Inferno - 93,000 word novel out now from Silver Publishing.
Synopsis:
In Inferno, passion burns
hotter than hell…
After the murder of a notorious rent boy in the relatively new gay
nightclub Inferno, Moonlight Cove cop
Zack Stewart and his partner Claire Keaton are presented with a bewildering
array of suspects, all with links to the dead man.
Zack's chief suspect is arrogant club owner Dante Jardine, a man not so
easy to unravel, and even more difficult to pin down. Soon the cops are
knee-deep in bodies and Zack's priorities become more muddled the longer he is
around Dante.
When his professional and personal lives begin to merge, Zack finds
himself walking a dangerous road between being a good cop and giving in to his
growing desire…
Read the first chapter below.
PROLOGUE
The man found him in the back room. Thick darkness
cloaked the activities within but failed to hide the moans and grunts coming
from every corner. Corey Breton wandered about for a few minutes, spying on
entwined couples, titillated and hard and hoping for his own action.
A figure approached out of nowhere, making him jump. "Hi
there."
Corey flicked on his cigarette lighter. "You
again," he said, as he looked up at the pale face. He licked his lips
nervously as the man continued to watch him, a slight smile curling around the
guy's mouth. "You just can't get enough can you?"
"No," the guy said.
Corey reached between the man's legs to feel the bulge
there.
Lips brushed Corey's tantalisingly and left him
wanting more. "Why don't we take this somewhere more private?"
Corey cocked an eyebrow, naming an inflated price but
knowing the man would pay. "Two hundred?"
The guy regarded him a moment. "Sure. Let's go."
Corey was easy. He was just as happy to be fucked here
as fucked at home in his bed, plus he wouldn't have to change the sheets. The
man led him away, not the way Corey had come in but out the back, swinging the
fire exit door open so the security light shone down on his dark head
momentarily.
As Corey watched, the guy stripped off his jacket and
threw it over the camera above the door. He turned back, light gleaming on his
white teeth as he smiled. "Come on, we're safe."
He moved out of the circle of light and into the
shadows of the alleyway and Corey followed, eagerly joining his prospective
lover. They exchanged a heated kiss, lots of tongues and breath, Corey holding
the man's head, playing with his neatly styled hair and then the guy fumbled Corey's
pants open, stripped them down roughly and spun him around, crushing him to the
wall.
Corey panted with excitement and tried to cling to the
bricks as the man's hand cupped his erection through his briefs, stroking
perfunctorily before, without warning, he tore Corey's underwear apart, sliding
it off. Corey gasped. "Hey, mister!"
"What?" the man whispered in his ear.
"I hope you're going to give me money to replace
them."
"You want more money do you, slut?" His
lover slapped him hard on one buttock. Corey yelled. "Shut up. Do you want
to get fucked or don't you?" The man squeezed Corey's balls then gave his
cock a few hard tugs.
The rough treatment excited Corey against his will. "Yeah.
Hurry up."
The man laughed softly, tearing a foil packet open with
his teeth. "Desperate for my cock are you?"
"You know it." Corey spread his hands on the
wall. He tilted his pelvis back, feet wide apart. A hand gripped him suddenly
under one knee. He stood precariously balanced on one foot, spread open as a
finger hastily smeared cold gel over his entrance. Then he was full, so
suddenly, so shockingly, he cried out.
"Christ! Fuck!"
"Shut up," growled the man.
"Sorry, sorry." Corey whimpered. "Fuck,
that's good."
The guy held his knee up with one hand and the fingers
of his other dug into Corey's hip. "Good? You like a cock in your dirty
little ass, do you slut?"
Corey glanced over his shoulder. He was used to being
spoken to this way, but it didn't turn him on quite as much as it once used to.
He touched his own prick, greedily stroking. "Yes. Give it to me."
The man started to pound him into the wall. Hard, slow
thrusts which hit his prostate and made Corey's legs shake uncontrollably, his
knee scraping agonisingly against the wall, removing skin and drawing blood. "Fuck,
fuck…"
"Mmm, you dirty, filthy little whore, I can't
believe how tight your ass is."
