Chapter 35

Colette's eyes widened before she got her expression under control.

"I have," she said slowly. "Usually they're thin gold chain bracelets micro-welded, rather than clasped, closed."

"Yes, he showed me." Damien motioned to Tonsure. "And I knew I wanted them for you. No more ugly cuffs or heavy chains. Especially here, on these." He walked his fingers down her leg to her ankle, stroking it creepily. Damien was still petting her ankle as he said, "Get your tools."

Tonsure didn't even have to leave the room. He rounded the corner towards the door, but the item he needed must have been waiting inside the room, because she didn't hear the door and he was back a second later, carrying what looked like a large tackle or tool box.

Damien unlocked her cuffs from the bed, again offering her his hand. It was harder to put her fingers in his this time, especially as moving made both her breasts throb just enough to remind her of the abuse.

He led her over to one of the two chairs in the small seating area near the windows. She ached to peek behind the curtains and see if it was day or night. Maybe get a sense of where she was.

Instead she sat where she was told, and when Damien lifted her leg onto a small table, her ankle extended off the far side, she didn't fight or resist, only looked away.

Tonsure's case looked like a bloated version of a jeweler's toolbox, except he also carried a dozen spools of different style heavy gold chain.

The ones Damien selected as her permanent jewelry weren't the delicate, feminine options she'd seen being offered as permanent jewelry in boutiques in New York, Paris, and Madrid. They were thick rope, box, mariner, and wheat style chain, each at least two centimeters thick.

Damien held her leg still as Tonsure welded the newly-cut anklets around her limb. She could see the bright flashes of the small welding iron through her closed eyelids as he zapped each thick jump ring, melting the metal closed.

"This one needs to be bigger," Damien said. "I want it strong. So I can use it."

Morbidly curious, she opened her eyes to see Tonsure fitting two large metal rings through the ends of a particularly hideous snake chain. They were too large to be considered jump rings, each of these larger ones about the diameter of a golf ball. He had to use pliers and a good amount of force to bring the ends of the ring in line so he could weld it. When that was done, he added a second ring through the same anklet, first welding it closed, then he welded the two rings to one another.

Now she wore a permanent gold chain cuff with a large O-ring. Perfect for restraining her.

When they were done, her left ankle was weighed down by half a dozen chains, plus the cuff.

Damien was grinning with delight as he switched her legs, placing the bare right one on the table.

She fought the urge to thrash wildly in an effort to shake off the ugly jewelry.

"Pretty, yes?"

Damien's question made her look up. She knew what she should say, but couldn't get the words out.

Instead she closed her eyes against the spark of the welding tool as the first anklet was welded closed around her other ankle.

"It's pretty, yes?" Damien said again. This time he hooked a finger through the large ring in the snake chain cuff, and jerked. Her foot slid across the floor.

It was grimly satisfying to know she'd guessed right. He wanted a form of permanent restraint. He'd be able to easily lock or hook her to whatever he wanted.

Colette held his gaze and smiled, her true self slipping through for a moment. The smile was cold and dismissive, because he was a pathetic thing that deserved her disdain and nothing more.

Damien's expression went flat, and Colette looked down, heart now pounding. That was a mistake. She shouldn't have challenged him.

Colette kept her head down as Tonsure finished up with her other ankle.

"What do you think?" Tonsure asked. "It's good?"

"Yes. Now the wrists."

Inside, Colette screamed. The cuff key hidden in her hair wouldn't let her unlock welded metal.

Two thick lengths of snake chain went around her wrists, again closed not with jewelry jump rings, but golf ball sized O rings, creating gaudy, gold permanent cuffs.

Colette had let herself float away as they worked on her. It didn't hurt—Tonsure always put a leather pad between her skin and whatever he was welding. It was the horror of having her small hope ripped away that held her immobile. The secret cuff key was useless. There was no way to undo these restraints. No latch, key, or buckle. They were now a part of her.

She was back to being that statue at auction, frozen and helpless. Except this time the statue was being defaced with cheap gold paint.

It wasn't until Damien grabbed her by the upper arm, hauling her to her feet, that she realized he was still angry at the way she'd smiled at him.

She bowed her head, staying meek and compliant when he shoved her towards the drapes. She stumbled, letting herself fall against them, hoping she'd land against the break and get a peek of what was outside.

