Chords That Bind Ch 08

Happy Christmas Readers!

As a Christmas present to everyone, we are finally moving into the next distinct part of Cecilia's story. It was actually quite fun to write these parts, even if they aren't necessarily the steamiest of scenes. Lots of plot and character exploration here, but don't worry, there's so much more in the offing. Thanks for your feedback, votes, critiques and criticisms. It makes writing and posting here so rewarding.

-Poeticlicense

*****

"Well, it seems to me mate, that you have some liquidating to do" Abraham sighed as the man who was closer to him than a brother, finished his story.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Enough with all the righteousness and ethics James. Time is of the essence! Contact this Lace fellow and tell him you changed your mind, that you want the girl, and that you'll pay. At the very least you'll get her away from there and safe. You can worry about everything else after that later."

"No," James said stubbornly. "I'll do no such thing."

"And why not?"

"I'm not giving a piece of filth like that a half crown, let alone six million quid!"

"James," Abraham sighed, prepared as always for James' stubborn adherence to gentlemanly behavior, "How long does the girl have? Honestly? And, how else to you plan to right this in a timely manner? He's got you cornered by all rights. Emails, phone calls, he knows where you live... You don't have enough evidence to counter him. If you're honestly worried about the girl, then this is how you'll have to save her. You were half a fool for getting involved in this. You always assume people have the best intentions. Of course prosecuting didn't sit right with you. No wonder you left the bar for music!"

James didn't like his friend's advice or appreciate the accurate criticism. But that was the wonderful thing about Abraham: he told James things that nobody else had the bollox to say. Was he right? Had he been blindly allowing himself to ignore the implications of his letter? It was two years ago that he wrote it. Lace's 'business' hadn't come off as nearly this dirty. He had thought all the strangeness had been because it was associated with the lifestyle. Regardless, James knew some fault, however unwitting, was his own, and the chivalrous fellow in him wouldn't rest until he made it right. Letting his friend's solution sink in, James daydreamed for a minute, recalling his friendship with Abraham over the years...

They hadn't been friends at first. The two alpha students at Oxford had been competitive, each trying to prove their supremacy. Abraham's physical prowess had been a match for James' cunning. After duels on the field playing rugby and football, and battles of wits in philosophy and history, neither had convincingly won the upper hand. Rather, James excelled in intellectual pursuits, his knowledge delving deep, where Abraham's curiosity and impatience led him to scatter his talents wide.

The effect was two talented men who had to learn to put up with each other because neither had successfully jockeyed for first position. That tolerance built a friendship (probably because no one else could put up with them) that lasted longer than Abraham's school career. Halfway through Abe decided to join Her Majesty's Marines. James was sorry to see his friend leave before finishing school, but Abraham was eager to have more adventures. When his time in the service was over he spent time in the police force, but his impatience led him to bend too many rules in his pursuit of justice and in frustration with the system, he left the police force as well. He found the perfect solution to his employment status in James. By the time he had finished with the military and the police, James was practicing at the bar, and had a nice practice going. As a private investigator Abraham was able to help his mate, without having to deal with the red tape and procedure that so annoyed him.

James' quieter determination and steadiness made him a reliable friend, and because of his impatience and hyper-activity Abraham allowed James to call most of the shots. Their closeness had even managed to survive Abraham's relationship and marriage to Clara, the blonde firebrand of a submissive that had initially caught both their attentions. It had been a short lived competition for her affection, reminiscent of their university days, but James could see the love between the two, and even though he kept his jealousy to himself, he often wished he could find a relationship as rewarding as Clara and Abraham's. Maybe that had been part of what had so badly impaired his judgment when Josephine had left him.

James was happy to know he could rely on Abraham when he was being thick. Like now. James was being thick about his available options. He didn't see a clever loophole or way around his problem. But he did see himself as accountable. He looked back to his best mate, (he had been staring into a fresh glass of scotch for an interminable space of time as the contemplated these things) and said "Thank you. Thank you for not judging me. And thank you for telling me the obvious."