Corey grinned in triumph because he was proud of that
fact and it kept regulars coming back. "That's right," he said. "Fuck
my tight ass, you bastard." He knew the man's name but he wouldn't get him
off by using it. He'd always liked Corey screaming his name.
The guy's movements were virtually lifting him off his
feet, impaling him deeply every time.
"Like that?"
"Yes, God. Don't stop." Corey shuddered all
over, gripping his cock hard, trembling on the edge of climax.
His partner didn't stop. His thrusts became jerkier,
more furious. Something slid around Corey's neck: a wad of material with his
own scent on them. Corey had dabbled with asphyxiation in the past with other
partners and usually ended up coming in a hurricane. So he hissed in excitement
as the torn briefs around his neck tightened and his orgasm rushed upon him in
a blaze of white-hot heat.
"Filthy, dirty little whore," his partner
spat viciously in his ear. "I gave you chance after chance and you let me
down. Your time is up."
The cotton bit into his neck and Corey came, spurting
gloriously over the brick wall with a cry. He put his hand up, tried to work
his fingers beneath the material as he came down from his high, and his vision
started to darken alarmingly.
No. Too far, too far.
The makeshift ligature dug so deeply into his skin
that for a moment, Corey imagined being decapitated. He tried to cry out. His swollen
tongue protruded as he thrashed against the body holding him against the wall. He
heard a grunt behind him.
"That's it, that's it. Oh God, yes."
The man pulled free and slowly, Corey slid down the
wall into a heap on the ground.
Chapter One
Detective Zack Stewart slammed his car door, not
bothering to lock it. He crossed the parking lot, avoiding a puddle of vomit and
a couple of used rubbers and held his badge up at the nearest uniformed officer
guarding the door, grunting something unintelligible, still groggy with sleep. The
cop waved him past the police tape and into the dark, sweaty club.
For a moment, he stood blinking, staring into the
depths of Inferno, the premier—and
indeed only—gay nightclub in Moonlight Cove.
That a town the size of Moonlight Cove—nestled
somewhere between Dana Point and San Clemente on the southern stretch of the
Orange County coastline—had a gay village at all was a source of great pride to
its LGBT inhabitants. Sure, it consisted of little more than five bars but it
was their own space, flying the flag for their sexual identity.
The first nightclub in the village, Inferno closed at five am on most
nights. It operated a strict door policy and often ran men-only nights. Famous
celebrities appeared there, competition nights gave away fabulous prizes. The
club was the talk of the town but Zack had never been there.
It looked like Saturday night was still in full swing.
The place was outfitted like a version of hell itself—all black and red, flames
licking around the edges of the walls and up the spiral staircase, a mural
depicting the nine circles of hell with quotes from Dante's Inferno. Other landscapes showed naked
men entwined in a variety of sensual and explicit poses and made Zack's blood
run hot.
The front door might have been cordoned off to prevent
anyone leaving or entering, but it was business as usual inside—heaving dance floors,
half-naked podium dancers and gratuitous sexual displays around each corner. Zack
swallowed and tried to remain calm and detached as he saw his partner with
relief and hurried to greet her.
"Claire, it's four in the fucking morning."
"The night's young," the attractive blonde
detective said wryly. "Homicide in the alleyway outside, white male."
"Lead the way."
Probably a lover's tiff, drinking gone wrong, jealous
bar-fight, that kind of thing, Zack thought as he followed Claire past the
dance floor and rest rooms, down a long corridor and out of a fire exit. Zack
squinted into the spotlights set up. The crime scene was taped off and men in
white suits were meandering around.
"Claire, Zack," said the pathologist,
straightening up. He was a rugged man in his sixties, brusque and to the point,
but eminently good at his job. Suspicious deaths weren't frequent in Moonlight
Cove and usually made him rub his hands with glee.
"Eric," Zack said, gaze straying to the thin,
blond-haired figure on the ground. "What can you tell us?"
"Preliminary: white male, approximately five feet
nine, one hundred and twenty pounds. Been dead around two hours. Driver's license
id's him as Corey Breton, age twenty-seven. Money in his wallet, watch still on
his wrist, one cell phone, switched off."
Zack crouched down at the victim's head, looking at
the swollen, congested features.
