Read The Inner Room Online

Authors: Claire Thompson

The Inner Room (15 page)

He reached for the hem of his T-shirt and lifted it over his head, shaking out his white-blond hair like a model on shoot as he flashed a movie-star perfect smile to the middle distance. He flexed his bulging biceps and pecs as if Marissa should admire his body. If she hadn’t been gagged, she would have spit on him. Instead she just closed her eyes and turned her head away.

“Look at me, cunt!” Phil demanded. “I’ve got a better body than that faggot you hang out with. I can bench press two hundred and forty pounds. Not to mention, I’m built like a racehorse.” She heard the sound his zipper sliding down. “I said, 
look at me
.”

Not daring to refuse, Marissa turned her head again toward the monster holding her captive. She opened her eyes. Phil’s jeans were down around his muscular thighs, a long, thick cock fisted in his big hand. He smiled a slow, arrogant smile. “And to think,” he said with a grin, “this could have been yours, bitch.” He stroked himself, his tongue again flickering over his plump lips, spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth.

“I’d fuck you,” he continued, “but knowing what a dirty whore you are, I’m afraid my dick might fall off. Instead, you get to watch me come all over you. Keep your eyes open—you won’t want to miss a single second, I’m sure.”

Marissa stared at his face, shooting daggers with her eyes, her rage so palpable it made her entire body shake. Phil just smiled.

He moved closer, his hand now flying over his shaft. “Filthy cunt,” he panted. “Dirty whore. Fucking sicko bitch.” The words took on the tone of a chant interspersed with piggish grunts as Phil jerked off in front of her. When his eyes rolled back, Marissa shut her own eyes and tried to retreat to that quiet, safe place inside her where nothing and no one could hurt her, but the gag was too foul in her mouth, the drool soaking her chin, neck and chest, her wrists throbbing, her ass stinging, her outrage like a live thing skittering and slamming inside her.

Phil gave a loud groan and she felt the hot splash of his jism on her stomach, her breast, her cheek. “Aaaah!” he groaned. “That was good. So fucking good.”

She opened her eyes to see him pulling up his pants. He reached for her face and Marissa tried to twist away, flinching in anticipation of whatever he was going to do next. He chuckled. “Relax, babe. I’m nearly done with you—for now.”

He reached behind her and unbuckled the gag, pulling it from her mouth. Marissa opened and closed her aching jaw and tried, unsuccessfully, to wipe some of the drool from her chin onto the bed. Phil pulled his T-shirt back over his head and again shook his hair back with a practiced toss of his head.

He sat on the bed and untied her ankles. Marissa brought her legs together, watching mutely as he tossed the rope into the messenger bag. He picked up the handcuffs and the riding crop, placing them into the bag. Finally he released her wrists. Marissa grabbed at the sheet with shaking arms. She used an edge to wipe the man’s disgusting ejaculate from her face and body. Then she curled in on herself on the far corner of the mattress, though she kept her eyes on her tormentor.

Phil put his hand into his jeans pocket. “That was fun, babe. Let’s do it again sometime.”

Marissa stared at the handsome monster standing in front of her. No matter what he knew, or thought he knew, about her, nothing would stop her from going to the police about this. Didn’t he 
know
 that?

Apparently he did, because he said, his fingers moving in his pocket, “In here is my guarantee that you’ll keep your pretty little mouth shut about what happened tonight. You’ve given me enough ammunition to assure not only your silence, but your ongoing cooperation.” His mouth curved into an evil grin. “For a doctor, you’re pretty fucking stupid, I have to say. Leaving all that stuff on your laptop.” He shook his head with a look of amused disdain. “Don’t you know what someone like me can do to someone like you?”

Marissa stared him, feeling sick. “It’s simple,” Phil continued blithely. “If you say a word about this to anyone, I’ll destroy you. When I give your boss the information I’ve gleaned, you’ll lose not only your cushy job, but that precious medical license of yours, mark my words. If you dare go to the cops, copies of your homemade porn video will be sent to the chief of staff at the hospital, as well as to the 
New York Post 
and the 
New York Times
, plus I'll post it on YouTube. I have everything ready to go with the push of a button, babe. One false move on your part, and you can kiss your career and your reputation goodbye.” He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed. Hoisting the messenger bag over his shoulder, he added, “See you later, skank. Next time I better find you wet and ready.”

