Jared Lakewood opened the door to his new walk-in humidor and smiled. He had maxed out his last two credit cards and cratered his savings account to have it built and to stock it properly, but his holiday bonus would probably cover it all. Two months to sweat out the payments, and then he’d be clear.
He surveyed the shelves of cigars. Twelve hundred, numerous varieties, minus the five he had smoked over the past couple of days. At the rate he smoked—usually five a day—he would burn through them in less than a year. He would restock long before he reached that point though.
He selected one of his favorites, a La Gloria Cubana Serie R No. 7 Maduro, and took it with him back into the living room. He clipped and lighted the cigar before pouring a double shot of Talisker single malt. The contents of his liquor cabinet were another hefty expense, but worth it, he reflected as he sipped the Talisker and smoked his cigar.
Jared went to the window and gazed down Turtle Creek Boulevard at nighttime. He loved the view of Dallas from here, and he was only a few blocks from work.
He thought about his father. Today would have been the old man’s sixty-fifth birthday. He had died seven years ago while Jared was in college, working two jobs to pay his own way through school.
Jared raised the glass of Scotch at the window. “Hope you’re still roasting in hell, you bastard.” He took another drink before drawing on his cigar. He watched smoke swirl into the air.
The old man would shit his pants if he could see his only son now. Andrew Lakewood had barely scratched out a living on his Georgia farm. His disowned faggot son brought down more money a year than Andrew probably had made in twenty years of backbreaking, soul-destroying labor.
Living well was the best revenge, Jared thought. If his dad were alive, he’d rub the asshole’s face in it. Especially if the old man needed money. Jared could laugh at him and tell him to fuck off.
Thoughts of his father invariably brought back the memories he wished he could erase. The beatings started when he was seven. They didn’t stop until Jared, at seventeen, told his father he was gay. After that Andrew wouldn’t touch him, afraid of the blood.
He had no contact with his parents once he left for college in Houston. His father never wanted to see him again. His mother was too worn down to object.
Jared’s head throbbed. The images burned into his brain, taunted him until he wanted to smash his hand through the glass of the window before him.
Instead he gulped down the rest of the Scotch in his glass and went back to the liquor cabinet for a refill.
Sometime later, thanks to the liquor and the cigar, Jared would feel calmer. Now, however, his thoughts turned to sex. He had no time for hookups during the week, but on Friday night he was more than ready to find a partner for the evening.
He changed into his leathers, feeling his adrenaline surge a bit. Tall, muscular, handsome, he always had plenty of guys hitting on him. In the elevator, he frowned at a young couple who got on a couple of floors after him. They eyed his leathers and didn’t look too thrilled to be cooped up with him.
Fuck you, he thought. He didn’t apologize to anyone about being gay. Nor about liking his sex rough. Fuck them if they can’t handle it.
Down in the garage he slid into his Porsche Boxster. Only ten payments to go, and it was all his. He guided the Boxster out of the garage and down the street. Destination: the Eagle, his favorite leather bar.
When he awoke around one on Saturday afternoon, Jared smiled. He felt great. Sessions like the five-hour one last night always put him in a good mood. The guy he brought home from the bar—Marcus? No, Martin, funny accent, maybe German?—had been an amazing bottom, willing to take all the pain Jared could inflict. He’d like to get his hands on Martin for another round, but the pig would need some time to heal before he could play like that again.
After some lunch he fired up a cigar, poured a little Scotch, and sat down to look over his bills. By the time he finished, he had a roaring headache. Dealing with his finances always affected him this way. In a couple more months, though, he could ease things up with his bonus. No sweat.
On Monday morning as Jared drove through the garage to the street exit, he glanced over at the elevator where a tall man was stepping out. The glimpse he had was only a brief one, but Jared could have sworn the guy was Martin, his trick from Friday night.
He had to be seeing things. He’d kept the guy blindfolded on the drive home, until they were safely inside his apartment. Same procedure when he drove the guy back to the bar afterward. There was no way the trick could have figured out where he lived. Jared shrugged. Couldn’t be the same guy.
