Comments: Seriously, you're trolling a fanfiction site? But whatever floats your boat, dude. You do you. For all my real readers, I apologize for the section breaks not showing up. I fixed it so it's less confusing.

Funhouse

Chapter Four

Part 1.

Barba and Fin met Elliot in a dive café to avoid the risk of listening ears over bugged connections. "I got a lead," Elliot said. "It took me calling in some favors and some aggressive interrogation tactics, but I found out that the underage prostitution ring Olivia busted continued on, under a new leader named Jim Groves. Not only that, but there's a rumor that they have a gold-level prostitute available only to special clientele. She's supposed to be an exclusive prize, only offered at the highest price. Word has it she's a cop."

"Oh my God," said Barba. "Do you think it's her?"

"I don't know," said Elliot. "I couldn't get more than that. But I know one way to find out."

"Should we let Tucker in?" said Fin.

Elliot shook his head. "I don't trust him."

"She's her boyfriend, El," said Fin. "Besides that, he may be able to help us."

Elliot leaned back in his chair. "He might let something slip to the wrong people. We need to keep this under wraps."

"I agree," said Barba. "Let's involve as few people as possible for now."

Elliot liked this fast-talking attorney. "Besides," Elliot said, "I have a plan."

After he explained the details, Barba left, and Fin tried to console Elliot. "She seems really happy with Tucker."

Elliot lifted a drink to his lips. "At least they're not married."

"Maybe not, but they do live together. And, she's got a son." Elliot nearly spit out his drink. But before he did, Fin added, "But not with him."

"Who, then?"

"Nobody. It's complicated. The kid's staying with another detective from SVU, but Rollins already has a kid of her own. I don't know how much longer she can keep watching Liv's son—it's already been a week. We're floating some ideas."

"If my plan goes well, maybe we won't have to worry about it."

Part 2.

Elliot stood in front of the elevator doors and examined his appearance. He cleaned up nice. With his hair slicked back, his expensive suit, and glasses, he thought he pulled off a pretty convincing district attorney. When he got to the right floor, he stepped off and was greeted by a well-dressed bald guy who greeted him coolly with a muscular handshake and led him into a room. "Jim Groves."

"Tom Young," said Elliot.

Groves scratched his head. "What can I do for you?"

Elliot discretely scanned the room while he spoke. There was a girl who looked very young in the corner, kneeling before a guy in a chair as if she was about to go to town on him. The man leaned back, and Elliot could make out the outline of a gun in his hand.

"I'm looking for something out of the ordinary," Eliot said smoothly. I don't want the usual underage model-type. I want something a bit more challenging. Someone with experience, a professional maybe. I heard you might have something that meets that criteria."

Groves narrowed his eyes. "How so?"

Elliot glanced around, and then leaned in and whispered, "I heard you had a cop. And not just any—a station head."

Groves waved dismissively. "Nah, man, nothing like that. How could you afford something like that even if I did have it? On a DA's salary."

Elliot felt sick to his stomach at Groves referring to a prostitute, who may just be Olivia, as if she was just a piece of merchandise. "Oh, I do pretty well. It helps when you work with politicians who are up for indictment. I even have a judge on my books. Heard of Judge Wheeler?"

"Yeah, I'm listening. He can vouch for you?"

"Of course," said Elliot, hoping Groves wouldn't call his bluff. They had a plan, though, even if he did decide to check with Wheeler.

Groves paused, but then said, "Alright, man. You seem cool. I just happen to have a slot."

He led Elliot into an adjoining room. The lights were so low that it was hard for Elliot to scope out the room. But he could see the dark outline of a queen-sized bed, and a blackened silhouette hunched on one side. The figure moved, and he knew it was a woman.

As he got closer, her features became clearer, and he held back a gasp. Olivia lay curled up in a ball, naked, her arm stretched out and handcuffed to the bed. Her hair strung out, her eyes closed, she clasped herself with her free hand and shivered. Her face was pale, and her lips turned down in a frown.

Without taking his eyes off her, he said, "She doesn't look very good."

Her eyes flew open, and Groves turned to her and said, "Look alive, Katrina." He said to Elliot, "She's named after the hurricane. This one has spunk. She'll perk up when she wakes up a little. She's a hard little worker."

Olivia unfurled herself and lay on her side, her arm lying over her cleavage. Elliot fought back tears of rage. He wanted to swoop her up right now and carry her out, but he would have to fight off his urges for now—otherwise the girl in the other room might pay.

Groves said, "Well? You good, or you wanna bounce? I gotta know now, there's other people waiting."

"Yeah, I'll take her," Elliot said softly, the words practically gagging him.

"Cool. I'll give you the space. You've got fifteen minutes." Then he left and closed the door behind him.

Elliot couldn't tell if Olivia recognized him or not, because her face didn't show any signs of relief. But she stared at him, eyes wide, as he approached. He had to make it look real, in case they were watching. So he unhooked his belt, and then pulled down his pants. But he didn't take off his underwear.

Then he put one knee on the bed, and she flinched. He sighed silently, because he had to play this up good. "Get on your back," he said.

She complied, and he pushed her legs apart. Then he inserted his body between those legs, still keeping on his underwear. She looked terrified, refusing to look at him, her arm a wedge between them. She gulped.

He lay on top of her, but he propped himself up on his elbows, and then he pushed her arm away so they were chest to chest. She glanced at his face, her eyes like saucers, and then her eyebrows raised and he thought he saw recognition in her expression. "El—" she started to say.

But he clasped a hand over her mouth and said, "Shh. Don't talk."

He moved his hips as if he was grinding against her, but instead he humped the bed between her legs. He didn't even have to fight off an erection—the entire scenario disgusted him so much that he wasn't turned on in the slightest, even with her naked body pressed against him.

As he thrust his pelvis into the bed, he discretely groped the edges of the bed, looking for a bug. He kept his eyes locked on her the entire time, and she shook her head disbelievingly. There weren't any tables next to the bed, and he finally felt satisfied that nobody would hear them if he whispered, but they probably still had a camera trained on her.

He leaned his head down next to hers so that they were cheek to cheek. Then he brushed back a tuft of her hair from her ear and murmured, "Don't say anything." After a moment of silence, he said, "We're coming to get you."

He pulled away to look at her face, while still grinding into the bed. Now she looked like she was about to cry, so he leaned in again and whispered, "Hang in there, Liv, just a little bit longer. Don't give up."

He knew she couldn't risk nodding, so he wasn't surprised when she didn't. Instead, her lower lip quivered and a tear fell down to her hairline. He gripped her head and brushed it away with his thumb, risking this one small gesture so he could offer her some slight bit of comfort. He stroked her hair, and she closed her eyes, her face relaxing. He stopped driving his crotch into the bed, and just stared at her face, studying it in case he never saw her again. Then he wrapped his arms around her, lying on top of her silently, moving his hips once in a while to make it look like he was at least trying. He could feel her body shuddering underneath him, and he shook with her, horrified at the nightmare scenario.

And then the knock on the door came, jolting them both back into reality. Her eyes flew open, her eyebrows lowering in panic. He tried to reassure her with a look, and then gave her one quick nod and got up. He pulled on his pants and opened the door. "She didn't do it for me. I couldn't even get it up. Any chance I can get a refund, or at least an exchange?" he said to Groves.

"Nah, man. It's non-refundable."

Elliot feigned frustration with a sigh, and then cast one last glance back at Olivia's desperate face, and reluctantly left.