on him.

“What the FUCK do you think you are doing in here? I didn’t invite you, GET OUT!” he screamed, pointing at the door.

David’s eyes darted nervously to the bed; Tara was sleeping, covered completely by a blanket, the bed so messy that you couldn’t tell she was there. A quick glance round showed no betraying female clothing lying on the floor.

Seb jumped, “ok, ok… keep your hair on, what’s got into you?”

“GET OUT, NOW!” David knew he was overacting, but he couldn’t take the chance of Tara moving and giving the game away; he had to get Seb out of there fast.

“This is my private space; I didn’t ask you in here, it’s time you left anyway. You’ve had cock and I’m busy… take your disgusting coffee with you. I don’t do instant; it’s for the cleaning lady you moron.”

He chucked the mug back at the rapidly retreating Seb, spilling it as he did so. Seb backed out of the room, not before noticing strange ties at the end of the bed as he pulled the door shut behind him.

What the hell was wrong with David, he was furious, badly shaken. He’d obviously touched a nerve. What was the mound in the bed? If it was a person, it didn’t move; it was either dead, out of it, or just his imagination.

Running down the hallway, he should’ve just put the mugs down on the hallway table and gone out the front door, but good manners had him instinctively going back to the kitchen to find the dishwasher, it also gave him time to think.

“All right, bloody hell, David, relax, I’m going. Jeez, you got PMS or something?” he shouted from the kitchen, David still in the bedroom getting dressed.

Opening the dishwasher, he chucked the unwanted coffee down the sink and placed the mugs neatly on the top shelf. He noticed place settings for two had already been stashed in the machine; they looked as if they had been from a meal from the night before. Two red wine stained glasses and two plates, knives, and forks. Dinner á deux, who had he been entertaining last night?

His stomach tightened, could it be Tara, she’s an avid red wine drinker… nah, so is half the country, stupid… where the fuck is she? On a hunch he pulled out his phone and called her number for the hundredth time, but what the hell.

While waiting for her to miraculously pick up, a buzzing sound came from a cupboard above the sink. Absent mindedly he opened the cupboard to see where the noise was coming from, one hand holding the ringing phone to his ear and one eye on the corridor waiting for David to reappear.

Reaching into the cupboard, he could see nothing but cans of chopped tomatoes, jars of sauces and packets of herbs. The sound became louder; it was almost a vibrating sound now.

Pushing the cans aside, he reached in to the back of the cupboard. His hand fell on a solid piece of plastic that had a life of its own. He retreated with shock, then reached in and pulled it out. It was a phone; all lit up like a mini spaceship. It was ringing on vibrate, with the words ‘Seb Maloney’ written on the screen as an incoming call.

“Holy shit,” Seb cursed under his breath, it was Tara’s phone. “Oh my God!”

Staring at it as it flashed in his hand, the seriousness of the situation hit him. What should he do? Was she in the bedroom? Should he storm in there and get her out? Should he get Michael and come back mob handed? If he was honest, he was frightened of David; he could hold his own in a rugby scrum but he was not sure he could handle David single-handed. He needed help. He put the phone back as it was, lined the cans in front of it and closed the cupboard.

At that moment, David came out of the bedroom, fully dressed in black jeans and black polo jumper, his hair neatly combed. Seb jumped nervously, pretending to be closing the dishwasher.

“Ok, ok, I’m gone, give me a call when you’ve calmed down,” he said, sounding as pissed off as he could muster. “You’re a shit, David, do you know that… fuck you!”

Saying nothing, David held the front door open as a sign for his guest to leave. He monitored Seb’s eyes as he walked by, to see if he was suspicious… no, just pissed off at being rejected, spoiled little brat.

He slammed the door shut after him... that boy is definitely next on the list!

Chapter Sixty-Six

Running down the Brompton Court Road, relieved to be out of the flat in one piece, Seb felt a pang of guilt for leaving Tara, if indeed she was there. Reaching the coffee shop, he peered in the window searching for Michael, no sign of him. He scoured the street for the Mercedes... where the hell is he?

His phone buzzed impatiently in his pocket; he had a text message.

‘change of plan, am at Franco’s apartment, meet here asap. Michael x’

He thought the kiss a bit cheeky. Michael’s way of taking the piss no doubt. He would deal with him later; meanwhile, he needed to sort Tara out.

No sooner had he replied ‘on my way’, the phone rang... jeez, it doesn’t rain but it pours, what the hell did we ever do before phones? he wondered.

