Mastering the Virgin Box Set Five: A BDSM Ménage Erotic Romance

Chapter 57

The Present

Bech drives along in the dark, making his way to the rendezvous. Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

Finally….

Got the bitch….

Once Klempner’s had his little party….

…. Got it out of his system….

Should be able to persuade him to get rid of her….

…. and the other one….

If they just disappear, there’ll be a fuss for a while, then it should be back to business as usual….

…. Need to find a new base….

His good humour vanishes as he considers his personal situation, the hair-raising moment when he

heard the message on the radio and realised his cover was blown.

Almost walked into that….

Need to get a change of ID….

And a different area. Maybe a different country?

…. fucking inconvenient….

…. Still, can’t make omelettes without breaking a few eggs….

Might be nice to make a fresh start…. A change of air….

Someplace more third-world maybe….

…. Where a few bribes mean you can get on with the business….

As he approaches the isolated building, even from several miles away, against the dark and velvet

night, light can be seen playing weirdly across the blackness, flashing amber and blue against the

blackness.

What the fuck…?

Bech slows the car, thinking. He flips a square of gum from a packet, chewing thoughtfully, then turning

off, takes a side road.

The track is barely a road at all, simply mud and rock deeply rutted. Occasionally something scrapes or

bangs under the chassis, but he continues his long detour, watching the skyline all the while. After

some while, driving at a snail’s pace, he turns off his headlights.

At the last moment, he avoids a collision with another vehicle, an off-roader, parked, but jutting into the

track.

What the fuck?

In this lonely spot, why should there be another vehicle parked?

Campers?

Poachers?

Then, risking a little light, he flashes a torch over the plate….

It’s his….

…. Summerford’s….

As silently as he can, he passes the vehicle, driving another few hundred feet along; far enough to be

beyond casual discovery. Then, still well away from his target, he pulls up.

Creeping through the darkness, cautiously he approaches the isolated farmhouse.

A shadow against deeper shadows, he watches:

The area is a mess of police cars and ambulances. A prisoner security van pulls in and cuffed figures

are pushed inside. Bech counts.

More figures are stretchered from the farmhouse….

Dead? Or just injured….?

Is it going to make a difference?

Moving silently as a flake of soot, he detaches himself from the darkness, edging closer before merging

with the deep gloom.

Another stretcher….

Fuck…

It’s Klempner….

In the other-worldly amber-blue darkness, the blood trickling down his face seems black, but there is no

mistaking the identity of the unconscious man

That’s Klempner finished….

They’ll not let him out again….

…. If he lives….

Bech bites down on fury and frustration.

Where’s the bitch?

…. End this….

Milling like blue-uniformed ants, police gather in groups, talking into phones. Car radios sparkle static

and noise. Ambulances turn over their engines….

…. Enough noise to cover any sound made by the careful figure that slips from one shadow to the next,

aiming for one of the brightly lit windows.

Angling his face away from the light, Bech peers in.

Where is she?

He sees a tall, blond, muscular figure, arms folded, staring down at his feet, tapping a foot as he listens

to something….

Summerford….

A little way away is one of the women, red-haired, face streaked with tears, being held close by a tall,

steel-haired figure….

Haswell and his cringing wife….

…. Where is she?

Moving carefully, Bech adjusts his position to see the rest of the room….

Ahhh….

The second red-headed figure stands head bowed, while a tall, dark-haired man, his back turned to

Bech, spits questions at her, demands answers….

Alexanders….

…. tearing strips off her….

She accepts it from him….

The two move and shift. His view of her is blocked by the man’s body, but even so it is easy to see the

girl has bruises on her face, her hair is awry, and she is wearing clothes that hang on her in rags.

Looks like Klempner started the party without me….

…. Shame….

He pulls his weapon from where it lodges in the back of his belt, angling for a clear shot. But

Alexanders moves and shifts, blocking the line of sight.

Bech curses under his breath, then with a glance over his shoulder, gun at the ready, he slips into the

darkness.

*****