Turning on his heel, he strode out of the bedroom. A moment later Marissa heard the click of the deadbolt, and then the door slammed.

She looked down at what he’d thrown onto the bed. It was a small red plastic rectangle with a sliver of metal showing on one end. It took her a moment to realize it was a computer flash drive.

Marissa’s hand shot out, her fingers curling around the drive. Without realizing what she was doing, she hurled it with all her strength toward the wall. Then she fell back against her pillows, a dam bursting inside her as she curled in on herself and began to sob.

Chapter 11

 

Cam turned the key quietly in the lock in case Marissa was sleeping. When he'd left the hospital he'd been bone tired, but somehow each stop of the subway seemed to lift a layer of fatigue from his shoulders as it brought him that much closer to Marissa. By the time he'd reached her apartment building, he didn't even bother with the ancient, impossibly slow elevator, but instead took the stairs two at a time until he reached her floor.

When he stepped into the living room, he saw a bouquet of roses tightly wrapped in green tissue paper lying on the floor. A few feet away lay a single stem, its petals scattered nearby. While his brain struggled to process and provide a reason for such a strange sight, his body went into instant alert mode—his muscles tensing for a fight, his gut clenching into a fist.

“Marissa!”

He sprinted the short distance to her bedroom and pushed past the door, which was ajar. The room was lit only by the light emanating from the bathroom. Marissa was huddled in the center of the bed, curled in upon herself like a child. Something was very, very wrong.

Flying to the bed, he reached for her shoulders. “Marissa, what is it? What happened? Who was here? Did they hurt you?”

Marissa lifted a face swollen from crying, her eyes rimmed red, her lips trembling. Mutely she held out her wrists. Each was circled with red, ravaged skin, the marks of metal cuffs or very rough rope. Fear, fury, and the desperate need to know what had happened, however horrible the knowledge, clattered and jangled inside Cam in a cacophony of emotion.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “What happened to you? Baby, why didn't you call me? Did you call the police? Are you okay? Please, talk to me.”

Marissa met Cam's eye. “I’m okay. I didn’t call the police.” She blew out a tremulous breath. “I don't want them involved. I wanted to call you but I didn't know what to say. He threatened if I told, he would...I didn't want... Oh Cam, I don't know what to do.” She wrapped her arms around Cam's neck and began to sob.

He gathered her close against him and held her tight, tears spilling down his own cheeks as he gently rocked her in his arms. He forced himself to be patient, to let her cry, let her gather her thoughts, catch her breath. Finally she spoke in a whisper against his neck. “It was Phil. Phil Mitchell. He came here. He—it—what he did… It was horrible.”

“Wait, what?” Cam was thoroughly confused. “That computer technician who has been putting in the new system at the hospital?
He
did this to you? I don’t understand.” Even as Cam tried to reconcile the image of the guy, who had been strutting around the unit for the past few weeks getting in people’s way at their work stations and flirting with the female staff, with the person who had done this to his darling, he already knew he would hunt the bastard down if it was the last thing he did. It took every ounce of self-control not to roar out his pain and rage at the thought of someone entering Marissa's home and violating her, but Cam forced himself to remain outwardly calm for her sake. Now was not the time to go into macho bluster mode.

He extricated himself gently from her embrace. He took her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “Tell me,” he coaxed. “Tell me what happened.”

Haltingly at first, and then faster and faster, the horrible words came tumbling over themselves as Marissa told Cam what that vile monster had done, and threatened to continue doing. As she spoke, the fear in her voice was edged out by anger, and her eyes sparked with the same fury that burned in Cam’s gut.

“Jesus, Marissa,” he swore when she was done. “We have to call the police! We can’t let this guy get away with this.”

“He got into my laptop, Cam. He knows about the training video. He has a copy.”

“What? How the hell did he do that? What are you talking about?”