“HELLO,” he shouted into the receiver, not recognizing the number, hoping it wasn’t work; he was skiving off that day; the traffic made it difficult to hear.

“HELLO,” he repeated louder.

“Seb, it’s Helen, I need to get hold of Tara; do you know where she is?”

Helen had decided to come clean with Tara about her jealousy and the stalking. Josie had persuaded her to apologize before the police got involved, but they couldn’t find her.

“No, I’m still trying to find her myself,” hesitantly he added. “Look, Helen, I think she’s in trouble, maybe you’d better meet me, you could help. What are you doing now? I’m meeting Michael at Franco’s apartment... it could be serious.”

“Who’s Michael? Why, what’s happened? Where is sh...”

“Look, I haven’t got time to talk now. I’m trying to catch a cab. It’s the Penthouse, 14 Argyle Place West; it would be good if you could come… I’ll tell you all then, ok?”

“Tell me what? Your frightening me, is she ok?”

“Just get there, Helen...”

He was getting irritated, and no cabs with their lights on... bugger, where the feck was a cab when you needed one?

She heard the impatience in his voice.

“Ok, 14 Argyle Place West,” she repeated. “It’s just around the corner; we’ll be there in a minute,” she agreed.

“Wowa… wait a minute,” she was about to hang up. “Who the hell’s we? This is not a feckin’ garden party, you know.”

“Josie, I’m with Josie, a good friend of Tara’s. We’ll be there in a minute,” she hung up before he could protest further.

Jeysus, now the prostitute is coming as well

. This was turning into a carnival; it was only supposed to be him and Michael, now Franco, Helen, and Josie.

“Oh feckin hell,” he shouted into the street, Helen was David’s sister.

“Shyte!” he’d forgotten.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Day three,

David’s apartment, Chelsea, London.

Standing over the mattress, he took a leisurely sip of wine and stared down at her beautiful naked body, pinned out, star shaped, waiting his attention. The delicious vulnerability made his cock hard. He smiled; she was ready to be cut.

She’d been screaming, he’d silenced her with a punch. Whilst she slept through it, he checked the bindings and realigned the spotlights around the bed, their harsh light burnt directly onto her skin, blanching it ethereal white.

He gently stroked the length of her body with a wet cloth, bathing away pools of red wine and the musky sweat of their sex. Her body glistened, she was beautiful, tears welled his eyes.

He painstakingly applied makeup to her sleeping face; the finishing touch, a slash of whore-red lipstick dragged across her mouth. He stroked the blonde fringe from her forehead and fanned her soft tresses out onto the plastic sheet, gently combing through the tangles, trying not to pull on her scalp. The long blonde hair formed a golden halo around his angel’s head.

The preparation complete, he took a deep breath and fist-whipped her face. Knuckles smashed backwards and forwards until a snap of bone cracked the air; she gave a low moan. Red welts crept across her skin, lipstick smudged her cheeks. It was time to wake up, time for penance; he’d waited two decades. Tears trickled his cheeks.

He waited patiently as she regained consciousness.

She woke to the heat of the spotlights burning her skin; their harsh light piercing her eyelids. Why was it so hot? She tried to move away from the source, but her heavy limbs barely moved. What was happening? Her mouth parched, her throat locked tight, a searing pain ran through her jaw as she tried to swallow... what the fuck!

She rocked her head backwards and forwards, groaning with the waves of pain, trying to clear her mind. Where was she? Memories began to tumble back into place... fuck! where is he? She could hear his agitated breathing, sniffing… is he crying?

She squinted through the harsh light, her darting eyes anxiously trying to find him, the bedside table glistened with his tray of tools.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

She could hear the dull throb of traffic; she was still in his apartment, which meant people were nearby. Wincing with pain, she tentatively opened her mouth, took a deep breath, and yelled hard, praying someone would hear her.

From nowhere, a heavy torrent of liquid crashed down filling her open mouth, she slammed it shut. She could hear him laughing out loud, as more liquid slammed hard onto her face. She turned her head backwards and forwards to escape the flow; he laughed some more, enjoying her spirit, following her mouth with the bottle. She thrashed her limbs against the mattress to loosen the bindings but they were locked fast. He laughed again. She was suffocating, drowning, and he was loving it, he wasn’t going to stop! Stinging tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, watering the wine to pink rivulets that ran down her cheeks. She stilled the screaming inside her head and started to pray... please God let me live.

