Page 28 of Sweet Torture (Torture Games #1)

TWENTY-TWO

CHAOS

M y body feels strangely exhilarated and completely depleted all at once.

The two opposing forces keep me moving forward when I see my office door open. I have left strict instructions to Jason to keep my door closed at all times, and after the fiasco with Naz, he knows better than to let anyone into my office while I am not there.

This means an intruder has entered my domain without permission, and it is time to pay the piper. Depending on who is that bold, I will take my payment in groveling or blood.

“Who the fuck is in my office this time of day?” I’ve arrived at work much later than planned and needed to stay behind and finish some things before I could leave for the day.

I expect whoever it is to cower in fear when they hear my voice, but instead, I find a man roughly my build and height sitting on my couch, unfazed and completely calm.

He doesn’t even get up when I walk past him to round my desk. I stand to keep the upper hand, but he barely blinks.

“Can I help you with something?” My tone is condescending.

“I am waiting for Griffin Maxwell. He is late for our appointment.”

I toss my phone on the desk and move some papers before I address him again.

“I am Mr. Maxwell. Who are you, and what the fuck do you want?” I feel my blood pressure rising, and I remember the damage I had done to Carter’s hand. Is this one of his thugs sent to teach me a lesson? I approach the drawer where I keep my gun when he pipes up again.

“There is no need for that; I am friendly. My name is Bastian Black. I was commissioned by your partner, Mike Dunn, to investigate a matter for you. Unfortunately, you always want to know who I get into bed with, so I did a little side project just for myself. Do you want to know what I found?”

This must be the Private Investigator Mike spoke so highly about. I nod and sit, trying to act nonchalantly but cursing Mike for letting this stranger into my office and scaring the shit out of me. Obviously, he went through my things; otherwise, how would he have known about my gun?

He stands from the couch, and only now do I see the bag beside his feet. He pulls out a laptop, clearly expensive and high-tech, and strolls to my desk to put his equipment on top of my papers.

He even takes out a fucking mouse pad.

At ease with the situation, he takes his time to arrange some of his papers and takes a deep breath before starting.

“Your name is Griffin Constantine Maxwell. Your mother gave you the name even though your father wanted you to take the family name. Good thing she won this argument. I’m sure you would’ve hated having to be Maximus Morten Maxwell.

Thanks to Mom, you really dodged a bullet there; your initials could have spelled mmm.

Either way, your father was a raging alcoholic who abused you and your mother for years.

I have numerous hospital records of emergency visits until your fourteenth year.

Here are the transcripts from your teachers sent to Child Protective Services, and here are the names of your father’s buddies.

They were the ones who made sure that the complaints disappeared.

They all served together and have kept close contact through the years.

In fact, this one” – he tosses a file over to me – “this one tried to push for a murder investigation to be opened into your father’s death. ”

He pauses as if to allow me to weigh in, but my lips stay sealed. I can’t believe this is why Mike has obtained his services.

Acknowledging my resistance, he continues. “You were fourteen when your mother was found brutally assaulted and barely recognizable. Some of the officers first on the scene asked to be relieved and needed some therapy afterward.”

He tosses another folder to me. I don’t dare open it. I have seen it all before. The images are seared into my mind.

“You see, the strange part of all this was that you were the one who called 911. Apparently, you woke up to the brutalized corpse of your mother and your father, who had shot himself in his favorite chair. Sure, you were taken to the hospital with some superficial bruising around your neck and contusions on the back of your head, which might account for the blackout you claimed to have. But what doesn’t make sense is that you were lying so close to the crime scene, and you didn’t wake up from the gunshot? ”

He leans to the side to glare at me from behind the screen.

I have been asked this question many times.

In foster care, the home’s manager wanted to make sure she didn’t put a dangerous killer in with the other kids.

But as an adult, people were fascinated with the macabre until I gave them something else to focus on.

“If you have a point, spit it out. I don’t have all night. ”

He shrugs and continues to type, “Aging out of foster care, you took your meager possessions and got odd jobs to sustain yourself until you made it big. Some of these jobs were for small-time criminals, couriering their drugs across the city. Slowly, you made a name for yourself, and after many transgressions that the police know about but can’t pin on you, here we are today.

Did I leave anything out? Oh yes, you also broke five bones in Zander Carter’s hand more than a week ago.

He is going to need surgery, thanks to you. ”

Wickedly, I delight in the notion. He had it coming, and it always pleases me to excel at a task.

“You still haven’t made your point, or are you going to bore me to death with the knowledge I already have?”

He moves the computer to the side and gets more comfortable before he speaks. “You went to great lengths to keep this information from going public. Sure, as a kid, you had no choice, but as a criminal mastermind, you had the means, and still, I found all your dirty little secrets.”