There was no need, because a second later, the heavy maroon drapes were yanked wide, revealing sheer curtains that covered the floor to ceiling window. Colette reeled back instinctively—she was naked in front of a window. Damien shoved her face-first against the glass, then leaned into her, squashing her between his body and the hard surface. The cold glass felt good on her abused breasts, at least until the pressure became too much.

"You don't like the jewelry. You think you deserve better?"

"I do like it," she said softly. "Thank you for my jewelry."

He wasn't mollified. She'd pushed him too far without realizing how little it would take.

It was night, the sky dark and studded with enough stars she didn't think they were near any large city. She could see trees and low hills, a road snaking through them on her right. There were lights off to the left, but not many. Maybe a small town.

It could have been any one of a hundred, maybe a thousand, rural areas in lowland Europe.

Some small, stupid part of her had hoped she'd see London on the other side of the glass.

Yet more chain, this time the industrial silver stuff, was looped over the curtain rod above her head. She was pulled out of the way until the chain was secured, then positioned under it, her back to the window.

A padlock was laced through the rings of her new permanent wrist cuffs. Damien stood on a chair, forcing her up onto the balls of her feet before catching the padlock in one of the loops of the silver chain and locking her in place.

Colette swayed, shoulders and calf muscles almost instantly registering their protest at the stress position.

Damien climbed off the chair and ran his hands down her sides, pressing hard on her wound. "You don't like the gold. You didn't like pearls and emeralds. Maybe you thought it would be rubies, or diamonds?"

Diamonds.

She was glad she'd finally given Landon the information on the Saudi diamond. Interpol would be able to trace where it was before she bought it, and return it to the Saudi prince it was taken from. She wasn't even sure why she'd done it that morning as they huddled around a phone in a closet.

That train of thought led to thinking about Club Alibi, and her time there. What a fool she'd been to complain about the possibility of having to stay there. Stay hidden and safe.

With Landon.

Damien jerked her back into the moment, pressing on one of the sore spots on her wound.

"You can earn your diamonds and rubies. I'll add them to you. Until you're decorated like a concubine in a harem." Damien once more selected several spools of chain. Tonsure looped them around her waist to measure, leaning close to her naked body, but not touching her to do so. Damien stood back, eyeing her like a painter eyes a canvas as he decided how long he wanted each of the permanent waist chains to be.

Colette once more let her mind wander, trying to slide away from the present.

"Hold very still, or he will burn you," Damien said with a smile.

This time there was no leather pad between her skin and the chain as Tonsure welded each of the three chains closed. There were a few sparks of pain, and almost blistering heat. Colette squeezed her eyes shut, locking her muscles in an effort to stay still. She could barely move, so it wasn't hard.

For all the times she'd been in bondage, she'd never been this helpless. Even the heaviest restraints and most restrictive rope hadn't left her this vulnerable, because she'd gone willingly into that temporary enslavement.

"Ah yes, that is it." Damien toyed with the chains around her waist, his gaze flicking from them down to her ankles and back.

There was a visible bulge in the front of his pants.

Waist chains and anklets really did it for him.

"Do you want one between her legs?" Tonsure asked. "I can make it tight enough to hurt, or loose enough to tease."

Colette forced herself to take even breaths and not react.

Damien traced a line from the lowest waist chain down to her mons. He fingered her slit casually before saying, "No, not yet. Maybe after the wedding."

Would he really wait until they were married to rape her? And would he force her into a legal marriage? Not that he knew her name...

Unless he did.

He knew that she'd gone to Interpol. Knew they housed her in a BDSM club. How? And whatever that source of information was, did that mean he also knew her real name, and what she was?

Her Colline identity was that of a gem and jewelry expert with a bit of a shady reputation. Someone with skills, knowledge, and somewhat flexible morals.

But Colline wasn't a known thief. Wasn't a person of interest in a half a dozen thefts, or someone those in the know turned to when they needed something liberated from a collection.

She let herself get lost in her thoughts, the puzzle of how he knew about Interpol distracting her from the feel of his hands on her body.

"Wife." Damien's tone jerked her out of her musings. His tone made it clear it wasn't the first time he'd said it.

She looked up just in time for his hand to crack against her face.

With her arms stretched up and pressing against her ears, the sides of her face were protected, and the slap barely grazed her lips and chin.

