Chapter Six
Terry checked the time on the computer in his home studio.
He’d had clients back-to-back since early that morning.
Ever since he’d notified his mailing list that he’d finished the studio job and had more availability, the calls for appointments had been non-stop.
He hadn’t even had the chance to update his website yet. I’ll give it a couple more days.
Working with private clients was so much more exhausting, in his opinion. Each one had specific needs and he had to move from one to the next, get in a different zone as he worked to give them the perfect shot, to capture their unique essence.
Six o’clock had come and gone, and he was anxious to finish up.
He’d only agreed to take the one last client because they’d said it was a time-sensitive thing and had offered to pay him double his usual session fee to get it done.
The money had shown up in his PayPal account immediately, so there were no worries there.
Phil hadn’t been very happy because it was their big night with Gerard, Marco and Marty, but deferred to Terry when it came to his career unless he requested Phil’s advice.
Terry wasn’t so thrilled either, but with Phil out of work still, he’d decided to take the job.
Of course, he didn’t let on to his Master the ultimate reason behind his decision.
Phil’s frustration at not being the main provider was obvious to Terry even though Phil tried to hide it.
Terry had just played up the emergency nature of the client’s request to mask the real reason.
Does that count toward the non-honesty thing? Phil had warned Terry that their dynamic would be a constant thing but would also keep them solid in the long run. Taking care of the little things as they came up was much better than letting them grow into seemingly insurmountable monsters over time.
Even though Terry had only been back from the film set for a few days, he had to admit it had been great to have Phil at home. They would message back and forth, and Phil would bring him coffee and snacks in between shoots. Phil was adamant that Terry eat regularly. The attention was amazing.
Terry checked his lenses, his lights. He didn’t want to be aggravated before the client even arrived, but it was already closing in on ten minutes past the appointed time.
The last thing he wanted was to be delayed any longer than necessary.
Phil wasn’t the only one who was anxious to get their night started.
As it was, Phil had gotten a call about thirty minutes before from his friend Ellery’s assistant.
She’d said that Ellery had a lead on a job, but that he needed to come pick up the script right away, that there were several other producers looking at the project too. He’d only left a few minutes before.
“I’ll run down and grab it real quick. I’ll be back by the time you’ve finished.”
Terry perched on the edge of a wooden stool, one of the few he kept in the studio in case clients brought along a guest. He glanced again at the computer screen. Twelve minutes past. A loud knock sounded. Terry rolled his eyes. Finally.
He padded to the door to let his client in. Since his studio was a converted garage, the entrance was along the side of his home, well off the street. It was perfect for doing business in a private neighborhood.
Terry gasped as he swung the door wide. “Anson?” His blood chilled, stomach dropping as someone from behind Anson stepped out from the shadows.
Master Joe.
Phil finished filling his gas tank, cursing himself for not taking care of it sooner.
He’d let it run down too far which was not like him at all.
It’s the lack of a daily routine. Blaming it on his unemployed status might be an excuse, but it did hold merit.
He straightened after screwing the cap back on and snapping the fuel door closed.
“Hey, Phil. How’s it going?”
Phil stared in confusion at the person who had driven up to the pump next to him.
Ellery?
“I thought you were at your office waiting for me already. I must’ve misunderstood what your assistant said.”
Ellery had already opened the door to his sedan and was sliding out. He shut the door behind him then took a few steps, bringing him closer to Phil.
“I don’t understand.” Ellery frowned. “Why would I be waiting for you? I just left my office, I’m headed home.”
Phil sucked in a sharp breath, his gut twisting. “But who was that…your assistant is Kelly, right?”
“Was. I caught her going through my computer files a week or so ago and fired her on the spot.”
“Oh shit.” Phil raced to the driver side door and yanked it open. He shoved his keys into the starter, turning it right as Ellery banged on the window. Phil’s hands shook so hard he could barely press the button to lower it.
“What’s wrong?”
Phil shook his head, his breath catching. “Terry. Have to get home.”
“You think he’s in trouble?”
Phil couldn’t control the trembling in his voice. “I know he is.”
