Warehouse Tale
by SilverPhoenix13
URL: http://www.bluecatsgraphics.com/pean/fanfics/10/

Part 1

The blow came from above. It was relatively painless, at first, more a physical shock than pain. Pain came later; right on the heels of it, actually, as if my head needed a moment to accept it was being assaulted. I was not totally surprised by the attack; I had been warned after all.

As the pavement rose toward my face, all I could think was, “Well, hell.”



The call came on a Saturday, around 11:30. I had just finished my last set and was in my dressing room removing my make-up when the phone rang. I paused, washcloth to my chin. No one knew that number except my agent, Tommy, and the owner of the club. I had just seen Tommy not ten minutes before, and Derek was on the floor. I looked into the mirror and met my own eyes. The anxiety might never pass. Several years prior, I had been... involved in a drug running case while passing through New Orleans. It had not been a good time in the Big Easy, and despite constant reassurances from the agent in charge of the case, I had been fairly certain I would end up dead or in prison. If only he had actually told me everything that was going on, I might have been better prepared. I might not have been abducted and tossed onto a boat that I thought would soon be taking me out to the Gulf, to be tossed overboard with my hands tied. That, too, had started with a phone call.

I shook my head. No, it’s a wrong number! I told myself. Vaguely reassured, and feeling rather sheepish for being afraid, I tossed down the washcloth and managed to grab the phone on the fourth ring.

“Sorry, you’ve got a wrong number, darlin.’” I drawled, preparing to drop the phone back into the cradle.

“No, I’m rather afraid I don’t.”

The skin on my neck began to crawl. I knew that voice! There was no mistaking that smooth, bourbon on the rocks drawl. Had I summoned him by thinking of him?

“Who are you trying to reach?” I said, somewhat subdued.

“Why, you, Marilyn. Or have you changed your stage name again?” I could hear him turning pages in the background. He must have been sitting at his desk. “It is Agent Pendergast.”

I paused, contemplated telling him he had the wrong number. I had changed my stage name, after all. I could honestly say I was not Marilyn anymore.

“There is no need to hesitate,” he said. “I do recognize your voice.”

Pendergast. There was a name I was in no hurry to hear ever again, at least not at the end of a sentence that began “I am Special Agent.” In my mind, an image began to form—a tall, lean man, ascetic in his dark suit and white shirt; pale beyond pale, and those silver blue eyes that seem to see right through the back of your head. I had spent a month living in a back room of his New Orleans townhouse—it was the only way to keep me safe, he said. In actuality, it was the only way for him to gain entre to the rather closed world I had slipped sideways into. While I thought I was in hiding, he had been insinuating to all and sundry that I was his mistress. Well, it had opened doors for him, and God knows I had no reputation to protect at the time. Not that the notion had distressed me overly; he was not hard to look at, incredibly intelligent and rich as Gates, to boot. But I could not forget how he had willfully kept me in the dark about what was really going on, and how I had thought I was going to die. Later, he said my terror had to look real and that’s why he hadn’t told me. Instead of slapping him, as I had desperately wanted to, I simply walked away without a word, neither accepting nor denying his apology. Not that the bastard had cared. He was as icy as his skin implied; cold, cold, cold.

“What do you want?” I asked flatly. “We hardly have any old times to reminisce about.”

He cleared his throat. “Well. It is a matter of our... past, which has unfortunately surfaced.” Another pause. “Actually, it is more a matter of my past.”

I sat back against the cool wood of my chair. “Oh, this oughtta be good,” I said. Clamping the phone between my ear and shoulder, I crossed my arms under my breasts. “So, what great and terrible secret has surfaced from your past that could possibly affect me? Particularly considering how little I meant to you?”

Another silence on the line, this time lasting longer. “Gwen,” he said, using my given name. “It is not a question of what was or what wasn’t, but what seemed to be.” I heard him draw in a deep breath. “I have a brother,” he said slowly, hesitantly. “This brother is intent upon harming people from my past, people I would be very... displeased to see harmed. Innocent people.” His voice became softer. “Like you.”

I snorted. “The last time anyone called me ‘innocent’, I was in pigtails.” I started to look over my nails in a nonchalant gesture wasted on my mirror. “Why would he ever come after me?”

“I don’t take witnesses into my home on a regular basis, Gwen.” Pendergast said briskly. “You were special, whether you believe that or not.” I heard a tapping over the line, and wasn’t sure if it was him tapping a pen on his desk or the popping of static. “Unfortunately, my brother knows this. And he will use you to get at me. This is not something I would want for you to suffer.” He cleared his throat again. “My brother is rather creative, in certain unpleasant ways.”

