Chapter Twelve
Finn
Damn it. This was going way too fast. Supersonic. Cillian and I had never told anyone we’d dated about Galahad, yet here was our new woman, jumping down our throats about it.
She was piecing it all together in an instant.
And her big brain was still working. I could almost hear the cogs of her mind turning as we reached Andrew’s apartment block.
We rode the elevator in silence. I glanced at Cillian. He had the same steely expression I saw in my own reflection.
Andrew just appeared furious. He and Chelsea had been going strong.
This was their first row to my knowledge, and it was a biggie.
But at least he was open to showing Rebecca the kill wall.
Perhaps, like us, he could see there was little point in arguing.
It was easier to just show the headstrong beauty what was what.
Andrew unlocked his apartment door and ushered us in.
It was clean and tidy, per usual, with polished floors, neat kitchen, and views of the city.
But now it had a woman’s touch—a bunch of white peonies on the table, the scent of vanilla, and a pair of leopard print high-heeled stilettoes were tucked in the shoe rack.
“This way,” Andrew said.
We followed him to his study. He opened the door and went straight to a drink cabinet where he poured a good inch of whiskey. “There it is.”
Rebecca stopped in front of the wall. It was a mass of information. Photographs, mainly headshots, some with names, some without. There were names without pictures. Countries and cities connected with pieces of string to some of the names and blank cards with question marks.
She moved to the center and peered at Ranson’s photograph that had a heavy black cross marking through it. Beneath it were several blank images, string linking them to Ranson and countries—Romania, Kosovo, Armenia, Albania—and then more names and photographs.
Albania had a cross through it.
“What do the crosses mean?” Rebecca asked.
“Dead,” I said. “No longer polluting the earth.”
She touched Albania; it had Candy Floss written on it now. “And this was Chelsea’s mother?”
“No, that was a woman who was dealing in young Albanian women. Bringing them to the UK on false pretenses and then allowing them to be drugged up so bad they could be raped day and night for money. That’s who Candy Floss was.
Chelsea’s mother was impersonating her to bring these bastards down,” I said, desperate for Rebecca to understand. “Which we now know.”
She traced the string up to Ranson again and then down to Romania. “And is this who she was working with?”
“We’re not sure if Candy Floss knew this person,” I said. “But they were certainly doing the same thing, just from different Eastern European countries.”
“Sick fucks,” she muttered. “And who are these people?” She continued along, away from the human trafficking section.
“They’re on our watch list,” Cillian said, folding his arms and rocking back on his heels. “They’re all guilty as fuck, and we’re waiting to see what their trials bring.”
“But…how do you know they’re guilty?”
“Some information we’ve sourced. Mitch is great because of his contacts at the police,” I said.
“And we also work with, if that’s how you could describe it, The Convicts.” Andrew stepped forward.
“The who?” Rebecca turned to him.
“Ex-cons,” he said. “They keep their ear to the ground inside and outside the prison walls. Pass on a lot of useful information to us even if they are a shifty bunch of crazies with dubious morals.”
Rebecca took a deep breath, peered at a few names and faces that had crosses through then moved to the opposite end of the wall. “Ah, I know him.” She stabbed her finger at Ian Bateman. “What a nasty bit of work.”
“You do?” I asked.
“Yes, he was an alibi for Reg Jacks.”
My eyes widened. “The guy we think is stalking you?”
“He told the police they were together, at some bar in Birmingham, when the robbery on the old couple happened, but at the last moment, just before he took the stand he backed out, said he couldn’t remember if he’d got the date right.
It was one of the reasons Reg Jacks went down.
Without an alibi, the evidence stacked up was pretty damning. ”
“Reg Jacks,” Andrew said, scribbling on a card and then pinning it next to Ian Bateman. “Okay, another asshole.”
“So we presume they hate each other now?” I said. “Ian and Reg.”
