Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Three

Andy

I winced as I lowered myself into my seat. Jesus Christ, she’d fucked me good. I was already thinking up all the ways I’d pay her back, all the delicious ways I’d make her body worship mine. Submitting to Faye Devere wasn’t all that bad.

This arrangement might just fucking work.

There was only one seedy little fly left in the ointment, and I woke up my laptop to check on its status. With any luck we’d be home and dry, and life could carry on like it should have done three years ago, before that twisted sack of shit ever tempted her away. I pulled up his website and checked his events page, hoping at least some of them would have been cancelled. They would be if he had any sense in his pathetic skull.

But they weren’t. They were all still listed. Every fucking one of them.

Stupid fucking tosser.

Topaz flew through the door without so much as a proper knock. She was definitely getting too fucking big for her little boots.

“Haven’t you heard of privacy?” I snapped.

She caught her breath. “I’m sorry, Mr Morgan, but we’ve been looking for you everywhere. The dancefloor’s flooded, someone’s twisted an ankle over by the main stage, at least three bottles have been smashed by the bar, and Demelza’s lost some of her new induction members. We’ve both been looking for you. We couldn’t find you anywhere, either you or Faye.”

I held up a hand. “Alright, alright, just calm down.” I made to close the website, but the scrolling comments section at the bottom caught my eye.

Disgusting! Master Blake should be ashamed of himself. I hope she never goes back to him, you filthy fucking pimp!

I scrolled down, and amongst the gushing I loved it so much, best book ever, there was another.

Selling a woman for sex is never for love. Disgusted reader.

I could feel Topaz’s eyes on mine. “What is it, Mr Morgan?”

“Have you read Bird in the Bush, Topaz? The new one?”

Oh her face, it turned fucking crimson. “I… um…”

“You’ve read it, haven’t you?”

“Oh, Mr Morgan, I didn’t want to get involved!” She covered her pretty eyes.

“Did he sell her for sex, Topaz?”

She didn’t say a word, didn’t even move and I lost my fucking temper. “Did that sack of fucking shit sell Faye for sex, Topaz? Yes or fucking no?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s what it says.”

“And you didn’t think to fucking tell me?”

She shrugged, pitiful. “I only just read it, it wasn’t my place!”

“Did she know about it? Did Faye know that dirty cunt was fucking selling her?”

“No,” she said, and her eyes were glassy. “She didn’t know, that’s why she ran… in the book. In the book she thinks she’s doing it to please him, out of love, only one of the guests asks her for extra, a one on one… he asks her how much, and then she knows… she runs…”

“In the fucking book,” I spat. “In the filthy twisted fucking book. How many times?”

“Sorry?”

“How many times did he do that to her? Once, twice, three fucking times? More?”

“More,” she said. “I don’t think you should read that book, Mr Morgan, even I didn’t finish it.”

I jabbed a finger through the air. “I want your copy of that fucking book on my desk first fucking thing.”

She nodded. “Ok, Mr Morgan, I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as he’ll fucking be when I get my hands on the cunt.” I scrolled back up to events, checking out his next venue, and that’s when our cosy little duo became a trio. Demelza came dashing in.

“Mr Morgan…” she began, but I held up a hand.

“I know, I know, Topaz has been filling me in. I’ll get on it in a fucking minute.”

I was shaking with rage, my ears fucking ringing, and Topaz, bless her ditzy little socks, she took the fucking reins like a trooper.

“Don’t worry, Demelza,” she said. “I’ll give you a hand, just until Mr Morgan is ready.”

Demelza sighed. “It’s not normally a problem, it’s these masks, I can’t tell who’s bloody who tonight.” I felt her eyes on me, and turned to see her pouting. “And these weren’t put on the system properly,” she said. “I didn’t have any photos for this batch.”

“My bad,” I acknowledged. “I was a little distracted when I last processed them.”

“Who’s missing?” Topaz said, cutting my pathetic apology short.

