Provoke (6 page)

Mace

I hadn’t heard from Leeta since Tuesday. There had been a missed call from the day before, but whenever I tried calling back, I got no response. That concerned me, but just then I had bigger things to worry about.

The time had passed so slowly all day, but now it seemed to be racing toward seven at full speed. I hadn’t bothered going home; I’d stayed back at work and caught up on some paperwork. With each minute that passed, the anxiety in the pit of my stomach grew. So many things could go wrong, but I
needed
to do this. There was no backing out now.

At twenty minutes to, I grabbed my keys and left.

Our meeting place was an abandoned house that Cash had arranged for me—a derelict old shack. Looking at it from the outside, you wouldn’t expect inside to house a perfectly set-out room. I walked through the hallway, taking in the peeling wallpaper and rotting wood frames, and entered the room.

One room, right up the back of the house.

It was freshly painted a sterile white. Mirrors lined the walls. The white sheets on the four-poster bed, and the steel table and chairs gave the place a very clinical feel.

Three cameras were positioned around the room to ensure every moment was captured.

It was through these cameras that
he
would be watching.

The highest bidder, paying some exuberant sum to interact in a live rape that would be streamed through a private webpage to his computer.

And I was the rapist. Only, I couldn’t do that. The thought of putting anyone through that kind of pain made me sick. And angry. So fucking angry.

“Hi, Mace.”

I turned around and smiled at Cassandra. Her long, blond hair hung in waves down her back. Her brown eyes looked unusually large as she peered around the room. She had been here before, but I guess, just like for me, this didn’t get any easier for her.

“Cassandra. How are you?” Probably an awkward thing to say to the woman you were about to pretend to rape on camera, but what could I say? I get awkward when I’m shitting myself.

“Good. Nervous.” She looked down, her hands clutching at her handbag. She wore a pretty green sundress that hung just above her knees.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I walked toward her, placing my arm on her shoulder. She relaxed and nodded.

“I know. I’m okay. I want to do this. I want to help.”

From the start, I was very open with the women I employed. They knew my family, and most of them had known Anna personally. Her death had rocked the worlds of many people. These girls supported what I was doing. That, and many of them had done much worse than this for a few dollars.

At least I was compensating them well.

“I’m going to have to tie you to that chair.” I pointed to the white steel chair that sat next to the bed. She nodded and began to undress. I turned around to give her some privacy. Privacy? I was about to fuck her under someone else’s direction, and I was concerned about her privacy? This whole thing was twisted.

The truth was, if there were any other way, I wouldn’t be doing this.

I hated
every
fucking minute of it. The entire time, my head was filled with thoughts of Leeta. I hated myself for doing this to her, but I’d hate myself even more if I didn’t.

Cassandra sat down in the seat. I began to wind the ropes around her, securing her into place. Fuck—she’s terrified.
Her eyes, those eyes show so much fear.
I kneeled in front of her, taking her hand in mine.

“I’m here, Cass. No matter what happens, just remember that it’s me, and I’d never hurt you, okay? I’m so sorry I have to do this to you.”

She shook her head. “I’m okay, Mace. I’ll be fine.”

“I . . . you know I can’t stop once I start, right?” I asked her softly, touching her face with my thumb.

“I know,” she whispered.

#

Seven o’clock. Showtime.

I glanced over at Cass, who was tied up in her chair, blindfold and mouth gag in place. My heart dropped. Was this what Anna had been put through? I clenched my fists beside me as I walked over to switch the cameras on.

After a few minutes of silence, a voice—
that
voice—boomed through the room. I had no idea how many “buyers” there were, but there were at least two.

“Well, she’s a pretty little one.”

I didn’t answer; I knew to just wait for direction. This was
his
rape. I had little to do with it. I was simply his means to an end. What kind of depraved person did this? Live-streamed rape to the highest bidder . . . How were there people out there sick enough to do that . . . and to
pay
for that shit?

Who knew there was such big money in passively participating in a rape? I had no idea how much they paid. I was sure it was a hell of a lot more than I received—not that I kept any of the money. Every last penny of my income from each job went to my ‘victim’. Honestly, I wanted nothing to do with it. The less I could associate myself with all of it, the better.

“Is she still conscious?”

I walked over to her and removed the gag, and tapped her softly on the cheek. She began to cry. I couldn’t tell if the tears were real or just for his benefit, but it ripped my heart out all the same.

“Wonderful. This one we will keep lucid. I want to see the pain in her eyes. I love seeing that fear.” He chuckled, a sound that twisted through my heart, shredding it to pieces. I leaned forward and slipped the blindfold from over her eyes.