I place my hands on the table, leaning instinctively closer to my drawer. “And what will you do with all your newfound knowledge?” I swear I will end this man right here, right now, for coming in here and trying to blackmail me. In protection mode, I almost missed his answer.

“Nothing,” he states.

“Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing; this was just a test to prove to you that I am the best in what I do. And now that I have passed the interview, I think it is time you tell me exactly what you need from me. My fee is 100k, no matter what I find on the initial search. If you need more, then you will pay another round. I’ll even consider giving you the friends and family discount if you bring in any future assignments. ”

I watch his direct stare and the relaxed lines on his face. He is undoubtedly used to dealing with the type of man I am. He knows better than to be so arrogant in my presence.

“If you are as good as you say you are, then you already know what I need from you.”

His smile is broad as he slams a hand down on my desk. “I knew I would like you from the moment I came here. I have a sixth sense about these types of things, you know. But I do my homework just in case.”

“Just in case of what?”

“Just in case I am human and fallible. Back to business, are you sure you would like to delve into your girl’s past? There must be a reason she is keeping it from you.”

Could he be right? Does she also have a dark past that she wants to keep secret?

“I need to know who I am getting into bed with, and my guys have been unsuccessful in attaining anything more than the obvious.”

He sets the computer in front of him and opens a new document .

“Okay, tell me what they have so far. It could save time and allow me to focus on other things.”

I get up and walk to the painting to unlock the biometric safe. Once opened, I moved the stack of money and two guns to get to the thin file I had been presented with a while ago.

I think about taking one of the guns, but this guy’s optimistic sense of superiority is soothing. He feels like someone I might have been friends with in another lifetime.

I leave the gun and return to my seat. I push the folder over the desk, and he doesn’t make a grab for it.

“I want to hear it from you. You have gotten to know this girl, so you will have more insight than your lousy thugs doing a Google search.”

He is right.

“Her name is Naz Adams. She is an erotic artist who I met during an exhibit at Rosalind Cooper’s Gallery.

I can only assume that they are best friends, as this is the only other person from her life that she has ever mentioned.

She has a playhouse at 2392 47th Street.

She owns a gun, and she likes to play games. ”

He has been typing away and doesn’t take his eyes off the screen while he peppers me with questions.

“Has she made any financial demands?”

I think back to her paying for the food and shake my head.

“She seems to have some financial means. The IRS would be able to tell you more.”

“Oh, we will get to that. Tell me about her behavior. Is she jumpy? Suspicious? How about vigilant?”

I recall her sitting and surveying the other customers in the restaurant. I thought it was curiosity, but what if it was more?

“I am not sure. Could be. She has numerous locks on her door and was very wary when I showed up late one night at her place. Could that be what you are talking about?”

He types furiously, and I slot other memories in place. She always sits with her back to the wall, just like me. She was diligent about locking the door behind me. And she met me with a gun at the door, for heaven’s sake. Not to mention the strange man with a now broken nose.

“Then there is one other thing, I was cornered by a man in the restroom the other night. He implied some unbecoming things about Naz, and I shut him down. Unfortunately, I was slightly inebriated and can’t recall his exact words.”

“Can you give me a description?”

“He is tall and has dark, wavy hair. I wouldn’t call him handsome, but he does have an athletic build.

I broke his nose, so he might need a plastic surgeon to set it again.

We had the altercation at Angelo’s on Eleventh Avenue.

He might have opened a case, or someone might have identified him.

I have no idea who he is, but he made it sound like he knew Naz, and she was pretty freaked out when I questioned her about him. ”

He rubs his chin, mumbling to himself, “Must explain why she has a gun.” Profusely, he types away, and I listen patiently to the clacking of the keys on the keyboard.

Finally done, he closes the laptop and packs his things away.

“You have given me a lot to work with. And I agree this case is very intriguing. In my experience, someone working so hard to disappear normally has a good reason. I still need to silence my conscience to sleep at night, so I am only going to ask this question once, and I expect you to tell me the truth. Otherwise, I will find out and use all the juicy tidbits I have acquired to make your life a living hell.”

Silence envelops us as I wait for his question.

“Do you mean this woman any harm?”

I stagger up, immediately engulfed in fury. “How dare you question my motives? I would die to protect this woman. I just need to know what demons haunt her.”

He studies me studiously and, seemingly satisfied with my answer, he starts packing his things away.

I can only watch as he fastidiously puts everything in its place.

Without a word, he turns and walks to the door, but stops short to say over his shoulder, before closing the door behind him, “I will be back as soon as I find something interesting.”