Chapter Twenty-FourWest
Chapter Twenty-Four
West
"Dude! Chill out," Law groans for the dozenth time. "They are fine! They are sipping tea with the most sought-after male teacher at our school. The worst that could happen is your girl, or your sister, might fall in love with the sleazy fucker."
I glare at the asshole who is doing absolutely nothing to calm my nerves.
"You’re making it worse, Law," Brett growls under his breath.
"Fuck," I swear, collapsing onto the recliner beside Brett's. Law is lazing on the bed, legs spread with his suit pants unbuttoned and chest bare. "Get dressed."
Law sighs. "They said they would collect us after 10."
"It's 10 now!"
"Exactly!" he sits up, arms flung out to the sides. "Who the hell turns up at the exact time they said they would? I give it another hour before a knock sounds."
No sooner than the words leave his mouth, someone taps at the door in a practiced tune .
Law's eyes widen as I raise a brow at him.
"Fuck!" he curses, jumping into action. My lips curl into a smile as he tugs his shirt on back to front to start with before cursing again and fixing it. He has opted for a baby blue button-down shirt. Brett wears black on black, while I went for a classic white.
Brett gets the door while I enjoy the Lawson show. His socks are on, and he is searching frantically for his shoes.
"Next to the door," Brett says as he returns, an absurdly muscular fella with a bald head and full-faced black mask follows.
"Cheers, my brother," Law says, brushing shoulders with the incredible hulk. With his face fully covered, it's hard to get a read on him, but from the thinning of his eyes at the casual brush-by from Law, he is not a fan of unsolicited touches.
The hulk turns to face me, nodding his head in acknowledgment of my status.
"Master Mazzuchelli," he mumbles in a voice as burly as his being. "We have been wondering when you would grace us with your presence."
I stare down the big fella from my relaxed position on the recliner. "And what exactly is this establishment I will be gracing?" I ask eventually .
His eyes widen a fraction. "Mr. Mazzuchelli has not discussed the, ah… specifics of The Den with you?"
I fold my arms. "Nope. Care to enlighten me?"
The giant shuffles nervously, his eyes shifting from me to Brett. He gulps, returning to face me.
"Perhaps it is wiser to see for yourself, Master Mazzuchelli."
"Then let's get going," I stand abruptly. "What did you say your name was?"
"You may call me Brute," he says, eyes down. "Code names are essential in the Den. Yours have been decided by Boss… your father."
I sigh. This would be good. "Let's have it then."
Brute clears his throat. "Master Leacher will be known as Spider," he inclines his head at Brett. "Master Hawthorn, you are Joker."
Law nods as he returns to the room, shoes on and somehow presentable despite his mad dash moments before.
Clearing his throat, Brute lowers his eyes again and winces. "And you, Master Mazzuchelli, will be Baby Duke."
Instantly, I'm in his face. "The fuck did you just call me? "
Brute's chest shudders against mine. Now who is the baby?
"Boss said…" he trails off.
I snort, pushing Brute aside as I storm into the bathroom and slam the door behind me. I lean against the vanity, my knuckles whitening as I clench them tightly against the pristine surface. Of-fucking-course, he would do that. How he knew Roe's pet name for me in the first place was beyond me, but the fact that he has now used it against me has my blood boiling. How I hated that nickname the first time Roe called me it, though, I must admit, I have grown fond of her pet name for me. Especially when I am buried balls deep in her cunt.
But my father using it? What the fuck is he playing at? Is he trying to belittle me? Put me in my place? Let me know what he really thinks of me?
I pull out my phone, annoyed that there is still no message from Roe. She did say she would let me know when they were in the penthouse. Pissed at myself for not getting Trent's number beforehand, I sling Roe a quick message.
West: Heading into the lion's den no w
I wait a few seconds for a reply before chiding myself for being a whipped cunt and pocketing the device.
Returning to the others, I find Brett and Law have each donned a black mask and are standing by the door with Brute.
