Heather knew all about energy points in the body; nerve bundles, chi and flow. The foot was the Mecca for all sensation. A flick of a wrist and pivot of a thumb… just the right way could send men instantly into orgasm. Redirecting energy flow into flooding the body with natural endorphins could relax all muscle tension and spasms. She was able to release Nick's physical pain harbored deeply in tissue and tendons.
There he lay in her bed, the sheets soaking up his scent, a tanned body within a sea of silky black. He was temptation, a dark haired beauty, inviting her hands to roam freely over toned muscles. The green T-shirt rode up enough for a peek at hard abs and a light trail of dark hair disappearing under his boxers.
Drinking in such serenity would have to wait, knowing that someone had defiled it all by greed and evil. Pure thoughts were a rare if not foreign notion here...but the Domain did welcome all with open arms. No judgment, no prejudice. It was devotion and honesty. Wasn't that pure in its own way?
Heather felt violated...tainted and she would not allow it to go on, or spread anymore. She pulled the sheet over the CSI, gently covering him from the chill and leaving him to much needed rest. With vigor she went to the laptop and inspected the last note card. She was not a scientist, but had a good eye. With a magnifying glass in one hand, she picked up the matching groove and ink pattern that Nick had found. The Mistress needed to finish what was started, verifying, she looked at the name attached to the card and the smoldering flames grew red hot.
Internal matters were always handled privately, Nick Stokes might not ever understand such things, but he was the key that lead to the perpetrator. Now Heather would take her pound of flesh for the both of them. She hooked up the Nikon to her computer, synced and transferred the photo to the memory card. Armed with proof, she headed into the halls of the Domain in search of her Judas.
Animals froze under any scrutiny, twitchy whiskers or ears, beady darting eyes so fast and nervous that a predator pounced and fed off of fear. Humans, they squirmed and babbled like idiots under pressure. When it came to danger, or self preservation there was little separating the instincts of either species.
Four legged or two, take away the fur and it revealed true skin, and there wasn't much difference at all.
Heather's calm calculated way was much more frightening and intimidating than any short-fused temper or screaming red-faced maniac. Silence was a far better weapon than any words.
"We matched your fingerprints to the letter." The owner of the Domain spoke so softly, the thundering heartbeat of the recipient could have easily swallowed up the words.
"I promise, Mistress, I don't know what you're talking about."
Heather didn't snap back or gesture madly. Her cold, lifeless voice was enough to send hairs on any neck on end. "Do you deny that these prints are yours?"
Pupils dilated and hands shook, scanning the physical evidence "I –I don't know anything about this stuff, so if you say these are my prints, then they are."
The air grew colder.
"B-but, I don't know how. I would never betray you, Mistress."
She shortened the distance between them, sucking in the same air. Heather tucked away a strand of hair behind her employee's ear. "Then explain it to me, Bridget."
The assistant floundered, studying the cardboard and the view screen of the camera. "I...I mean...what's to say those ARE my prints, but on the paper." Flustered face, pink skin moist from sweat. "I handle all of your operations...my prints are on everything."
The more the woman spoke the more confidence controlled a once stuttering voice. "Sure my prints are on the paper, but how do you know someone just didn't snatch it from the office and typed the letter afterwards?"
Heather crowded even more. She said nothing.
Bridget reacted accordingly. "I don't give away your passwords...I mean that's the only way, right?"
"Is it?" the Mistress inquired, caressing the woman's face.
Tears sprung and it pained her heart, but then all Heather had to do was think back to the fire in her belly, to the man asleep in her bed and the coals smoked more.
The assistant crumbled. "I promise, Lady Heather, I would never do such a thing. I follow your rules to the letter."
"Every syllable?"
The other woman wrung her hands "Of course...we all know every rule."
Like any animal her assistant permeated the air with fear, and Heather went for the jugular. "What did you do?"
Bridget wiped at her face. "Nothing...I mean...I let my boyfriend cover my post from time to time."
And the spray of blood felt warm over her skin, going for the kill. "In my office."
The dumbness of four-legged creatures looked so similar. The assistant grew shaky, hand slapping her mouth in disbelief. "Oh, God."
"Who?" she demanded, stepping even closer. Heather caressed the side of Bridget's face. "Who, my dear?"
"We...we've been dating just a little while."
The steel trap clamped shut over the prey. "Bridget," Heather warned.
"Thomas...I mean...he just started here a month ago."
Then it all fell together and Heather became a whirlwind with a target...her newly employed master. A worker who wore both a mask...and gloves.
