Subjugated

A DARK STAR STORY

THE COLLECTIVE - CHAPTER 10 SUBJUGATED

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Casting my eye around the club the first thing that strikes is that I cannot believe how quiet the venue is, especially for a Friday night.

The Dark Star is far from empty but in comparison it is nowhere near as full as I have seen the nightspot recently let alone at the peak of its notoriety. As I cast my eye casually around the darkened main room, I consider the fall from grace and whether or not that it is by coincidence of its recent change of stewardship. For longer than I cared to consider I had genuinely envied the competition the slightly crass, yet easily enough accessed premises offered to my own establishment. Whilst Warehouse 43 remained strictly a private members venue I'd hazard a guess that the main bars would be as busy, if not busier, than the Dark Star was this particular Friday night.

I sit alone in the private booth nursing a double bourbon over a large chunk of ice that seems to refuse to melt. Taking a long sip of the drink as I catch her from the corner of my eye, I suppress the devious smile that threatens to break across my features.

Having sought to locate her over many months and discreetly courted her attention since I had finally and coincidentally located the platinum blonde it is with a sense of anticipation that I now await her arrival at the booth. Setting my focus on her as she picks her way through tables towards where I sit, noting how her appearance catches the eye of several male patrons before she finally stands before me, a warm smile passing her lips as she does

A black figure hugging halter neck dress clings to every curve of her slender body, complimented by black opaque denier nylon hosiery and elegant black ankle strap heels. Her platinum blonde hair scrapes back off her face into a ponytail that cascades down her back in curled ringlets. It is not unusual to see her dressed in black, I cannot help but wonder if tonight's choice is out of fashion or respect. I cannot fail to observe that in her right hand she clutches a familiar looking black leather case.

"Good evening, Hector," she offers as she slips her lithe figure into the booth to sit directly opposite of me at the table.

"Arabella," I offer with a gentle chide, knowing how much she despises my use of her full name. Noting also how Ari Walker-Smith, as she more commonly prefers to be known, shakes her head with a rueful little smirk knowing now not to rise to my bait and attempt to correct me.

"Might I extend my condolences on your recent loss." I sincerely offer.

"You may although I'm still unsure if I've I lost... or if I've gained," she rather coldly responds.

Her comment in some quarters might be seen as disrespectful but I can begin to appreciate her callous sentiment, having long sensed the paucity of genuine warmth in her now snuffed relationship with Marco Mancini. Word of Marco's murder had spread like a wildfire due to its very public nature his name broadcast across the media alongside the seven other victims identified to date. My network of sources indicating that he was implicitly connected to the barbarity that had taken place at the local meat manufacturer as he had been using the national delivery network associated to the business to distribute all manner of narcotics. Somehow Marco had found himself too close to the attention of brutal murderer who had met his own demise in the aftermath of what appears to have been a somewhat botched Police investigation.

As fiancée to Marco Mancini in the very short term at least Ari seems to have benefited and inherited immensely from his untimely demise. All though I am sure that Sophie Mancini the youngest heir and now sole survivor of the Mancini blood line would soon seek to challenge such inheritance.

"Only time will tell," I offer ambiguously to her with a grin. "My apologies that I could not make the funeral,"

Ari simply shrugs as she slides the black leather zip case across the table towards me.

"What's this?" I enquire, feigning ignorance.

"The money you recently lent me..." she replies with a weak smile, "...In light of my recent change of circumstances... it's no longer required."

"Is that so," I offer a little confused as I take the case and place it on the seat to my right hand side.

"Let's just say that the silence it was required to buy is no longer necessary..." Ari offers with a weak smile, "...it's all there seventy thousand pounds exactly."

I hide the pang of disappointment the reversal of the transaction represents. I have no idea for what reason she had desperately required the significant loan we had agreed little more than a month previous. The panicked emotional voicemail left in the early hours of the night spoke volumes at the time. So much had changed though in a short space of time since I'd last seen her in the offices upstairs in the Club around a week before Marco's death had become public knowledge.

"I think I can trust you," I respond with a smirk.