As quickly as it started, the torrent stopped. She spluttered, snorted and gulped for precious air. Her breathing calmed as the panic subsided, then silence... what now?

Anger boiled inside her, he was playing with her. She spat at his crotch, took a deep breath and screamed again, stronger, louder, the effects of the alcohol numbing the pain in her jaw.

Another torrent of liquid hit, heavier than before, he held the bottle higher over her face. She snapped her mouth tight shut and shook her head from side to side, trying to escape the downpour. She retched, bile rose in her throat, keeping her mouth tightly closed, she swallowed it back down. She retched again and again and swallowed.

He finished decanting another bottle, admiring the trails of wine that ran through her hair and splattered her heaving breasts. He picked up his beloved camera.

Click, click.

The camera shutter hissed as he took a close-up of her angry face.

Click, click.

His phone rang, he ignored it.

Click, click.

He moved to the end of the bed and stood between her open legs, he squinted into the lens and focused on the red stream of wine that trickled its way down through pubic hair to swollen, glistening lips.

Click, click.

He moved back up to her chest, bent low over her right breast and put his mouth against her skin, chasing up a wine trail with his tongue. Her nipple jumped, hardened.

“Bastard,” she spat.

Click, click.

The intoxicating wine gave more courage.

“There’s no way you’re going to cut me up, you bastard,” she turned her face away from him and screamed as hard as her lungs could stand. Angry tears stung her eyes... fuck you! She wouldn’t give up; summonsing strength, she screamed again and again.

Growing bored with this game, he swiped his fist hard across the side of her face, she lost consciousness.

He opened the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out two screwdrivers, a staple gun, and masking tape. The screwdrivers were for the eye sockets, the staples to pin back skin, and the sticky tape to silence her mouth.

He took another sip of the exceptionally agreeable wine; although it was a tad cool, not quite room temperature. He inspected his tray of instruments. Teacher would be pleased, how neat he was... top marks dear boy! He picked up a remote control and punched the replay button. A soothing Mozart violin concerto filled the air.

He pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, enjoying the clammy feeling of distance they gave between him and his victim, between him and his conscience. Humming to the music, he turned his attention to the tray of tools, his fingers danced along the row of blades, finally landing on the smallest one; he held it up to the light, inspecting the cutting edge.

“Now wake up dear, dissection time.”

He knelt at the side of the bed, slapping her face. She started to come around. He leaned in over her for the first incision... this will wake her up.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Once Michael had finished with the police at Maria’s flat, he drove back to Franco’s.

He’d told the police everything (except that she was still alive when he got there). She’d left the door open; she’d wanted to be found, it looked like a cry for help that’d gone wrong. But they could not rule out foul play until the autopsy reports were in. They would need to interview Franco.

Michael was pissed off. Franco had enough paparazzi attention without being seen walking into a police station. On hearing the news from a distraught Franco, Ned had called Michael and told him to sit tight with Franco at the apartment while he sought legal advice and prepared a statement for the press.

At the apartment, Franco was white with shock.

“Shit, Michael, why the hell did she do it? What a waste.”

He couldn’t take in what had happened, for all her faults, Maria was a beautiful vibrant woman; he couldn’t believe she was gone, it was his fault.

“She always did manage to have the last word… I guess she’s got me back big time now,” head in hands he slumped onto the sofa. “What now, wait for the police? What did Ned say? Has anyone told her parents?”

The doorbell rang. Michael went to the intercom, wondering if it was Seb; he hadn’t told Franco about Seb and Tara yet. It was not his boss’s day.

“Hiya,” a chirpy voice effervesced through the speaker, echoing through the apartment. “It’s only me; Anton... is the lovely Franco there?”

Anton, what could he want? Maybe he had a message from Tara.

“Yeah, let him up, Michael, he’s cool.”

Michael pressed the buzzer with instructions to take the lift to the top floor. He also knew Anton was ‘cool’, he’d done a bit of snooping on him over the last few weeks, his research showed that Anton, a screaming queen, was kind, well loved, and trustworthy. He’d shown his allegiance to Franco by not cashing in on the press frenzy.

Michael left the front door ajar, walked over to the kitchen area, and put the kettle on. His Irish grandmother had always said, “in times of strife, make a pot of tea.”

He kept a watchful eye on Franco, who was huddled up on the sofa, his head bent in grief over Maria; he wasn’t going to enjoy broaching the subject of Tara. The boss certainly knew how to choose his women.

