48. Chapter 48
Cameron
The leather strands of a flogger softly whisper as I run them over Justin’s stomach.
They slide around his cock, making him whimper and strain against the restraints.
I reward him with a strike on his already red thighs.
One of the strands must hit his balls because he cries out and a drop of pre-cum pulses out of his tip.
“Beautiful.” My voice is raspy with need. I’ve been teasing him for a while, and in doing so, I’ve also been teasing myself. My cock is just as hard as Justin’s. The difference is, I get to choose when I come.
I taste him and moan as his salty flavor explodes on my tongue.
When I pull away, Justin mumbles something, but his complaint is muffled by the gag in his mouth.
He’s lying in my bed with his ankles and wrists attached to bed posts, his entire body at my disposal.
Warmth spreads through my chest as I look over the marks littering his skin.
My marks. Bruises, old and new, most of them finger shaped.
Dark red welts. Bright red skin, freshly sensitized by the flogger.
“So fucking beautiful.”
Justin’s cheeks flash with color. He’s still not used to receiving compliments. I really have to work harder to change that.
“You are,” I press. “Inside and out.” So pure. Mine to taint.
As I slowly stroke my cock, my phone chimes on the bedside table. Not with a message, but an alert from the security system. I frown, weighing my need to come right now with the need for security. It’s probably some sort of glitch.
But what if it’s not?
I don’t make it to the phone.
There’s a loud crash from the front door, followed by shouting and pounding footsteps.
“What the…”
The bedroom door bursts open. Men in tactical gear flood in. “POLICE! Show me your hands!”
I blink stupidly, staring straight into the barrel of the nearest rifle. There are several, all aimed at me. Fuck.
“Get on the floor! Right now!”
My joints feel locked, muscles frozen, but I force myself to comply. I really don’t want to get shot.
The floor is cold against my naked body. At least my erection has vanished. Having a gun aimed at you does that to a person.
“Hands behind your back! Juarez, get the victim.”
The victim? Cold metal burns my wrists as cuffs click locked. There are no victims here.
The bed creaks. I hear ropes being cut and quiet, comforting words. “Everything’s okay, sir. You’re safe. We’re going to get you out of here.”
Oh. They mean Justin. My mind finally catches up on the situation. The cops are here. They have me in cuffs, and they have Justin. Fuck. This is bad. This is very fucking bad.
“I… I don’t…” Justin sounds confused. “What’s going on?”
“Everything’s okay, sir,” the officer repeats. “Just come with me. I’ll bring you to safety.” Their voices grow distant as they take Justin out of the room. Away from me. Because he’s the victim.
More feet stomp around, tracking mud over my floors.
Assholes. “Get him up,” someone orders. Gloved hands grip my arms and pull me up.
One of the cops holds sweatpants in front of me, and the other two help me step into them.
Then they pull a hoodie over my head. The empty sleeves flap around me ridiculously as they march me out of the house.
I don’t see Justin anywhere, but there’s an ambulance parked among the cop cars blocking my driveway.
Maybe he’s inside? I try to peer in, but the cops escorting me roughly yank me toward the nearest SUV.
They shove me in so hard I stumble and bang my head on the door frame.
“Oh, sorry, sir,” one of the cops says. He’s smirking and doesn’t sound sorry at all. Jerk.
My head pulses in time with my racing heart.
I do my best to calm down, to think rationally, but the alarm bells going off in my head are making it impossible.
I’m fucked. If Justin talks, I’m going to jail.
How did they even get in? This wasn’t a house search they’d launch if they had a warrant.
The strike team blowing through my door and the whole shebang means they have something solid against me, enough to risk unlawful entry.
Or they knew Justin was here.
Fuck. I’ve been careless, taking him to Indulgence.
Someone must have told the cops they saw Justin with me.
Rossi recognized him, which means other people could have, too.
I don’t think the Triton Syndicate leader himself would rat me out, not after making a public show of having my back, but there are still plenty of people who hate me.
Fucking Small. This is all his fault. If he hadn’t spread those stupid rumors…
I bet he’s rubbing his hands with glee right now. He’ll finally have me where he wants me, forced to choose between twenty years in jail and ratting out everyone I know. What he doesn’t understand is that if I talk, I’m dead, so it’s really no choice at all. Besides, I still have hope.