I stacked my bare heels on the corner of my dressing table and examined the toe nail polish for chips. I didn’t know what was up, but I trusted Pendergast about like I trusted a large cat. It could be staring at you intently because it was curious about the tailoring of your blouse, or it could be staring at you intently because it couldn’t decide if the first bite should be to the neck or the belly. “Never say he’s as smart as you in the ways of sadism.” I snipped at him, sarcastically.

“More so.” He said, quite seriously. For the first time in the conversation, I began to believe him.

“OK, so what do you think I suggest I do?” I said, not quite as seriously as he was speaking, but less angry than before. “And why would he believe a lie you told four years ago to a bunch of drug dealers? Drug dealers, I might add,” I put my feet on the floor and straightened up, “that you later got put away on very serious charges.” I grabbed the phone from my shoulder, and looked rather earnestly at myself in the mirror. “What makes you even think he knows where I am?” I glanced around the rather dingy dressing room in a small, second string, Mississippi River-rat bar. Who would ever come looking for Gwen Marsden, former hooker and inadvertent pawn in a drug war that never was, in this town?

“I suggest you stay where you are until Agent Wessex arrives in an hour or so.” He said. “And whether or not I lied about us being lovers is immaterial. He’s killed a childhood friend and a mentor from my youth. To save your life, I kept you closer to me than any other witness. I doubt my brother cares if we were actually lovers; he’s striking out at anyone that was ever close to me, in any way.”

I went still. “I can’t stay here for an hour.” I looked over at the clock. It was already midnight. “I’m leaving town in the morning; I have to get to my hotel.”

“You will be leaving town, with Agent Wessex. He will guard you until I can make arrangements to take you out of my brother’s sphere of activity.” Shuffling noises began on his end again. “I am not at liberty at present to move freely, but if I were I would not do anything differently. Wessex is much closer to you, he can get there sooner. You do recall what he looks like?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, waving my hand around. “Tell you what, Pendergast, I’ll go back to my hotel and Wessex can stand guard at my door. There’s only one hotel in town, room 325. By the ice machine.” I stood up. “I really have to go, so unless you’ve got something else to say, I’ll say good-bye.” I could hear him begin to say something as I dropped the phone back into its cradle. I wasn’t sure what game Agent Pendergast was playing, but that bit of melodrama at the end had decided it for me. Whatever he and his brother were playing at, surely I was not a part of it.

And that’s what I told myself as I changed from my long red gown to a light sundress, finished taking off my stage make-up, said my good-byes to the band. Unlike most singers, I didn’t travel with my own, I used the house bands. Which is why I was leaving the club by the back door alone when the sky fell like a ton of bricks on the back of my head.



I never really lost consciousness, nor did I hit the ground. A pair of very strong arms grabbed me at the last possible second, and pulled me back up and into them. I was so stunned, I couldn’t hold my head up or move, so I didn’t even get a look at the person who had hit me, even though I was getting an excellent view of the alley walls. I closed my eyes as my captor swung me around to put me into the backseat of a car that was idling silently at the end of the alley. I kept my eyes closed, but I could feel his breath on my face for a brief second, then he rolled me onto my side, and a pillow was put under my head. I felt hands smoothing the seatbelts snugly around my body so that I was firmly strapped to the back of the seat. The belts were run twice around my upper arms, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to get out of the belts before my captor could stop and really tie me up. The door closed, and I lay there unable to move, the pain in my head so great I could barely think. I knew, from a rather misspent youth, that the nausea would follow after I recovered, so I savored the mostly numb sensation. I could have done without the blinding pain in my head.

“A most excellent choice, frater, most excellent.” A soft voice came over the front seat. Whoever had me was definitely male, but the voice was almost mincing in precision; very soft and rather high for a man, but still a male voice.

I could feel the car being put into gear and smoothly rolling along the roads. I gave into the desire to simply allow myself to float mentally—it helped me ignore the pain—but out of habit I found myself counting the turns and measuring it out on the map of the town I had in my head. I don’t know how long we drove, but I was fairly certain we stopped somewhere in the manufacturing district of town; mostly derelict, but many of the factories and warehouses still stood. Some were in use, but not many.

The car stopped for a moment, rolled forward and stopped a final time. My captor got out of the car. For a few minutes, I was alone in the back seat, and I risked opening my eyes. Black interior. Huh, I thought, must be Pendergast’s brother if the car is black.

The door at my feet opened. I hastily closed my eyes, and heard a chuckle. “Playing possum, little one?” I felt two cool hands sliding up my legs. One squeezed behind my knee, which I flexed upward reflexively. “That’s alright. There will be plenty of time to become acquainted once my brother arrives.”