Demelza flicked through the sheets. “I had four new starters, two came straight to me, I found one about fifteen minutes ago, and that was all good, but I can’t find this guy. George Frederick Winstanley.”

“Sorry?” Topaz said, and she was quick, ripping that sheet straight out of Demelza’s hand.

“What?” I said as her blushed face turned to fucking snow. “What is it?”

She put her hand over her mouth and her eyes were pools of fucking dread. “George Frederick Winstanley,” she said. “That’s Vincent Blackthorne’s real name.”

***

“Go!” I shouted. “Demelza get the fucking door team, get them to lock the main doors. Hell, get them to lock every fucking door. I want nobody in or out. Nobody, understand?”

She nodded, as white as Topaz. “Yes, Mr Morgan.”

“Now!”

She dashed off, and I was already calling up the security feeds, but the fucking masks everywhere made it hard.

“I’ve been looking for her,” Topaz said. “I couldn’t find her.”

I called up the camera to playroom four, but it was on a different circuit, it took a minute to fire up. My breath fucking stopped when the picture cleared, and there she was, I could only see her legs behind him, but I could see well enough to know she was pinned fucking solid. I leapt from my chair with hardly a fucking wince, the adrenaline was already rushing, pumping like a fucking piston.

“Where is she?” Topaz asked. “Is she ok?”

I didn’t answer. I was already off, racing down that corridor without a shit for anyone. The door was fucking locked, cunt. I smashed my shoulder into it but it wouldn’t budge.

“What shall I do?” Topaz arrived, panting. “What shall I do, Mr Morgan? You don’t think he’ll hurt her, do you?” She clutched her hands across her mouth as I slammed into the door again. “Please God, don’t say he’ll hurt her.”

“It’ll be the last thing the cunt ever fucking does,” I snarled, then realised I was running out of fucking options.

Demelza rushed up, out of breath. “They’re securing the doors… they’ll be up soon…”

But I didn’t have fucking time for soon. I ran my fingers over the hinges. I’d need tools. My mind was scrambling through options, no other entries, no vents, no fucking anything.

“FAYE!” I screamed. “I’M RIGHT OUTSIDE THIS FUCKING DOOR!”

I heard her shout something but it was muffled. I could have thumped my own fucking head in frustration, trying to work out how the fuck to get through that fucking door.

It turns out saviours come in the weirdest fucking disguises. A hulk of muscle, inked with a dragon, a black leather mask covering half his face.

“Hey,” he jogged up. “What’s going on, Morgan? Is Faye in there?”

“In there with Vincent fucking Blackthorne, the cunt from Italy. She’s locked in.” I was pacing, but there was nowhere to go.

Masque tapped the door, shoved his shoulder into it, and then he pulled his mask off. Shit was about to get serious.

“We can take it,” he said. “Two of us together, everything we’ve got.” He was already bracing himself, flexing, ready for the assault. “Ready?”

Was I ever fucking ready.

“We’ll take this fucking door down,” I snarled. “But that cunt in there is all mine.”

***

Faye

I kept him kissing my filthy mouth, kept my legs as tight shut as he’d let me. Distracting, ever distracting.

He broke away. “I’ve missed this, pretty bird. I’ve missed loving you. I love you more than life itself, you know?”

With any luck he’d be putting that statement to the fucking test.

“Now,” he said. “Open those sweet thighs for me, let me show you how much I’ve missed you, how good we are together.”

I shook my head, pretending, pretending. I gave my best smile, pulled my corset down.

“Not yet, Master. Punishment before love, always. You taught me that.”

He smiled. “Oh, pretty bird, there is so much punishment coming to you, but I want your pretty little cunt right now, I want to fuck him out of you.”

I arched my back, presented my tits to him and my mouth was so dry, so fucking dry. “Master, please,” I hissed. “Just a little. I deserve pain before love, please, make me pay.”

His eyes feasted on my tits, and it made me sick to the stomach. “Very well,” he snarled. “Good girl, offering them up so sweetly, how could I refuse such a delightful creature?”