Justin said he wanted me. That he chose to stay. Will he say that to the cops too? Will he lie for me?
Or was this his doing after all? I’ve given him a lot of freedom in the past few days. He might have had a chance to snatch my phone and make a quick call.
The thought hurts more than I care to admit. Did Justin betray me? I want to believe in him, I really do, but it’s hard to when I’m cuffed in a cop car and my future is bleak as fuck.
Alright, Cameron. Stop whining and start doing something.
I can’t escape. There are too many cops around, I have no way of getting out of the cuffs, let alone out of the car, and I’m no Rambo. I’ll have to do this by the book. Obey, claim innocence, and stick to it no matter what they throw at me.
Other than what Justin tells them, they have no proof of any crimes. I wonder if I could somehow fight his accusations even if he talks. I’ll definitely need a lawyer. Good thing I already hired one to take on the lying piece of shit.
At the station, they leave me in the interrogation room for what feels like hours.
“I want a lawyer,” I tell the camera watching me from the corner and whoever is standing behind the one-way glass.
“I won’t say a single word without him present.
” There’s no response. “And bring me some water.” I’m no law expert, but I bet they’re obligated to provide for my basic needs.
Sure enough, a few minutes later a young deputy places a plastic cup on the table, then disappears without a word.
Fair enough. I can wait. They’re trying to make me nervous, but I can’t possibly get any more nervous than I already am.
The wait is just giving me time to compose myself, to put a mask in place that will hide my anxiety.
More time passes, and still no one comes.
I’m forced to ask for a bathroom break. Two deputies bring me, still cuffed, to a holding cell.
One stays in the room while I use the toilet, like I’m some dangerous psycho who just went on a murder rampage.
I’m tempted to point out how ridiculous it is, then remind myself I said I wouldn’t say anything without the lawyer.
Where is he, anyway? He should be here already.
Finally, Small arrives, looking like the cat who just got the canary. “Mr. Matthews,” he says with a smirk. “We meet again.”
I snort. He’s such a textbook douche. He should be the one in handcuffs for being a walking cliché. “Where’s my lawyer?”
He shrugs, smiling innocently. “Bad traffic? I thought we could talk before he gets here.”
“I’m not telling you a thing.”
“Fine, you’ll just listen then.” He sits down across the table and steeples his fingers.
“The thing is, you’re going to jail for a very long time.
Your victim, Justin Palmer, told us everything.
How you kidnapped him. Tortured him. We have a full rape kit that will no doubt match your DNA. He’s going to testify.”
Each sentence is like another nail in my coffin.
I swallow hard, fighting to keep my expression level.
Small gives me ample time to say something, but if he thinks he can wait me out, he’s got another thing coming.
If Justin really did talk, it’s even more important for me to keep my mouth shut until I can talk to the lawyer.
If Justin talked.
Despite Small’s proud proclamations, I’m not convinced.
Something doesn’t add up. He said Justin told them I kidnapped him, but that didn’t happen.
Justin knows it was Mikhail who took him from his dorm, yet Small didn’t mention that.
I also didn’t torture Justin. Not really.
It was just fun, and he enjoyed it. He said he liked me.
Small’s confident. Almost too confident, as if it were just an act.
“I can help you,” he says, leaning so hard into the good cop role I cringe on behalf of every good cop ever. God, has he ever gotten anyone to confess? He’s so bad at it.
“But you have to help me in return,” he continues.
He pushes a yellow legal pad toward me. “Give me something to work with, Mr. Matthews, and I can convince the DA to offer you a plea deal. I know your clients are into all kinds of illegal activities, and you’re well clued in to the specifics.
After all, the information you provided in the case of Giovanni Ventresca has proven invaluable in disrupting his trafficking operation. ”
“I never gave you any information, and you damn well know it,” I blurt out, too pissed to hold my tongue. “You falsified those reports. You’re the one who’s going to need that plea deal, Small. Not me. You don’t have shit against me.”
Barely leashed fury flashes in Small’s eyes. It’s gone in a moment, his expression smooth again, but I know I got him.
“We’ll see,” he grits out before storming out of the room. I’m all alone again, my ass aching from hours on the uncomfortable chair, but I feel like I won this round. Now the only thing that matters is Justin.
Did he talk?