Death By C*ck (Fetish Alley Book 2) Read online

  Tate winced. The operation Clay alluded to was one that fell officially outside of Mortimer Investigations’ purview due to its sensitive humanitarian and political nature. It wouldn’t do to have the public know an outside private firm handled the government’s problems.

  Unofficially, Clay had been asked to use his contacts and experience in the field to assist in foiling a human trafficking operation. The National Crime Agency (NCA) was cracking down on unsavoury elements at the UK borders. It sounded like Nigel Bouchard, a representative from the French border police who’d been brought in to assist with the Dover operation, had overstepped the mark somehow.

  Tate wasn’t a fan of Bouchard. The arrogant ass was a bully and tended to think he knew better in every instance. However, Bouchard’s subordinate, a woman called Sophie, was someone to be admired. She knew how to work well with others, and was compassionate and intelligent. She was the sort of person Tate could see Clay recruiting for M&W Investigations, if he hadn’t already done so.

  “You’re off the operation, Bouchard.” Clay walked outside, his gaze lighting on Tate. He eyed up Tate’s drink and licked his lips. Tate chuckled and got up to get Clay one. It looked like he needed it as he continued railing at Bouchard.

  “I’ve already asked your boss to replace you and send someone who understands that taking and following my orders are the way things have to be,” Clay continued, tone frosty. “Pack your bags and go home. For you, it’s over.” He disconnected the call and smiled gratefully at Tate as he took a swig of his drink. “Thanks. Jesus Christ, that man is a wanker. He actually interfered with Tim’s op and countermanded his instructions.” Clay flashed a wicked smile. “I understand Tim had a few choice words to say and even threatened to shoot Bouchard. Hence the dipshit’s phone call to me.”

  “You spoke to Tim earlier, didn’t you? He was warning you Bouchard was going to call and make a fuss.” Tate sat back down in his chair and sipped his drink, which had now been topped up. Clay nodded and sat down next to him.

  “I had accounts of the situation from other parties too, so it wasn’t a big surprise.” He shrugged. “Bouchard wasn’t my first choice. In fact, I didn’t want him, but I was overruled.” He looked a little smug. “That’ll teach them to listen to me the first time.”

  Tate chuckled softly. “You’re such a badass,” he murmured. “I don’t know how you sleep at night.”

  Clay lifted his glass in a toast and smirked. “Like a baby.”

  “So, between scooping up a drug dealer and smashing a human trafficking ring, we’ve had a rather busy and productive day.” Tate’s boot slowly pushed the trouser leg of Clay’s chinos up his calf. “What say we take these drinks to bed and relax?” Tate looked at his watch. “It’s nearly midnight. I think we’ve earned a bit of fun.”

  His boot caressed the skin of Clay’s bare calf as Tate cocked an eyebrow at his lover.

  “I think that’s a good plan,” Clay murmured huskily. “But I have a great plan. Shower sex, then bed.”

  Tate stood up. “I’m all in.” He drained his drink. “I’ll get the water going. Don’t be too long.”

  He planted a kiss to the top of Clay’s head and turned to leave. Clay reached out and stopped him. “You were amazing today. That undercover op worked like a charm.” Clay’s green eyes speared Tate’s. “I know you enjoyed it and want to do more. I could see it in your eyes. Promise me you’ll talk to me about them first? That’s all I ask.”

  Tate crouched down and laid his hand on Clay’s warm one. “Babe, stop stressing. I’m not going to go all Punisher on you and hunt down the bad guys.” He chuckled. “I rather think you’re the one with that reputation.”

  Clay huffed. “Those days are long gone. And it was only once. Maybe twice.”

  Yeah, Tate thought. The times you went hunting for the man who hurt me. Luckily someone else got to him before you did. Tate hadn’t liked the idea of Clay upending his principles for him.

  Tate stood up. “I might want to get out from behind a desk more, but I’m not going to go dark and dangerous, love. I value this,” he waved at the home they shared and then at Clay, “far too much. Believe me, I love working with you, and the business tracking down weirdos and liars like the last one. I mean, who else gets to track down a body hidden in a birthday cake?” He ruffled Clay’s hair and moved away.