He pulled into the street and drove the few blocks to work. He could have walked, but he took the car whenever he could.
He exited the elevator on his floor at work at eight-thirty. As he passed the break room on the way to his office, he glanced inside. Peter was there, chatting away with Amy Conover, executive assistant to the CEO.
Jared shook his head. He never had to indulge in gossip himself to find out what was going on in the firm. Peter always did it for him.
A few minutes later, Jared looked up from his computer to see Peter advancing with a cup of coffee. His assistant set it down on the desk in front of him before taking a seat nearby.
Jared sipped at the coffee while Peter launched into the day’s schedule. Peter was efficient; Jared had to give him that. Hardworking too, though inclined to whine a bit when Jared asked him to do personal errands for him. But Peter didn’t dare refuse outright. He knew Jared would find a way to make him pay for it if he did.
The schedule finished, Peter sat there staring at Jared, obviously bursting with gossip.
“Okay, what’s the big news?” Jared leaned back in his chair and drank his coffee. If he didn’t let Peter yammer away about whatever it was, he’d be sulky all day long.
“Some guy from the European division is here. Big corporate honcho, some kind of troubleshooter,” Peter said, eyebrows arching. “They’re saying that McCallister”—the CEO of the Dallas division of the energy company—“brought him in especially to shake things up. Amy says the board isn’t happy with the Dallas office, and there are going to be some changes.”
“Big whoop,” Jared replied, unimpressed. “They’re always complaining about something.” He was one of the top performers in his division. And one of the youngest. They’d be making him an executive VP soon, he figured.
“I don’t know,” Peter said with the know-it-all grin that irritated the fuck out of Jared. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
Jared stood to pull some keys from his pocket. He threw them across the desk at Peter, who caught them deftly. “Sometime this morning I need you to pick up my dry cleaning. You can drop it off at my place on the way back.”
Peter rolled his eyes, and Jared ignored him. Jingling the keys for a moment, Peter sat there. Abruptly, he stood. “I wouldn’t get too complacent if I were you, Mr. Lakewood, sir. After all, your numbers have been down for two quarters now.”
With that he flounced out of Jared’s office.
“Bitch.” Jared flung the word after his assistant, but Peter didn’t respond. The door shut firmly behind him.
Jared turned back to his computer. He tried to shrug off Peter’s barb, but it had found its target. His numbers had been down, despite his best efforts, and for a moment he felt uneasy. But then his usual confidence reasserted itself, and he dismissed the thought. Peter was needling him because Jared was making him pick up his clothes.
Jared focused on his work. He had a meeting at ten he needed to be ready for. That was far more important than his prissy queen of an assistant.
Peter lingered over lunch at his favorite restaurant a few blocks from work. If the arrogant prick sent him on personal errands, then he shouldn’t complain if his assistant spent over an hour to eat his midday meal. Besides, Peter enjoyed the growing anticipation. He grinned as he walked to his car. Now he couldn’t wait to get to Jared’s apartment.
Picking up the dry cleaning didn’t take long. Peter parked on the street in front of Jared’s building and lugged the clothes to the elevator. He should handle them more carefully—he was probably toting about fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of suits. How on earth did the jerk afford them? Peter knew his boss’s salary, and he was pretty sure Jared spent every dime he made, and more.
Inside the apartment Peter stowed his burden carefully in the master bedroom closet. Then he took a stroll around, ending up in the bedroom that Jared had turned into a sexual playground. He examined the new humidor in the closet, trying to add up the cost. He was tempted to help himself to a couple of the cigars, but Jared probably counted them every day and would figure out who swiped them.
He slowly closed the door to the humidor behind him and leaned against it. Jared had that look about him this morning when he walked into the office—the look that told Peter he had scored in a big way over the weekend. Peter couldn’t wait to see the video.
Two weeks ago, with Jared safely in the Big Easy, Peter installed a video camera in the playroom. He congratulated himself on his clever work in placing it so that Jared would have a hard time ever spotting it. He mounted it under one of the shelves of sex toys, figuring that in the dim lighting of the playroom Jared would easily overlook it. He had reset it Thursday morning when he had to retrieve some papers Jared left at home that morning.