My heart pounded as I stared into them, so scared and brimming with fear. This wasn’t acting—she was genuinely terrified. It was one thing to be passed out and not remember anything, but to have no control and no idea what was coming next . . .

“Untie her. I want her on that table.”

I did as I was asked, slowly unravelling her from the chair. Once the ropes were free from her, I grabbed a handful of her long blonde hair and forced her to her feet. The key was to be as forceful as I could without hurting her. She knew me, she trusted me; the last thing I wanted to do was break that trust. I jerked her forward, dragging her over to the table. Lifting her by the hips, I sat her on the edge and pushed her down until her back was flat against the cold metal. She gasped and closed her eyes, blinking back tears.

Her legs were fused tightly together. She was doing so well, as if she were sensing what I needed from her. I needed that fear, that reluctance, because as soon as he caught even the smallest sniff of something being off, he’d be gone.

I had
one
chance at this.

“Stick your fingers in her pussy. Make her nice and wet.”

I pried her legs apart and slid two fingers inside her. She cried out and tried to push my hand away. I forced them back inside, this time harder.

With the cameras switched off, I shut off my laptop and packed it up, ready to get the fuck out of there. Cassandra sat on the edge of the bed, watching me. I walked over to her and sat down.

“I’m sorry,” I began.

“Don’t be. What you’re doing . . . you need to catch this sick fuck, Mace. He’s not the only one, is he? That was a different guy,” she whispered.

I nodded.

I couldn’t be sure exactly how many there were, but he was the second ‘client’ I’d dealt with. There were women out there going through this for real. For them, it was no act. There was no payment, only torture—and who knows what else. I hadn’t been asked to do anything beyond rape, but I couldn’t help but wonder.

“Did . . . did I hurt you?” I asked, curling my arm around her shoulder. I felt nothing beyond compassion and respect for Cass. It took a strong person to do what she had just done.

“No. I’m fine, Mace. Just promise me you will catch this sicko. I . . . I can’t stop thinking about Anna.” Her voice broke as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Me too,” I muttered, anger raging through my body.

#

I walked her to her car and waited until she had safely driven away. Once she was out of sight, I got into my car and started the engine. I had no idea what to do next. It felt like I was stuck on the same piece of the puzzle, and I couldn’t quite reach the next step. I was missing something, but what?

I checked my phone. A message from Leeta flashed up, and my stomach dropped.

Sorry babe, not feeling well. Will call you tomorrow xx

“Fuck!” I yelled, slamming my fists against the dashboard.

Why am I so damn angry?

The guilt was eating me up inside. I could wrap it up however I wanted, but when it came down to it, she was never going to forgive me for this. I couldn’t tell her. I’d lose her for sure. And stopping this wasn’t an option, either. Those sick cunts needed to be fucked over for what they did to Anna—what they were still doing to God knows how many innocent women. If it wasn’t for me, those two clients would have paid someone else to rape those women.

I’ve saved three women from rape.

I had to look at it that way. Three women saved from rape, and if I could get to those guys, I could save a hell of a lot more. I couldn’t go to the cops, because they’d never believe me. Not with my family background. Besides, these guys were mine, and they were going to pay.

I was doing this for Anna.

Leeta

For the tenth time since I’d gotten home I was over the toilet bowl, heaving my guts up. It was a vicious circle: I’d throw up, feel sick, and re-watch the videos, convinced I’d missed some vital piece of information that cleared Mace. Then, when that didn’t come, I’d throw up again.

This had been going on since the day before. I had no freaking idea how I’d made it through work that day. I’d honestly thought the distraction would do me well.

I had to stop this; I was driving myself mad.
Pull yourself together.
You’re helping nobody like this.

I needed a plan. I couldn’t avoid him forever, and crying wasn’t going to make it go away. If he was really messed up in . . . whatever the fuck that was, then I needed to do something. I couldn’t just sit back and let it happen.

Okay, Leeta, you’re a god-dammed prosecutor. Put your fucking skills to use.

The first step was to sit through both videos again and pick up anything that I could use—anything that looked familiar. If I did take this to the cops, I needed to be sure I had some hard evidence.

Who could I trust down at the precinct? Lewis had always been nice to me—a little too friendly at times, but nice, all the same. Did I trust him to look at this fairly though?

No, probably not.

He would enjoy getting Mace out of the picture. No doubt he thought Mace belonged in jail with the rest of his family. A shiver ran through me. Maybe he did.

Unwrapping my brand new laptop, courtesy of Target, I set it open on the coffee table. My phone was vibrating again, but I ignored it. He had tried calling ten times already. That worried me. Had I left something open? Some kind of hint as to what I’d seen?

God, what if I was next?