She ran her fingers over the feather boa, a loud pink frilly thing. Very trashy, showgirl Vegas, but then that was what some clients wanted. She preferred the elastic feel of fishnets, the smell of leather, old tools of the trade, hot candle wax and a finely braided whip. Her hand rifled over wire hangers, various vinyl and latex, her hand stopping at a pair of assless chaps.
The staging area was a glorified dressing room and props department. A place for her employees to change into whatever they would use for the night, or house costumes needed for fantasy role plays. Heather expected a highly organized area; seemed someone went shopping and had yet to put the newly acquired clown makeup away. The yellow plastic bag filled to the brim with grease paint and party wigs. A fetish of a whole other variety. Sex wasn't about comedy, but she wouldn't begrudge someone's kinks.
She crumpled the bags, the crinkle of plastic not enough to lull the heat in her veins. Heather could be very methodical, patient when needed, and steeled herself when the door opened. Heavy boots clomped inside, lazy feet not dedicated enough to keep from walking like an oaf.
"Thomas." Heather did not turn, not a single muscle twitched.
"Madame Heather."
"Dignity, integrity, and pride. Words to live by, to uphold and respect." She could hear his breathing. "If one lacks these traits, then they have no chance of upholding them in others."
She did not need to look in the mirror for the chiseled rock of neutrality. Thomas was never pretty to look at, a kindness afforded by the leather mask he gripped between two meaty hands. Squarest jaw that swallowed the rest of his neutral face, very caveman-like...though those were not the things that he'd been hired for. Dull blues eyes stared through the reflection.
"Is there something you needed, Mistress?" Clumsy footfalls and the stink of stale cigarettes were the blips of his movement on her radar.
Thomas couldn't be stealthy if he tried. Except when handed her computer on a silver platter by a hormonally- challenged assistant or hiding behind doors, like a coward.
"Did you know they used to cut off the hands of thieves." Heather, breathed deeply, relaxing clutched fingers before she broke Nick's camera.
"It's rude to talk to someone's back, Lady Heather."
She smiled, walking away from the source of increased sweat. "Playing the game of ignorance is reserved for those with a slow mind. Don't waste my time any more than you have."
"And I don't like insinuations."
Heather kept her back to her subject, nothing like waving the red cloth in front of a dumb bull. "Couldn't you even remember if you wore gloves when you handled the letters, or were you afraid that Bridget would catch on if we traced the prints to her?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
She remained quiet, letting him stew.
"Look at me, Mistress."
Heather would not budge, the room filled more and more with heavy breathing.
"There is a special place in hell for liars, Thomas."
He was quick for a Neanderthal, and Heather turned in time to dig her nails into his chin, holding it firm with his shocked reaction. Her eyes glistened with carefully controlled fury. "Keep in mind where your place is in this domain."
Even blackmailing cowards understood their position in the presence of unquestioned authority. Heather placed the camera on the dresser in one motion, then pulled the black mask out of stunned fingers, her subordinate swallowing.
Heather released her clamp, this time never breaking eye contact as she reached for the balled up, yellow plastic bags from the store. With little fuss, she ripped up a piece of cellophane and stretched it over the lens of the digital camera.
"Still playing coy?" With no answer, Heather held the camera over the leather mask, she peered down at the purplish blob over the eye holes, and tilted the Nikon for her employee to see.
The stone face crumpled with a furrowed brow. "You may have gotten rid of the paper trail, but you never did wash away this stuff away after Nick sprayed you with it. Neat trick, the chemical still glows under a colored filter."
Her big dumb caveman stood shocked, however the one thing she did underestimate was fear. She carried none, but a man shell-shocked with physical evidence of an assault reacted like any frightened animal...by instinct.
Her shoulders slammed the nearest wall, those beefy hands now gripped both Heather's biceps, hard. She didn't mind rough, he forgot that, the pain minimal, his spearmint-covered Marlboro breath a much different story.
"You've got nothing on me."
Heather dug an expensive manicure into his arms, deep, then deeper, until it cut skin. She arched an eyebrow when he chuckled, he was after all a master. He shook her slightly, thumbs leaving bruises with his own show of control.
"Bridget is weak, and this place a one stop shop for all my needs. It was easy to take more."
She raked her claws over his arms, never cowering, no hint of fright. She sought out the bones of his wrists, he grunted, but would not let her go, despite what she knew were pressure points exploited.