"Welcome as always. Now, write the bastard back, and tell him you'll take the girl."

James did just that. Typing carefully he wrote:

Mr. Lace,

Sorry for the confusion earlier today. Allow me to apologize for my reaction. I still want Cecilia. You are right; she's everything I wanted. I'm willing to pay you the six million for her. Tell me where I can have it wired to, and when I can take her off your hands.

Sincerely,

Sir James Ashton

James had never written such an insincere thing in his life, and hated rendering even a fake apology, but he couldn't dwell on that. As soon as he sent the letter off, he began taking stock of his portfolio.

Most of his assets were fairly liquid, but he still found himself selling off bits and chunks of good companies that his intuition told him would only increase in value. He ground his teeth at the thought of selling the stock for less than it was worth only to hand it over to criminal of the worst sort, but this was penance he told himself. After ensuring he still had controlling interest in his own music publishing company, James sold everything he could, amassing a tidy 5.5 million pounds.

He was worried about getting that last half million, when he heard the sound of an incoming email. Heart pounding, James clicked impatiently at his inbox. What he read made his blood boil.

James,

Surprised to hear from you actually. Glad to see you've had a change of heart, but I've already made other arrangements. You see, Cecilia drew quite a bit of interest when you didn't want her. I'm auctioning her off the day after tomorrow. I can't disappoint the other interested buyers, but feel free to attend the auction and put a bid on her. I trust you'll remain discrete.

Gerry Lace

"The bloody bastard!" was all Abraham had to say when James showed him the email.

"Damnit!" James slammed his fist onto the polished surface of his desk. Time and options were running out. He had no choice. He was going to have to go to the auction and pray to the heavens that he was successful.

"I'll go with you," Abraham said, reading his mind.

"Where are you going? And is there a reason for all the shouting?" Clara had entered the room, and the two men had the grace to look sheepish and uncomfortable.

Under different circumstances, James would have loved for an excuse to take his Jaguar E-Type on the road, but this was likely the last chance he would have the pleasure: he was going to hock the beauty for all it was worth. Between selling off the majority of his stock portfolio, the pristine vintage vehicle, and Italian masterpiece behind him, he imagined he could secure the freedom of the girl he had unwittingly entrapped.

Abraham was following behind him in his engineered work of art, his white Maserati Gran Tourismo. It had been a silly purchase, one made in one of his rare fits of rashness. (Although, he was reassessing how often he had been making rash decisions now.) After Josephine had left him, claiming that she had never wanted to be with a musician, but a respectable QC, James decided to embrace his inner-aesthete and bought an Italian sports car. He was actually feeling a good sense of catharsis that he was ridding himself of the thing.

Clara was bringing up the rear in his black Audi S4. They would make the drive back home together in the German sedan after the two valuable vehicles were successfully exchanged for Cecilia's ransom money. Clara had not been pleased that the two men wanted to leave her out of the affair. She was torn between wanting to beat both Abraham and James to a pulp, and aiding in the rescue mission. The little blonde submissive was uncharacteristically vocal in telling the men exactly what idiots they were, and in demanding to help them.

After stamping her feet and making a fair few points, they agreed she could help them with selling the cars, and getting a room prepared for Cecilia, assuming they were successful. If they weren't all this would be for naught.

Gerry had immediately set an auction in motion. He wasn't going to waste anymore time on training this girl. She had ruined her only chance. He told her. 'Obey the first time, every time.' He had taught her what she needed to know, and there were no excuses. But she still had value. Her virginity was enough. Gerry should have told that to Ashton, it might have sweetened the deal. Too late though. He didn't like admitting how concerned Ashton's reaction had made him and he needed to get rid of the girl quickly. He mailed some of his best customers and billed the auction as a special fire sale. As he suspected, there was a wealth of interest in a submissive virgin. The pictures and footage he included sealed the deal, and within 48 hours he would be free of the volatile investment.

