His lips thinning, Drew just hoped that Elliot managed to press the switch on the pendant dangling from his nipple shield, which held the recording device. Drew slipped the earpiece from where it was tucked inside the collar of his military-looking frock-coat-style shirt and jammed it in his ear. Yes!

  “Like the improvements?” Kislyak was asking.

  Drew still couldn’t see them. Were there private rooms here?

  “Know what it all is?”

  “I think so.” Elliot didn’t sound too sure. “The spanking benches and St. Andrew’s crosses in the main room, yes of course. Did I see power points for electro play in those alcoves just before we come this way? Oh, and that’s a restraint bench?”

  Footsteps suggested they were on the move.

  “And a sex sling?” Elliot continued. It sounded as if it were in use.

  “And a fisting sling,” Kislyak replied, his voice gleeful. “I love fisting. Gonna be quite the show later. And in here’s the med fet suite. Should be some punishment play in here soon.” He sounded pleased to hear it.

  “You own this place?” Elliot asked.

  Kislyak must have nodded, because there was no reply. Drew hoped he was going the right way after them. Power points and padded benches—the alcove Elliot had mentioned! A man was testing a wand and the buzzing fuzzed up the electronics Drew was listening through. Fuck. He slipped through a gap in the wall and found himself in a short corridor which held the private rooms Elliot and Kislyak had just been describing, overseen by staff monitoring.

  A door marked ‘Private’ served as an invitation to Drew and, casting a glance behind him, he went in, and the door clicked behind him. The room didn’t hold much beyond a console with two huge monitors, both of which were divided into several smaller squares, each showing an area of the club. He’d found the control room, where security monitored images sent from the surveillance cameras…one of which showed Elliot and Kislyak in what looked like a small office.

  Kislyak was sliding a drink across the desk to Elliot and pouring himself one from a bottle of vodka. The hairs on the back of Drew’s neck rose, whether at that, or the pair being alone, or the hidden-away, basement feel of the room.

  “Now.” Kislyak turned to Elliot. “You gonna cut the bullshit and tell me why you’re really sniffing around me? Because that art broker story? Was fucking laughable.” He slammed the bottle down on the desk with a loud bang that made Elliot jump…and made Kislyak laugh.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Shit, shit, shit.” The wire Elliot was wearing was transmitting not just to Drew but to the party Elliot had spoken to, and hopefully to his team back in London. Well, at least Claire, after he’d been in touch with her earlier and emailed her a copy of his case notes. She’d been alarmed and a little horrified at how rogue he’d gone but had promised to fill in the rest of the unit, including their superiors…if she could make them listen.

  Drew also hoped that, not being suspended, she was in a stronger position to involve local law enforcement should that be necessary. Was it? Elliot had made his own arrangements, paralleling Drew’s, but again, Drew had no idea if the backup they perhaps needed was there.

  Breathing out through his nose—something he remembered from a managing stress workshop, although he couldn’t recall what it did—he stroked Elliot’s face on the monitor, willing him to get the hell out of there.

  Instead, Elliot took a sip of his drink. “Of course it was. Oh, by the way, I actually do have an antiques shop here in town, you know. But yes, I wanted to get a chance to meet with you. You’re a hard man to get a sit-down with.”

  Kislyak grunted. “I’m sitting now.” He even took off his mask, a short nod telling Elliot to do the same. Again the barely restrained violence of his movements struck Drew.

  “I’m a lawyer.” Elliot removed his mask, although the fact he was donning another wasn’t lost on Drew. Drew’s mouth fell open as Elliot described what he could do for Kislyak, or more precisely his businesses, particularly his international ones, once Elliot had set up a chain of companies, one controlling the other, to facilitate management of Kislyak’s enterprise, mainly its cash-flow and tax burden.

  “Look me up,” Elliot invited his host. “You’ll see my family law firm has been successful at this for many years. Elliot & Elliot.”

  Kislyak looked up from his phone after a few seconds with a laugh. “They lost their licenses to practice law.”