Anton burst into the room, a breath of fresh air, arms full of flowers and a box of chocolates. He jogged across the room to the sofa and plopped himself down beside the miserable Franco. His jog reminded Michael of a beautiful Lipizzaner show horse, with his dainty high lifting ballet steps.

“Franco, dahling, how are you? So glad you are here, just popped in to say how sorry I am about all this press stuff, deary… I want you to know it had nothing to do with me…I would never let your little secret out of the bag, and that Maria is a bitch.”

Franco smiled weakly. Anton continued, oblivious to the fact that Maria was dead.

“Oh, it’s all too horrible, sweetie… here, have some chocolates, a naughty little pick-me-up, and some flowers to brighten up the place,” the gifts were ceremoniously laid out on Franco’s lap.

“Thank you, Anton; it’s good to see you.”

Franco meant it. Anton’s chatter lifted his mood; it was good to see this bundle of fun.

“Have you met Michael? Anton, this is Michael... Michael, Anton,” the two men nodded at each other.

“Michael’s making tea do you want some?”

“Oh yes, love some… but let me, you know how I love to take over the kitchen, and it’s such a nice one, great place you have here, Franco… when it’s finished.”

Mindful of the workman’s tools that scattered the floor, he skipped to the kitchen and shooed Michael out from behind the breakfast counter.

“You look so silly, all butch, standing over the tea caddy, deary, let me…”

Happy to let Anton take over, Michael joined Franco. Sitting opposite him in the easy chair, he leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped together, trying to choose his words carefully to explain the latest developments.

The doorbell went again. Looking up at Anton, Michael nodded for him to answer it. It was Seb. Anton buzzed him in and set about adding another cup to the tea tray.

“Aahh… it would be lovely to see Seb,” he muttered, rinsing out a new milk jug that had never been used.

“What’s Seb doing here?” quizzed Franco, worried about how serious his chauffeur was looking.

“Well, I took the liberty of inviting him, Boss. Ya see, Tara’s gone missin’ and we think we know where she is. We were going to meet first thing this mornin’ to sort it out, but the Maria thing happened and Ned has asked us to wait here for…”

“What do you mean, she’s gone missing? Is she safe? Where is she?” Franco tried to remain calm. First Maria, now Tara; what was going on?

“Oh my God, Tara,” a squeal from the kitchen, Anton was listening.

“It’s a long story, but the guy who’s been taking the photos, and living above Tara, we fink he ’as her. He’s called David. She may ’ave gone around there a few nights ago, and ’asn’t been seen since…”

“Why would he want her? Is he dangerous?” Franco was getting nervous; he hadn’t seen this side of Michael before. If Michael was worried, something serious was up.

“We do not know for sure if he wants to harm her, he could be dangerous, he has previous,” Michael did not go into detail, Franco was looking pale enough.

“Well, let’s tell the police, for Christ’s sake,” Franco stood up, wanting to do something, anything, flowers and chocolates spilled to the floor.

“Maybe, but we don’t know any of this for sure. Seb and I were going to suss it out first before we raise another possible hornets’ nest. You don’t need any more publicity than you ’ave already. Besides, she may be there of her own accord, or she may have gone off for a few days in a huff, who knows? We’re just looking into possibilities.”

Michael gently pushed a confused Franco back down into his seat.

“Let’s wait to see what Seb has to say, ok?” soothed Michael.

As Seb walked into the room, the doorbell went again, he answered it, knowing who it was, he pressed the intercom to let them in.

“Hiya, Seb… err… who was that?” asked Franco, not sure he was in his own home any more.

“Hello, mate, look, we’ve got to talk.”

Leaving the front door ajar, he joined Franco and Michael around the coffee table.

“It’s Josie and Helen; they’re on their way up.”

“Seb, dahling, do you want tea?” Anton was pleased to see him and waved gleefully from behind the kitchen counter. Worried that he did not have enough cups for them all, he started to scan the cupboards for more, some would just have to have mugs… oh well.

“Anton, what you doin’ here? Good to see ya, mate… err, no thanks, just had coffee. Got anything stronger?” Seb twinkled at his friend.

“Who the hell are Josie and Helen, Seb? What are they doing here? We have serious things to discuss right now, Tara is missing, we’ve got to find her,” Franco budged up on the sofa for Seb to join him.

“Well, I don’t know what Michael’s told you but Tara’s in big shit. I think… anyway, they’re her best mates, they may be able to help, I think…” Seb nervously ran his fingers through his hair.