Ellery gave a quick nod. “I’ll follow you in case the cops don’t get there quick enough.”
Phil only nodded back. As soon as he hit the street, racing his way back to his sub, his lover and partner, he activated his phone through the wireless connection in his vehicle.
Once he’d given his address and the nature of his emergency—embellishing it somewhat to get the police to respond with urgency—he gripped the steering wheel harder and drove as fast as he could without being reckless.
I’m on my way, baby. Hold on.
Terry twisted around, running for the door that connected the studio to the house. The air whooshed from his lungs as he was slammed to the ground. He kicked and struggled, screaming until a hot, sweaty hand was slapped over his mouth. He bit it and was kicked in the ribs for his troubles.
“Shut up, you little bitch.”
Master Joe. Fuck.
The heavy combat boots had certainly done the trick. With Anson on top of him and Master Joe towering over them, there wasn’t the slightest chance he could physically fight them off.
Think, Terry.
He went lax beneath Anson. It was then he noticed the little shit’s erection wedged in his crease, the hardness obvious even through the thick fabric of his jeans.
Gross. It was nothing like the fantasy he’d played out with Phil, the man he loved more than anything.
Goddammit. The call. Phil wouldn’t be back for at least an hour.
Maybe he could talk his way out of whatever they had planned for him?
Doubtful. He had to think of something, a distraction so he could run, get away.
“Roll to the side, slave, and get his hands behind his back.”
Terry spied the open cuffs in his peripheral vision. No. Can’t let them restrain me. He had no choice but to fight them again. Everything he’d ever heard or read about kidnapping situations said to never let yourself be tied up or incapacitated in any way. Kidnapping? Jesus.
Terry gritted out a scream through his teeth as he struggled once again, doing everything he could to dislodge Anson from on top of him so he could hopefully scramble away.
If only I could grab something to defend myself with.
He was kicked again in the same spot, tears springing to his eyes from the pain.
If the fucker kept at it, his ribs would be broken in no time, if they weren’t already.
Master Joe squatted down and got in his face, his rancid breath and spittle making Terry want to vomit.
“Hey. Slut. Knock it off. There’s nothing you can do to stop this.
It’s happening. I have your new Master waiting in the van outside, and if I have to call him in here to make you behave like a good little slave, you’ll be very sorry.
” He gave Terry a disturbing leer. “Not that I wouldn’t mind seeing that.
” Joe stood. “But we don’t have time for any bullshit right now.
Gotta get you outta here before Prince Charming comes back.
God, what an idiot he is. Never questioned my sister’s story at all. ”
The mention of Phil was like a punch to the gut. Terry screwed his eyes shut, the tears falling freer, but this time they were driven by the thought he might never see Phil again.
Both Anson and Joe yanked him to his feet, Anson gripping his upper arms while Joe yanked his hands behind his back.
He twisted in their grasp, terrified at what would happen if the cuffs were to snap shut, trapping his wrists.
Joe whirled him around, tearing him from Anson’s hold, then backhanded him across the face.
Terry’s head snapped back as he stumbled away from his attacker.
He stopped his backward motion by grabbing the edge of one of the wooden stools.
Yes.
In one fluid motion, Terry grabbed the seat of the stool and swung it wide, the solid wooden legs connecting with the side of Joe’s face, the asshole’s nose breaking, blood flying everywhere.
Joe landed hard on the cement of Terry’s garage, a thin throw rug the only thing padding it.
An ear-piercing scream and a crack sounded as Joe’s wrist snapped from the weight of his fall.
Terry winced, but quickly faced Anson to do the same to him if necessary. He stopped short at the sight of his nemesis. Anson sobbed as he stared down at Joe rolling on the ground in agony. He jerked his head up, locking eyes with Terry. The expression he radiated at Terry was one of clear pain.
“Oh God. Thank you, dude. Thank you so much. Get the fuck outta here before that Neanderthal in the van comes in. I’m gone.”
As if Anson had conjured the beast to life, said Neanderthal burst in, taking in the chaos around him.
“You fucking pricks! I’ll kill you!”