"Although..." Ari slips herself a little closer towards me in the booth, "...there are two other matters you may be able to offer assistance with."

"Is that so..." I offer, my interest immediately piqued "...pray tell."

Fifteen minutes later as I stand before her, having listened intently to her requests, Ari Walker-Smith presses a kiss gently to my cheek in a brief embrace as my hands slip around her slender waist.

"Thank you Hector" she offers before she turns and walks confidently back through the club, that has admittedly grown steadily busier over the course of our relatively brief conversation.

There was no doubt in my mind to accept her request for assistance. Financially she was no longer in my debt I consider as I retrieve the black leather case from the booth. My dark plan to leverage favour of such a debt might not come to fruition but the debt of gratitude her proposal represented might play the stunning blonde into a new means to garner trust and grow closer to her.

A means that would constitute an opportunity to lure her into the grip I had so desperately longed to hold over her.

Like a spider I set a delicate web in which to entrap my prey.

Watching as she disappears from sight I contemplate how close I now am to achieving my goal.

Logan Hughes exquisite little blonde toy would soon be mine.

**********

Incessant rain hung in the air, a fierce gust of wind whipped through the plaza seemingly coaxing the worst of the storm that lashed down from the dark sky as night encroached.

I look to the screen of the phone clutched in my hand and then back to her as she hurries across the centre of the plaza through the increasingly grim weather. There's no reason to doubt the likeness and I trust the groundwork that Arturo has undertaken, finding her has not proved to be easy.

Stepping from the alcove that she approaches that leads to the nearby overground train station she utilises daily I deliberately step into her path forcing her to slow the hurried stride she has broken into against the weather.

"Sorry," she offers as she looks up at me apologetically as she very nearly steps into me.

"Nisha...." I offer, not stepping aside as the rain falls upon us both, "....Nisha Bulsara?"

"Y...yes" the fresh faced, attractive girl offers hesitantly as she tries to recognise my face.

"I've been asked to find you," I offer honestly.

"Well it looks like you found me," she replies curtly, an immediate defiance grips her stance before looking around her surroundings with a sense of unease and she takes a step back even as the rain soaks the shoulders of her dove grey overcoat and her jet black hair.

"Could we go somewhere to talk?" I offer to her continued confusion, my head nodding towards a wine bar I had already scoped tucked in the corner of the plaza to my left.

A little over a half hour later I offer my appreciation to a blonde waitress who sets down two glasses of a robust French Red on the table sat between Nisha Bulsara and myself. The bar is not overly busy as we blend into the post work midweek drinkers, all of whom appear to have stepped into the venue from directly behind the desks they sit at everyday.

"What's she doing with herself these days?" Nisha politely asks taking a sip of the deep burgundy wine.

"She's actually doing well for herself... very well..." I confirm in all honesty, "...runs a nightclub you probably remem..."

"The Dark Star..." Nisha offers cutting across me on a scowl that furrows her beautiful features "...so she's still with him, the Shaitan ... why am I not surprised."

"Who?" I feign indifference, certain in my own mind I know recognising the term she infers.

"Logan fucking Hughes," Nisha practically hisses across the table at me shaking her head.

"She's not..." I confirm, "...hasn't been for several eventful years... he's dead so far as I'm aware."

Deliberately I spin the lie into our stilted conversation just to see the reaction I induce. The truth being I've no idea of in which shadows Logan Hughes hides at present. I am aware that prior to his own death Marco Mancini had been hellbent on retribution following Hughes believed hand in the disappearance of Laura Mancini but I had heard no definitive outcomes to his possibly futile ruminations. Wherever he presently hides the despicable Logan Hughes finally strives to remain hidden it appears, possibly for incredibly good reason.

"Good," Nisha bluntly offers on a satisfied little smirk that underlines the failure to hide her emotions.

"So you knew of him?" I deliberately dwell, gently goading the Indian girl sat opposite of me in order to draw out information I have no need to know, but intriguingly seek none the less.

"Becoming involved with Logan Hughes was... is the biggest mistake I ever made" Nisha freely offers up before taking a heavy swig from the glass of wine she clutches tightly now in her slightly shaky right hand. "He... he was there that night."