He hoped they were mates, but it was too late now, as Josie and Helen rushed into the room, slamming the door behind them.

“What’s wrong with T?” demanded Helen, panic-stricken about her friend. Seb had frightened them, they questioned him in unison, “where is she... is she ok... what’s going on... is she hurt?”

As their concerned voices grew louder and louder, Franco put his head in his hands and shouted.

“QUIET…PULEASE!”

Ten minutes later, all six of them were huddled around the coffee table, on the arms of the sofa, and on the floor. Anton had distributed mugs and cups of steaming hot tea, and a glass of brandy for Seb. The chocolates had been opened and passed around.

Michael and Seb filled everyone in on what they knew, with Seb filling in the details of his morning’s events.

Helen interrupted, “who is this David guy, anyway? Do we know him?”

“Well yes, actually we do,” Seb coughed. “It’s your bro Hel,” he waited for the explosion.

“What?” exclaimed Helen. “You’re joking,” not believing it, Josie squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“Oh my dear God,” exclaimed Anton, popping another chocolate in his mouth.

“What? Tara’s been kidnapped by her brother,” Franco pointed accusingly at Helen. “This is ridiculous; go and talk to him right away and get her back,” he screamed at her.

“Hold on a min, we don’t actually know if she is there or, if so, whether she is there voluntarily or not… my guess is she’s there, involuntarily.”

Seb filled them in on the den pictures, Tara’s phone in the cupboard, the bindings on the bed, the dinner settings for two in the dishwasher, the mound shape in the bed, and David’s freaking out when he entered the bedroom.

“David did have a crush on Tara back in school,” admitted Helen. “But he wouldn’t do this... how do you know David, Seb; what were you doing there anyway? I didn’t know you knew my brother,” Helen snapped, trying to get her head around the thought that her brother could do this.

“Well,” he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret forever, he may as well get it out in the open, besides, it would be a relief.

“David and I are lovers, of sorts,” a hush came over the group. Franco budged along the sofa in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Oh my dear God!” Anton popped another chocolate in his mouth, how come he hadn’t noticed? He must be losing his touch.

More silence.

Eventually, Helen’s laughter broke the ice; building in crescendo, she laughed and laughed, unable to control herself. They all turned to look at her; she was becoming hysterical.

“You have to be joking,” she gasped as she caught her breath. “All those years I was beating myself up about you, in love with you, making a fool of myself… you were gay…that is too much, how bloody funny.”

“Why funny?” said an indignant Seb, deflated at the reaction to his news.

“’Cause so am I,” laughed Helen as she planted a kiss on Josie’s lips.

“You’re having an affair with a hooker?” replied Seb, aghast that Helen was gay.

“Yep, I love her; whatever, besides, she’s coming off the game,” Helen gazed adoringly at Josie, Josie flushed, not enjoying the attention now focused on her.

Anton and Franco looked on in amazement, Franco took a chocolate. Anton reached for the brandy bottle and topped up his teacup. He’d only come around to give his condolences to Franco about Maria’s press story. They were nothing on this lot. He’d lived such a sheltered life, he sighed.

“Is anyone in here straight?” asked Franco.

When no one answered, all eyes turned to Michael. He gave a cheeky grin and shrugged his shoulders.

“Sorry, Boss; you’re in the minority,” he smiled. “Now, can we get back to the problem at hand, Tara?”

“We have to go get her,” Anton topped up cups with brandy.

“If she’s there,” snapped Helen, still in disbelief.

Ignoring her, they discussed their options, to go to the police or to go to the apartment themselves.

It was finally agreed to raid the apartment mob handed. Michael talked them through a plan.

Knocking back their drinks for courage, they filed out the front door. Anton insisted they arm themselves, and dished out kitchen utensils as they left. He hadn’t had so much fun in ages. He felt like a member of an elite SAS hit squad. He would put the flowers in water later.

They all squeezed into Franco’s Mercedes, Anton lying across the two girls and Seb in the back. Franco, a little nervous of everyone’s new admissions, sat safely in the front passenger seat, keeping a watchful eye on Michael’s gear changing. He hoped Tara was still straight.

As they pulled away from the curb, two plain-clothes coppers in an unmarked car arrived to interview their suspect. On seeing the Mercedes, they changed tack and followed at a distance.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

As they pulled up to David’s apartment, Josie recognized the address.

