Triad Read online

  ‘Mastering the Virgin’

  Part Thirteen

  ‘Triad’

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Triad (Mastering the Virgin, #13)

  Twenty-Four Years Ago

  James

  The Present

  James

  Eighteen Years Ago

  James

  The Present

  James

  Sixteen Years Ago

  James

  Thirteen Years Ago

  James

  Ten Years Ago

  James

  Richard

  Free Resource | ‘Buying the Virgin’ | Timeline Infographic

  Free Download | ‘Red as Blood’ | Book One of ‘Tales of Blood and Darkness.’

  Want to Read Where It All Started? | Free Download | “Buying the Virgin. Box Set One”

  Who is Richard Haswell? | Free Download | “Bought by the Billionaire. Box Set One”

  Free Download | ‘Enslaved’ | Book One of ‘Submissive to Her Master.’

  Free Download | ‘Freedom’ | Book One of ‘Call of the Wild.’

  About the Author

  Visit Simone Leigh’s Website

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  Further Reading: Buying the Virgin - Box Set One

  Also By Simone Leigh

  Author: Simone Leigh

  Copyright © 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, mechanical, electronic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without permission in writing from the author.

  Dedication

  This Series,’ Mastering the Virgin’, is Dedicated to

  Robin, Alice, Lorie and Debra

  who named it.

  And to Rob

  who knew that Charlotte’s ‘Secret Name is

  ‘Jade-Eyes’ or ‘Jade’

  Triad

  Twenty-Four Years Ago

  Frantic muffled squealing comes from the.... package.... which lies twitching on the ground.

  “Shut him up, Bech,” a voice hisses, “before he wakes the whole fucking neighbourhood.” The tone is cultured but cold and comes from a tall man, with fair but silvering hair. His features sharp and well defined, he would be handsome were it not for the twist of cruelty to his mouth.

  “I don't think there's anyone around at this time, sir.” Nonetheless, a boot swings and with a sickening crunch, contacts what might be the head end of a human figure, tightly wrapped in sacking bound by heavy chains.

  “Not so hard. I want him conscious. We don’t want him to miss the experience, do we? And get another loop around him. We don’t want him floating either.”

  The tall man hunkers down beside the whimpering, rag-bound body as Bech and another assistant coil another couple of circles of chain around the body, lifting and moving with ungentle hands.

  “You see, Frank. This is the result when you let down your friends. Bad things happen.”

  Another muffled, perhaps gagged, cry emerges; for mercy perhaps, a plea for clemency. It’s hard to tell. There are words in there, but not intelligible.

  The tall figure stands, straightening up and stretching, his smile glinting in the poor lighting of the old bridge. But the expression stops at his mouth, not reaching the eyes.

  “That's enough, Bech. He'll not float with that lot around him. Bye, Frank. I'm going to miss you, but not very much. And don’t worry, when I catch up with Michelle, I’ll tell her all about it.” He prods at the sacking with the toe of a shoe. “Oh, and one last thing. That daughter of yours is going to have a very special upbringing. I’m hoping she grows up taking after her mother. I have so many plans for her. I thought you’d like to know that before we say goodbye.”

  The figure jerks his head at the two men by him. “Over he goes.”

  The screaming from inside the sacking rises to a wailing shriek, but regardless, the body is lifted up and over the bridge railings, then pushed.

  There is a receding howl and a splash.

  The tall man brushes his palms together. His tone brisk and cheerful, “Well, that's that sorted out. Now let's go and deal with her.”

  *****

  James

  The sound is deafening. Amid hammering and banging, the rumble of heavy machinery and the clatter of heavy work-boots on wooden planking, Michael stands arguing with a joiner over some detail in the plans flattened out on the table.

  He finishes the conversation by slapping his hand down on the plan and jabbing a finger at the workman. The joiner purses his lips and nods, then walks off.

  There is a tug at his sleeve; another man, this one in a blue boiler suit shouting something close to his face. He nods and follows the man.

  He looks stressed....

  There’s a kettle on the end of a reel of cable, and after some searching, I find a jar of coffee, then milk too. A quick sniff at the milk and I jerk my head back.

  He can have it black this time.

  I prefer mine black anyway, so I make two mugs and then go to find him.

  He’s in the next room, actually the hall.... what will one day be the hall.... directing the work; tarpaulins being hauled into position where there ought to be a roof. Just now there is only the open sky. A good part of the noise is coming from here, where a man with a chainsaw is taking down a tree which has lodged its roots through the floor inside but then leans outside through a window.

  Right now, the difference between inside and outside is moot.

  I wait until Michael breaks away to nudge him at the elbow and offer the mug.

  He nods, starts to speak, then with hands over his ears shakes his head, jerking it across to the door.

  Out in the fresh air, it’s cold but sunny and it’s quiet.

  Michael slaps the side of his head. “Jeez, that’s better. My ears are ringing.”

  “You should be wearing protection against that level of noise.”

  He nods, sucking at his coffee.

  “How’s it going?”