The hands slid over my body, removing straps and smoothing my clothes along my body, until he got a grip on my waist. He slid me along the car seat and swung me upright, using both hands to press me against his body. I was still stunned, so I could barely raise my hands to push him away. If I had pushed him away, which was unlikely, considering the little power behind my push, but if I had, I would have hit the floor. He knew it and I knew it. He anchored my stomach against his with one arm around my waist, and the other gently cupped the back of my head, feeling the bump that I knew was growing back there, prodding gently. I saw stars when his fingers found the bruise. Gasping, I opened my eyes wide.

I could see the resemblance to Agent Pendergast, there was something about the angles of the face, but this man was very different. For one thing, he was not as pale, with auburn hair and a trim mustache and beard. His eyes, though... . One was a hazel, and the other looked dead. I was shocked by the dead eye. His fingers were still probing the back of my head.

He smiled down at me, almost sweetly, as his finger again pushed on my wound. My eyes rolled back in reaction to the almost ice-cold pain that shot down my neck, and my skin began to tingle all along my body where I was pressed against him. I sucked in a deep breath and hissed it out between my teeth.

He lowered his head until his lips brushed my ear and whispered, “I am very good at what I do, my sweet. Your skull is not broken, although it could have been, if I had wished. You will recover well in time to die.” He chuckled, breath warm against my neck. “I always liked that turn of phrase.” He pulled back and gazed at me sideways, as if trying to see from behind a blindfold. “They would never hang a man who was sick, did you know that?” With one swift, powerful move, he swung me up into his arms. “One of life’s little ironies that I’ve always found amusing.” I rested my head against his shoulder, almost under his chin, as he turned from the car and began to walk further into what I could now see was a warehouse. In the gloom, I could see a chair; something small and antique-looking, it would have barely come up to my ribcage if I were standing behind it. There was a small table beside it, and on the table a lone lamp that put out a weak light. Further on, deeper in the shadows, I could see what looked like a massive box. As we approached it, I could see it was actually a four-poster bed—another antique. It was huge, and had curtains that could be closed to conceal what or whoever was in the bed. He laid me gently against the pillows, on top of the sheets. There was a duvet folded up at the foot of the bed, and he gently tucked me in. Then he pulled my hand out from under the duvet, and raised it to rest on the pillow next to my head. I turned my head just enough to see the steel ring bolted into the massively carved oaken headboard, as he swung one end of a pair of handcuffs around my wrist and the other into the ring. He reached into his pocket and removed a silk scarf which he wound around the metal bangle of the cuff, cushioning it against my skin. The silk was warm with his body heat and oddly reassuring. He reached out and stroked my forehead with his long fingers, almost soothingly.

“We only need one cuff at present. Perhaps later, we’ll graduate to two.” He adjusted the top of the duvet, fussing over me like a mother over a sick child. “The scarf is to prevent untimely bruising.” He smiled again, not so sweetly this time. “There will, of course, be timely bruising later. But not too much later.” He brushed a soft kiss along my forehead, and then he was gone.

Part 2

I dozed, I’m not sure for quite how long. It could have been hours or days, I had no way of knowing. The sound of the warehouse door being pushed aside awoke me. I was feeling much stronger, and the majority of the nausea had passed. I pushed myself upright with my free hand and squinted against the light which was shining into my eyes. I could see a silhouette in the doorway, but nothing else. My pulse sped up; my captor had returned. The door closed, and I could hear the patter of swift footsteps across the concrete floor of the warehouse.

“Gwen?” came a fierce whisper, barely audible. No one called me Gwen, no one. No one but him.

“Oh, no,” I croaked, “what are you doing here?” My throat was parched, my legs felt like lead, but suddenly I wanted to jump for joy. “And what the hell took you so long?” The familiar form and face of Agent Pendergast swam out of the shadows like an avenging ghost. “Your brother is a real charmer, you know?”

Pendergast was at my side by then, agile fingers working around the cuff on my wrist. A second later, my hand was free, and he was helping me stand. I clutched at the fabric of his suit.

“Come on, pull yourself up, Gwen,” he urged. “We must get out of here before Diogenes gets back.”

I fell back against the bed. “Diogenes? His name is Diogenes?” My jaw dropped in shock. “You know, I’m not sure he doesn’t have a legitimate gripe after all!”

Silver eyes met mine, and for the first time I noticed that Pendergast was in what, for him, was almost a state of panic. “This is not the time to discuss it!” He hissed sharply. “And keep your voice down, I do not know where he has gone.” I noticed his deep southern accent was almost gone, and wondered how much of it was natural and how much was for show. When it came to this man, nothing would ever surprise me.