She shrugged. “Get Reg’s visitor documentation from the prison, you’ll soon find out if their friendship survived it. These criminals either hate each other or they’re loyal, not much in between.”
“Fuck, she’s smart,” Andrew said with a huff.
“Sexiest thing about her.” I set a kiss on her cheek and breathed in the petal scent of her skin.
She turned to me and squeezed my arm. “I’m not sure how I feel about all of this. I’m a lawyer, I believe in the system, the Crown Court, yet—”
“Yet you see it has its flaws,” I said.
A line had formed between her brows. “I find injustice the most frustrating thing about my job. Either someone going to prison who shouldn’t or for too long, or someone getting away with murder, quite literally on occasion.”
“Which is exactly how we feel.” I studied her. “We’re the good guys, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” She managed a small smile.
“It’s okay.” Cillian came to her other side. “We’ve shown you what we do now, so there’s no more secrets.”
“I’m not good with secrets.”
“We can tell.” I smoothed my palm down her bare arm.
Cillian looked at me, and I recognized the glint in his eyes.
“There is one other thing,” Cillian said. “That we shouldn’t keep from you.”
“There is?” Her frown deepened.
“Yeah, but we’ll have to go back to Rose Cottage to show you,” he said.
She laughed softly. “It’s not a cottage, you know, it’s mock Tudor. Likely Victorian.”
“We like the name.” I knotted my fingers with hers. “Do you want to see this last thing?”
“See what, though?” She nibbled on her bottom lip.
“I promise you’ll like it,” Cillian said.
“Tell me.”
“We’d rather show you.” I nodded at Andrew. “See you later, mate, hope you sort it out with Chelsea.”
He muttered something I didn’t catch and sloshed more whiskey into his tumbler.
Twenty minutes later, we were climbing the stairs at Rose Cottage.
“Hey, guys.” Lizie waved from across the hallway.
“You using the room?” I asked.
“No.” She yanked a chain attached to a semi-naked man’s nipples. “This naughty boy doesn’t deserve that kind of pleasure.”
“I’m so sorry, Mistress. I’ll try and do better.”
“Shut up.” She slapped his face. “I didn’t give you permission to speak.”
He let out a whimper.
She grinned. “You go and have fun. It’s all set up.”
“What is all set up?” Rebecca asked, seemingly unfazed by what she’d just seen. God, she was cool.
“All in good time.” Cillian stopped outside what we called the playroom. It was for the sex workers, business, their head office of sorts, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy it, too, hell, we’d paid for it, after all.
“But first.” Cillian dipped into his pocket, “I want you to wear this.”
“ We want you to,” I said.
“Yeah, sorry, we.” He pulled out a slim leather collar. It had a silver hoop with a delicate padlock dangling from it.
“What does it mean?” she asked, sending her attention between us.
“It means you belong to us, that we’re your Masters, in charge of your pleasure, your pain, your entire experience in this room.” My cock swelled at the thought of what was to come.
“Kinky, huh?” She touched the padlock. “And do you belong to me?”
“Absolutely.” Cillian swiped his lips over hers. “But having you wear this, a sign of your trust in us, it’s so fucking hot my cock is hard as a rock already.”
“Is it now.” She slid her hand to the front of his pants and cupped him. “Oh, so you are.” Her grin was confident, and she turned around and lifted her silky hair. “You’d better put the collar on then.”
As Cillian fastened the small buckle, my attention roamed her sexy curves. Soon she’d be naked, begging for it, her skin flushed with desire and her pussy soaked with arousal.
“Comfortable?” Cillian asked, turning her to face him.
“Yes.” She gestured over his shoulder. “So it’s a room you wanted to show me.”
“A playroom.” I opened the door. “Let’s go in.”
“Playroom,” she whispered.
“Sometimes known as the pleasure room, too.” Cillian urged her to step in.
It smelled of the orange cleaning fluid, and today the thin scarlet curtains were closed, giving the room a red glow.