“Oh shit, I should have known it, but he always wore a mask. David is a new client of mine, into S&M. Bloody hell, who would ’ave thort it,” she went quiet, wondering what he may be capable of, feeling very frightened for her friend. “Sorry, ’el, but your bro’s a weirdo.”

Helen was busy dialling her phone.

“Who are you callin’?” demanded Michael, spotting the police car tailing them in the mirror.

“T, she’s gonna pick up, be fine, on a beach somewhere and laugh at all of this,” answered Helen, but there was no answer.

“Do you know anything helpful about the property, Josie, the layout, any weapons?”

Michael spoke in a hard military tone that cut the atmosphere. The seriousness of the situation began to dawn. Anton gave a squeal, clutching his weapon of choice, a spatula.

“Well, there is another entrance via the garden. He has French windows in the living room.”

“Right, Anton, once we’re in I want you to run through the flat and open those doors, we may need it as an exit point, ok?”

Seb and Anton winked at each other, Michael sounded so macho when dishing out orders.

“Yes sir,” clipped Anton in his best soldier-alert voice.

Helen tried her phone again, no answer. They parked the car in a side street around the corner from the flat. Michael collected up £1 coins from the gang for the parking meter. Not very SAS-like, thought Anton, but no one was safe from London traffic wardens.

Chapter Seventy

It was the third day, time for his angel’s penance.

His phone rang, he ignored it.

She lay still. Black tape covered her mouth, blocking her screams. Red wine splattered her body, staining her blonde hair. Under the heat of the spotlights she smelt like a brewery, her sluttish makeup streaked down her face, but she still looked a beautiful angel to him.

He surveyed her body for the last time as a whole, and thought back over the past few days. She’d been a willing captive, had begged for him, become his puppet. The chase was over and so was her life. He didn’t want to, but, it was time.

“Wake up dear, dissection time.”

Kneeling at the side of the bed, he slapped her face. He wanted her to be awake, to feel the first cut. She started to come around. He laughed at the fear that clambered into her eyes, as she registered the blade in his surgical gloved hand. It was a look that befell all his victims; the laboratory animals, the science professor, Father Michael, Ms Philbeach, the dirty prostitutes, the rent boys and the man who started it all, the Headmaster of Heddington Hall for boys... for perverts more like! He guessed her heart would last out longer than the Head’s had, she was strong, a fighter, he admired her courage.

His phone rang again, he let it ring.

She stared up at him, ashen with fear. He was kneeling over her, holding a blade in his hand, smiling. He was deadly serious, he was going to kill her, carve her up like the photographs in his den. She couldn’t believe it, the loving, kind, fun, man she’d been making love to for the past few days had gone. She didn’t recognize this creature; he was two people, an angel and a devil. How could she have been so stupid? She kicked her legs, bucked her hips. She didn’t want to die.

“Shhhhhh, don’t move angel, you only make it worse, shhhhhh,” he calmed, stroking the wet fringe from her eyes.

“Say your prayers honey, it’s time to die.”

“One ‘Hail Mary’ and an ‘Our Father’ should do it, or maybe two, what’s the going rate for slut absolution these days, I can’t remember? Say two of each, just to be on the safe side.”

He took a wet towel and in one stroke, wiped clean a line of skin from neck to pubic bone, forming a neat strip through which to cut. He leaned in for the first incision. Tara shook her head violently, tears streamed from her staring eyes, she screamed through the black tape that stretched across her mouth.

CRASH

“What the hell was that…?”

In the distance, he heard a loud crash. Straining his ear to the direction of the noise, he listened, he could hear banging, it was coming from his front door.

“What the hell…,” if that was Seb again, he would kill him.

He dropped the blade on the table, and ran out to the hallway, just in time to see an axe coming through the central panel of his front door. The wood splintered noisily as the axe was pulled back through it... what the fuck?

“Who’s there, what the fuck are you doing?” he shouted through the noise as the axe appeared for a second time, crashing through the timber.

It was a bloody burglar, the cheek, he was furious; he pulled at the latch, and opened the door, ready to smash in the face of the culprit, not ready for the horde of bodies that crashed in on top of him.

Michael was proud of his hit squad. After the door opened, he stood back and watched. They had all heard Tara’s muffled screams from outside the flat window, and from a bunch of nervous wimps they’d fired up into a killing machine.

