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They rode all the way to the first floor in silence. But as soon as they alighted the elevator and the door closed behind them, Roberts turned to Stanley. “Jesus Christ, you’re going to get me fired. Did you really need me there for that fucking horror show?”

“Yes,” said Stanley. “I did. I need him to understand that there is nothing that he can do to me. I have all of the power. He does not. You’re going to follow up with Mr. Colter in a few days and see if our little visit didn’t jog anything.”

They walked back out into the brutal heat, causing more sweat to break out on Roberts’ forehead. He plunged his hand into his pocket for his handkerchief and began to blot at his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but could think of nothing that would do him any good. So he closed his lips and shook his head.

“I’ll be in touch,” said Stanley. And then he abruptly turned and walked away.

Roberts was left gaping after him as he strode with cool, liquid grace down the street like the heat didn’t touch him at all.

Insufferable fucking prick.

Chapter thirteen

Alex

Alex put quite a lot of effort and thought into looking elegant and pristine.

When entering the premises of his business, he made it a point to be dressed at the cutting edge of fashion. It was essential to be impeccable in the world. A man was only as good as his attire, truly. Nothing spoke of a person’s character like their garments. He knew this even as a boy, walking to school in stockings full of holes and knee breeches that were patched and frayed, watching prosperous landowners ride lazily along on horseback while they surveyed their respective kingdoms. He hated them with every fiber of his being and also wished to be them. Why could they have what he could not?

He didn’t have a new pair of shoes until he was ten years old and had the sense to steal them. Every other pair he had ever owned were hand-me-downs from Tommy that often had holes worn into them by the time they got to his feet.

At the peak of summer heat, he adorned himself in white linen to beat back the furnace of summer. The white was deliberately a complement to his fairness and the lapis of his eyes. He was highly conscious of this after spending many hours considering his reflection, consulting with tailors, and perusing fashion plates.

So, it was entirely unusual that he forewent his elegant summer attire and instead, stood in the washroom of the Crystal stripping down to a pair of old wool trousers, his suspenders, and his undergarments. The clothes–except for the undergarments–had belonged to Tommy. Normally he wouldn’t be caught dead in this sort of work wear, but he did in fact have some work to do today.

Some very messy work.

He considered himself in the mirror, briefly amused by the sight of himself dressed like his brother. A ghost of himself in the past, a small boy with pale hair in rag tag wool and patched cotton.

The undershirt he wore was made from silk jersey, of course, but that would do for today. He wouldn’t be drawing any blood. At least, he didn’t think so.

Beside him, a metal washing bin sat on the floor. He filled it patiently, one pitcher at a time with water that he got from the tap in the washroom. It could have been tedious work, but he didn’t mind it. In fact, every pitcher full of cold water filling the basin sent a ripple of anticipation through him. He filled himself with pleasure just as he filled the basin with water.

The idea had come to him last night while he’d had his hand wrapped around Lindsay’s throat, watching his face turn red and start to mottle before he released his hold, allowing the oxygen to circulate through his body once more. Lindsay was so delicious when he gasped for air, terror and surrender mingling in his eyes.

When the basin was full Alex pushed it with some effort to the center of the washroom. It looked pristine. The clean water among the white tiles. A little splashing wouldn’t hurt the washroom at all. In fact, he couldn’t think of a scenario that would improve it more.

When everything was prepared–basin, stack of hand towels, a sparkling clean room–he opened the door and walked out into the main room of the Crystal. He didn’t expect Ryan and Lindsay to arrive until later in the day, as it was still early and Ryan was overseeing inventory. Lindsay was likely still finishing up at his appointment at the physician’s office.

All alone and no one to play with except for a Dolly in her cage.

He walked around the bar, savoring the silence of the speakeasy. In a matter of hours, someone would be banging away on the piano while a rotation of throaty singers serenaded the clientele on the stage while they drank primped up bathtub gin from Kansas and applejack from Malcolm's stills and filled the room with so much smoke that they would all have stinging eyes. But for the moment, it was pleasant to be king in an empty kingdom.

He poured himself a finger of applejack and sent it straight back. Pleasant tingling traveled down his arms and across his forehead from the booze. He put the glass away. After he’d had his fun, he’d have another to celebrate.

He was just turning to open the door to the secret corridor when the sound of footsteps on the stairs stopped him. Then the sound of a key fitting into a lock and turning. Irritation flared through him and he turned toward the intruder.

It cooled at once, of course, upon realizing that it was Ryan letting himself in through the front door of the Crystal, and was replaced immediately by a surge of pleasure.

Ryan stopped and gave him the look of reserved suspicion he had just for Alex. He paused in the act of pulling his fedora off as though he were rethinking his desire to stay, discovering that they were alone there together. The heat outside was merciless today, but the sheen of sweat that it brought out on Ryan’s face made Alex want to lick it from his flesh.

“Well, well, well,” Alex said. “You’re interrupting me, but I just so happen to be in the mood to indulge an intrusion. Care to join me?”

“Doing what?” Ryan’s voice was cold, clipped. Same old Ryan.

“Playing with my Dolly,” Alex said. He turned toward the secret door and shifted the candlestick that caused it to spring silently open.

“What do you mean ‘playing with your Dolly?’” Ryan said behind him. Alex didn’t bother to answer him, though the heat in his tone intrigued him. Possessiveness? He narrowed his eyes at Ryan and then walked into the corridor. Ryan’s footsteps hurried after him and he smiled to himself as he opened the door of the cell room. It was silent but for the sound of muffled protests. He walked slowly into the room to find his Dolly situated in her chair, bound and gagged.

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