"Ligature mark around the neck, strangled from
behind," Eric said. "A pair of briefs by his side appears to be the
murder weapon."
"His own?" Claire asked, glancing at the
white material.
"I'd say so. Slight marking around his hips from
elastic indicate he'd been wearing underwear."
"Was he raped?"
"I'm hesitant to say. There is some blood. I'll do a proper examination downtown but the killer
wore a condom and there's evidence of lubricant around the anus. Not usually
the actions of a rapist and not just that, but there's semen on the wall."
Claire and Zack looked at each other. "He came
before he died?" Claire asked.
"Yes. Brick dust under his nails consistent with
being held against the wall during sex."
Zack stared thoughtfully down at the corpse. "Rough
sex gone wrong? Trying to get off with some asphyxiation and his partner accidentally
kills him?"
"Possibly," the pathologist said.
"I'll run a check." Claire straightened up
and walked away, flipping her phone open.
Zack glanced around the crime scene. Dry ground, no
foot prints. He leant closer to the wall, wondering if the rough bricks might
have snagged some fibres from the murderer's clothes. All in good time. Let the
crime scene unit do their job and he'd do his. But it was four in the morning
and he could barely see straight.
Back inside the club by the rest rooms, a uniformed
policewoman was comforting a crying young man.
"I take it you found the body?" Zack asked.
The man looked up, blue eyes swollen. He was about
twenty years old, attractive in a gauche kind of way. He straightened up,
checking Zack out rather obviously, giving a wan smile. "Yeah. The rest
room was heaving so I ran outside to take a leak. Almost tripped right over
him." He sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his nose. "It's
so horrible."
"Did you see anyone?"
"No."
"All right. Give the officer your details and we'll
be in touch if we need you again."
The man nodded and Zack wandered back outside. He
blinked as he walked under a spotlight. He looked up slowly and spotted a
camera above the fire exit. Zack smiled.
He'd managed to get his hands on a cup of coffee and
was standing watching the body being zipped into a bag when Claire joined him. "He's
got a rap sheet," she said. "Two arrests for drug possession—crystal
meth—with intent to supply. Three arrests for soliciting. Suspended sentences
or a fine every time."
Zack sipped his coffee. "So, robbery wasn't the
motive unless he had a stash on him that our killer took with him. But they had
sex and maybe consensually. Perhaps things just got out of hand?"
"Maybe," Claire said. "You spotted the
CCTV?"
"Yeah. Let's go see who's in charge here."
A word with the bar manager, Anthony, led to them being
escorted up the stairs to the next level. A line of men thronging the stairs
eyed Zack as he walked past and he flushed, feeling hungry stares checking out
each part of his anatomy. As they reached the second level balcony, Claire
grinned at him. "You've got a few admirers."
Zack worked out three times a week and kept himself
well groomed, his dark hair regulation short, his face always closely-shaved,
but all his efforts were wasted: he was married to the job. One secret he had
yet to share with anyone at work though, was that he found some of the men
looking at him attractive and had to fight the urge to stare right back. He
suspected Claire knew but was waiting for him to say something. He wouldn't be
coming out any time soon. What was the point in stirring up trouble for himself
when he was virtually celibate anyway?
Anthony led them along the next landing and up a second
flight of stairs marked Private. Staff
Only. He knocked on a door and opened it when a deep voice bade them enter.
Claire thanked him. As he walked away, he glanced back over his shoulder and
winked at Zack.
"I don't believe this!" Claire hissed as
they entered the impeccably decorated office. "Every guy in the place is
falling over themselves for you!"
"Hush." Zack flushed and straightened his
tie, glancing up into the eyes of the man standing from behind his desk.
The owner of Inferno
was in his late thirties, taller than Zack, around six feet four with a
broad-shouldered, worked-out physique that almost strained his impeccably
tailored suit. His hair was jet black and slicked back from his satanically handsome
face. A stark black beauty mark stood on one cheek, drawing the gaze readily.
Zack stared. He couldn't think of a more fitting person to own Inferno. The man looked like Lucifer
himself.
The fallen angel walked around the desk—with a slight
limp, Zack noticed—and his big body immediately dominated the room. He looked
the two of them over, his gaze lingering on Zack. "Detectives, I'm Dante
Jardine."