"What night?" I press sitting back so as to appear a friendly confident.

"The night... the night my life spiralled hideously out of control," I see the tears form in her eyes as she speaks, as though a thousand memories flood her mind of an unspoken darkness.

Her emotions and memories triggered I listen intently to the horrors Nisha Bulsara begins to hesitantly at first begin to relay. As she continues to explain the circumstances it is almost as if the moment becomes cathartic even as she regularly wipes away the tears that regularly trace along her cheeks.

In the wake of a simple enough night out with Ari, Nisha's life had fast descended into a nightmare existence. Against her will finding herself abducted and held captive in the basement of a bar in the heart of the City that I had heard of but never had the inclination to visit. By her recollection she had been locked away in the darkness enduring and barely surviving an ordeal that had lasted for several brutal months.

Kept prisoner chained up and locked away in the dark squalid circumstances overpowered and manipulated into becoming nothing more than a plaything for the owner of the establishment. Plainly I could see at times the horrors of her memories as she refused to recount with any depth to the details of exactly what she had endured at the mercy of her captor.

"There... there were others..." she softly offered holding back her tears by now as she clung to a paper thin resolve, "...not just me... there were others they kept in that... that basement."

"They" I gently enquire of her first use of the plural.

"He had a brother... they ran the bar together" Nisha offers "I was... he was kept away from me... I was kept locked away from the others too... in a ...in a ...dressed up in a fucking... a fucking PVC outfit and ....and a fucking mask... a disgusting fucking tight mask."

I deliberately ease off, allowing Nisha time to compose herself. As shocked as I am by her revelation, I appreciate I cannot judge given the very nature of the practically mirror image of the circumstance I keep my own pet under on the private level of the Warehouse. I cannot truly judge when I replicate the circumstances, all be it that Rose Redmond's conversion took place under a far more voluntary arrangement in the aftermath of her initial conversion.

As I watch Nisha Bulsara take another long swig from the glass of red wine from her trembling hand I sympathise with the hideous nature of the redacted recollection she offers. Yet despite her plight my mind cannot help but darkly dwell on how she would have looked dressed up as she implies, an all but carbon copy of the slender pale skinned Rose.

As I look into her dark eyes, I try to suppress the dark thoughts that begin to grip me. She is perfect, visually stunning, behind the smart formal office attire she wears I can only begin to imagine her own slender body. How it would look and how it would feel.

"I'm... I'm sorry will you excuse me" Nisha offers slipping from her seat, "I... I just need."

"Take your time..." I offer sincerely, "...Can I get you a refill?"

"I shouldn't..." she offers as she steps away from the table in the corner of the bar. "I should get home... to my... to my family."

"You've a family now?" I offer on nothing more than casual intrigue, noting how a pitiful rueful smile crosses her face.

"No..." she gently shakes her head... twenty four years old and I still live with my parents... Ok just one more drink then."

I hear her heels as she steps through the bar, as she heads presumably toward the venues restrooms, my eyes don't follow her as much as they wish to. Instead, I catch the attention of the blonde waitress and confirm an order for one more large glass of the French Red, given that my own second glass sits almost untouched before me.

As the waitress sets down the glass I cannot begin to explain or comprehend my next actions. I act without thinking as I reach to the inside pocket of my jacket and retrieve the little clear bag of familiar speckled blue pills. Surreptitiously checking my surroundings, I extract one of the tablets which I drop into my own glass of wine, its presence immediately lost in the dark red murk of the liquid. Swilling the contents of the glass I slide it across the table to where Nisha had sat, before taking the freshly delivered glass as my own.

Moments later I hear the click clack of her footsteps approach before she steps into view over my right shoulder and takes a seat and finishes what remains of her second glass of wine.

"I'm sorry," Nisha offers apologetically

"Don't be..." I offer with a sincerity, "...I can't imagine the... just... Just the horror."

A weak smile crosses her dark lips, a smile that cannot hide the conflict of emotions that must race around her mind.

"Yet here I am telling a complete stranger all about it," Nisha winces, taking hold of the full glass of wine.