“Salve, frater.” The voice was as smooth as the silk still wound around the handcuff on the pillow. “I see you’ve joined our little party.” The dark figure of Diogenes condensed out of the shadows. I slumped back a little, and Pendergast turned to face his brother. I looked at the two of them, so alike and yet so different. Suddenly, I realized that in this situation, I was very outside the loop in terms of importance. I had served my purpose—to lure Agent Pendergast out of his hiding—and now I was to be ignored. I wasn’t sure whether that pleased or irritated me, and that surprised me. Why did I want to draw the attention of either of these men?

I pulled myself along the bed until Agent Pendergast was no longer between me and Diogenes. “Excuse me.” I said. “Excuse me? Do I get any last requests?” Both heads swung toward me, irritation on Pendergast’s face and amusement on Diogenes’. I was ignoring the agent at present, though.

“I believe you will have a last request. But your end is not yet at hand, my dear.” Diogenes’ gaze moved back to his brother. “First, we must tie up this loose end.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Just tell me this—your name is Diogenes?” He looked back at me, and nodded shortly. “Alright, then what’s his name?” I pointed at Agent Pendergast. Silence rose between the three of us, and a faint pink tinge came to Pendergast’s cheeks. Diogenes, who was closely watching his brother, began to smirk.

“Well?” I said, “I’m waiting.” I narrowed my eyes, suddenly musing over a possible solution to our dilemma. “Surely you wouldn’t be the sort of man who keeps a lady waiting, now are you?” I flirted gently. It helped greatly that I was still rather loopy from the head injury—I’m sure I wouldn’t have been nearly lunatic enough to try what I was thinking of trying if I hadn’t been nearly concussed.

Diogenes looked back at my face, his eyes widening slightly at my tone. “Did he never tell you?” He looked back at his brother. “Why, Aloysius, how ungentlemanly of you!”

I was silent for a moment, and then it hit me. Aloysius. I began to giggle. The newly named Aloysius turned a very annoyed gaze on me, which merely sent me into actual laughter. I fell back on the bed and laughed until I cried, until I began to worry I was becoming hysterical. Finally, the laugh petered out, and I managed to push myself back up again. Both men were staring at me as if I’d lost my mind, which made me laugh again, but this time only briefly.

“Ah, Christ, you are a pair, aren’t you?” I said, wiping tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. “I take it your mother was hitting the ether during labor? Or at least I hope to God she was, otherwise those names constitute abuse.”

“My mother was a good woman.” Diogenes tone and face were cold enough to freeze vodka.

I shrugged nonchalantly. I was a dead woman anyway, what did I have to lose? “OK, your father named you then. It was still unkind. I bet you both have something like eight middle names, each more snooty and high-toned than the last, am I right?” I shook my head at them both. “Who would have thought it; I’m going to meet my end at the hands of an over-named, over-bred rich boy with an Oedipus complex.” I heaved a deep sigh, deep enough to lift my breasts in their push-up bra almost to the level of my collarbone. “What a waste.” I deliberately let my tone sink deeper into my chest as I almost purred at Diogenes, “and a crying shame.”

He glanced over at his brother, and then a rather jaunty smile lit his face. “I wouldn’t say I had an Oedipus complex.” He said, in a teasing tone. “And I hear,” he drawled, “that most women prefer Mamma’s boys. Supposedly they make better pets.”

I tilted my chin down and glanced coyly at him through my lashes. “Who says I want a pet?” I pulled myself up, sliding my body up along the bedpost, arms sinuously twined around it. It had been years since I’d made a living in the ‘flesh trade’, but the skills come back to you very easily.

Diogenes gazed at me, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, and then he burst out into laughter. He looked back and forth between his brother and me, and I finally noticed the oily glint of lamplight on the gun in his hand. So that’s why Aloysius had done nothing!

“Why, brother!” Diogenes crowed, “Your taste in women improves by the day!” He smiled at Aloysius, who was still standing in the same spot but watching me very carefully out of the corner of his eye. I could tell he was doing rapid mental math, trying to figure out what I was doing. I hoped he wouldn’t.

Diogenes stepped towards me, just one step. He was switching his gaze back and forth between Aloysius and me, trying to keep us both in his field of vision at once. There was a very strange expression on his face, one of almost child-like glee. My heart was pounding behind my breastbone, and I was sure he could see the pulse in my neck. Strangely, I think it was exciting him.

He stopped, and pressed his hands together, gun between the palms, and rested the barrel on his lips in an attitude of deep thought. He sighed deeply and released the breath slowly between his fingertips.