“I found him in my office a while back, and it was a day I had my personal laptop at work. He claimed he was just doing the software installation on the office PC, but I thought at the time something wasn’t right.” Marissa hugged herself miserably. “He left a flash drive here tonight to back up his threat. I haven’t watched what’s on it, but I’m pretty sure I know.” Marissa pointed toward the wall. “I threw it over there somewhere. We should probably watch it to know for sure.”

Cam rose from the bed and moved toward the wall, scanning the floor until he saw the red plastic flash drive in the corner. He picked it up between thumb and forefinger like it was a dead cockroach and returned to Marissa. “I’ll watch it later, sweetheart. But whatever’s on there, we still should let the police know, don’t you think?”

“No. No police.” Marissa crossed her arms across her chest. “We can't take the chance, Cam. This isn’t just about me. You’re involved too because of the video.” She outlined Mitchell’s threats if Marissa tried to take any action against him. “Phil has it all figured out. Even if I press charges and he’s arrested, if this goes to trial, our names and reputations will be dragged through the mud in the process. At the very least we’ll be publically humiliated, but we could end up losing our jobs over this, Cam. I don’t think his threat was an idle one. It could destroy our careers.”

Cam was quiet as he thought about what Marissa was saying. She was right about the potential humiliation, though he didn’t care about himself. It was Marissa he was thinking of—of the relentless, invasive police questioning as they forced her to go over and over what had happened. And if it went to trial, it would become a matter of public record. Protected and somewhat insulated within the supportive BDSM community in which he was involved, Cam sometimes forgot just how judgmental and damning the outside world could still be regarding lifestyles they didn’t understand.

He decided not to press the issue. He would respect Marissa’s decision and support her in every way he knew how. Phil Mitchell could be dealt with later. Right now his focus must be on taking care of his girl.

Cam stood and lifted Marissa into his arms. He carried her to the bathroom and set her carefully on her feet. Closing the door, he turned on the shower. While the room began to fill with steam, Cam stripped off his clothing. He helped Marissa into the shower and stepped in beside her. Gently, soothingly, he washed her body from head to toe, soaping away every trace of that bastard, wishing he could expunge him from her mind as well. As he worked, he conducted a surreptitious exam to make sure she was really okay. He sucked in his breath when he saw the red marks on her ass, and the faint bruising showing just beneath the skin. 

He shampooed her hair and held her as she stood beneath the hot spray, his heart nearly breaking with love and concern. Only when the water began to cool did he turn it off and reach for a towel. Wet and dripping himself, he dried Marissa, gently patting her skin while she stood, compliant as a child, her beautiful blue-green eyes fixed trustingly on his face. He draped another over her shoulders. Only then did he grab a towel for himself.

His arm around her, Cam led Marissa back into the bedroom. “Wait a second,” he said, moving quickly toward the bed. The thought of that bastard touching the sheets, terrorizing Marissa, spurting his ejaculate over her and the bedding, made him want to vomit. Yanking back the rumpled linens, he stripped the bed to the mattress and tossed the pile into a corner. He placed his towel on the bare mattress and gestured for Marissa to lie down. 

Opening her bedside night table, Cam took out the salve they used after intense play sessions. He applied it to her wrists, and then rolled her gently to her stomach so he could smooth the healing cream onto her ass and thighs. Marissa was resting with her cheek on her arms, watching his ministrations with a somber expression.

“You want to sleep, baby?” Cam asked. “I’ll remake the bed with fresh sheets. Can I get you something to drink? Water, brandy?”

Marissa rolled over and sat up. She shook her head adamantly. “No. I don’t want to stay here. I know it’s late, but can we go to your place?”

Cam nodded. “Absolutely. I'll call a cab right now.” They dressed quickly. While Marissa was in the bathroom brushing out her hair, Cam slipped the flash drive into his jeans pocket.

On the ride to his house, Cam said, “You know, that asshole is not going to get away with this. I understand you don’t want to involve the cops, but maybe there’s another way...” He trailed off as he said this, the seed of an idea forming in his mind. He thought about the old adage—
don’t get mad, get even
. Turning to Marissa, he said, “So Mitchell threatened to send a copy of our private training video to Dr. Hession?”

Marissa, who had been looking out the cab’s window, turned back to face Cam with a frown. “I don't know him all that well, but from what I can tell, Fred Hession is a very straitlaced guy. Very conservative. He'd probably fire us on the spot.”