He pressed his larger mass closer, his thick hand taking her chin, and forced it upwards. "I'll be leaving now, this has been a good score. How does it feel knowing that you are not as powerful as you think?"
No volcano had anything on her. Heather shoved as hard as she could, but it was like fighting a mountain. In that instant when his toothy grin mocked her, and he mashed his heavy boot over her foot. Heather felt a prickly nervousness tingle and her belly tightened.
Fear. It was a very foreign concept.
"Get your fucking hands off her!"
Both of them were shocked to hear a thick drawl, throaty and dangerous.
Nick was in the room and apparently the caveman wasn't quick enough for the CSI's liking because there was a flurry of movement. Thomas let her go, his yelp in tandem with an ungraceful fall to the floor. It took several seconds to realize that Nick had kicked the crap out of the back of the brute's knee cap, and then stomped on the front of it for good measure.
The Texan was in front of her now like a shield, playing cowboy. A helpless pioneer woman she was not, but Heather wouldn't deny the criminalist some comeuppance. He held his arm out, warning her to the corner, anticipating some kind of reprisal.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Nick taunted, gauging the movements of other man.
Heather could smell the testosterone radiating from Nick, and was more than a little surprised by the more fiery side. So he wasn't all just humble pie. Good. She knew tons of passion waited for release.
"How's the leg? You fucking gimp," the brute challenged.
Nick kept close to her. "Funny, I could say the same about you...the gimp part that is."
Thomas had still not gotten off the floor, staggering about. "You all have got jack squat."
Heather could see the vein pulsating away next to Nick's eye, his chest puffed out, arms straining inside his shirt sleeves. He stood almost bow-legged, obviously hiding any weakness. She didn't touch him, wouldn't signal a chink in the armor, but she did move to stand beside him.
The bull gathered himself, like a drunkard trying to stand without tipping to one side, sneer in full effect. "You both lose."
He brushed aside both of them, sending a broad shoulder into Nick's ribs, snickering as the CSI shoved back, barely having an effect.
He basked in triumph near the door. "You two belong to each other, both pathetic."
Heather rarely rose to any bait, but her anger had been brought to the surface, stepping towards the traitor, but Nick moved to block her path. Her ex-employee laughed again, and than made her bolder. Again the criminalist moved in rapid succession with her, face hiding the extra lines of pain of trying to keep her grounded.
She stared at him, this man couldn't just get away with all he had done, but brown orbs locked with hers, and sent a silent signal message.
Trust me.
And she did.
The brute swung open the door, but his feet never budged. Heather moved past the criminalist who shifted to keep in step. She pressed forward with Nick next to her, his self-assurance infectious. Curious at the caveman's sudden hesitancy she peered past his bulky frame to see the hallway filled with staff members.
Heather was at a loss for words...so was the man who betrayed her...betrayed them all.
A hand larger than them Thomas' grabbed him by the shirt collar and hauled him into the masses. Gunter appeared at the doorway. "Our business stays within the Domain." The German then winked at Nick, and the door closed with the man responsible for so much turmoil to be dealt with privately, but it would be taken care of.
Heather looked back at the CSI whose innocent look was faker than some of the boob jobs of her workers. "You rallied the troops."
Nick touched her arm, hand gently caressed the new tarnished areas. "Yeah."
She traced fingers along his face. "You're a sneaky devil."
He laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment."
The mistress perked her eyebrows. "Yes, and there are so many more."
His eyes glistened, and she took stock of his sweat pants and boots. "You look ridiculous."
"Gee, thanks," he purred, now leaning heavily along the wall for support.
"How did you manage to get here so quickly?" she inquired, still reveling in his earlier displays of command.
His head bowed and she knew that he was hiding something. "Tell me," she urged.
Nick ducked, but mumbled. "I had Gunter help me."
She grinned at the idea of her overjoyed infatuated coworker. "Let's get you back to bed. You need to relax."
Heather offered her shoulder and he wrapped an arm around it. The mistress slipped an arm around his waist. "Thank you, Nick. For everything."
He ran his hand through her long hair. "I am here to serve, Lady Heather."
Heather didn't say a word and the CSI knew he ran right into that one. She smiled coyly again.
He smiled. "Of course, I have other ways to share appreciation."
This time Heather didn't respond. Actions spoke louder than words.
A/N:
Choice time. This is the end for some of you , just read and let you imagination go on. Everything nobel and good. For those who would like to see the real ending, the ninth chapter will be for you. Thanks to everyone who followed and expressed views on this tiny sideproject. The next major story will be filled with angst, and not a sexual thing in sight.