"You survived though... you escaped." I offer as much in reassurance as I appreciate, I also need to know how.

"Not without... without..." Nisha utters once more her resolve breaking instantly.

Whilst consuming the majority of the tainted glass of wine sat before her, she recalls the fortuitous escape from the bar on a snatched opportunity. Portraying how she had fled into the night with her captor in pursuit. Relaying also the cruel twist of fate that befall her, being knocked down in the street by a Taxi as she'd been pursued.

As she alludes to the sickening fate at the hands of the driver of the taxi I instantly begin to piece together not only the darkness that befall her but also the second matter I sought details on at the behest of Ari Walker-Smith.

The search for a somewhat anonymous taxi driver had seemed inconsequential and details as to why Ari sought him had been vague at best from the platinum blonde. The more I digest Nisha's further tale of woe the more I begin to appreciate as to why Ari would wish for the unknown Taxi Driver to 'suffer', as she had implicitly demanded.

"So... so you can fucking see..." Nisha Bulsara offers swigging back the last of the contents of the wine glass, "...Why after months of cognitive therapy I've disappeared... tried my best to build a new life... attempted to move on... to reinvent myself."

"I can" I solemnly offer.

"She was my best friend... my partner in crime..." Nisha softly chuckles on obvious memories, "...but by association to her... leading to him..."

"Logan Hughes," I offer unable to resist interjecting the name as I earn a simple nod from her, fully aware she hasn't even offered any detail as to her association to Hughes.

"It was through her... with him..." Nisha continues "...my life spiralled ...what I though was exciting and intriguing drew me naively into dangers I could never have comprehended."

There's a sad innocence to her beautiful dusky skinned features as she weakly offers me a smile from the corner of her dark red lips, eyes lined with subtle pink and purple make up hold heavy sorrow.

"You can't tell Ari you found me...." Nisha implores, a palpable panic lacing her words as she looks into my eyes across the table "...Please ...please let me leave that past behind."

"I understand" I offer with a subtle nod to underline my statement as I finish my own wine and take to my feet.

Nisha rises from the table as I look into her eyes, I begin to recognise the familiar tell of her dark wide pupils as she slips under the control of the little blue tablet she has unknowingly consumed. As she steps towards me she stumbles in her heels and I steady her to avoid her falling.

"I'm sorry..." she offers clearly embarrassed, "...I don't know what..."

"Might be the three large glasses of red wine," I sarcastically offer as she rests her body against mine. "Let me at least give you a lift home."

Slipping my hand around her waist as I steady her and walk her innocuously through the bar towards the only entrance and exit to the premises Nisha Bulsara is blissfully unaware of the circumstances Ari Walker-Smith has already placed her in once more by association.

**********

My eyes feast upon her as she crawls across the expanse of the four poster bed that's literally the centre piece in the middle of my private quarters high upon on the seventh floor of Warehouse 43.

As I grab her left ankle I stop her and she turns her head back over her right shoulder offering me a look that is dripping with unsated desire.

Her coat, skirt, blouse, heels and dark hosiery lay strewn in her wake across the floor of the room alongside of my own suit, shirt and shoes. Stripping one another in the throes of desire, of a lust born of heightened passion and longing.

As her eyes narrow on me I kneel upon the bed behind her, my motives impure given that hers are driven by the heightened intensity of the drugs I have fed her. Her eyes now simply sit as darkened pools that glare back at me. I have known this reaction to the little blue pill she unwittingly consumed in the wine bar over an hour ago more than once before. Not wishing for the effect of the mysterious narcotic to dwindle I had with little opposition fed Nisha a second tablet on a heavy passionate kiss and embrace as we had spilled into the bedroom.

The test subject, the first I had known under the influence of the drugs, Sapphie the one time DJ from the Warehouse had reacted no differently to Nisha her emotions and physicality enhanced as unabashed she had been used between myself and Logan Hughes across the night in question. I had soon discovered the pills impacted and effected the individual taker in many diverse ways, even from Hughes own girlfriend Hannah Walker I had seen on two occasions the unbridled near promiscuous reaction to the tablets. The only other I had seen react close to this way was Rose my first little pet.