“I can see, Gwendolyn,” he murmured around the gun, “that we are going to have to become better acquainted. But my brother,” he glanced over at Aloysius, “is very much in our way.” He tilted his head to one side, and pulled the nose of the gun down to aim at the wall somewhere in the gloom behind and between his brother and I. “What should we do about that?”

I blinked, surprised. Really, I hadn’t expected him to be so... willing. That stopped me for a moment, and I had the feeling suddenly of being caught in my own nets. Then I looked over at Aloysius, who was finally facing me, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes had gone blank, and I knew that I was playing this hand alone. I did my best girly squirm and pointed at the cuff still dangling from the headboard.

“Can’t you just tie him up out of the way, then?” I moved so that the bedpost was behind me and pulled my arms around behind my back. Most men would have been impressed by the chest-up-and-out aspect of the pose, I got the feeling Diogenes was enjoying the martyr-tied-at-the-stake aspect much more. “I’m sure he’d be nice and quiet.”

Suddenly, Diogenes aimed the gun at Aloysius. “Why don’t I just shoot him in the head? He’d be much quieter then, wouldn’t he?”

Ah, now that I’d been expecting. I pouted. “Blood smells bad, Diogenes. And it doesn’t take long to go rank.” I did another chest-heaving sigh. “Surely you’re not that inconsiderate of a girl?” I cocked a brow at him. “Why don’t you just put him in the chair. Where he’ll have a nice view.” I smiled slowly, never taking my eyes from his face.

His eyes never moved from his brother’s face, so I had no warning before he was suddenly in front of me, pressing me into the bedpost so hard it was digging into my spine, with his hand wrapped around the front of my throat, thumb and middle fingers digging into the flesh just under and behind my jawbone. He squeezed gently, and I felt a moment of true terror as my air was cut off. His dead eyes gazed into mine as I tried desperately to draw breath into my lungs. I could see glitter at the edges of my vision before he let up on the pressure and I could breathe again. I sucked in a deep breath, pushing my body tightly against his, and realized he had the gun pressed to the bone behind my ear. He bent down and pressed a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth, then gently slid his lips along the curve of my bottom lip, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin. He nipped at the fullest part of my bottom lip, and then bit down hard. I cried out in surprise, but he had released my lip almost before then. He licked my lip, lapping up the small drop of blood that he’d drawn, and I began to feel a warm throb low in my belly. My breath was becoming uneven with anticipation, and I began to reach for his mouth with my own. He pulled his head back enough to look into my eyes. I gazed up at him, wanting him to bring his face back down to mine, and pressed my hips against his lower body in an unconscious motion. He backed away, sliding the gun barrel along my skin, bringing it to rest at the center of my forehead. Diogenes reached into his front jacket pocket, and removed a second set of handcuffs. He dangled them out in front of me on his finger.

“You can cuff him to the chair. It’s bolted down, along with the table.”

My hand trembled as I took the cuffs from Diogenes’ hand. I had barely clasped them in my fingers when he grabbed my hand, crushing skin against metal. “Make sure you put those on nice and tight, little one. We wouldn’t want him interrupting our games, now, would we?” He said, leaning in so close to me I could feel his breath in my ear. An electric current went from my hand, where he was grinding my flesh into the gap between the bars of the handcuff, and the side of my neck, where I could feel the heat of his skin from an inch away. I drew in a deep breath, trying to get control of the excitement that was building in my stomach. I’d never been one for pain before, and it was a guarantee I was in for some, but as jaded as I’d become in the past... I knew I was in for something new, something different. That alone made the risk I was taking worth it. Even if I didn’t succeed in distracting Diogenes long enough for Pendergast to escape, well, maybe at least I’d get to feel something with this man that I hadn’t felt with any man since I was a teenager.

Breaking the moment, I nodded slightly, tilting my head toward his so I could see into his hazel eye. The pupil was huge, so perhaps I wasn’t the only one enjoying this game. He released my hand and I staggered slightly as he released me. I reached out and grasped the other brother’s arm. Aloysius steadied me as I staggered away from the bedpost, and I used the moment to wrap one of the cuffs around his wrist. He looked from it to me, his eyes widening. I turned and began to walk carefully to the chair in the pool of light. There was only a moment of hesitation, and then I felt Aloysius begin to follow me to the chair. We moved silently across the intervening darkness, and then he passed me and stood between me and the chair.

“Don’t do this, Gwen,” he said. “Diogenes will kill you.” I looked into his eyes and read the pleading there. “Please, Gwen.” I raised one hand to his lips, and with the other pushed lightly against his chest. With very little effort, he bent obediently into the chair. I grabbed the loose cuff and, leaning in close, whispered as I cuffed him to the frame of the chair, “If I succeed in distracting him, even for a second, get loose and get Wessex. He’s got to be nearby.” Pendergast drew in a breath to object, but I carried on. “I’ll keep him busy for as long as I can, and he’ll be here when you can get back with reinforcements.” I pulled back a bit and smiled at him. His face was drawn in worry. I winked at him. “Don’t worry too much; I’ve got quite a bag of tricks.”