  Wiping sweat from his forehead, he grins, looking much more his usual self. “It's going well actually. I know it doesn’t look like it yet....” His smile fades. “I just wish she was here to see it.”

  “You missing her?”

  “Yeah... You?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “It's too long isn't it? What, five, six weeks now?” He cradles the warm mug in his hands, looking down over what would be a spectacular mountain view, were it not shrouded in mist. “You think about her much?”

  “Most of the time....” Suddenly my own coffee mug seems very interesting, absorbing my attention. “Best to keep busy.”

  “I talk with her every day over the internet but it's not the same is it? I can see her, and talk with her but I want to be able to touch her”

  This is a man who used to be the ‘fuck and never look back’ kind....

  .... and I suppose I wasn’t so different...

  “We could ask her to come visit,” I suggest. “One weekend?”

  He waves his hand around at the scaffolding, the stacked bricks, pallets of sand and cement, tarped over against the rain, the sodden ground overlaid with planking walkways. As he is about to speak, there is the groan and crack! of failing timber and we both move smartly as the tree from the indoors surrenders to the chainsaw, collapsing out through the window.

  “Ask her back to this?” says Michael, spreading his hands, “It's in no state for visitors. It's not pretty. It's not safe. And it's certainly not fit for my future wife.”

  “Think it'll be okay for her for Christmas?”

  A cloud passes over his face. His voice tense, “I'm doin
g my best, but I've only got one pair of hands. There’s some stuff needs attention that I’d not expected.”

  “Isn’t there always.... What stuff?”

  “There’s a water supply, but it’s old lead piping so that all has to be replaced. And while I thought we could get by with the electricity for a while, rats have been at the wiring, so the whole lot has to come out. We’re running on cables from the hotel. It’s going to take longer than I’d hoped.”

  “You need some more workers on it.”

  “Ben’s coming by next week. He said he could give me a couple of days.”

  “It needs more than just your brother to help.”

  “Well, the budget only stretches so far. I need to get the hotel open again, bring in some cash.”

  I’ll give it another try....

  “Michael... you know I'd be happy to help with the finances.”

  “No!” His face closes over. “We discussed this before. This is from me to her.”

  Stubborn bastard....

  “I'll be paying for my part of the building work of course. You wouldn't be digging out the cellars if it weren't for me.”

  He softens a bit. “True, but we're not ready for that yet. I need to get the groundwork outside done first.”

  “That doesn't mean we couldn't bring the payments forward. Or if you prefer, I'll hire the contractors and pay them directly.”

  He stares at the ground, mouth set.

  Don’t push your luck....

  .... Change the subject....

  “How are you coping?”

  “I could do with about another ten hours in a day, but apart from that....”

  “I meant about her.”

  He glances sidelong at me. “Well, I’ve got balls the size of grapefruit if that’s what you mean.”

  I chuckle. At least we’re on more comfortable ground with this conversation. “It wasn’t quite what I meant.” I sip my coffee. “Um, you er.... having trouble?”

  He stares at the sky. “Mmmm, yes. It’s okay during the day when I’m working, but at night when I start thinking about her....”

  “You’ve lasted this long before, when she left after that first week. We both did.”

  “Yes, but then I was feeling depressed because I thought we wouldn’t see her again. Now I’m building the home for my future wife.... and I want....” He looks at the ground. “Fuck, I’m not cut out for celibacy.”

  Nor me....

  “Perhaps we should visit her and find out how she’s doing?”

  “Perhaps we should.” His words are the right words, but there’s something in his tone.

  What’s wrong?

  “Something bothering you?”

  He scuffs at the ground. “It’s just, well....” He stutters then falls silent.

  “Come on, spit it out.”

  “Well.... she’s not exactly cut out for celibacy either is she? And there she is, surrounded by men, all her own age....”

  “Michael, I don’t believe that for a minute. But even if it were true, you and I have taken her playing many times. It never bothered you then, not so long at it didn’t get out of hand anyway.”

  “If you’ll recall, it did bother me, even then, and this is different. She’s out there, by herself and....”

  .... For the first time in your life, you care about what a woman does when she’s not with you....

  “It’s her life, Michael. But I still think you’re wrong. Yes, you’re right, she’s horny as they come, but I believe she’s horny for us, not just for sex.”

  He looks up, almost meeting me in the eye. “You really think that?”

  “Yes, I really think that, and anyway, where’s this coming from? Jealousy?”

  “No... not jealousy... I just don’t want her to.... drift away.... I don’t want to lose her. James, I’m scared of losing her.”

  .... This is what friends talk to each other for....

  “Alright, let’s deal with this. Tomorrow’s Friday. We go over there. We take the whole weekend if we need to and we find out how she is.”

  “Surprise her you mean?”

  “Yes, surprise her. We don’t tell her we’re coming, and we find out what she’s doing.”

  “I feel like I’m spying on her.”

  .... Ah... jeez....

  “You don’t get it both ways. Either you want to know what she’s doing, or you don’t.”

