Conquest 6

THE COLLECTIVE

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Chapter Two; Hannah - The Conquest

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The applause still rung in her ears, the slight embarrassment of all eyes in room having been on her slowly giving way to the enormous feeling of pride. Cheeks flushed as she gushed through a brief, off the cuff, acceptance speech and as she beamed a broad smile for official event photographs, her smile aching her face.

It was someone else's turn for fresh applause now, Hannah Walker watched on distractedly as the tall, Black male in a ubiquitous tailored tuxedo strode towards the stage.

Hannah had missed who he was, or what his award was for. Her phone was pressed to her ear as she heard the last of his voicemail message and waited for the tone. She had known it would be futile even trying to contact him during work hours, but she needed to share.

"Oh my god... oh my god we won, we only bloody won... UK team of the year... UK team of the year... I can't tell you... Oh Lo... I didn't know how badly I wanted this until... I'm gushing again now... just uh... just call me back when you get this... no matter how late... I love you... I love you, Logan Hughes."

Hannah hung up the call and after running her hands down the front of her burgundy ankle length strapless gown she took a swig of the Champagne sat in a flute on the bar before her. The champagne sitting next to the sculpted glass trophy awarded to recognise The UK's Outstanding Contribution at the coveted and prestigious UK Finance Awards, the trophy she realised she had not let out her sight, that she had barely out of her grip.

"You know you're the reason we achieved this don't you?" Jason Palmer, newly appointed Chief Finance Officer at Willoughby Fairclough offered stepping up to her at the bar, eyeballing the glass award embossed with a gold star.

"There's no I in team isn't that the popular cliché?" Hannah offer cocking a brow as she felt his right-hand slip over her left hip.

"You're too modest to admit to your own exceptional hard work..." Palmer continued, "...unless you're planning to disappear making babies I'll have to watch you coming up on the rails after my role."

Hannah bit her lip on his unnecessary and derogatory comment, as much as it stung. She had never liked Jason Palmer who had risen in rank if not stature amongst his colleagues off the back of one huge deal that had secured Waterhouse their largest client. Popular opinion was that Jason Palmer had all but stolen the contract from a talented account executive he had recruited and subsequently dismissed. Irrespective of how the deal was won Hannah knows that it is her team that work diligently and regularly go above and beyond to ensure the contract not only worked but maximised profits.

For a man to have earned such a lofty position without understanding the semantics of the business he worked for shocked Hannah. He was admittedly ruthless, acerbic in nature and consequently an aura of darkness hung around him, despite his undeniable good looks. His womanising was well known irrespective of the Wife, new-born baby and infant son he had at home.

In a further slight to his character, the extremely popular story that he had crashed the company's servers a little over a year ago viewing dark net pornography failed to dissipate, in fact the story gained further legend by the idle comically twisted versions of what exactly the extreme and bizarre nature of the content he had been viewing was. "You know Jason Palmer was watching Midgets fucking Goats," had been the politically incorrect, but most absurdly amusing rumour Hannah had heard.

"Jason how could I ever match your small dick energy," Hannah forced a broad smile to throw him of track on her unrestrained insult.

His own reprehensible grin fading as she took his hand from her hip sharply, leaving it hanging in mid air.

"Unlike you Jason..." Hannah offered a far more sincere thin smile "...I'm happy and settled in my relationship."

"How is the coked-up Club Owner?" Palmer sneered, hurt by his own rejection.

"Happy..." Hannah offers, "...because unlike you he gets to fuck me."

Hannah stands her ground; she is well used to his toxic masculinity. Unlike the majority of her female co-workers, she knows how to handle Jason Palmer, by being as abrasive as he is.

"You don't need to worry about me taking your job Jason... I'm aiming higher..." a smirk of pleasure now shaped her lips as she shook her head her wavy hazel hair skimmed across her exposed shoulders, "...you need to worry about me being your boss."

His expression said it all, pushing himself away from the bar snatching his own glass of Champagne as he angrily left their brief exchange.

Hannah did not watch him, shaking her head on his incredulity.

"Well handled," the tanned skinned individual stood before her now at the bar offered, having been unwittingly party to the caustic exchange. His eye slips to the glass trophy sat on the bar to her left. "And congratulations."