He was surprised that David had opened the door for them; he’d expected to have at least another five goes with the axe before the door was demolished. But it had opened and his team had crashed in on the shocked David. All manner of kitchen equipment and fists rained down on him. A frying pan to the head finally knocked him out. He hadn’t needed to use his gun.

As David hit the floor, Anton went into action. Screaming like a banshee, he tip toed daintily over David’s prone body and ran the wrong way down the hallway in search of garden doors. He skipped into the bedroom, saw what he assumed was a dead Tara in a pool of blood, and passed out cold at the foot of the bed.

Franco rushed in after Anton and fell to her side. His heart sank, she looked petrified, wide eyes stared at the array of scalpels on the bedside table. The bastard was going to cut her up; a cold shiver went down his spine, if they had been moments later?

He tore off the masking tape and fell across her body, holding her, kissing her, wiping her face, trying to clear away the red liquid.

“Hush baby, you’re ok, we’re here now, it’s all ok.”

She was shaking, he tried to soothe her as his fingers pulled at the ties, he couldn’t get the bindings off her quick enough. There was another commotion going on in the hall, he wondered if David had woken up. Sure the others could cope; he carried on tending to Tara.

As Michael and Seb were tying David up, a battalion of police in full combat gear charged in the front and back doors of the flat, simultaneously. It was a scene straight out of an embassy siege.

Slight overkill, Michael thought. They were all under arrest.

Chapter Seventy-One

“Did I miss something? at what stage did Maria die? What was she doing there anyway, Miss Bloody Busybody?”

“No, no, she wasn’t there… you great pillock!” Anton was great but he wasn’t the brightest, sighed Seb.

“The police were investigating her death, a suicide, that’s why they followed us.”

They’d spent hours in the police station being questioned. The investigation turned from Maria to David. It seemed that they had accidentally solved a few unsolved murders from the past; the pictures in the den had the police very excited.

Back at Franco’s apartment, Anton was dishing out tea and brandy again. They huddled around the coffee table in much the same positions they had been in hours earlier, planning the raid. They didn’t want to leave each other.

Tara had been held overnight in hospital for observation, she seemed relatively unharmed, but after the drugs she’d been given, the Doctors wanted to keep an eye on her. The gang had tried to visit after they were released from the police station, but were shooed away by nurses and told to come back tomorrow; she needed sleep.

“My own brother… I can’t believe he could be capable of such a thing!” Helen was mortified. “I know he’s strange, we never really got on… but how did he ever turn out like this? Poor T, I hope he rots in hell.”

“That’s where devils like to be,” said Seb, under his breath. He was ashamed that he’d fallen for David and wondered if he’d been next on his list.

“Don’t beat yaself up ’bout it, babes,” soothed Josie. “’e’s gone now; will be banged up for a long time for all those murders, never mind what he did to T.”

“Unless he gets off for diminished responsibility or being a minor at the time of the offenses,” corrected Michael.

David was a slippery fish and he could afford the best lawyers. This was not over for a long time yet, he feared. They would all have a lot to go through with the trial, especially Tara.

Franco sat quietly, seeing Tara like that had upset him to the core. He wanted to murder David with his own hands. Marie dead and then Tara almost killed. Life was too short; he would see Tara tomorrow and ask her to marry him. He was never going to let her out of his sight again.

With a flourish of bravado, he said it out loud, announcing it to the gang, as if by telling them, it would set it into action. It certainly did. They all went bananas with excitement for him.

“YES,” they cheered in unison, smothering him with congratulations, welcoming the good news.

“Get out the champagne Anton, I’m getting married,” enthused Franco.

“The Sporjakk boys are gonna love this, you’re gonna have to walk down the aisle to ‘Gotta See Her,’” giggled Josie.

“She’s got to say yes first,” pointed out Seb.

“Oooh, I’ve always wanted to be a bridesmaid,” sighed Anton dreamily.

Chapter Seventy-Two

Helen paced the length of Tara’s hospital bed, hissing and muttering to herself. They were alone.

Bending over her friend, leaning in close, she whispered into Tara’s ear as she slept.

“You little bitch. I tried to warn him but he didn’t pick up the phone. We nearly had you… Lady Fucking Muck… next time we will.”

Tara began to turn in her sleep, the noise waking her. Helen straightened up, turned, and walked quietly to the door.

Before closing it behind her, she hissed,

“BITCH!!’

~~ The End ~~

THE DAVID TRILOGY

by S C Cunningham

The Penance List

Unfinished Business

For My Sins

www.sccunningham.com