Cecilia had thought she had been living a nightmare before, but she was certain now, that things could get worse. They already had. Her head was spinning. After she regained consciousness from being pistol-whipped, Master punished her. Her cheeks were swollen from the number of times he had backhanded her. She felt a piercing pain every time she took too deep a breath. That must have been after she had tried to run one last time. He'd slammed her into a wall trying to flee. When he pressed up against her she bit his ear and scratched his face, leaving a new tear in his visage to match his other scar. It had been gratifying for a moment, until he kneed her in the solar plexus and then kicked repeatedly her while she was down. With the wind knocked out of her, and a new impediment to her breathing Cecilia couldn't do anything as she was tied to a cross on the wall.

She thought he had unleashed all the cruelty available to him, had used all the weapons at his disposal, but she was sorely mistaken. He whipped her back, and not with the soft flogger like before, but with a single-tailed whip. It easily tore at her skin, her back had already been sensitive, but this was another level of hurt. She felt sickened by the drip of her own blood down her back. Before she passed out he held a knife to her throat and pulled her hair back, forcing her to look into his dark eyes, telling her he held her life in his hands. Finally her mind cooperated and she remembered nothing more.

Gerry was wondering if he had been too vigorous in subduing the girl. She had quite a few open gashes across her back, and the shiners on her cheeks weren't going down... that was the sort of thing he usually avoided, it only attracted sadists, not the better class of customer he had been targeting... but it was also no more than the girl deserved. He shrugged it off. It wasn't every day a virgin was on the market, and after he had his profit, he didn't care what happened to the girl.

The email he received shocked him. Ashton wanted the girl now. The bloody idiot should have made up his mind sooner. But he could see his profit margin increasing. Ashton was more than welcome to bid, but the initial offer was no longer on the table. Gerry was going to maintain control, and made sure to keep pressure on the man. If he did manage to win the girl, it was only more incriminating evidence to keep him quiet.

Cecilia knew she was doomed from the way Master was tying her up. He brought her arms behind her and tied them from elbow to wrist, partially obscuring some of the worst of the slashes on her back. He tied her collar to a point somewhere above and behind her, reminding her of a noose. She was breathing shallowly and quickly wondering if she could will herself to die before she was sold. She was too afraid now to do anything without being told to, and let Master fix the ring gag between her teeth. Her final humiliation was the crude cardboard placard he hung from her clamped nipples. It read 'naughty girls can't come', a fact he reminded her of as he fondled her sex to the point of desperation.

Lace was pleased with the sight of Cecilia, and proud of himself for keeping her virginity intact this long. It was going to make him a nice sum. He also enjoyed humiliating the girl who had caused him so much trouble when she should have been such an easy sub to train. She was wet and wanting, and already drooling from the gag. There would be no more outbursts that could compromise the sale this time.

James and Abraham drove to Lace's compound after leaving a fuming Clara behind. They didn't want her near the likes of the men likely to be there tonight. Abraham looked at the array of cars parked so conspicuously in the horseshoe drive. A bright yellow Dodge Viper, robins egg blue Lamborghini Aventador, and an ostentatious red Ferrari Spider greeted the two men who drove up in the S4, trying to attract as little attention as possible.

Now it seemed as if they should have kept one of the other cars so as to blend in better. Driving something as showy as these supercars didn't bode well for James and Abraham. Was the 7.5 million pounds in James' Swaine Adeney Brigg briefcase going to be enough?

"I'm not sure about this Abe. We aren't going to have enough."

"I've got you covered mate." From the trunk, Abraham withdrew his own shabby briefcase from college. James looked at him shocked. "There's another two and quarter in there."

"Where did you get that?"

"I may have picked up a few stock tips that weren't for my ears. I'm very good at gathering intelligence, as you well know."

"I can't ask that from you."

"You didn't. Consider it a loan. I know where you live after all." Abe smirked at him, trying to find something funny amidst all the dark dealings they had been thrust into over the past few days. "Besides, Clara suggested it. She was not about to let you be the only hero tonight." They started walking up the drive.

"There's nothing heroic about this. It's

all

abysmal, and I have half a mind to turn myself in. This is only going to be a Band-Aid on a gaping wound, even if we are successful."