  “But I didn’t,” Elliot replied. He let that settle for a couple of seconds. “I ‘wasn’t involved’ in the business.” He made air quotes to go along with his denial. “But I am in the new one we’re setting up now after paying the fine and lying low. We can help with creating as many ‘companies’ as it takes to move money around and we have contacts with several banks.” He took another sip of his vodka and set the glass down.

  Drew could hardly bear to listen to all this. It wasn’t just the deception, although he knew how Elliot felt about that—but the improvising, with Drew stuck in reactive mode, not knowing which turn the conversation and events would take. Jesus, was this how that Claire, or his team, felt when he went out on his own like this? If Elliot’s heart was thumping and crashing as hard as Drew’s was at this, Drew would be able to hear it on the feed.

  “You have a lot of business in the state,” Elliot prompted.

  “It’s a big state,” Kislyak countered. “And I have a lot of business everywhere.”

  “Exactly.”

  Elliot was losing focus now. Get out of there! Drew commanded him. His hands clenched into fists.

  “Well, I’ve made my case for how I can help you avoid taxes and launder money.” Elliot stood. “So I’ll leave it there for now.”

  Kislyak stood too. “You don’t go until I say. We have a lot more to discuss.”

  “We do?” Elliot asked. “Like…?”

  “You’re a sub.” Kislyak came around the desk. “And I’m a Dom who’s into punishment. Oh, not ‘funishment’. His expression showed his contempt of that. “I enjoy enforcing punishments the sub doesn’t like. I like pain play that tests a sub’s limits.”

  “I don’t… I’m n-not…” Elliot stammered.

  “I don’t care. What I do care about is some stupid crusading detective thinking he can touch me!”

  That was it. The end. The fear on Elliot’s face, fear he was trying to hide, had Drew racing to the door to get to him—and finding it locked. The hell? That click when he’d closed the door had been it locking? He wrenched at the handle, not caring if he alerted the security personnel…who should have been in here watching the monitors…

  Ice-cold trickles of fear sliding down his nape to his spine, he spun back to the screen that showed Elliot. Brave Elliot, forcing himself out of his safety zone…into the unknown. Stupid Elliot!

  “You think I don’t know who’s snooping around after me?” Kislyak yelled. “You think I didn’t set all of this up, control it?”

  Drew whirled around to kick at the door, but it was solid. He missed Kislyak’s next words but caught the name Silver. So Kislyak had left a trail, gotten Drew here…into a trap. No, not just Drew—Elliot.

  “I’m coming, babe. Hang on,” Drew promised him through teeth he was clenching so hard he was surprised they didn’t grind into nothing, searching along the console for an override to the door-locking mechanism.

  “I don’t send a stand-in to do my dirty work,” Kislyak said, looking right into the camera in his office…right into Drew’s eyes. “Hello, DS Andrew Harrington. I want you to back off, stop looking into certain areas of my life.”

  “How you pay experts to plan heists and steal from museums for you,” threw in Elliot, despite the obvious fear that had him gripping the edge of the desk.

  “Pay— I am the expert, you fucking pile of crap!” Kisylak roared. “That’s my legacy, and I’ll reveal it when I’m ready.”

  “You just revealed it, you moron!” Drew yelled back at the monitor.

  Kislyak pulled in a breath, calming himself. “But maybe this will convince you to back off.” He leaned away and must have opened a desk drawer, because he straightened, with a pair of thick, heavy-looking leather gloves in his hand. He donned one and the light in the room gleamed on the item’s reinforced steel knuckles, an addition that made the glove into a knuckle duster. The second glove was different. Black leather, like the first, this was covered in evil-looking metal spikes, studding the back and along each finger and thumb.

  Now Elliot darted for the door to find it locked, and pull and kick at it, as Drew had done to his, to as little avail.

  Kislyak laughed, the cackle pulsing with evil and menace. “This is my place! Think anyone’s gonna come in? Particularly when I’m disciplining a sub? You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy this, fucking you up and knowing Harrington’s watching and unable to save you.” He pulled the gloves on tightly.

  “Red. Red! I do not consent! I do not give my consent to this act!” Elliot yelled.