  That shower beckons and I can fuck the worry out of him. Tonight he’s all mine.

  Clay laughed. “It makes life interesting, that’s for sure.” He slapped Tate’s arse. “Fine. Go get that shower ready. I’ll be there in a minute. Let me finish my drink.”

  As Tate moved into the cosily lit lounge, he made his way to the wet room in the main bathroom at the back of the house, then he looked back.

  Clay’s profile, strong and beloved, was a sight that warmed Tate’s chest and the rest of him.

  Tonight, he’d make Clay forget everything.

  Chapter 2

  Clay was used to early morning phone calls. But being rudely woken up from a deep sleep after a night of rousing sex with Tate was not one of his favourite things. He groaned, squinted at the clock, and then rubbed his eyes blearily.

  “It’s seven o’clock in the morning,” Tate growled from his position huddled under the covers. “Whoever that fucker is, it had better be urgent. Hell, they’d better be bloody dying.” He moodily thumped his pillow into submission and buried his head in it. “Unless it’s one of those heavy breathing calls you keep getting?” He quirked an eyebrow in Clay’s direction.

  “It’s Rick,” Clay muttered as he found his phone and answered it.

  Tate tensed beside him, turning onto his back to stare at Clay. “Shit. I take back those last words. Are he and Lucy okay?” He sat up, bedclothes falling away to reveal a toned chest Clay had taken great pleasure in kissing and biting last night.

  “Rick, you and your mum all right?” Clay asked when he answered his phone.

  “Yep, we’re good. This is a work call.” Rick sounded far too perky for this early in the morning, Clay thought. He nodded at Tate, assuring him things were fine. Tate fell back onto the bed and scowled as he rubbed at one of the bites on his torso.

  Clay sighed. “You little shit, you have an uncle, why didn’t you call him and wake him the hell up?”

  “Because he’d throw his phone at the wall and ignore me,” Rick said happily. Still far too happily in Clay’s opinion. “You, though, have manners.”

  Clay hmphed. “Well, now you’ve woken us up, you may as well tell me what the hell you called for. You said it was a work call?”

  “Indeed. Somewhere you’re familiar with. There’s been a murder, a real one this time, in Fetish Alley. We need your help in talking to the witnesses and potential suspects.”

  Clay blinked. “A murder? Okay, but isn’t that what the police are for? Why are you telling us?” He bit back a grin at the way Tate’s eyes lit up, and he sat up suddenly, looking quite interested.

  Rick sighed heavily. “Because while we are working on it, it was suggested by the powers that be that after you two solved the last non-murder case we had, which, I might point out, actually wasn’t a case at all, so it’s not as if it should affect our solve rates, and yet, it gets rubbed in my face each time I go into the break room—”

  “Rick,” Clay snapped. “Get to the point and stop blabbering.” He shook his head in exasperation.

  Rick snorted loudly down the phone in annoyance. “Fine. Detective Chief Inspector Sheila Riley seems to think you two are in a fitting place to offer the City of London Police some assistance, and she has extended an invitation for Mortimer and Williams to consult on the case.” Rick sounded as if he was reading his statement off a piece of paper. “Due to the nature of the crime and the fact you have a past relationship with the man known as a major influencer in Fetish Alley matters, it is believed you may have some success in getting people to talk where the official channels cannot.”

  He stopped and took a deep
breath. “There. Happy now? When can you meet me at the crime scene? The murder was a few days ago and the Scene of Crime Officers have finished, and the coroner has taken the body away, because, you know, due process and all. But I have pictures.”

  Clay was still processing. He held the phone away from his ear and stared at it, as Tate knelt behind him and rested his chin on Clay’s shoulder.

  “I heard that,” Tate murmured. “Have we become like the official investigators of all things weird and kinky? I never got the memo.”

  Clay stared at Tate, ignoring the squawks emanating from the phone. “This is great news,” he breathed, excitement coursing through his chest. “Sheila Riley and I go way back. Her husband, Stephen, and I were army buddies.”

  Tate stared at him. “This the same Stephen Riley who pushed you out of an aircraft without a parachute at five thousand feet into the jungles of Chile, and left you drunk as a coot and stranded in a submarine on your twenty-first birthday?” He frowned. “I still don’t get how that happened, no matter how you explain it. I mean, who gets access to a submarine on a naval base like that?”