Rebecca said nothing and walked up to a blood-red painted wall and studied a shelf lined with butt plugs of various sizes and tubes of lube. Next to it was a selection of handcuffs, ball gags, and blindfolds.
Cillian had closed and locked the door and was watching Rebecca’s reaction with the same anticipation I was.
There was still a chance she’d decline to play. This room was a lot. She moved past a spanking bench, trailing her finger on the leather, and to the fireplace. It wasn’t lit, though it was stacked, and next to it was a wicker basket full of whips and floggers and a cat-o’-nine-tails.
She picked up the cat-o’-nine-tails and swished it through the air.
My cock pressed up against my jeans, and my heart rate picked up. Was that what she wanted to start with? I hoped so. The thought of her ass bright red was almost enough to have me coming in my pants.
“You like the cat?” Cillian asked. He reached up and lit a candle on the mantel. It was a special one, the wax didn’t become burning hot, instead it could be used for sensual massage.
“Is that what it’s called?”
“It stings, like a cat scratch.” He blew out the match and then cupped her cheeks. “We can play with whatever you want, whatever takes your fancy.”
She didn’t reply.
“You ever been flogged as you orgasm?” he asked.
She swallowed and stared into his eyes. “No.”
“It’s intense. Fucking fun, too.” He grinned. “We can give you that.”
She looked at me, and I was drawn to her, my need to touch her too great to ignore.
“We are going to give you that.” I could see by her wide pupils and her hardening nipples, poking at her top, that she wanted it.
She wanted it all.
“Starting now.” I slotted in behind her and wedging my erection against the crack of her ass.
She whimpered slightly and pressed onto me.
Cillian caught her mouth in a kiss, and I set to work on the button of her pants and then drew down the zipper. Her flesh was warm and soft as I revealed her ass, pushing the material down her thighs.
After she’d kicked them away, only a tiny black thong hampered my access to her pussy. But I left it in place, for now.
“Fuck, you’re sexy,” I murmured and cupped her ass. The perfect handful.
She spun in Cillian’s arms to face me. A rise of color had caught her cheeks, and her breaths had quickened. “Finn,” she said softly and reached for me.
I took her in my arms, my cock surging, and kissed her thoroughly.
Cillian made quick work of removing her top and bra. I filled my hands with her breasts, the flesh heavy and sumptuous, her nipples solid little points.
“This way,” Cillian said, moving her, and in turn me, to the spanking bench. “Lie down.”
I lifted her so she was seated on it and then urged her onto her back. “Do you feel vulnerable?” I asked.
She blinked several times. “Yes.”
“You are.” I tipped my head. “Because we can do whatever we want to you now we have you naked in our room.” I took her right nipple and squeezed it, kept squeezing until she gasped. “But I promise you’ll enjoy every moment.”
She shifted slightly on the bench.
“Comfy?” Cillian asked, reaching for the candle.
She nodded and eyed it.
“You ready then?” he said.
Without waiting for an answer, he poured melted wax onto her left nipple.
“Oh!”
“It’s hot but it won’t burn.” He smoothed her hair from her brow. “Enjoy the sensation.”
I massaged the oil around her nipple. Its delicate pliancy had lust shooting into my veins. I wanted to own these breasts, I wanted to stake my claim, come on them…and I would.
“Dear Lord above, you have the best tits I’ve ever seen,” I murmured.
“So fucking perfect,” Cillian agreed. He carefully tipped the candle again, the milky, oily liquid covering her opposite nipple.
“Feel good?” I asked, massaging it in and tugging the nipple.
“Yes.” She closed her eyes.
Cillian filled her navel, then set down the candle and dragged off his t-shirt.
I fingered her belly button, spreading the sweetly scented oil around.
When Cillian filled his hands with her breasts. I placed both of mine on her belly and spread the oil to her pubic hair, over the rise of her hips and down her soft thighs. The sensation of four male hands worshipping her would be intense and just what we needed to get this show started.