What if this was some sick, twisted game to him? Maybe that’s why he had been so quick to approach me that day when we’d met. I jumped up and raced toward the door. I knew it was locked, but I needed to double-check. Unzipping my jacket, I threw it over the back of a chair. I then abruptly smashed my knee into the back of it.

“Shit,” I cried, clutching my leg. Fuck, I was completely losing the plot. I couldn’t even keep my thoughts straight. Next I’d be seeing little pink elephants dance around the room. I limped back over to the couch and sat down.

Gripping the laptop with both hands, I brought it onto my thighs. My breathing was shallow, as though my body knew what it was about to be put through and wanted no part of it.

The first video was already on the screen, ready to play. I had to block out the emotional response.
Watch it as though it is someone else
. I was a god-dammed lawyer. If I couldn’t sit through this without judgment, then I was in the wrong field.

Subjective thoughts, Leet. You can do this.

I watched both videos from start to finish—all thirty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds of them—while Marcus sat beside me, oblivious to everything.

By the end, I was damn proud of myself. No breakdowns, no tears, but still no closer to anything concrete. When were the videos taken? Was it before we got together? Did that even matter?

But it did matter. Because regardless of how disgusting these videos were, I was looking for a reason to forgive him.

Slamming the laptop shut, I threw it on the floor and stretched out on the couch, my arms curled around my stomach. My eyes stared into nothingness as I struggled to hold back another rush of tears.
No. No mor
e. I refused to waste any more tears. It was time I toughened up and dealt with this like a fucking adult. I had to deal with it myself or call the cops, but for God’s sake, I had to stop dragging it out.

Did I trust him enough to consider the slightest possibility of an explanation?

#

I opened my eyes and groaned, reaching for my neck, which felt like it had been folded in half and packed into a briefcase. I sat up and stretched, my hand fumbling for the lamp on the side table behind me. I switched it on, and—

“Holy fucking shit!” I literally screamed—a high-pitched, old lady scream.

Mace was sitting in the armchair opposite the couch, his leg crossed over his knee. He looked tired, as though he hadn’t slept for days.
Yeah, because he was too busy fucking unconscious women
.

Stop it,
I commanded myself.

I sat forward, struggling to get back my composure as my heart pounded. My eyes darted to my laptop, which sat strewn on the floor where I’d left it. Thank God I’d closed it.

“Mace. Shit, you scared me,” I gasped, my breathing still laboured.

He raised his eyebrows, his hand resting on his chin as his gaze burned into me. “I noticed.” He chuckled, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I fibbed.
Bullshit
. I was feeling worse than I had all day.

“You look like shit,” he commented, raising an eyebrow.

“Gee, thanks,” I snapped. “Why are you here? Didn’t you get my message?” I’d told him I was sick.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He cocked his head and sat forward, his hands now joined in his lap. “Did you go to my house yesterday?”

Why the hell had I gone all domestic cleaner on him?? I’d done his washing, for fucks sake, and I thought he’d never know I’d been there? Was I
insane?

Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I could feel my face heating up as I struggled to keep myself calm, when all I wanted to do was let him have it. I wanted answers. Now I definitely looked as though I was hiding something.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. I needed to get some work done and my laptop died. I didn’t think you’d mind me using yours. I, uh, didn’t think it would be a problem.”

He stiffened, managing a sharp nod. “No, it’s fine.” His eyes fell on my new laptop lying on the floor. “Here, I’ll have a look at it—”

“No!” I practically screamed, launching myself at the laptop
. Fuck, Leeta. Get a grip.
“That’s a new one. The old one is in the bin,” I stammered, hugging the Mac to my chest. He nodded slowly. I almost felt the need to race outside and show him I wasn’t lying.

“Well, anyway, I brought you over some food. I thought you might be hungry.” An awkward silence followed. He stared at me, and I avoided eye contact. I couldn’t even look at him. All I could see were the faces of those girls, just lying there.

Please just leave. Please, please, please.

“I might go to bed, try and sleep this off. You don’t mind, do you? I’ll call you later, okay?” For a moment I thought he was going to argue, but then he simply nodded.

We both stood up. He walked over to me and attempted to kiss me. I freaked out and backed away.
Way to go, Leets. You’re doing an awesome job at being inconspicuous.

“Leet, what the hell is up with you?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. His forehead creased as he waited for me to answer. He towered over me, his presence enough to make me weak at the knees. The worst thing was I didn’t know if that was lust, or the fact that he might be a rapist.

“Nothing. I just don’t want you catching whatever this is,” I mumbled weakly. God, I was such a bad liar. How was it that I managed to successfully practice law?

“I’ll risk it.” He grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward him until I was flush up against his chest. I froze as his hand cupped my chin. He leaned down, his lips pressing against mine. My body reacted the way it always did when he touched me—with anticipation and want—in complete contrast to the negative thoughts that were racing through my head.