"I'm Detective Keaton, this is my partner
Detective Stewart." Claire introduced them.
Dante shook their hands, his grip solid and firm,
startling violet eyes appraising Zack.
Zack made sure to draw his hand back as soon as he
could without appearing rude. He felt curiously intimidated and didn't much
like it. "You know about the murder?"
"Please have a seat." Dante gestured to the two
chairs in front of his desk and waited until they'd sat down before he settled
back into his own chair. "Yes, I know. Dreadful business."
"I'd expect you to be down there in the alleyway,
not hiding up here in your office," Claire remarked.
"Oh no, I wouldn't trample all over your crime
scene. I'm safer up here." Dante's tone was smooth and calm. He smiled coolly
from rather cruel, if sensual lips, the beauty mark stretching, the smile not
reaching his eyes
Zack bristled. Before he could speak, Claire stood up
and handed her phone to Dante. "This is the victim. Do you know him?"
Dante didn't take it, merely glanced at the photo. "Not
exactly. He was a regular. I'd seen him around the club."
"Do you know anything about him?"
Dante arched a sardonic eyebrow. "About his
lifestyle you mean? He was a dirty little whore who sold drugs."
Zack glowered at him. "You shouldn't speak ill of
the dead."
Dante looked chastened. "Forgive me. He didn't
deserve to come to such a nasty end."
Claire took over again. Clearly she sensed Zack's
dislike and frustration. "So you allowed him to sell drugs and solicit for
business in your club?"
"Of course I didn't. He was frisked thoroughly
every time he came in. He hadn't been caught with anything on him for a while."
"Why didn't you just ban him?"
Dante shrugged. "I don't know."
Like fuck you don't, Zack thought savagely. There was more to this than
met the eye. He'd noticed a small TV on a table in the corner of the room
showing a black and white image of the alleyway downstairs. "Is that your
CCTV?"
"Yes."
"Who watches it? Just you?"
"Usually, yes."
"You mean you don't have your security people
keeping an eye on it during the night?"
"I don't find that necessary." The club
owner's tone was blasé, almost bored.
Zack clenched his teeth. "I don't think much of
your security precautions here at all. In fact, they're shit. Perhaps I'll have
a word with a few people I know."
Dante paled, his eyes narrowing. "Are you
threatening me?"
"No. Where were you this morning at around two o'clock?"
"Here," Dante said between his teeth.
"Can anyone vouch for that?"
"Plenty of people. I had phone calls, the bar
manager came up, the door manager came up. I was called around three-thirty
when the body was found."
"You've been up here all night?"
"No, I was down at the bar till about midnight."
The two men stared each other down until Claire broke
the silence. "We need to see the CCTV footage from the time the club
opened."
Dante pushed his chair back and stood. "Knock
yourself out." He went over to the desk where the TV sat and rewound the
tape. "It starts at ten pm." Claire and Zack looked over at the black
and white image of a circle of light outside the fire exit door. From time to
time, crime scene investigators walked past, their white outfits standing out.
"Doesn't it pan down the alleyway?" Zack
asked.
"No. That's it."
"Your camera is fixed above the door and just
films that spot?"
"Yes. It does the job doesn't it? It's supposed
to capture the face of anyone breaking into the club. Similarly, I'm sure it
will show the face of your murderer. If there's nothing else, I'll leave you to
it."
"Oh no," Zack said, walking across the room.
"You can stay here while we watch."
Dante stared down at him from his taller height. They
were so close Zack could smell the spicy, intoxicating scent of his cologne.
Despite himself, he felt a stirring of arousal. "Take a seat Mr Jardine,"
he said before he turned his back on the club owner.
Claire was already sitting in position before the TV
and forwarding the tape quickly. Zack leant on Dante's desk and watched,
stifling a yawn. The tape wound forward at a good speed but it still made for
tedious work watching four hours worth of the small circle of light.
Claire perked up when a black shape slinked up to the
door, nosing around. "Cat burglar?" she joked over her shoulder to Zack
who glared and said nothing, not in the mood.
As the time on screen clicked around to nearly two am,
something happened. Claire stopped, rewound slightly and then played the tape.