Suddenly an arm swung around my neck and pulled me up and back. Pulled off balance, I fell back against Diogenes. He smoothed one hand along my stomach, from the bottom curve of my breasts to my waist.

“Saying good-bye, my sweet?” He hissed in my ear. He pushed me away so that I fell to the floor, lightly skinning my palms against the rough concrete. I looked up and saw Diogenes checking Aloysius’ bonds, making sure I’d done a good job. Apparently satisfied, Diogenes straightened up and wiped his hands against each other. “Brother, I’m very sorry we haven’t enough light for you to have a good view, but I’m sure you’ll be able to hear adequately.”

He turned smartly on one heel and took a step toward me. Panic finally set in and I started to scrabble away from him on hands and knees. He laughed as he easily scooped me up in his arms and carried me, whimpering slightly, toward the bed. He tossed me face down on the bed and laughed as I rolled over. He climbed on to the bed, shedding his sport jacket as he came toward me. Before I could roll out of the way, he had straddled my body and sat across my hips, pinning me down. Helpless, I watched as he removed his cufflinks and began to roll up his sleeves.

“Now, little one, where did all that bravado go?” He removed his belt and began to wind it around one hand. I noticed he was wearing an under-arm gun holster, not unlike the one Aloysius wore, but it was empty. With the belt wrapped around his hand, he stopped and propped his hands on his hips. “I liked you better when you were braver.” He tilted his head to look at me out of the corner of his eyes again. “You’re not trying to be clever, are you?”

I lay back for a moment. He had me pinned down, and there was little if any hope for my long-term survival. But... There had been that moment, a very brief moment, when I had felt that wonderful tingle. If I was going to die, I decided, I was going to enjoy going out. I think he could feel me relaxing against the sheets, because he put his arms down on either side of my head and leaned over so he was lying on top of me. I only had a second to wonder at his flexibility—his knees were practically tucked into my ribcage—and he was nibbling lightly on my lips again. My knees bend in an unconscious and futile attempt to curl into a ball, but the bite never came. Oddly disappointed, I moaned lightly as he pulled his lips back.

Part 3

“Can I trust you, little one? If I ask you to do something, will you?” He kissed me briefly, firmly on the lips. “Will you do a simple favor for me?” His kisses deepened, interspersed with demands for obedience, until I wrapped my hands around his head to keep his mouth upon mine, and thrust my tongue past his lips. I arched my body as closely into his as I could against the soft bedcovers, frustrated greatly by the fact that my hips were pressing against nothing. Leaning forward had brought his hips almost to the level of my waist, and I could feel him growing hard against my stomach. I wanted him to unfold along my body, to be able to press myself against him, to perhaps find some relief for the almost painful, hot emptiness that was beginning to spread low across my hips. He unwrapped my arms from his head and pulled his mouth away.

“Just say you’ll do what I ask, and I will give you what you need, my sweet,” He rasped. I nodded frantically, desperate for his kiss again. “Say the word, precious, you must say it. You have to invite the evil in or it can’t cross the door...”

“Yes,” I moaned, pleading with him. “Yes, I will do whatever you ask.”

He chuckled, an unexpectedly deep sound rolling from his chest. I could feel it rumble from his body across mine, setting up an answering, and painful, tingling in my breasts where they were pressed against his chest. Taking the coil of his belt off his hand and putting it under the other pillow, he pulled my arms up behind my head, and wrapped my hands around the metal of the ring. He held them both there with one of his strong hands, and rewarded my obedience with another of his deep, satisfying kisses. I felt the warmth of the silk handkerchief that had been used to pad my cuff earlier wrap itself around my wrists, through the ring, and the end was tucked firmly into the grasp of my fingers. Surprised at the lack of a knot, I glanced up. In a flash, the weight of his body had left mine and he had me rolled over onto my stomach. I squeaked in surprise, and then felt his hands run up and down my back. He leaned back down to my ear and whispered, “I do hope you’re not fond of this dress.”