Yet there I stood, kissing him back. It was such an innate response, and left me feeling completely confused.
I hated him…didn’t I? Then why was I standing here, kissing him with more passion and lust than I ever had? I couldn’t break myself away and it scared the hell out of me.

I whimpered as his hands wandered under my shirt, the feel of his skin against mine electrifying. Desire consumed me. I wanted him so badly. God, I was so wet . . . What the fuck was wrong with me? He pulled away, staring at me one last time as his thumb tweaked my cheek.

“Go get some rest, Leets. You’re acting really weird.”

#

I’m acting weird . . .

His words rang in my head. The last thing I wanted to do was arouse his suspicion. I wiped a thin film of sweat off the back of my neck. God, it was hot in there. Walking over to the back door, I slid it open and left the security door locked.

I needed a plan. I needed something set out. I worked best when I had things set out in action.

My skills at gathering information from the videos had pretty much exceeded their limits. I needed outside help. And there was only one person that stuck in my mind: the last person I ever wanted to speak to again.

Ben.

It had been two years since we’d last spoken. The man my parents thought was utterly perfect. I laughed. If only they knew. That dude was all kinds of fucked up.

If anyone knew the
how
to find out what I needed to know, it would be him. His obsession with porn had become scary. Even scarier was the role-playing he had insisted we act out. Hell, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Ben was into this kind of shit too.

In the beginning, he had been the perfect boyfriend: sweet, caring, and everyone loved him. He won my parents over easily. It seemed like there wasn’t a single thing the guy could do wrong.

About six months into our relationship, he proposed. I said yes. No hesitation. He was perfect for me. We were great together.

Things started unravelling shortly after. He had served in Iraq for a few months, and when he came back he was a totally different person. The loveable, fun guy had been replaced with a dark, empty, spiteful shell.

His paranoia was the worst. He’d been convinced I was cheating on him. On several occasions he went as far as almost physically harming me. I swore to him then that if he laid so much as a finger on me, I’d be gone, and he would never see me again. He promised he’d get help. And he did. Things improved from there.

It took all of a month for shit to get really bad. By that stage, he no longer worked. He spent his days surfing the Internet, watching porn, sleeping, and drinking. Then he began to get really violent. Sexually violent. He would choke me during sex, among other things. He had gone from a gentle, intimate lover to a violent creep who got off on causing me pain.

Telling Mom and Dad that I’d broken things off with their dream boyfriend had been fun. I’d seriously thought Dad was going to start crying. Then the lectures began—about how insensitive I was for breaking up with a man who was obviously suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.

The thing was, he didn’t want my help. Over and over I tried to help him, but he kept pushing me away. What else was I supposed to do? I was a twenty-year-old girl who was too afraid to sleep in the same bed as her fiancé in case he went too far.

I was living a nightmare, waiting for the day when I’d wake up with his hands around my neck. The fact that I could even think he was capable of that had been a wake up call to get the hell out of that relationship.

So I had. And I vowed never to put myself in that kind of situation again.

I sure knew how to pick them.

#

Now for the fun part.

Tracking Ben down would be no problem: he was a decorated army officer who had worked with my father for years—hence Dad’s love for the guy. Tracking down email addresses of current army officers was surprisingly easy. Which had always struck me as weird, considering the whole protecting-the-nation thing.

I grabbed my laptop and navigated to trusty Google. It took all of five minutes for me to be staring at his email address. Did I really want to do this?

Where Mace was scary and short-tempered, Ben had been the complete opposite. Way too calm and collected. His ‘interests’ had scared the fuck out of me—enough for me to get the hell out of that relationship.

But I didn’t see another way. As much as our relationship had gone downhill fast, in an odd way, Ben was the only person I felt I could trust—probably because I could ruin his reputation in half a second if I wanted to. Having that kind of power over someone made them a very trustworthy confidante.

Okay, do this before you change your mind, Leets.

Ben,

Long time, huh? Hope you are well. You’re probably wondering why the hell I’m contacting you after so long, and well, I need a favour. A big one. Get back to me. My number is still the same.

Leeta

Short and sweet.

There was no point going into detail without knowing if he was willing to help me or not. Sighing, I closed the laptop and put it on charge. I needed sleep. I was so past tired, it wasn’t even funny.

I changed into my pyjamas and climbed into bed, exhausted. Fumbling through my bedside table, I found my stash of Valium. I rarely used sleeping aids, but I had so much crammed into my head right then that sleep felt impossible without assistance.

I lay there waiting for the tablet to take effect. It didn’t take long for me start to feel woozy. I closed my eyes and tried to force all the negative thoughts out of my head.