But it was just as obvious in play mode what was going on. Suddenly a shadow
fell over the circle of light before the camera went black.
Zack stared. "Son of a bitch put something over
the lens. He knew it was there." He turned around to look at Dante.
"And you're looking at me, why?" Dante
asked. "Am I being accused of something here?"
"Is there a fire escape down to the alleyway from
this floor?"
"Yes. At the end of the corridor."
"Ever been down it?"
Dante's face turned to stone. "No. Why would I? I'm
getting tired of the interrogation, Detective. Should I call my lawyer?"
Zack shrugged. "If you feel you need one."
The two men eyeballed each other.
Claire stepped in smoothly. "That won't be
necessary, Mr Jardine, we're just asking questions, that's all." She shot
a warning look at Zack. "Why don't we see what time the camera was
uncovered?"
Zack turned back to look at the TV. Claire forwarded
the tape again until the item blocking the lens was removed at two-fifteen.
"Okay, so our murderer went back into the club at
two-fifteen. Someone must have seen him come back in."
"Not necessarily," Dante spoke up. "There's
an entrance on the corridor to the fire exit from the back room. If he went
back that way, nobody would have noticed. It's kind of, er, dark in there."
Zack stood up and turned around. He regarded Dante for
a long moment. "The back room? Do I want to know what goes on in there?"
Dante smirked, an unmistakeably seductive look in his
violet eyes. "I don't know. Do
you, Detective?"
Zack clenched his jaw. "Do you have CCTV in
there?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Dante said scornfully.
"In the corridor to the fire exit?"
"No."
"All right, that's it." Zack marched to the
door and wrenched it open. "Fuck us around as much as you want, Mr Jardine,
that's fine by me."
Claire ran after him. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for witnesses." With his jaw set, Zack
set off down the stairs. He glanced back to the third floor landing to see Dante
standing at the railing, pale and angry.
"Detective, if you lose me business, I swear I'll
sue you for every penny you've got."
"Then sadly, you won't get much," Zack
retorted. He charged down the next flight to the ground floor and stood looking
over the dance floor a moment. "There," he shouted to Claire over the
ear-splitting dance music, pointing to a black door.
Zack banged the door open. The first thing that hit
him was the dark, then the heat and the smell of sweat. The next thing was the
noise. Without warning, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and his cock
stirred. He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and switched it on, surveying
the darkness, raising his voice.
"My name is Detective Stewart from Moonlight Cove
Police. There has been a murder outside this club in the alleyway behind this
room. We are looking for witnesses."
He stopped, his jaw open at some of the scenes his
torch lit up.
"For fuck's sake, Zack," Claire muttered
behind him.
In every corner, against every wall, couples and
multiples were entwined, sucking and fucking. Zack thought he had stepped into
a Roman orgy. He had never seen anything like it in his life, but then he had
never frequented anywhere like Inferno before.
"Detective," rapped a sharp voice behind
him. "Have you seen enough or should I snap a few photos for you to take
home?"
Zack charged forwards. He grabbed a handful of Dante's
jacket and propelled him back, pinning him against the wall, ignoring Claire's
pleas to let him go. "You and I are going to go back up to your office and
have a nice chat, starting from the beginning," he hissed, flashlight
shining full in Dante's face. "And you can give me a reason not to close
you down right now."
Dante stayed still in his grip, although his eyes
flashed dangerously, pupils constricted to pinpoints. "I'll be calling
that lawyer after all."
"You do that," Zack spat before he let him
go, stalking out of the back room.
Claire caught up with him by the dance floor. "What
the fuck are you doing?" She shouted above the music. "Do you
seriously like him for this?"
"I don't know." Zack breathed heavily,
running a hand through his hair, unsteady with the aftereffects of adrenaline.
Christ, the things he'd seen… "Don't you?"
"Not really. He'd have to have one hell of a good
motive to start murdering his clientele."
"Look, someone's been murdered and he doesn't
give a fuck."
"He's just a cold fish. Doesn't mean he did it.
You were out of line back there, you know that."
Zack stared at her a moment. He didn't bother to deny
the accusation.
"You should go home. I'll wrap up here for
tonight."