He pinched my nipples hard, yanking my tits clean out of my corset, and it hurt, he made it hurt. “Yes...” I breathed. “I deserve this, Master.”

He slapped me, hard, over and over, and my breasts bounced for him, jiggling under the assault. I took it, closed my eyes. He hit me and then he gripped me and twisted, digging his fingers into soft flesh until I yelped. He kept on hurting, biting and slapping and twisting and even fucking punching, but he didn’t fuck me. Thank fucking Christ for small mercies he didn’t fuck me.

But I couldn’t distract him forever.

“FAYE!”

Oh thank fuck for that.

“I’M RIGHT OUTSIDE THIS FUCKING DOOR!”

Andy’s voice was feral, angry. It made my heart flutter.

“I’m here!” I screamed, but Vincent cut off my breath before I could say any more.

“You want him?” he snarled. “You’re still hot for his fucking cock, aren’t you? Dirty little whore, Magpie, you always were so fucking dirty.”

I felt his cock between my legs, he rubbed the head against my clit. “Now,” he said. “I want him to find me loving you.”

I shook my head and he freed my mouth. “You haven’t finished,” I said. “You haven’t finished hurting me. Don’t be a pussy, Master, how can I respect a lousy fucking pussy?”

Oh how his eyes turned dark.

“We’ll see who’s a fucking pussy, pretty bird.” He clenched his fist, raised it high above my tits, and I held my breath, waited for it.

But it didn’t come.

A massive crash and the door was down, splintered clean through.

Andy picked himself up in a heartbeat, and Masque wasn’t far behind him. Finally, I saw the face behind the mask, and even in my crazy, shaking, horrible situation it made me smile.

Vincent was off me before I even realised, on the floor with a crazy man punching the shit out of his face. Size can’t beat rage, that was clear enough, Vincent couldn’t get out from under him, couldn’t even land one back. I pulled my corset up and Masque was at my side,

“Are you ok?” he said, his hand on my arm, so familiar.

I shrugged. “I’ll live, but he might not.” I tipped my head towards Vincent. “Please don’t let Andy kill him, I don’t want him in prison.”

Masque let Andy get another couple in before he dragged him up, and Vincent’s face was a bloodied mess. And I was glad. I had nothing left for him. Nothing at all.

When the red mist vaporised, Masque let Andy go, and he was at me, his hands all over me, checking me. “I’m ok,” I said. “It was nothing, just a couple of bruises.”

“Did he hurt you, Faye?” His eyes were so fucking scared.

I shook my head. “Not nearly so much as usual. I’m fine.”

The door staff turned up just in time to take Vincent from Masque. Vincent was raging, but it was all talk, promising lawyers and all the rest of it. It nearly set Andy off again, but I pulled him back.

“He won’t,” I said. “He’s not that fucking stupid, unfortunately.”

“I’m not scared of lawyers, Faye, I just want to hit the cunt again.” He looked at his bloodied knuckles, then looked at me, really looked at me. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine.” But I wasn’t fine. It was only just the beginning. My eyes went to the crumpled paper at my feet, and he followed them there.

“What is it? What happened in here?”

Masque was still hovering, Topaz, too, but the atmosphere was shifting. I pushed Andy away and they took their cue.

“I’ll, um.. shut this…” Masque said, grabbing the pathetic remnants of a door on his way out. It was a nice gesture.

“What is it?” Andy’s eyes were pools of rage and fear and suspicion. He picked up the piece of paper, and his colour drained.

“How about it, partner?” I said. “Only, we’re not partners are we? We haven’t been partners for years.”

“This isn’t as bad as it looks,” he said. “It’s just paper, Faye. It’s just a stupid form.”

“Oh yeah?” I hissed. “Didn’t think it worth mentioning? Was it funny? Watching me run around trying to win back my place in this club, knowing full well you’d already fucking taken it from me?!”

