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Saul

Club X was empty, which made me a little uncomfortable about why Dom would pick the club to meet me in.

The black centre stage had all the BDSM paraphernalia on it, but it was a different theme from the last time I had been here.

I preferred the lively atmosphere to the current foreboding, eerie one.

I smiled, remembering the live shows on the stage.

Grayson had given us all quite the show with his pet pony. After my reprimand for taking things too far, I never returned.

“Saul, you made it. I appreciate you taking the time,”

he said, but we both knew I begrudged being here.

I glanced at the bar and saw Dominic behind the bar, helping himself to a bottle of top-shelf whiskey. He didn't look like Dr Dominic King when he was in the club, and today was no different.

“I was intrigued by your unexpected call. I thought you retired on some obscure Island with your wife,”

I said with a smile as I approached the bar.

He’d poured two glasses of whiskey but left the bottle on the counter as he left the bar to greet me. I shook his hand in a tight grip and shook it because it was damn good to see him. The trio of friends were well-known in London but not always reputable, which is why I liked them. Dom, Aaron and Grayson had no airs and graces, no matter how wealthy they were.

“Yes, a friend asked for my professional opinion on a patient, but it required a face-to-face visit so I could assess the situation first-hand,”

he said, gripping my hand just as tightly.

“How’s life treating you?”

I released his hand to shrug.

“Same old shit but just a different day,”

I said before I picked up the glasses.

He nodded and led us towards the VIP private section. Once seated, I began to wonder why he called me.

“How’s the wife?”

I asked as I recalled briefly meeting her at Grayson’s wedding.

His face softened, and his smile grew wider as he sat down and placed the bottle on the table.

I passed him his glass and downed mine because I had a gut feeling that I wouldn't like whatever news he was about to give me.

I enjoyed the burn, but that shit was smooth. He raised his eyebrow at me but began to unscrew the bottle to top my glass up again.

Yup, the fucker was up to no good.

“She is great, pregnant with our third baby,”

he said with a smirk before he poured me a larger amount from the bottle.

After glancing at the black bottle, I noticed it was a Glenfiddich 23-year-old blend. I preferred my Macallan, but it wasn't too shoddy.

“Congratulations. What’s this all about, Dom?”

I asked as I picked my glass up while he took a civilised sip on his.

His face hardened, but he remained silent before he took a large gulp of his drink.

Okay, not quite so civilised. Something was wrong.

“You used to take power plays to the edge of the limit to the point Grayson had to keep an eye on your activities, yet you never tipped over,” he said.

“I did in Grayson’s eyes,”

I said, watching him wave his hand to dismiss my transgression.

I frowned in confusion.

It had taken me many years to grapple with myself after leaving my position in the army, and part of my recovery was through my dark inclinations.

My outlet was far more sadistic than anyone knew, but I’d always held myself in check.

Dom must have been observing me with a keen eye. Creepy.

We were all dominant, but our individual tastes were nuanced.

I’d had a few group sessions in the club, and my past training made me much more aware of my surroundings and the people around me.

I could read people better than most.

His face relaxed a fraction as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. While he was focused on his phone, I took a swig from my glass.

“What do you see?”

he asked, sliding his phone across the dark wooden table.

I gave him a sharp look before I put my glass on the table to pick up the phone.

There was a photo of a young girl sitting on the edge of a white bed.

The walls were white, and the clinically severe look of the room told me it was a hospital.

Her expression was devoid of emotion, and her eyes had a vacant look.

I placed two fingers on the screen and spread them to zoom into her eyes.

Her blue eyes were like chips of ice, tinged with black around her iris, which matched the dead black of her pupil.

Her blonde hair was open and straggly.

There were dark circles under her eyes, but from the picture, I could tell her body was rigid and tense.

Her lips were pursed together, but I could tell from their shape that if she was relaxed, they would be full and plump.

I glanced at her light blue eyes again before I pushed against the screen to minimise it again.

My stomach churned because I would recognise that blank look in a heartbeat.