"No."
"Yes. The guy's going to be all lawyered up and
what will we achieve? Nothing. I'm going to do some damage limitation and you're
going to go back to your beauty sleep."
Zack sighed heavily. "I want a background check
on the bastard. I want CSU to go over the fire escape leading from his office
to the alleyway, got it? He says he's never been down there. Let the fingerprints
and fibres do the talking. And I want every Dumpster in that alley checked for
the killer's condom."
"Okay, fine. Now go."
Zack glanced up the stairs. Dante stood on the third
floor landing looking down at him with an unreadable expression on his face. "Good
night," Zack told Claire.
She patted his shoulder. "See you in the morning."
* * * *
"Your partner's a fucking maniac," Dante
said when Claire reached the top of the stairs, sliding her phone back into her
pocket.
She shrugged. "He's tired, overworked."
"That's an excuse?"
"Can we talk?"
"Yes, if you're not going to accuse me of murder
with no good reason. I'll get some coffee sent up."
Dante's coffee was like him—hot, dark and smouldering.
Claire already had him pegged as gay—did a straight man run a gay nightclub?—or
she would have been seriously interested, cold fish or not.
"So," she said, warming her hands on the
mug. Not because it was cold in Dante's cosy office but because tiredness
always made her shivery. "About my partner's behaviour…"
"He's an asshole," Dante cut in.
Claire didn't deign the comment with a reply. She'd
worked with Zack for two years. Secretive about his personal life, yes,
asshole, definitely not. "As I said… perhaps you should see it from his
point of view. You acted like you couldn't care less that a young man died on
your premises."
For the first time, Dante looked ashamed. "I've
been under stress. The club's just opened, it's been hard work."
Claire leant forwards. "What did you do before
this?"
A wry smile crossed Dante's frozen face. "I was a
cop in Long Beach. Vice squad."
Claire gaped at him.
"I was shot on the job. My partner was killed. Decided
not to go back."
The limp. "That explains a lot," she said.
"It does?"
"Yeah. Your… lack of emotion."
A slight flush stained Dante's pale cheeks. "Yeah
well, I learned to switch off. Some of the stuff I saw…" He looked away,
his lips drawn into a thin line.
For a moment silence hung heavy. Claire used the time
to furiously berate herself at finding herself even more drawn to this man than
she had been on first meeting him. She cleared her throat. "We need to
discuss what we saw in your back room, Mr Jardine."
Dante snapped back to attention. "Detective, the
men of Moonlight Cove work hard and play hard. They have a right to let off
steam where no one's going to judge them or tell them they're wrong."
"Laudable, but that was pornographic down there."
Dante shrugged. "That's your definition. Nobody's
being hurt. Safe sex is practiced, I make sure of it."
"What do you do, go down there and monitor every
cock?"
A sly smirk curled around Dante's cruel mouth. "It's
funny but I couldn't understand why your partner got so wound up about it when
it clearly gets him going."
Claire's cheeks heated. "Excuse me?" She
knew what he meant. Something like anger filled her at the fact this stranger
apparently knew something about Zack that he
hadn't told Claire in two years of close working.
Dante sat back in his chair. "Forgive me for
getting personal."
"Too personal," Claire snapped. "Let's
stick to the business in hand. I want the back room closed."
Dante shook his head. "You're here to investigate
a murder, Detective, and I'll give you all the help you need but please, let me
run my club how I see fit. I'm not breaking any laws."
"Public indecency? You worked vice and you're
telling me you're not running some obscene den of iniquity down there?"
Dante's grin took Claire aback. His teeth were
blindingly white and perfect but they looked natural as opposed to veneered.
The smile made his eyes glitter. For a moment he seemed almost human and God…
she wanted him. "You sound positively Victorian, Detective. It's the
twenty-first century and men love men, that's a fact."
"That's not what bothers me, Mr Jardine."
"Stop calling me that. Mr Jardine is my father.
My name's Dante."
Claire smiled. She sensed a thaw, finally. "Well,
Dante, for the time being, I've bigger fish to fry but I don't think my partner
will let it go so easily."