  Clay winked at him. “I’m not telling.” He put the phone back to his ear. “Rick, calm down. I’m here.”

  “Well, Jesus, and he’s back. What the hell?” Rick huffed indignantly. “So are you two coming along or what? I’m down at the club now with your buddy Aurelio. And let me tell you, this case will be a doozy.” His voice lowered. “This place is something else.”

  “We’ll be there.” Clay disconnected the call and got out of bed. Naked. He motioned to Tate, who was staring at Clay’s morning wood. “No time for that now. Rise and shine, lover. Looks like we have a new client.” He smirked. “The City of London Police no less.”

  Time to make myself presentable. Maybe I can even convince Tate to wear a suit.

  “Huh.” Tate looked unimpressed. “I’m not wearing a suit.” He hauled his arse out of bed. “And I know Sheila Riley, although I didn’t know her husband was your army buddy. She was a sergeant back then, but she was involved with a couple of cases I worked on when I was on the drug squad.”

  Clay stared at him. “I did not know that. Did you ever tell me?”

  Tate shrugged as his taut backside disappeared into the bathroom. The shower went on. “Probably not. It was a long time ago. See, I have connections too.”

  Seems we still have some secrets of our own, Clay thought.

  The sound of the water became choppy as, no doubt, Tate got into the wet room. He loved to bask under the steaming hot water. Often, when Clay went to shower afterwards, there was not even warm water left, and he’d freeze his balls off.

  Sighing, he pulled out clothing from his cupboard and surveyed it thoughtfully. He supposed having secrets kept things interesting. He snorted softly at that thought, because who was he kidding. Life with a man like Tate would always be interesting.

  ***

  The drive to Graffiato Animé was uneventful. Once again Clay had to pat himself on the back for buying a motorbike. These days the busy London commute was nothing short of atrocious.

  The sunlight filtering through fluffy cumulus clouds made driving the bike a real pleasure. An hour later, Clay and Tate were walking up the stone stairs to the door of the club. Tate rang the doorbell and they waited. After a minute, it opened to reveal the same woman who had let them in weeks before.

  Clay smiled at her. “Afternoon, Tanvi. I believe we’re expected.” He was pleased with himself for remembering her name. Since he’d turned forty, his lover had taken great glee in sticking memes of age-related sayings on his PC and jabbing him about it every chance he got. Clay had threatened to punch his lights out, a comment that had led to a tussle, which had led to one of Tate’s infamous blowjobs.

  With results like that, turning forty wasn’t all bad, Clay thought with a grin.

  Tanvi’s face creased into a smile. “Please, do come in. The other gentlemen are waiting for you.”

  They followed her slim figure through to another room, not the plush lounging area they’d sat in before. This room was more of a library-cum-study, and Clay recalled he’d been in here before with Aurelio, way back when the club had first opened.

  It had changed, since he remembered it as being nothing more than a utilitarian space, still waiting for someone to give it personality. Aurelio had imprinted his persona on it with no holding back.

  It was more of a library now, with gleaming, polished wooden bookshelves set around the room. The shelves were filled with books, both old and new, looking like a bookstore that didn’t quite know what its purpose was. One wall was dedicated to anything football, and Clay noted the familiar number twenty football shirt mounted in a dark frame along with other paraphernalia from Aurelio’s time in the Italian football squad.

  The desk, teak and inset with leather, was classic and regal, much like the man himself. An odd steampunk-themed metal lamp with a fire globe stood on one side of the desk, at odds with the rest of the room. Clay wondered what its story was. Knowing Aurelio as he did, he figured it would have some personal significance in his life.

  Seated behind the desk, looking as polished as ever, was the man himself: Aurelio. Rick Grant stood talking to a woman dressed in plain clothes. Clay guessed from the way she presented herself that she was one of his sergeants from the Bishopsgate CID, where Rick was now stationed. She was looking at Rick earnestly while taking notes.