  “And if we find out that she’s got someone else there?”

  “Then it’s bad news, but at least you know and you’re not letting your imagination feed you the worst. But Michael, I think you’re quite simply wrong. You’re keeping yourself for her. What makes you think she’s not keeping herself for you? For us?”

  “James, it is plain fact that she has always loved you more than me.”

  .... That’s why he’s so set on being the one to give her the house....

  It’s not pig-headed stubbornness or pride....

  .... It’s insecurity....

  “I don't believe that's so. I think she loves you differently to me. I’m her Dom. You’re her Lover. And I firmly believe that is what we’ll find when we visit her.”

  “You think? Really.”

  “Yes, and tomorrow we’ll go and prove it to you.”

  *****

  The Present

  “Sir, I’ve found her.”

  “Found her? Found who?”

  “The little bird that flew the nest....”

  “Really? Well done, Bech.” The answering smile is unpleasant. “And how is our Jennifer? And, where is she? Did she run far?”

  “No, sir. She’s here, right under our noses, in the City.”

  The tall figure turns, brows raised. “Is that so? How did you find her?”

  “She’s turned up in the police files in connection with the Blessingmoors investigation. The authorities want to interview her.”

  “That could be awkward....” The tall man rubs his chin. “How did they find her? Caught shoplifting again?”

  “I don’t think so, sir. I don’t have all the facts yet, but I thought you would want to know as soon as possible.”

  “You’re right, Bech. Thank you. Good work. Let me know as soon as you have anything else at all.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  *****

  James

  “This is the address.” I ring the bell, then again a few seconds later.

  A scuffle of movement and then the door cracks open, a pretty blond girl looking out.

  “We’re here to see Charlotte Conners,” I say.

  She looks at me, then past me to Michael, and breaks into a simpering smile. “Her room’s on the first floor, but I don’t think she’s in right now. She usually gets back about six.”

  “Is there somewhere we can wait?”

  “Sure. Come up to the kitchen. I’ll make you a coffee.” But it’s not me she’s talking to. Behind her back, Michael rolls his eyes at me as we ascend a couple of flights of stairs.

  “I’m Marie, by the way.”

  She leads us into a kitchen. It’s quite large, with a central table and seating for a dozen or so and set of basic but adequate appliances built around the walls. Everything is either white-tiled or magnolia-painted, and the place has an institutional feel to it.

  “Make yourselves comfortable,” she says, still looking at Michael. We each take a seat, plain kitchen stand chairs. Michael leans back into his, arms folded, crossing one ankle across a knee.

  Marie fills a kettle. “Are you friends of Charlotte’s? No, silly question. Of course you are. Why else would you be here?” She spoons instant coffee into a couple of mugs. “Now that I think about it, Charlotte did say she might be late tonight. Or was that tomorrow? No, it can’t have tomorrow, can it? Tomorrow’s Saturday....”

  The airhead babbles on....

  Is this what Charlotte’s blessed with for company?

  From the stairwell there is a click and a clunk, then footsteps echoing up. Marie shout
s down. “That you, Charlotte?”

  “Yup,” echoes the reply.

  “You’ve got visitors.... They’re up in the kitchen here. I made them a coffee while they waited.”

  The footsteps pause and then suddenly quicken, growing rapidly louder.

  Charlotte bursts into the kitchen, eyes alight...

  “Surprise!” says Michael. She almost leaps into his embrace as he kisses her, mouth open over hers.

  That ought to calm him down a bit....

  Marie is watching, eyes narrowing a little. I kiss Charlotte on the forehead, keeping my outer reaction to her reserved. “Hello, Charlotte. Lovely to see you.” But as I stand close I scent her; not her usual wonderful odour of youth and health and Charlotte, but of something altogether more industrial.

  What have you been doing?

  Charlotte, her green eyes wide and bright, could have swallowed the Cheshire Cat.

  “Mas.... James! Michael...” Then, biting down on whatever she was going to say, she looks at Marie, watching us. “Oh, Marie. This is Michael, my fiancé and... James.... his friend. This is Marie, one of the other house shares.”

  Marie continues to stare at Michael.

  “Ah.... the mysterious fiancé at last,” she says. “We’ve been wondering what you’d be like... Can’t say I blame Charlotte for keeping to herself so much when I see what she’s saving herself for....”

  I’m beginning to find that I don’t care for the girl. I like a woman who is forthright, who knows what she wants, but this one is simply brazen.

  It’s perfectly obvious that Michael is spoken for....

  .... and uninterested....

  .... not that he can’t look after himself.

  My blond blue-eyed friend doesn’t bother replying, simply looking blandly at the girl, but I sense rising hackles and find myself suppressing a smile.

  Better defuse this....

  Charlotte beats me to it. “Come on downstairs. We can talk in my room,” she says, her tone polite but cool. “It’s a bit quieter there. Thanks for making the coffee, Marie.”

  “Oh, no problem.” Marie continues to stare at Michael, but he is preoccupied with tugging a loose thread from his shirt.