"I'll have a word with your partner. I'm sure we
can come to some sort of compromise." Dante smiled enigmatically and
Claire got it then. She got Zack's aggression and hostility. Of course. He had
been as attracted to Dante as she was. Christ. This was not what she needed.
She cleared her throat. "So, Corey Breton, how
often did he come in here?"
"Once a week, twice maybe."
"I didn't tell you his name."
"What?"
"When I showed you his photo. I didn't tell you
his name."
"Christ, you're so suspicious of me, Detective,
and I don't know why. I knew his name, okay, he was trouble. I had reason to know his name."
"You said he was a dirty little whore. How did
you know that?"
"I watched him take men into the back room."
"For money?"
"Yeah, I saw them pay him."
"You're very observant for a busy man. You give
me the impression you stood around watching him every night."
Dante glared at her. "After he was caught with
drugs a few times I made it my business to watch him. This is my livelihood,
Detective, nothing's going to ruin that."
There was a motive if ever she'd heard one, Claire
mused, but hardly a good one. Dante could have just banned Corey from his club.
That's all he needed to do.
Dante rubbed his eyes. "It's closing time, Detective,
and I'm tired. Can we call it a night?"
Claire finished her coffee and put the cup down on
Dante's desk. As she rose, so did he, holding out his hand. "Thanks for
your time. I'm sure I'll see you again."
Dante smiled wryly, shaking her hand. "I'm sure
you will. Good night."
"Good night." Claire turned and left the office,
closing the door after her. She walked down the two flights of stairs just as
the DJ announced last orders at the bar. Glancing upwards, she saw Dante
standing at the rail looking down at her.
*
* * *
That bastard. Zack should have knocked his head off.
Or arrested him for running some sort of whorehouse. He lay in bed, still
fuming, still frustrated and angry while a calm, sly voice asked him just why
he was so frustrated.
Yes, okay, he told it, the verbal and physical
sparring with Dante had kind of excited him. All right, more than excited him.
His hard cock was testament to the fact. He had been hard all the way home and
remained hard an hour later, try as he might to ignore it.
But he wasn't the only one. When he'd grabbed the
nightclub owner and thrown him against the wall, he had felt Dante's hard cock
against his own. Hard at what Zack's flashlight had illuminated or aroused by
the sparring the way Zack was?
Fuck him. He was a sly, cold bastard who clearly got
off on knowing Zack was in the closet and taunting him with that fact in front
of Claire. He'd had motive and he'd had opportunity and he'd do as a suspect
for now in the absence of another. Zack wasn't above a little bit of police
harassment. And there was no one he would rather harass more than Dante.
He shuddered at the thought. He imagined arresting the
nightclub owner. Manhandling him into a pair of cuffs, shoving him into a cell,
the door locking behind them. Touching the beauty mark on his cheek. Tracing
its edges with his tongue. Then Dante in that suit face down, with his ass
bared and jacket shoved up, silk lining exposed, hands cuffed behind his back
as Zack rode him like a bucking bronco.
A whimper spilled past his tightly clenched lips. "Stop,"
Zack moaned helplessly, addressing that wild imagination of his.
He tried to think of tax returns, police paperwork,
overtime, the body in the alleyway, but he came back time and time again to
this. Dante at his mercy in a cell. His pyjama bottoms were damp. He wrenched
them down, found his cock wet with pre-cum and slicked it along his shaft,
gasping at the feel of his hand on his needy flesh.
"Fuck, oh God…" He bucked his hips into his
own greedy touch, imagining thrusting into Dante's velvet depths, the nightclub
owner shouting and writhing beneath him.
He couldn't decide if the scenario involved him taking
Dante by force or not. Right now, he felt that's the way it would go, if it
went at all. Giving the sardonic son of a bitch something to really complain about. A hot prick up
his ass and even more of a limp than he had already.
But who said Dante hadn't given it to Corey Breton the
same way? Taken him roughly up against the wall and then strangled him with his
own underwear?
He felt the heat rising from his balls and he cried
out with pure ecstasy as jets of cum pumped over his hand, splattered his
stomach, tons and tons of the stuff, testament to how often Zack even bothered
with this activity.
He slumped down, sweating, sticky, his heart racing.
Christ, he could have just jerked off over a murderer.
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