"Thank you and thank you." Hannah stated, noting the tailored cut over suit that sat over a toned physique. She placed him ten, maybe fifteen, years her senior, but he had a suave demeanour despite greying hair accentuated by his olive skin.

"Might I offer you a drink... by means of celebration."

"I'm good thanks..." Hannah responded as he held up his own empty champagne flute before adding on a hushed tone and an embarrassed expression "...I don't really like it... gives me heartburn."

"Something else, maybe?" the Hispanic looking gentleman offered.

"You know what..." Hannah paused, her mind on the only man she genuinely wanted to celebrate with in this moment, "...I'll have a Brandy... with Diet Coke... please."

She knew the offence diluting a Brandy would cause Logan Hughes, it made her smile as she extended a hand towards the man stood before her.

"An excellent choice," he offered loosely shaking her hand in exchange.

"Hannah..." she offered. "...Hannah Walker"

"A pleasure to meet you Hanna Walker..." he offered, releasing her hand and subtly capturing the attention of a fresh-faced bartender, "...I'm Hector Salazar."

**********

Hannah's stomach lurched; the nausea that had woken her gripped her stomach.

Spilling out of the hotel rooms double bed, her hand sprung to her mouth.

Stumbling on her feet as she lunged forward pressing open the door to the ensuite bathroom.

Her knees met the cold white tiles moments before she felt the bile rise in the back of her throat, barely scraping her hair back before she wretched and vomited heavily.

The contents of her stomach projectile into the white porcelain toilet.

For a moment she knelt there retching as her stomach heaved, the taste of alcohol laced vomit in her mouth as she spat into the bowl.

Her eyes suddenly drawn to the two objects swimming amongst her vomit, two objects she could not miss as she paused on reached to depress the flush.

Two condoms swimming between the froth of yellowish liquid.

Her mind swam, she could not take her eyes away from the two obviously used prophylactics.

Pressing herself up she stumbled left grabbing the sides of the sink, looking up at her makeup smeared face. Looking into her own heavily bloodshot brown eyes trying to piece together fragments of a night she could not remember.

She would surely recall having sex, she would not have wanted to be intimate with anyone else, she had no reason to she reasoned with herself. Guilt tore through her mind all the same, twisting her stomach in further distress and turmoil.

Running the tap cold she scooped handfuls of water into her mouth, grabbing a travel size toothpaste she unscrewed the cap to squeeze a heavy amount of the white minty paste past her lips, forming a makeshift mouthwash to remove the acidic taste in her mouth.

Spitting out the combined water and toothpaste she looked back at herself in the mirror, face aghast at the confusion and likelihood suggesting towards her unfaithful betrayal.

"No..." she whispered shaking her head, "Good fucking God no."

Pressing away from the sink she grabbed a towel to wrap around her naked form as she stepped back into the main room.

Everything looked in place, but there was so much that she could not fathom in her confused state, genuinely unsure if she had missed something or someone as she had lunged from the bed minutes before hand.

Scanning her eyes around the room she spotted the two champagne flutes, then the bottle upturned in an ice bucket full of only liquid now on the dressing table. Her long burgundy dress lay strewn across the floor, she could only visually locate one of the silver strappy heels she had been wearing. Her natural colour tights lay hanging over the end of the bed, her little white briefs still entangled within the gusset of the hosiery.

Hannah's stomach churned again, looking across the dishevelled bed, she had slept an unconscious deep sleep, but the bed looked to have been slept in by two. Her hands clutched her face. Warm tears filled her eyes, threatening to break down her face.

Why couldn't she remember, why didn't she know what had happened to her?

Shaking with emotion she desperately sought her clutch handbag, finding it the far side of the bed. Searching the contents, she plucked out her mobile, which held three percent battery life she noted. No missed call alerts, no messages despite 4G reception.

As she rose from the side of the bed she heard the key card in the door. The electronic lock of the door unlatching, looking down the corridor towards the door as it crept open. Hannah wrapped in only a white towel froze.

Dressed in a black dinner jacket, over a white shirt open at the neck with black trousers she recognised his tanned complexion but could not put a name to his face, could not even place from where she recognised the stranger who had let himself into her hotel room.