He detached the camera, an expensive device that fit in the palm of his hand. He figured the investment was worth it though. He’d soon give the asshole a taste of his own medicine and get a better job out of it at the same time.
Back in his car again, he turned on the camera to watch some of the video. There were some scenes of Jared going into the humidor for cigars. Peter fast-forwarded to get to the good stuff.
A few minutes later, Peter knew he had hit the jackpot big time. Jared had royally fucked himself with his choice of sex partner. When Jared found out about the tape, Peter would enjoy every second of it.
Jared frowned at the clock. It was nearly a quarter past two. Where the hell was Peter? He should have been back by now. He buzzed again.
“You rang, boss?” Peter stuck his head in.
“Where the fuck have you been all this time?” Jared stood. “I expected you back by one-thirty at the latest. I need you to finish putting together that report for the three o’clock meeting.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Had to wait in line at the cleaners. Relax. The report’s almost done. It won’t take me ten minutes to finish it.” He stepped back and shut the door.
If Peter wasn’t so good at his job, Jared reflected, he’d have already fired his tight little ass. He was a pushy bottom, no doubt about that. Jared grinned, thinking of the couple of times he had Peter in his playroom—before he hired him as his assistant, of course. It didn’t pay to fuck around with coworkers.
Ten minutes later Jared walked out of his office to Peter’s desk. Peter looked up with an I-told-you-so grin.
“All done. Just sent the job to the big printer, and it’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“I’ll go.” Jared headed down the hall to the printer and copy room. He needed to stretch his legs anyway, work off a little tension before the meeting.
As he neared the printer room, he glimpsed a tall blond man entering an office at the end of the corridor. Jared paused, frowning. There was something familiar about that head and back.
He was waiting for the collated and stapled copies of the report to spit out when it hit him. That back and head belonged to Martin, the guy he had tricked with on Friday.
Fuck it, this was getting nuts. Was he on some kind of weird trip? Was he really seeing this guy?
First at his high-rise, now at work.
What the hell was he doing here?
The report forgotten for the moment, Jared walked back to his office. Peter was on the phone, big surprise. He hung up as Jared approached.
“Not finished yet,” Jared said, stopping by Peter’s desk and looking down at his assistant.
Peter shrugged. “Shouldn’t take that long, unless someone else is running a big job.”
“Go check on it for me.” Jared turned away to step into his office, but turned back as if an afterthought had struck him. “By the way, I spotted a really tall blond guy going into Treadwell’s office. Somebody I haven’t seen around before. You have any idea who he is?”
Peter coughed suddenly and put his hand over his mouth. It took him a moment to speak. “Oh, it’s probably the hatchet man from London. You know—the one I told you about this morning.”
Jared frowned, his unease growing. “What’s his name?”
“He’s German. Name is Martin Leitner.” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Supposed to be hard as nails, especially when it comes to firing people. Or so Amy says.” He stood. “Well, I’d better go check that report, boss. Back in a few.” He scurried down the hall, coughing again.
Jared barely heard him as he went into his office and shut the door.
Shit, shit, shit. For a moment, that was the only word he could form in his mind. Shit, shit, shit.
He had really screwed himself this time. The man he tricked with Friday night—the man whose back and ass he had practically beaten until they were bloody—had it in his power to fire him.
He began to sweat.
Jared spent the week terrified. He had yet to encounter Martin Leitner face-to-face in the office. What the hell should he do when he finally met the man? Pretend the weekend never happened? Or give him a knowing glance and be cool about their shared sexual tastes?
If Leitner tried to fire him, Jared could threaten him with the details of their time together.
Then he realized the stupidity of that. Exposing Leitner would screw his chances even further. He would definitely get fired then.
The axe fell on Friday morning. Around noon, a security guard showed up with a pink slip. He gave Jared an hour to box up any personal stuff and then escorted him out of the building. Peter had disappeared, and other coworkers looked away as Jared walked past their desks on the way to the elevator.