Damien's face twisted, and he backhanded her, a direct blow to her mouth. She staggered back, the chain digging painfully into her wrists. Pain in her lip made her eyes water and she tasted blood. She lost her balance and for a horrible moment all her weight was on her wrists and shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, blood dripping from her split lit onto her chest as she scrambled to get her feed under her.

Damien grunted, then looked at Tonsure.

"Pierce her nipples, so she doesn't forget who she belongs to."

* * *

"That's bloody brilliant, thanks mate." Landon scribbled the details onto a scrap of paper, his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear.

"You need some help?" The man on the other end of the line asked.

"No, I've got it, but I owe you."

"You buy next time we're at the pub."

If this information was right, Landon would buy this man drinks for the rest of his life.

Landon ended the call and pulled up a map on his phone.

"That would be easier on a computer," Andrei said from the doorway of Landon's bedroom in the club.

Landon looked up, then immediately glanced back down at the phone. "It would, but that's Interpol's laptop."

And since he'd quit his job several hours ago, it wouldn't be right of him to use it. Plus, he no longer trusted Interpol.

"Would you like to use my laptop?" Andrei said conversationally.

"No."

"My personal laptop?"

At that Landon looked up.

Rolf appeared in the door behind Andrei, his massive presence looming and almost blocking out the light from the hall. "Let us help you."

"You did help." In the seven hours since Andrei and Rolf had walked into the hospital, barely missing Novak, they'd used all their skills and resources to help him track Colette.

That was up until two hours ago, when both Andrei and Rolf were asked by the director of the British NCB to back off the investigation. Landon's boss's boss—former boss's boss—wasn't able to order them to do anything, but he could strongly request.

As soon as he was out of A&E, Landon had been on the phone. He made it clear that Colette needed to be located, now, and that Novak wasn't to be trusted without coming out and actually saying what he suspected—that Novak was working on behalf of Damien and the Bratva, feeding them information.

And his words meant nothing.

The last official order Landon had been given was to go home and get some rest, and let the directors go over all available information tomorrow. Post review, they'd decide what to do about the situation.

Anu was one of the directors that was looped in, and she'd be at the meeting tomorrow. In desperation, Landon had called her personal phone from the club's landline and explained everything, including his suspicions about Novak.

She'd been sympathetic, and more importantly she believed him. But she wouldn't authorize the resources and personnel necessary to launch a search for Colette. She assured him that she'd push for a directed search effort in the meeting the next day, but couldn't guarantee that it would happen.

In a last-ditch effort to prove Colette was trustworthy and that they needed to act now, Landon gave his boss the information about the Saudi diamond. She'd been delighted, and congratulated him on getting the information.

Then she'd told him to go home, rest, and wait.

That's when he quit. He'd pinned all his hope on the organization he'd devoted himself to for years believing him, and acting on his word. They'd done neither. Instead they'd asked him to wait nearly a full day for their decision, and fuck knew how long it would be after that before they mobilized. If they mobilized. It was possible Novak would convince everyone Colette staged the whole thing.

They were asking him to abandon the woman he loved. To let her suffer pain and abuse for days on end.

"This laptop right here." Andrei held up the slim black device, wiggling it in the air.

"You shouldn't help me." Landon yanked his thoughts away from Colette. Imagining what was happening to her right now arrested his ability to think. "This will kill your careers."

"Our careers?" Rolf pushed into the room. "You think that matters more to me than rescuing Colette? We know what he might be doing to her."

Landon swallowed. He was choking on his fear for her. A small voice in the back of his head told him to give up now, because it was too late: Colette was already dead.

"What did your police buddy say?" Andrei dropped into one of the chairs by the window, opening his laptop.

"Which one?" Landon rubbed his head, then rolled his shoulders. His back muscles were screaming thanks to the taser. "London Metro said there was virtually no usable security camera footage of the van. They picked their spot well."

"Good thing we aren't relying on them," Andrei said.

What neither the police nor Interpol knew, was that Andrei's hidden dash cam had gotten a fairly good shot of the plate as the vehicle pulled away. Andrei had shared the dash-cam footage of the kidnapping with all relevant parties. But he'd cut the footage at the point of Colette's shipping container being loaded into the van.