“It wasn’t like that!” he snapped. “It’s just a fucking title, Faye, it doesn’t mean shit. Don’t go off on some crazy fucking drama fit over this. You nearly got fucking raped by that cunt out there, this bloody piece of paper means fuck all. The title means fuck all.”

“It meant enough for you to fucking steal it from me!” My eyes were welling, and my breath was shallow, the shakes coming in hard after Vincent’s assault, but I couldn’t leave it.

“I didn’t steal it. I amended the listings, you’re still a fucking shareholder, Faye, you still own fifty fucking percent of a club you didn’t do shit for.”

“You lied,” I cried. “Partners, you said, real partners!”

“And you can be a real fucking partner if you want, I’ll just change the fucking registry back, it’s one form, Faye, one stupid form.”

“You can’t just do that,” I hissed. “You can’t just take my directorship from me!”

He threw the form at my feet. “Well, guess what, Faye? I was a bit fucking angry. You’d deserted, bailed into thin fucking air and left me with a club to run. So I took control, big deal, it was the sensible option.”

“Don’t try and justify this!” I spat. “Don’t you get all super professional and pretend this was some nothing thing you did that doesn’t matter. It matters. It matters to me.”

“You bailed,” he said. “I took control. End of.”

“I hadn’t bailed! Look at the fucking date, Andy, I hadn’t even been gone three fucking months, you didn’t even fucking know I wasn’t coming home!”

“I knew you weren’t coming home,” he snarled, and he was angry, so angry. What fucking gall.

“You couldn’t have known that,” I laughed, an angry laugh. “I didn’t even know that.”

“You knew,” he seethed. “That was perfectly fucking obvious.”

“How can it have been?” I rolled my eyes. “You’re full of shit, Andy. I left because I couldn’t handle how I felt about you, alright? That’s why I fucking left, and you didn’t even give me chance to come home before you cut me out! You cut me fucking out, Andy!”

“You’re full of shit, Faye,” he snapped. “We’ve both got fucking secrets, pretty bird, don’t pretend we don’t. And don’t fucking rewrite history, either. You weren’t coming home. You know it, and I know it.”

I shook my head, dumbstruck. “How can you say that? You don’t have any idea what I was and wasn’t planning on doing! You just did what you wanted, as fucking always!”

He grabbed my shoulders, and it stopped me in my tracks, stopped my tears dead.

“I can say that quite fucking confidently, Faye, believe me, because I was right fucking there.”

***

Andy

“What do you mean you were right there?” she demanded. “How can you possibly have been there?”

I couldn’t hold back the laugh, it was cold, chilled to ice. “You aren’t the fucking only one who gave a shit, Faye. You may have been the one who got all pissing flighty and dramatic about things, but that doesn’t mean you were the only one who cared.” I sighed. “I came after you. I came to Italy to talk some sense into that flighty fucking skull of yours and bring you fucking home.” I scowled at her. “I didn’t know you had feelings, and you didn’t fucking show them nearly as clearly as you seem to think you did. But I had feelings. I wanted you back, Faye, I wanted you to come back to our club, to me.”

Her face was a picture, a pretty picture at that. “How did you even know where I was? You didn’t contact me, I didn’t even see you!”

“He’s not fucking hard to find,” I said. “Christ, Faye, everyone around those parts knows where his seedy fucking sex camp is. I drove halfway up the hill, to the wooden gates, I presume you know the ones.”

She nodded, eyes wide.

“I didn’t want to press the bastard buzzer and do a load of explaining, so I ditched the car and climbed over the fence. It was a walk, but I managed it. I even thought it would be fucking romantic, charging in there like some sappy fucking idiot and demanding you come home.”

Her eyes were welling up. “So many secrets,” she whispered. “I had no idea.”

“Everyone’s got secrets, Faye, our dirty laundry’s just spilling over the fucking basket, that’s all.”

“You didn’t find me,” she said. “I didn’t see you.”

“I didn’t need to, you were right there, on the fucking terrace. With him.”

I saw the realisation flash in her eyes. “With him?”