Lunch that day consisted of two-thirds of a bottle of Talisker and a couple of cigars. When Jared awoke from a Scotch-induced nap, it was nearly five. Though his tongue felt furry and his head ached, he finished the bottle of Scotch and smoked another cigar. All he could think about was paying Leitner back for firing him.
But how?
When the doorbell rang around five-thirty Jared stumbled to the door. He peered out the peephole and couldn’t believe it. Martin Leitner was standing there.
What the fuck?
His head suddenly clearer, Jared opened the door and stepped back. Leitner walked into the room and turned, waiting for Jared to shut the door.
“Good evening, sir,” Leitner said, staring down at his feet. “I trust you will overlook this intrusion, sir, but I think we must talk.”
“You’re damn right we should talk, you fucking German pig.” Jared felt his blood pressure rising.
“Yes, sir,” Leitner said, his head still down. “I understand your anger, sir, but I will do my best to explain.”
Jared walked into the living room to his leather armchair. He pointed to the sofa as he sat. “You can sit there, pig.”
“Thank you, sir.” Leitner sat. For the first time he raised his eyes to meet Jared’s.
Jared tried to read the man’s expression but failed. His words were submissive, but something about that gaze wasn’t.
A memory from earlier in the week surfaced. “I saw you in the garage here on Monday morning. What were you doing here?”
“I have rented a flat in this building, sir. Before we met on Friday, of course. I did not know you lived here too, sir, until today.” Leitner smiled. “Purely a coincidence—but perhaps a convenient one.”
Convenient for me to beat the hell out of your ass again, Jared thought.
“Why the fuck did you fire me?” Jared had to keep control, show the German who was master here.
“I regret, sir, I had no choice.” Leitner regarded his host coolly.
“What does that mean? You fired me because we had sex.”
Leitner shrugged. “In a way, yes, sir. But it is more complicated than that.”
“How so?” How could it be more complicated? “Explain it to me, asswipe.”
“Yes, sir, I will. Your assistant, Peter, he has betrayed you, but I am sure you were not aware of this.”
“That little cock-sucking queen.” Jared thought for a moment the top of his head would come off. Then he realized he still didn’t quite understand. “Betrayed me? How?”
“He has a video of the two of us and the time we spent together last weekend.”
“So he hid a camera in the playroom.” Jared felt stupid. He never should have trusted Peter, let him come into the apartment on his own. “I fucked myself.”
The German nodded. “It was all rather easy, I gather, sir. He came to me on Thursday with the video. He said he is prepared to send it to the entire board of directors and the CEOs of all the divisional offices.”
“He wants my job, doesn’t he?” Jared stared hard at his guest.
“I suppose so, sir. His main intention seemed to be to make you lose your job. He hates you, sir.” Leitner regarded him, his expression blank.
“He’ll hate me even more when I get through with him,” Jared said.
“Just so. Sir.” Leitner smiled, and Jared felt a chill along his spine. “I have arranged for Peter to arrive here in about thirty minutes. He thinks that he is going to help me overpower you so that we can take you into your playroom and treat you the way you treat your bottoms. He is quite excited by the thought of this.”
“But that’s not going to happen.” Jared was going to beat Peter raw and bloody.
“No, sir, it is not.” Leitner gave that cold smile again. “Peter is the one who will suffer.” He pulled a palm-sized camera from one of his pockets. “I will record it all, and Peter will be neutralized.”
“Why are you willing to go along with this?”
“I will submit to men such as you. It is my choice, and I would do it again. But no one blackmails me.” The flat tone was menacing.
“You think there’s any chance of me getting my job back after all this?” Jared didn’t dare hope, but perhaps Leitner could make it happen with Peter out of the way.
“We shall see, sir.” Leitner rubbed his crotch while staring right into Jared’s eyes. Jared could see the outline of the German’s cock through his tight jeans. “I am sure you can convince me somehow.”
Did Leitner expect him to be the bottom next time?
Fuck that.
Jared had two more shots of Scotch. Leitner turned down any offer of drink. Jared left him alone in the living room for a few minutes while he changed into his leather gear.