She made herself look smaller than she was.

My jaw clenched when I saw the variety of marks on her arms.

I didn't need to zoom in on them to know where they were from.

She was clad in a white T-shirt and black bottoms. I’d been so mesmerised by her eyes that I missed the small scar poking out from under her hair.

It took me several moments to compose myself before I could bring myself to look at Dom again.

The flames of fury made me grip the phone until I placed my wrist on the table's edge to prevent my hand from shaking.

When I glanced up, Dom was studying me with a satisfied look on his face.

“You need me to kill someone?”

I finally managed to grit out.

His eyes widened briefly before he shook his head.

“Is he dead?”

“With any luck. We think she escaped from where she was being held, but unfortunately, she had a collision with a car. She was covered in her own blood and someone else's. The woman’s car she hit brought her in, and the A & E staff processed her for sexual assault,”

he said before he pointed towards the phone.

I pulled it a little closer to me because, for some reason, I wasn't willing to part with the girl's picture yet.

“I took that picture this afternoon. She was brought in nearly seven months ago. She is being kept in a secure unit at Rampton Hospital, but the initial referral came from London’s Broadmoor. It’s one of the most secure psychiatric facilities, and it isn't suitable for her. She isn't a criminal. However, the demand for beds is at breaking point, and she is going to get tossed into a system that will leave her—vulnerable,”

he said with a frown.

“The police investigation?”

I asked as another wave of rage engulfed me.

“It’s at a dead end. They couldn't find any property close to the accident. The ones they travelled to denied seeing or hearing the girl,”

he said as he downed his glass and poured himself another drink.

“She was raped and tortured since she was a child. The internal scarring varied. Some were old, and some were recent. His DNA was collected from her, but there were no matches.

“I can find the perpetrator. Just give me the details,”

I said tightly before I looked at the girl’s image again with a frown, wondering what would happen to her.

“Dr Arin consulted me because she saw a trigger response in the Jane Doe.”

My head snapped up because she didn't look like a Jane, and I wanted to know what brought her out of her catatonic state.

“We believe after her concussion wore off and she was unable to identify herself or tell anyone further information that, she has dissociative amnesia as well as the obvious post-traumatic stress disorder. Her vocal cords aren't damaged, but she hasn't uttered a single sound since she came into Rampton. She hasn’t been eating well. Nutrition is a concern,”

he said with a dark look.

“Do you have any idea what age she is?”

I asked because she looked far too young to be in such a sorry state.

“She is in her early twenties. The doctors initially thought she was younger because of her size and the fact that she came in with a stuffed toy. Dr Arin had to fight tooth and nail to get it back for her from the police. She was in a much worse manic state before she got it back,”

he said, pausing before he continued.

“When she was found. She had drugs in her system. There was a process of detoxing, and it wasn't pretty.”

I glanced at the photo again and noticed the toy’s cream arm or leg poked out from behind her. It was easily missed because it was a similar colour to the bedding.

“The television was left on, and a dog training programme was on. She began reacting to the commands,”

he said as I released a heavy burst of air because it all clicked into place.

“She was trained,”

I said, almost spitting the word out because this wasn't the work of a Dom but a sick and twisted paedophile and sadist.

I poured some more whiskey into my glass as the thought of there being more than one man involved hit me like a sledgehammer. Dom didn't continue. He didn't need to. I glanced at the girl’s picture and knew my answer. There was no way I would let her into the open world as vulnerable as she was.

The trauma would leave her susceptible to predators. My need for control and dole out pain didn’t make me any better, but my end goal would be to coax her out of her shell in any way that I could. It wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

“When can I pick her up?”

I asked as I brought the glass to my lips.

“Saul, I've spent time with her over the last two days. I don't know anyone other than you who can bring her out of this. I know with your past—”

he said quietly but paused.

“I only wish I’d known about her sooner.”

That was the problem. He wasn't aware of how much it took out of me to hold back the nasty, corrupt darkness that contaminated my soul.