“Yes, Faye, with him. Prosecco and twilight and your sweet little snatch around his perverted fucking cock.”

“You could have said something.”

“Could I fuck. How fucking awkward? Hi Faye, sorry to butt in on your little fucking sex fest, but I could really do with you back at the club. Oh, and by the way, I love you.” I laughed to myself. “It wasn’t exactly the scenario I’d played out in my mind.”

“You loved me?”

“Piss off, Faye, of course I fucking loved you, I loved you way before we got this pissing club. Nobody else would have convinced me to take this much of a gamble with my fucking money. Not a fucking chance in hell.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Clearly.” I sighed. “So, that’s my second dirty fucking secret. You ran, I ran after you. Then I came back with my sorry tail between my legs, and I took your name off the directorship because I was so mightily pissed. That doesn’t make it right, I know, but Jesus, Faye, have a bit of fucking tolerance, will you?”

A tear ran down her face but she brushed it away. “It’s not about that,” she said. “It’s that you didn’t tell me.”

“And when was I supposed to tell you exactly?”

“Before I was in your fucking bed might have been a good time.”

I threw my hands in the air. “Pissing hell, are you for fucking real?”

“You lied!” she hissed.

“We both lie, Faye. We both hide things, we both kid ourselves, and knock heads, and think our hands are sparkling fucking clean.” I paced away from her, only to turn back again. “You’re so keen to know when I would have told you about that stupid fucking form, how about when you were going to tell me why you ran away from fucking Italy? From that fucking tosser?”

Her mouth dropped. “That’s different.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

“Totally!”

“So, you read my secret on a stupid piece of paper, I read yours on Vincent fucking Blackthorne’s website. What’s the fucking difference?”

“His website?”

“Yes on his poxy website. His disgusted fans dissing the cunt for selling his fucking magpie.”

“Oh God.”

“You should have fucking told me.”

“I was going to tell you!”

I laughed. “No, you fucking weren’t.”

She slammed her hands on top of the flogging bench. “I was embarrassed. Humiliated. Ashamed.”

“You could have told me, Faye, I would never have judged you.”

“Now you can piss off,” she snapped. “You were always fucking judging me! Always full of condemnation! I’ve hardly been able to do anything fucking right since I’ve been back.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? Is it really, Andy?”

“Totally!”

And we’d gone full fucking circle.

I put my head in my hands, exhausted. “He sold you for sex, Faye, that’s a disgusting thing to have gone through.”

“Yeah, well, the whole thing was disgusting. You have no idea what filthy shit went down out there, Andy. No fucking idea. The line between where I wanted it and where I was being whored out is pretty fucking blurry. But he sold me, and that’s disgusting, and wrong, and an absolute betrayal. I don’t like betrayal, Andy.”

“Like anyone does, Faye, get off your moral fucking high horse.”

“You stole from me.”

“I didn’t steal shit from you, look at you, bold as brass in the club you bailed on.”

And then came the tears. Stupid dramatic fucking tears, not about being assaulted, or whored out, or locked in a playroom in her own fucking club, none of that seemed to matter to Faye Devere, because she’s that kind of highly-fucking-strung. No, the tears were about Andy fucking Morgan and what a fucking cunt he was for taking her name off a fucking online register. Typical fucking Faye Devere.

“Stop it,” I said. “Don’t make this a big fucking problem.”

“It is!” she wailed. “This isn’t my club!”

“We’ll fill in the paperwork right pissing now if you want, you’ll be back on there again sooner than my fucking ass stops hurting.” I was hoping for a laugh, but I didn’t get one.

“I want to go,” she said, and she was all sniffly and pathetic.

“That makes two of us,” I said. “Let’s sort this out at home.”

But she shook her head. “Not your home,” she cried. “I don’t belong there anymore. It’s yours, just like this club is.” She stood up, all bloody melodramatic and got her little pout on. “I’m going,” she snivelled. “It’s your club, and you can fucking keep it, Andy, just like you wanted!”

Jesus fucking wept.

***