"Hey there..." he innocently offers, "...I left you sleeping... thought you might prefer better than instant coffee."

Hannah notices the two burgundy takeaway coffee cups in a cardboard cup holder and the paper bag of pastries he clutches.

"Would you believe... I even found Ecuadorian coffee..." he continues cheerily, "...the finest."

"Who... who the fuck are you?" Hannah asks dismayed.

Sat there in the hotel room Hannah allowed him to fill the gaps, what he told her made her feel no more at ease than she had previously. Her stomach twisting without even full details of the impropriety she had engaged in with him. She realised what she had all but accused him off when he had let himself into the room. Uncertainty and ambiguity still racked her mind. Realises now that she still has no clear memory of events to begin to believe the detail he offered; hearing him explain how following drinks at the bar they had taken a bottle of the event Champagne and slipped away unnoticed to her room while the event continued.

He admitted to having sex with her twice, even detailing her insistence that he wear a condom. His belief that she had consented, he never broached the subject, but he appeared reticent enough when explaining, apologetic even. Mindful of the repercussions. Stating he was intoxicated himself and that while his memory was hazy, he could not be anymore certain in his own mind that the physical act between them had been nothing more than consensual.

"I need a shower... I'm sorry... I can't think straight I need to clear my head." Hannah uttered softly looking over at him as he stood there leant against the wall facing the long wide window on to the street below.

"I should get changed myself," he offered not turning back to her.

"Will... will you meet me in... in reception?" Hannah offered, not entirely sure why.

He looked to his watch, "Around Eleven?"

Hannah simply nodded, as he took his silent invitation to leave, carefully side stepping her discarded ball gown as he headed towards the door to the hotel room.

A little after ten past eleven, dressed in figure hugging jeans, a navy jacket over a crisp tight white V-neck tee, Hannah crossed the plush foyer of the Paddington Hilton Hotel pulling her suitcase behind her, the location was as busy and active as it had been for the Gala Dinner Dance and Annual Awards twelve hours earlier.

Looking up she spotted Hector Salazar sat on a sofa in the far corner of the Cafe Bar area, dressed himself in a charcoal grey suit.

"Can I get you anything Madame?" A young dark-haired girl enquired on a French accent.

"It's OK I'm just meeting someone." she offered. Conscious that her train home departed from the station, a short walk away, in less than an hour.

In trepidation she approached him, still wracked with guilt, still hideously unaware of any moment of intimacy that they had shared. Her betrayal of the Man she loved pained her mind from behind the sunglasses she wore against the now harsh light of day.

"Take a seat," Hector Salazar stated looking up at her as she demurely sat herself down on the two-seat sofa opposite of him, his attitude sterile, colder than he had been only an hour ago.

Taking a sip from of his coffee he set the wide mug back down on the low mahogany table between them.

"We both know you've been unfaithful Miss Walker... now I'm going to outline the terms of how your boyfriend never gets to see the video of you fucking like a bitch in heat."

Salazar set the mobile phone down on the table before her, the sound set to mute as Hannah recognised her own face, watching the intimate image in horror as the camera zoomed out to show her naked upper body rocking back and forth as her arms extended pressing her body down the bed from the wooden headboard.

**********

She sits opposite of me, barely able to even look up at me as I finish the last of the Argentinian steak on my own plate.

Her own meal sits before her, untouched, I note as I set down the serrated silver steak knife and my fork.

"You've no appetite?" I offer breaking the silence that is held in the dining room.

"Are you surprised?" Hannah Walker offers back obtusely.

I am a little surprised she is even here, given what had happened a week ago to the day. The deception, the unhidden extortion I request to ensure silence on her promiscuity surely the only reason she now sits opposite me in the figure-hugging black dress.

"You may need your stamina," I darkly offer pushing my plate across the table as I stand and button my dark grey suit jacket over my white shirt.

Walking towards her she finally looks up at me, Logan Hughes beautiful girlfriend here alone in the confines of the studio apartment that occupies the top floor of Warehouse 43. She is here to fulfil her side of the dark and twisted request I made of her sat in the inauspicious surroundings of the Hotel Cafe bar six days ago.