He hands me my own mask, identical to that of Brett and Laws; a half mask designed to conceal the top half of our faces and, supposedly, our identities with it.
"Why are our masks different?" I ask, slipping the mask in place.
"The full masks are for Staff only. The lady visitors wear white. Boss and his second, Sir, are the only guests allowed to remain unmasked," Brute explains.
I grunt in acknowledgment.
"Let's do this," I say.
We bypass the guest elevator and head to a door by the stairs signed STAFF ONLY. Brute pulls out a key and unlocks the door. He gestures for us to proceed him into a tiny, plain room. He locks the door behind us.
We stand shoulder to shoulder, glancing at each other with raised brows. Brett shrugs. Brute shuffles past us to a secondary door, this one the shiny silver of an elevator. A keypad sits to the left of the doors, where he enters a code, his broad back blocking our view. Bummer. That could have been handy to know.
With a ding, the door slides open to reveal a large elevator fashioned with deep, midnight black tiles, golden highlights, and a gothic chandelier to dimly light the area. We shuffle in, Brute going directly to the wall of buttons. He selects the one labeled with a golden, bold 'D'. The doors slide closed and a slight drop in my stomach lets me know we are descending.
Unlike the cheerful songs you would expect to hear in an elevator, a haunting tune of deep and slow drumming was accompanied by an unusually melancholy violin. Not one to dwell on intuition, I am suddenly overcome with an uncomfortable, almost sickening feeling in my gut that something bad was about to happen. I rub my chest, willing the sensation to disappear. Brett, noticing my discomfort, nods solemnly. He feels it too.
With a soft ding, the doors open and we enter a long hallway with the same dark yet classy appearance of the elevator. Brute takes the lead, Law following unquestioningly. Brett and I share another look before he, too, walks away. After scolding myself for being a pussy, I take quick steps to catch up to the others.
At the end of the hall is another door and keypad. Again, Brute blocks our view as he enters the code.
The dull thumping of distant club-like music fills the hall as the door opens. Law glances back with a grin, obviously approving of the music choice.
"I must admit, I am going to be a little disappointed if all this is, is a club for rich old fuckers to reminisce their younger and finer days," he says in a low voice, leaning close to Brett and I to prevent Brute from overhearing.
I grunt, not at all convinced that his new theory is accurate.
"This way," Brute says, leading us towards a pair of men even larger than him. "You will need to hand over your phones and submit to a pat down before entry is allowed."
Brett hands his over unquestioningly. Law hesitates briefly before complying.
I, however, am not going to fall in line so easily.
"You do remember who I am, right?" I demand, staring up at Brute.
He lowers his gaze, "Of course, Baby Duke. Unfortunately, I must insist on your compliance. There are zero exemptions to this rule. "
Fuming, I slam my phone onto the countertop. Unperturbed, one of the giants snatches it up before I can change my mind and tosses it unceremoniously into an open locker. He closes it up with a flick of the wrist, turns the key, and tosses it onto the counter in front of me. I grab it with a glare. His stony eyes stare back, calm and collected, obviously not the first time he has been faced with such a look.
I move to stand with Law as Brett receives his thorough pat down without complaint.
As we wait, the doors leading back to the elevator open, and a large group walks in, led by a man not even close to Brute’s size, however, his muscular form flexes beneath his too-tight uniform. He wears a mask identical to Brutes.
The group is mostly men, their ages varying from middle-aged to older if the bald or greying hair and lifeless, lined skin beneath their own half-masks were anything to go by. The singular lady in their presence wears a white mask, as Brute had said the women do. She is wearing a tiny, thin, burgundy dress that looks more like a skimpy nightgown a younger woman would wear. Though seemingly the youngest in the group, I still estimated her age to be in the late thirties .
She eyes the three of us like we are prime scotch fillets accidentally shelved amongst mince and sausages. I shudder as her lips widen into a hungry smile; her eyes latched onto mine.
Disgusted, I sneer at her before turning back as Law receives his pat down, not nearly as comfortable as Brett had been.