"Stop. One thing at a time. Let's get this girl out of here, and then we can work on the rest of this problem."

The door opened before them. At least they hadn't underdressed; the other men in the room had dressed in black tie, as if this were a fancy-dress dinner. Abe and James had worn their own Sunday best, hoping to appear as serious as possible, but the people around them had taken it to the next level. Armani tuxedoes and tailored double-breasted jackets were the order of the day, and even in his Ted Baker three-piece suit, James was intimidated by what he was trying to pull off. These were the men of organized crime behind all the villains he used to prosecute. The Italian-American with his greasy hair, the Arab in full dress regalia, a Russian with a heavy accent and fur trimmed collar, all chatted amiably and stopped as soon as the Englishmen entered looking as out of place as mules among prize dressage horses. They didn't carry themselves with the same arrogance as these men. Only Abe's oversized, steadfast presence kept James from turning and leaving to call the police instead of nodding to the other men in the entrance hall.

Abraham was happy he was here to support his friend. He realized he looked like a bodyguard next to his friend who was shorter in stature and less built, but maybe this would help maintain appearances. This was like when he snooped undercover, so he embraced the air of criminality and said in as dismissive a voice as possible, "Evening gentlemen."

The tension broke in the room and after cursory nods in their direction, they went back to discussing whatever had been keeping their interest before he and James entered.

A moment later, James nudged him and indicated a slight man who was walking down the stairs. "That's him."

"Nasty scar on that one. Someone got him good," Abe whispered.

"Someone got him again. The one cut is fresh." James had a sinking feeling about what he was going to see when he finally laid eyes on Cecilia again.

Despite the fact that this was a rescue mission, James couldn't help but feel his stomach twist in knots that had nothing to do with the auction. He admitted to himself that he had something of an infatuation with Cecilia. Although, there was no way she could ever want him. He pushed those feelings down, ashamed that he could even think of wanting her after what he had done.

"Gentlemen," Lace addressed the gathered group of traffickers and underworld crime lords, "shall we?"

Lace was in a positively buoyant mood. Ashton had turned up. He was certain to drive the bidding up now, and entrap himself further. This was all that Lace could've hoped for, given the situation.

James climbed the stairs in exaggerated slowness, trying to hide how eager he was to get this over with. He was sick to his stomach, lost in a daze, and Abe caught him as he missed a step. "Pull yourself together mate," Abe whispered darkly to him, "pretend your prosecuting, you're about to achieve justice for this girl." The words heartened James somewhat, but that was behind him. He had abandoned law in favor of his passion for music, but it was his dark passions that had created this mess.

He nodded and assumed the air of the Queen's Council he had once been. Drawing on the strength that came from good intentions, he walked into the same room he had seen Cecilia in two days past. Without Abe there bucking him up, he might have done something foolish right away. The girl had been terribly abused. Dark bruises colored her torso, and nasty shiners glowed sickly on her high cheekbones. Her abasement had nothing to do with mutual pleasure: Cecilia had been turned into an object of the darkest sort of desires: The sort that had never appealed to him or Abe, who had always been interested in sharing mutually rewarding exchanges in the lifestyle.

He heard Abe take a sharp breath and knew it was as bad as he thought. Rounding behind her he saw the marks that could only have been left by a bullwhip. Abraham put an arm out in front of James. They couldn't afford a fit of gallantry now.

Cecilia shut her eyes as imposing men filed into the room, all eyes lit up with dark purpose and malicious intent. They didn't see her; they saw her spread thighs and clamped nipples, her mouth forced cruelly open. She shook her head, her voice silenced after yesterday, finally loosing her voice completely, and having her mouth pried open by the ring gag.

Then she felt the hands. They were all over her, turning her head this way and that, inspecting her teeth, palming her breasts, enjoying tormenting her as they tugged at the embarrassing sign hung from her nipples. They laughed and smacked her in what was supposed to be a playful fashion as she moved her hips towards the hands stimulating her pussy.