Cam raised his eyebrows, a ghost of a smile lifting his lips.

“What? What's funny about that?” Marissa demanded, a touch of her natural spark returning.

“Just thinking of your characterization of Fred as a straitlaced guy. He does favor straitjackets, and would probably like a bit of lace as well. I know he loves silk and very high heels.”

Marissa wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What are you talking about? You know Dr. Hession personally?”

“I do.” Cam nodded. “In fact, I trained him.”

Marissa continued to stare at Cam uncomprehendingly. “Trained him?”

Cam nodded. “Normally I wouldn't say anything, but these are extenuating circumstances so I think you should know. Fred is a member of The Power Exchange. He and his wife Lillian are regulars. She’s a homemaker and his fulltime Mistress.” Marissa's mouth had fallen open, her eyebrows rising higher and higher as he spoke. “In fact, that's how I got an interview at the hospital. Fred recommended me.”

“Wow,” Marissa finally said. “I had no idea.”

“Why would you? It’s his personal business. Same as us.” Cam reached for Marissa’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “We don't have to deal with this alone, baby. And we’re definitely not going to take this lying down. I understand and respect your wish not to involve the authorities. We’ll handle this on our own, with the strength of the BDSM community behind us. When we’re done with him, Phil Mitchell will wish he’d never been born.”

Once home, Cam poured them each a large snifter of brandy, which they carried to the bedroom. Snuggled between the sheets, Cam took Marissa's hand. “Sweetheart, we need to tackle this right away, before that bastard does any more harm. I have the beginnings of a plan, and I want to call Jack Morris to get his input. Is that okay with you?”

Two spots of scarlet appeared on Marissa’s cheekbones, but she nodded. “Yeah. It’s okay. He should know that a video of the inner room is floating around out there. But it’s after two. The club is closed tonight. Won’t he be asleep?”

“Jack?” Cam shook his head. “He’s an inveterate night owl. He jokes that he has vampire blood—only goes down when the sun comes up.” Sure enough, Jack answered his phone on the second ring, recognizing Cam’s number and answering in his booming bass, “Hey there, trainer. You pull the late shift at the hospital or something?”

With a glance and sad smile at Marissa, Cam explained briefly what had transpired. He held the phone away from his ear as Jack began to shout.

What's he saying?
Marissa mouthed. Cam switched the audio to speaker and set the phone on the bed between them.

“—won’t get away with this, that little piece of shit! Say the word, Cam, and that cocksucker will disappear. I still know guys who know guys, if you understand me.”

“No,” Marissa interjected. “Jack, it's Marissa. Listen, we don’t want anything like that. I just want to make sure we stop him from doing any more damage. And we have to make sure he never does this to anyone else.”

Jack reluctantly agreed, becoming enthusiastic again when Cam discussed the rudiments of the idea that had been germinating in his brain since the cab ride. They talked back and forth for quite a while, firming up the plan.

~*~

Phil Mitchell looked at himself in the mirror and grinned at his reflection. He was still stoked from the events of last night. He’d waited up late after he left her, just in case the bitch was stupid enough to call the cops, but the night had passed uneventfully, as had the morning. Neither Marissa nor her faggot boyfriend had showed up at the hospital so far, which was well and good. Even if Cam Wilder knew what had happened, what could he do? They were probably cowering together in their S&M lair with no idea what to do. Phil had them both over a barrel, and they knew it. He owned Marissa Roberts’ ass now, and the fun was just beginning.

Everything had come together perfectly last night—from the seriously excellent cocaine he’d snorted that had made him feel like a god, to Wilder’s working the night shift, to the helpful old lady who had let him into Marissa’s apartment building when he pretended to fumble for his key. The expression on Marissa’s face had been priceless when he’d tossed that flash drive onto her bed. It served her right. People who played those sick, twisted sex games and then had the stupidity to record them deserved exactly what they got.

He had timed it perfectly, too, since today was his wrap up at St. Beatrice Hospital. All the software systems were enabled and working beautifully. He had an appointment with the chief of staff to give him the final report, and then it was on to another project.

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