A line of icy fire ran down my back, along the line of my zipper. I shivered lightly from the resulting chill that spread all the way to my toes. Diogenes flipped me back over, and I got a glance at the wicked knife he held in his right hand. Casually, he placed the tip of the blade along the seam on my right shoulder. I could feel the blade sink through the fabric and the stitches, and the familiar silver white heat trailed along the skin. After he repeated the operation on my left shoulder, he peeled the dress down. He moved down my body, grasping and lifting my hips as he slid the fabric down and over my legs. I shivered again, even though the knife was resting next to my torso on the mattress. He skimmed his fingers back up along my skin, raising goosebumps everywhere he touched. There was a slight smile on his face as he looked over my body. He picked up the knife again, making my heart race as he slid the blade along the skin of my abdomen. He hooked the blade under the thin strip of fabric between the cups of my bra, and then he twisted. The fabric snapped as the blade scraped my skin. I shrieked as a single drop of blood welled between my breasts. An intense excitement spread over Diogenes’ face before he leaned down and pressed his lips to the wound. Long fingers spread around to cup my breasts as he began a rhythmic sucking against my skin, like a vampire drinking from its victim. Pain from the cut swiftly gave way to pleasure as his long, agile fingers teased and warmed my breasts, pressing gently down on my nipples and pushing the soft skin on the inside of my breasts against the wiry hair of his beard, and a line of icy pleasure shot between his lips and the growing warmth between my thighs. It pulsed in time to the motions of his lips, and I gripped the ring hard, harder as he shifted his body to lie fully along me, pressing his leg between mine. Gently, he began pressing his thigh against me in time with the motion of his lips and tongue on my chest. I began moaning softly again, heedless of my situation, of Agent Pendergast, tied to a chair not 50 feet away, not even of the fact the man wringing such exquisite sensation from nerves I though long dead was most likely a mass murderer. All I was aware of was the pounding of my heart, the pressure of the pulse in my neck, the feel of his hands and mouth against my flesh, sensitized beyond the point of pain to where it again became pleasure.

One of his hands left my body, and I heard a thump next to my ear. My eyes opened to see the knife imbedded in the pillow, his hand still on the hilt. A hot thrill ran through my entire body, bringing a moan from deep in my chest. This seemed to please him, and he began trailing kisses and tiny nips along my collarbone, up along the tendon in my throat, to the spot right behind my ear lobe that, when he licked it gently, tightened all the muscles in my body in a spasm of pleasure so intense I screamed.

He laughed, pulling his face away from my throat, and wrapped his strong hands around the base of my skull, caressing the delicate skin he had just kissed. “There, my pet,” he whispered, “now I shall concentrate my attack against your better nature.”

Diogenes pulled up far enough to insinuate his other leg between mine, and I wrapped myself around his waist. I pulled his hips down against mine and wouldn’t loosen my grip. He gazed down at me, almost gently, and whispered, “Now, now, pet. I need to be able to move freely.”

I rolled my head against the pillow, “No, no, don’t pull away, please, don’t stop...”

He gently massaged my scalp, running his fingers along the flesh still vaguely tender from his blow to my head. Strangely pulsing and sweet pain radiated from that place, stopping my words and wringing a gasp from me. My legs loosened, knees falling away from his ribcage as I became lost in this new sensation. Diogenes began to softly shush me, his lips barely touching mine, saying, “No, no, my sweet, I am not going to pull away. At least, not for long. I just need to get a better, ah, grip on things.”

He pushed himself up to kneel between my thighs, and pulled the belt out from under the pillow. I writhed a little, twisting my hands against the ring in the headboard. He noticed this motion, and cast his good eye over me. Before I realized it, he had snapped the other pair of cuffs—perhaps the original pair I’d worn, since they came from the bed near my shoulder—around my wrists, and looped around the ring. A blazing hot streak of panic shot through me from the base of my skull to my feet. He rolled me over onto my stomach again, sitting next to me as if my spine were a keyboard he were playing, and his hand began running down my back in long, smooth strokes, as if I were a cat or a restive child he was soothing.

“I couldn’t take the chance you would let go of the ring, pet.” He patted my shoulder, almost paternally. “You just let me worry about this, hmmm?”

He began stroking my skin again, slowly, gently, until I began to relax. I rested my forehead against my forearm and allowed myself to be lulled into a comfortable place. My skin had just begun to warm from the soft, massaging strokes when the sting and slap of his belt across the mid-back jolted me into full awareness. I gasped aloud, my hands releasing the ring as my fingers flexed in shock. But not quite pain; really, much more surprise and sting. He chuckled and caressed the newly created tender spot as my skin twitched under his hand.