"Watch it!" He exclaims when the guy cups his crutch. "What could I possibly stash between my balls and cock?"
I smirk before remembering I've yet to receive a ball fondle myself. Fucking fantastic.
The chattering group steps up to the desk, each handing over their phones and wallets without having been told. Obviously, they have been here before.
"You're up, Baby Duke," Law says, smacking me on the shoulder.
I curse as I move to stand before the guy doing the touching and feeling side of things.
"Arms up," he grumbles.
I reluctantly comply, my body tense and stomach taught as he runs his hands and fingers through every fucking crevasse of my body. I about punch the guy as my cock and balls are patted by the big fucker .
By the time it’s over, I am shaking like a damn leaf, half in a sickening disgust and half in anger.
"Me next, Rage! Me next!" The lady exclaims excitedly, brushing shoulders with me before standing with her legs and arms spread, the skirts of her dress rising dangerously high.
The guy, Rage, must smirk behind his mask because his eyes crinkle and sparkle. I feel sick to my stomach as he runs his hands over her body, tweaking her nipples as he cups her breasts and spends far too long between her thighs. The lady moans and giggles at his intrusions.
My lip curls, repulsed. I turn back to Brute and the others, Law and Brett, wearing similar looks of disgust.
"What's next, Brute?" I ask, eager to move on from this room.
He opens his mouth to reply, but the door from which we had entered opens again, and a frazzled Trent rushes through. His wide eyes scope the other group before falling on us.
"West!" he hisses, jogging over, his eyes alight.
"You are supposed to be with the girls!" I growl, meeting him halfway and grabbing him by the front of his unkempt button-up shirt. "Where are they?"
"I don't know!" he whispers urgently. My stomach drops .
"The fuck do you mean you don't know?"
Law and Brett join us while Brute waits impatiently by the double doors that undoubtedly lead to The Den proper.
"Ok, so I was running late, as you know, but I went straight to the café East told me about, where she said she and Roe would be waiting. The rush hour traffic was hectic, so I was even later arriving than I had said I would be. The doors were locked, but I could see someone still inside, so I knocked and hollered until she came over to talk to me. I described East and Roe to her and she said they had left hours ago.
"Assuming they had gotten sick of waiting, I went to the hotel. They said no one had collected the keys to the penthouse yet. I decided to wait there for the girls, assuming they must have decided to go to their day spa after all, but as night came and they didn't show, I set up my laptop and- you know how I'm good with computers, yeah?"
"Get on with it before I smash your teeth out," I growl, my nerves shot as the story progresses. My body is trembling, and my stomach is in knots because I know, I just know , the story is about to get worse.
"Ok, ok! So, I hacked into the city's security system." I raise an impressed eyebrow. I hadn't known he was that good. "Sure enough, they had left the café only half an hour after you guys had. They left with Mr. Foster, followed him into a side alley, and didn’t come out again.”
"The fuck do you mean they didn't come out!" I whisper yell, fully aware of the group and Brute glancing back at us in intrigue as our demeanors change.
"I’m getting there! Dude, you're choking me!"
Belatedly, I realize my grip on him has indeed tightened. I release him and clench my fists at my sides.
"I went there myself, to the alley. There is nothing down there except for a few dumpsters and some empty parking spaces. I checked the dumpsters, just in case. Fuck, that was the worst feeling, man. Not knowing if I was going to find their bodies tossed in the trash."
I want to hurl. Images of the bloodied and pale bodies of my sister and Roe flashed through my mind, vacant eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.
"There weren't there, West," Trent says, his hand raised as if to place it on my shoulder in comfort before he shakes his head and lets it drop. "Before I went to check the alley, before I had to confirm that they weren't… dead… I had watched more of the footage. Five minutes after they go down the alley, a van comes out. Fully blacked-out, tinted windows, creepy as fuck pedophile van."
"Where did it go?" Brett asks.
Trent looks back at me.
"Here. The van came here."