  Rick waved a hand in their direction. “Be with you in a minute.” He went back to his chat. Aurelio stood up to greet them, and for the first time Clay noticed the crow's feet in the crinkle of Aurelio’s eyes. He looked like a man who wasn’t sleeping much. But finding people murdered in the place you called home probably wasn’t conducive to a decent night’s sleep.

  “Clay, good to see you again, although the circumstances are unpleasant.” Aurelio came around and drew Clay into a hug. He released Clay and held out his hand for Tate. “As always, a pleasure.” Tate shook the hand being offered.

  “Aurelio. Seems we meet only when there’s bad news.”

  Aurelio nodded sombrely. “It appears so. This is terrible, my friends. Never have I seen anything like it.”

  Clay’s ears pricked up. “Did you go down to the actual crime scene then?”

  “Oh no, not at all,” Aurelio hastened to assure him. “I do not wish to see that sort of thing up close and personal.” He shuddered. “I am horrified that such a thing can happen here in my alley.”

  “So, what exactly has happened in the alley?” Tate perched his backside on the edge of Aurelio’s desk and stared over at Rick. “Oi, Rick. You going to tell us why we’re here any time soon?”

  “Hold your horses,” Rick muttered grumpily. “Christ, you are so impatient.” He rolled his eyes but sauntered over to the group, his colleague in tow. “Let me introduce you to Detective Sergeant Carol Meadham, who will be working on this case as a primary contact. DS Meadham, meet Tate Mortimer, whom I have the dubious pleasure of calling my uncle, and his partner, Clay, who will be assisting on this one.”

  Clay blinked. “Tate Mortimer?” he repeated. “Last time I checked, Rick, Tate and I weren’t married.” What the hell? Tate was looking equally bemused. Aurelio folded his arms and glanced at them all in amusement.

  Rick’s face reddened. “Hell, sorry. I don’t know where that came from. My mind is playing tricks. Tate Williams,” he clarified loudly. “From Mortimer Investigations. He waved at Clay. “Let’s move this along quickly.”

  Clay shook his head as Tate glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. Clay shrugged and held out his hand to Carol Meadham. “Lovely to meet you,” he murmured. “So sorry you have to put up with the likes of Rick here.” He grinned to take the sting out of his words as Rick scowled. Carol chuckled.

  “DI Grant is one of the better ones,” she said, with a mischievous glance at her boss. “I’m privileged to work with him.” Rick smirked.

  Tate nudged his nephew’s arm. “Apart
from when he’s having memory problems. What were you doing this morning, sitting at home with Lauren and debating what name I’d take if Clay and I ever did get married?”

  Lauren was Rick’s girlfriend. The panic reflected on Rick’s face was all Clay needed to know that Tate’s comment rang true. Tate picked up on it too and his jaw dropped.

  “You were, weren’t you? How in God’s name did that all come about?”

  Rick’s face was now a brighter red than before. “It was her fault. She was looking at wedding stuff on Facebook, and she asked me if the two of you ever got married whether it would be Williams-Mortimer, Mortimer-Williams or whatever. We got into a debate about it and…” His voice trailed off. “I suppose some part of my stupid brain was still lost in the conversation.”

  Tate directed a hard stare at Rick. “What is it with all the interest in our betrothal plans? Don’t you have anything better to talk about?”

  DS Meadham was trying hard to bite back a smile. Aurelio guffawed and laid a hand on Rick’s shoulder. “My friend, you should forget about these two.” He gestured at Tate and Clay. “And start worrying about yourself. When someone begins to be interested in wedding affairs, there is only one thing on their mind. A single-minded focus driving all other rationale out of the window.”

  Rick huffed. “I’m aware of that. I’m in the bloody thick of it at home. Can we stop this silly wedding conversation and focus on the poor dead guy?” Rick snapped. He took his phone out and scrolled through it.

  As they waited, Clay was sure he’d heard Tate mutter, “Anyway, who’s to say it wouldn’t be Clay Williams?” Clay bit back a laugh and focused on what Rick was saying. Somewhere deep inside him though, he confessed the idea of he and Tate being married was enticing.

  Hmm. Perhaps I need to mull on that one a bit more. It does feel right.

  “Clay, you with us?” Rick’s voice broke through Clay’s daydream.