By the time a smirking Peter arrived shortly after six, Jared felt like he was vibrating with rage. The moment Peter was inside the apartment, Jared grabbed him around the neck and twisted his right arm behind his back. Peter squealed loudly. Then he yelled at Leitner to help him.
Leitner didn’t respond.
Jared picked Peter up and carried him, kicking and protesting, into the playroom. Leitner followed.
Inside the playroom Jared threw Peter on the floor and kicked him twice in the side. Peter screamed and appealed again to Leitner for help.
Leitner stood over Peter. “You are getting what you deserve, you fucking little cunt.” He reached down and slapped Peter hard across the face.
Peter stopped making noise. He lay mute, terrified.
Jared, with Leitner’s help, stripped a now-docile Peter and put him in the sling. They slid restraints on his wrists and ankles, and Jared forced a ball gag into his mouth. A big one that would make it difficult for Peter to do more than grunt. Leitner suggested a hood. Jared found a latex one with holes only for the nostrils. He forced Peter’s head into it.
Jared stood back and gloated at the sight of his former assistant, now completely helpless. This was going to be one fucking awesome scene. By the time he and Leitner finished with Peter, the little bitch would be lucky if he could crawl out of Jared’s apartment.
“Be right back,” Jared said in a low voice to Leitner.
The German nodded. He was doing something with his camera, and Jared left him to it.
Jared opened a new bottle of Scotch and took it back to the playroom. He also helped himself to a fresh cigar. After three swigs of Scotch, he set the bottle out of the way. He was ready.
Exhaling smoke, he set to work. Soon he was flying high. The more Peter writhed in pain, grunting like the pig he was, the harder Jared played him.
Jared was dimly aware that Leitner was always nearby, moving around the room as he filmed. But little else intruded into his concentration on Peter.
Finally Jared had to take a break. He needed a fresh cigar, for one thing, and water. He had sweat so much he was dehydrated.
“Back in a minute.”
Peter lay mute in the sling, one leg twitching a little. Faint moans came through the latex hood.
Jared stumbled into the kitchen as he came down from the extended high. His hand trembled while he filled a glass with water. He gulped down two of them and felt a little better.
Back in the playroom he decided he wasn’t ready for another cigar yet. His mouth tasted like ash. Feeling his energy coming back, he wanted to go another round with Peter. He had more to do to him. A lot more.
But first he wanted another Scotch. Might as well finish off the bottle. Leitner stood by, camera poised and ready.
Jared grabbed the bottle, about a third full, and chugged it down.
Tastes a bit odd, he thought. I’ve been smoking too much.
He dropped the empty bottle on the floor and moved back to the sling. Glancing down at Peter, he realized something was wrong.
The latex hood was twisted. The holes for the nostrils were in the wrong place. Peter’s nose was completely covered.
His hands shaking now, Jared adjusted the hood, moving the holes back to their proper place.
Jared shook Peter’s leg. “Peter. Wake up. Peter.”
There was no response.
Jared shook the whole sling. Peter’s body bounced around, but it lay still when Jared let go of the sling.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Jared turned to find Leitner regarding him, that cold smile back on his face. “I think he’s dead.”
“I believe you are correct. Sir.” Leitner laughed.
Jared glanced at the German’s hands.
Why was Leitner wearing latex gloves? He hadn’t been wearing them before.
Had he?
Jared shook his head. He was having difficulty remembering. Thinking.
Getting a little hard to breathe.
He reached out toward Leitner.
Stumbled to his knees.
Stared up at the German.
Leitner smiled down at him. “It will end soon. You will go to sleep. Sir.” He held something out to Jared. A bottle.
Though his hand and arm felt too heavy to lift, Jared grasped the bottle.
What was happening to him?
“Thank you. I needed your fingerprints on the pill bottle. You Texans are arrogant, yet you are most helpful. It is quite an amusing paradox.” Leitner laughed, and the sound made Jared want to cry.
Leitner walked away.
Jared tried to crawl after him, but his limbs were too heavy. He passed out on the floor, the bottle still in his hand.