“See? You let go. Very bad of you.” This time, the sting came across my calves, and I gave a cry of surprise. This time, he used his whip hand to stroke the swollen flesh, and the rasp of the buckle against my skin was vastly more arousing than I could ever have imagined. I moaned into the pillow. “Yes,” he murmured. “It is distressing to find this within yourself, isn’t it.” His fingers massaged and soothed the quivering flesh, and tears sprang to my eyes, partly from pain, partly shame. As he continued alternating strokes from the belt and strokes from his hands, I could feel my body begin to react and come alive in a way it never had, and I was keening with pleasure with each breath. By the time he unwound the belt from his hand, I was breathing heavily and my cries had settled into rhythmic moans, more from excitement than the sting. I could feel him drop the belt beside me on the mattress and lean over my raw back to press his lips gently in the center of my back, where the hasp of my bra usually rested. The heat of his skin and rasp of his beard against my sensitized skin sent me bucking off the bed. He trailed his fingers lightly along the red and swollen flesh, causing my body to clench tightly in a spasm of pleasure. This brought on a chain reaction of excitement as the tensing muscles rippled under hyper-sensitive skin, causing ripples of icy tingles to shoot along my nerve endings, which all seemed connected to the nexus between my legs. If he had kept the gentle strokes up, I would eventually have climaxed. But just as I got to the point of release, as my overloaded nerves were just at the point of cascading into nothingness, he took his hands and lips from my body.

For several long moments, I panted into the pillows, feeling his weight on the mattress next to me. I calmed down, stepped back from the brink. Then Diogenes leaned over again, and gently blew across my back. Instantly, seared nerve endings flamed to life again, and I literally screamed in pleasure. He sat back on his heels and let my skin warm up again, and my level of arousal again subsided from a conflagration to a stinging simmer. Several times he repeated this, the settling point of my excitement getting higher each time, leaving me closer to the brink. The frustration was, disturbingly, as exciting as when he would touch me, and I found myself longing both for his breath against my back and the sweet tension of the wait.

I was perched on the edge of orgasm when Diogenes leaned down to hiss in my ear, “Give my brother a message, my pet,”

I was panting and whimpering with need, desperate and sweating and wanting, only wanting.

“Tell him, As you like it.” One more searing, heart-stopping kiss after rolling me over, and he was gone. I cried out, a jagged, pained sound, ripped from the deepest parts of me. I began to sob in the excruciating pain of frustrated release. Spasm after spasm rolled across my body as I rocked side to side in desperate grief for what I almost had.

“Gwen!” Cool hands soothed me, strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me up from the pillow. “Gwen! Come on, Gwen, speak to me!”

Wrapped in Aloysius’ arms, I sobbed as if my heart would break. It felt as if my body were hyper-sensitized and swollen from unsatisfied need. I buried my nose into the fabric of his suit, pressing myself into his body, attempting to find what I had come so close to in his brother’s arms. “Please,” I gasped.

“Please what, Gwen? Tell me how to help you?” There was an edge of panic to his voice, he hands running up and down my arms as if to warm me. I couldn’t find words to tell him that the problem was that I was already too warm, far too warm... .

I reached up and wrapped my hands around his head, pulling his mouth down to mine, plundering the warmth behind his lips in a desperate search for what his brother had denied me. At first he froze, and then he began attempting to extract himself from my embrace, but desperation gave me strength. I felt him begin to relax into my kiss, strong arms snaking around my torso, lithe hands stroking along the sides of my breasts as some of my emotion began to transfer to him, and he began warming to the embrace. Slowly, he took control of the kiss, and I lay back against his arms. I could feel him lower me onto the pillows, and welcomed the weight and heat of his body. I shifted my arms down to embrace him and pull his torso tighter to my own, pressing my exposed breasts into the silky nap of his suit. I could feel one hand slowly moving from where it had been cupping my breast, and slide down to my waist. I murmured against his lips, a near-silent plea for something only he could give me. I lifted my hips against his in a sinuous motion, and finally, finally! I could feel one long slim hand gliding along swollen, sensitive flesh to rest against the moist heat between my legs. It only took two or three gentle motions against the nerve center there before I erupted from the kiss with a high-pitched cry. I fell back against the pillows, whispering his name over and over.

Aloysius reached down to lightly kiss his name from my lips. His hand smoothed the hair back from my forehead, and then he checked me gently—viewing the marks his brother had left on my flesh. I could feel cool lips kissing the bruises and strap marks on my back and legs, caressing and lightly nibbling on the cuff marks on my wrists, all the while murmuring soft reassurances. Eventually, I was gathered up and wrapped in the sheet. Aloysius cradled me gently to his chest and carried me out of the warehouse into the watery daylight. I opened bleary eyes and blinked, surprised it was still daytime.

I was taken to his car, which was parked around a corner. Gently, he laid me down in the back, smoothing my hair again, and kissing my forehead gently just as his brother had.

“Gwen,” he whispered gently against my forehead. “Gwen, what did Diogenes say right before he left you?”