  Two things happened at once. Elliot screamed, high-pitched and anguished, and the monitor feed cut off, leaving Drew, his blood pounding in his head, staring at a blank screen.

  Drew lost it. He threw himself at the door, ramming his full weight against it again and again until it started to give. The door was solid and breaking it down hurt, but Drew felt no pain, only fear for Elliot and anger at himself for letting this happen. He’d learned his lesson—he’d stepped away from the case, but his previous obsession had cost him dear. Cost me Elliot? No. Please God, no.

  With a final crack, the door’s hinges gave enough for Drew to boot it open. He powered through, barreling into someone outside, a tall guy who grabbed for him.

  “Wait—” the man tried to say, but Drew wasn’t inclined to. The guy should have been glad that all Drew had time for was to deliver a punch then shove him over when the impact had the guy staggering.

  Drew bolted for the main floor of the club and into a chaos of panicking bodies, screams and shouts, bright lights and water spraying down from the ceiling sprinklers. A low siren noise started, confusing the people milling around even more, as did Drew when he pushed them out of his way in his desperate race for the short corridor off the alcove behind the bar. The office where Elliot was imprisoned had to be there.

  “Out of the way!” Drew raged at a group of men blocking the space between the bar and his destination. “Move, you fuckers or—”

  “Whoa.” A middle-aged black guy in the doorway was right in his face, stopping him, signaling to another to pin his arms behind his back. “Andrew Harrington? I’m Frank Heise, FBI.” He flicked his ID in Drew’s face. “A friend of Elliot,” he added, when Drew still struggled.

  “FBI?” Elliot’s friend? The guy Elliot had worked with to blow the whistle on his family and who he’d called in on this. Even so, Drew couldn’t spare the time to deal with that now. “Elliot screamed—”

  “That was the signal, yes.” Frank indicated his team. “Can we let you loose?”

  Drew nodded, but still couldn’t take any of it in, not when he’d yet to see Elliot. As soon as he was released, he pushed through the small knot of people in the office—to Elliot. “Elliot—!” was all he could get out. He raced to him and grabbed him in his arms. “Elliot, you’re okay?” he demanded, clutching him tightly and feeling the nod Elliot, holding on to him in turn, gave in reply.

  “That bastard didn’t lay a finger on you? Where is he?”

  “Arrested,” someone—Frank, Drew thought—replied. At least two officers were speaking at the same time, about Kislyak having been under suspicion, the value of the recording Elliot had obtained and the leverage this and the arrest gave to the investigation and—

  “Pity,” Drew spat. He’d have liked a few minutes with the bastard, the case be damned. He held Elliot’s head to his chest, Elliot’s head shakes and his shudders taking Drew’s whole body along for the ride.

  “Get a blanket—anything, to cover him up!” Drew yelled, not wanting anyone to see Elliot like this. He snatched at the jacket that was offered and wrapped Elliot in it, tilting his face up to see for himself that he was okay.

  “He didn’t touch me,” Elliot told him. “Frank’s team got here.”

  Drew noted the phrasing. So the team hadn’t been here earlier? Elliot hadn’t given him the signal that he’d seen them, so maybe they hadn’t been in place, and Elliot had gone ahead with this anyway, putting himself in such danger? “Why did you go off on your own like that?” Drew demanded, his heartbeat still galloping. He glared at Elliot. “To teach me a lesson?”

  “What? No!” Elliot pulled free and scowled in turn. “To help you, you idiot! To solve this! To—”

  “How about not doing this here, either of you?” Frank butted in, glaring at Drew too. “Why don’t you take him home and give him the care he needs, and you, Elliot, let him?”

  Elliot sagged, and Drew caught him. Frank was right. Nothing else mattered, not even details of the case against Kislyak, either here or in London, or which branches of the Met or Drew’s superior officers there were involved and where Drew now stood.

  He held Elliot hard to him the whole ride home and even once they were inside Elliot’s house and in the bathroom. Drew only slackened his hold to undress them both and turn on the shower. As soon as the water was hot enough, he stepped in, bringing Elliot with him. Eventually, under the warm spray, with Drew mindlessly rubbing the washcloth up and down his back, Elliot stirred.