Here eyes meet mine, wide doe like eyes slightly sunken into her anguished face.

"Are you sure you are finished?" I offer glancing to the plate of perfectly seasoned and seared steak on a bed of cherry tomatoes and wilted spinach.

"Can... can we..." her voice falters, "...can we just get this over with?"

"Very well..." I offer nodding to the dark-haired mixed-race hostess, stood against the far wall, who has doubled as a private waitress for us this evening, watching as she steps forward to clear the table, "...although as per our agreement you appreciate you are here until breakfast is served?"

I barely contain the dark smirk that begs to creep across my lips, as I stand over Hannah she averts her gaze, casting her eye out across the setting sun through the windows that line the dining room.

"Will there be anything else Sir?" The waitress asks.

"I don't believe so... send Miss Omerta in please."

Turning on my heels I walk away from Hannah Walker, leaving her sat there at an empty table as I walk towards the windows myself.

Moments after I hear the waitress leave Winter Omerta enters the room. The heel of her boots strikes the hard wooden floor with a purpose. Glancing back, I offer her a smile, my eyes casting over her slender form squeezed into a dark red leather catsuit with matching colour ankle boots.

"Can you get Miss Walker ready please Winter... I'll meet you downstairs in an hour."

Turning away once again, I hear her rise from the chair, the legs of which scrape across the hard wood floor. I do not look back as I hear both Hannah and Winter exit the dining room I look ahead, casting my eye across the skyline.

"Actually Winter..." I state still not looking back, "...have the hostess bring me a Brandy."

I request the drink only so that she may be reminded once more of him, not that I dare suggest I need to at this exact moment.

As I look back across the skyline darkness controls most of the sky, I grin noting my own reflection in the triple glazed window, the sky providing the perfect metaphor for the evenings promise.

**********

My eyes set on the double doors.

I hear footsteps approach as I steady my breath.

Excitement, tension, expectation control me as I patiently wait.

Shirtless, barefoot I gently pace on the cold stone floor, my senses attuned. I had paid serious consideration to taking one of the little blue pills on a slug of the sweet tasting Brandy. Even if the narcotic coursed through my own veins, I cannot imagine I would be in a far heightened state of arousal than I currently am.

I hear the doors softly unlatch, I stop pacing as I look up and face the slowly opening walnut colour doors.

Four of them stand there but I focus only on her.

Hannah Walker's head hangs low, she does not look up as she enters the room. Two shirtless Black males, their faces obscured beneath black hooded cowls hold the tops of her arms as they flank her, as they walk her into the room. The spectacle in unnecessary but adds so much.

Winter follows then but comes no further than a pace or two inside the doorway.

My nervous anticipation spikes once more I watch her intently, my breath heavy and fast.

"Welcome Hannah," I state as my voice echoes with the acoustic of the high vaulted ceiling of the room.

Hannah does not look up, not to me and not towards the device that sits bolted to the floor between us.

Her hair scraped back from her face harshly so that a long ponytail hangs down her back, her make up from what I can see is darker, her cheeks contoured. Her body dressed in sheer black lingerie, a matching bra and a slip of G-String made of a translucent black material obscures her lightly tanned skin but reveals everything at the same time. A suspender belt sits over her waist, with suspenders tautly stretched over her upper thighs to lace topped stockings of the same denier opacity as the underwear that adorns her toned, shapely figure. Her pose enhanced by black leather knee-high boots on a high heel.

She looks perfect, she is perfect. Logan Hughes perfectly little specimen led towards me. My heart pounds in my chest.

Stepping forward I arrive at the device before they do. A tried and tested contraption, a familiar favourite for the control and restriction it offers.

"Put her in," I instruct as I raise the thick wooden top beam of the jet-black pillory on its hinge.

"No..." Hannah panics as she finally realises what is expected of her, what awaits her. "...No ...No...Oh my fucking god no!!!"

Her two accomplices are not swayed as they shift their grip over her, taking her forearms in their hands as she baulks.

"What the fucking hell... what the fuck is that thing?"

I watch her wide eyed and petrified as she attempts to break their strong grip.

"Don't do this... don't do this..." Hannah pleads, and I am not sure if it is to them or to me. "Please don't.... Please don't"