What if she was still in that box? Trapped and screaming.

It wouldn't have occurred to Landon to edit out usable information like the shot with a partial plate. Andrei's distrust—even of the organization they both worked for—was something he needed to aspire to.

With the last half of the plate, Andrei had been able to track the van's progress along the M25 and M1. The last shot they had of it was from a bank camera in Northampton.

Once Landon quit his Interpol job, he'd reached out to everyone he still knew from his time in London Metro. It was a long list, and included law enforcement professionals from around the country.

Then he'd started looking at transportation. Colette was bound for Russia, but transporting an unwilling person was difficult.

There were a handful of small airports around Northampton, and Landon had called in every favor, and promised any and everything, to anyone who could help him get information on flights that had either already departed, or were planning to depart from those small airfields. He'd have to exhaust all his savings to pay the promised bribes to various people who agreed to call him if any suspicious flights started boarding.

There had been several promising leads, but one by one they'd fallen through.

This latest tip was different. This felt right, even though it had nothing to with an airport.

"What were you looking up?" Andrei prompted.

"Catesby Garden Hotel, in Lower Catesby. It's west of Northampton." Landon held up his phone. "That was a mate I worked with in the Met, but he's moved out to a territorial police service. He said that hotel has been empty for years, and just sold. Catesby is rural, not much to see except an old Roman viaduct. It's why the hotel closed in the first place. But some locals were rambling, and saw the lights on. Saw people going in and out, and at least one white panel van."

"It's not much to go on." Rolf cautioned.

"No, but one of the pensioners who took a look memorized the plate on the white panel van—the man apparently doesn't trust anyone with panel vans. Says they're only driven by thieves."

The word stuck in his throat, and Landon had to swallow before he could finish.

"Most of the plate the pensioner gave matches what we have."

"Most?" Rolf asked.

"More than half." Now that he said it aloud, it didn't sound like much.

"Remind me never to cross a British pensioner. Or we should recruit them." Andrei turned his laptop to face them. "I've got our van, followed by three motorcycles, on camera coming through Daventry which is between Northampton and Catesbury."

A wave of relief made Landon nearly light-headed. Yes, this was it. They'd found her, and she was still in England. He'd cast his search net wide, sure they'd try and smuggle her out of the country right away. Airport smuggling was something he knew well. One of the reasons he'd known what to tell his contacts to look for.

He'd feared Colette could be anywhere in the world. Instead she was a hundred kilometers up the road.

"When was this hotel purchased?" Rolf asked.

"According to records, two days ago. Bought for cash."

"Two days. It would have taken at least a day or two to find and make an offer on a piece of property. That means Novak started feeding them information almost as soon as we arrived here." Betrayal bit at Landon. Not just Novak's but the rest of Interpol's failure to listen.

Landon shoved his phone in his pocket and started pulling dark clothes out of his piles of laundry.

"What are we doing now?" Andrei asked.

"I'm going to go get Colette, and murder everyone who hurt her."

"Would you like assistance?" Rolf asked formally.

"Are you offering to assist me with murder?"

"No. I'm offering to assist you with a rescue."

"I'll help you with the murder," Andrei said.

Rolf sighed and crossed his arms. "It would be better if it weren't premeditated."

"Hypothetical murder," Andrei amended.

Landon laughed, and fuck if it wasn't damned close to hysterical. "I don't even know how we're going to get there," he said. "Andrei's car is fucked."

Rolf sighed again. "I have a car."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Andrei demanded.

"Because you'd want to drive it."

"What is it?" Landon pulled on a black shirt, only then noticing that Rolf and Andrei were both already dressed in dark colors. They'd walked in here prepared.

"A Bentley." Rolf paused. "A plug-in hybrid Bentley Flying Spur."

"A plug-in four-door?" Andrei shook his head in disgust.

"How many does it seat?" Landon asked.

"Four. Well, five, but not if they're all our size."

"The three of us and Colette." Landon strapped a sheathed knife to his forearm, and hooked a second on his belt. "That's perfect. Let's go."

Together he, Rolf, and Andrei walked through the club to the door. It was open, and full of people, many of whom watched them pass.

If this ever went to trial, there would be plenty of witnesses to testify exactly what time they'd left.

He didn't care.

All that mattered was getting Colette back, and killing every man who hurt her.