  “You’re washing me?” he asked as if he’d just realized.

  “I’m taking care of you,” Drew corrected. It did feel like administering aftercare, following a scene. “After which, we’re burning your club membership and those leather pants.”

  Elliot laughed. “Don’t you like me in them?”

  “I like you better out of them.” Drew looked him up and down. “Come on. Let’s get you dry and into bed…where I can really take care of you.”

  And he did, starting by gently licking and sucking on Elliot’s still pink and still swollen nipple. It was bare of the silver shield and Drew supposed the FBI had taken it, for the recording device concealed in the pendant hanging from it. He hoped Elliot had removed it himself and not let any of the officers get their hands on him. He didn’t neglect the other and had Elliot purring and under him—Drew hadn’t realized how sensitive his nipples were. Which was when he blew on the wetness he’d left and made Elliot writhe.

  Elliot squirmed when Drew sucked his balls, feeling them fill and harden on his tongue, then thrashed when Drew took him deep. The slow, almost languid pace Drew set had Elliot sighing, but he groaned when Drew used the tight wet heat of his mouth to bring Elliot right to the edge…then pulled off. The noise became a moan when Drew used his hand to jack him, instead, equally as slowly, catching Elliot’s sighs and gasps in his mouth as he kissed him the whole way through it, even when he rubbed his thumb over the head of his cock.

  “Drew!” Elliot cried out when Drew stopped again. “Drew!” he moaned, when Drew switched his hand for his mouth once more and flattened his tongue, taking Elliot to the back of his throat.

  He loved the way Elliot’s breathing and pulse sped, his release threatening. Drew rubbing the tip of his thumb on the bundle of nerves just below the head of Elliot’s dick had him rocking his hips, then thrusting them, then his cock throbbing as he came hard down Drew’s throat. Drew swallowed every drop, licking Elliot clean after.

  “Ohhh.” Elliot gave a sigh of perfect contentment but wasn’t too dazed or sated to take Drew in his hand and stroke him off. “Don’t clean me,” he whispered after, almost too tired to speak but helping Drew milk out the last drops. “Like wearing you…”

  Drew lay on his back and tucked Elliot’s head under his chin, falling asleep holding Elliot clasped tight. They had a lot to sort out, both from the case they were involved in and because of what lay between them. He smiled to find his thoughts and hopes running on not the former, but the latter. On him and Elliot. He could only hope that the next day brought positive developments…in all areas.

  At least he had plans on how to start the day well.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Elliot loved the blow job Drew woke him up with the next morning and how natural it felt for him to slip down the bed himself, so they were sixty-nining, both licking and sucking the other, and learning what brought their partner to a shuddering, sighing release. The shower after was a lot more fun than last night’s, then he and Drew had one of ‘their’ breakfasts, as Elliot thought of them.

  As before, they meshed together, this time with Elliot catching the toast as it shot up from the toaster and buttering it for Drew to add a layer of spread to it—cherry jelly for Elliot, and Marmite for Drew. Elliot still wasn’t sure what that black stuff was, but he’d buy a jar every week if Drew pinned him against the counter and kissed him like that for it, his tongue probing and dominating…and sharing the smoky, spicy taste of his preferred breakfast food with Elliot.

  Elliot had the memory of that kiss to keep him going when they parted after. A discreet team of FBI officers, including Frank, came to speak to Elliot and take his statement, while Drew was shut away with his laptop, undergoing a series of interviews with several different parties.

  “Hey.” Frank nudged Elliot as he and his team went to leave. “It’ll be okay, you know. You and…” He jerked his head to the room where Drew was working. “Just trust, okay? Whatever happens, you’ll handle it.”

  Whatever happens… That was just it. Elliot had no idea what was coming next. His life was here, and Drew’s in London, where he’d for sure be taken off suspension and probably given his own task force to head up, to finish the investigation into Kislyak. Or would that be pursued from the States, now? Well, Drew would be the UK branch of it. UK branch. Elliot mocked himself and his wrongheaded thinking. He’s in the Metropolitan Police, not a law firm!