Page 16 of Hero Worship

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled, face inches from mine. "To push until I snapped?"

"Yes," I gasped, not even trying to hide how much I needed this. Needed him. "Please, Daddy..."

"Remove your hands from my property immediately, Valentine." Algerone's voice cut through the room with arctic precision.

Ash released me instantly, putting distance between us like I'd burned him. I stayed on the floor, chest heaving as I tried to process what had just happened. Algerone stood in the doorway, his expression carved from ice as he assessed the situation with clinical detachment.

"Your inability to maintain professional boundaries is concerning," he stated, adjusting his perfectly aligned cuffs. "Perhaps we need to reevaluate your suitability for this position."

"With all due respect, sir," Ash's voice was controlled, every word carefully measured despite the tension in his jaw, "I was demonstrating appropriate restraint techniques. Your asset was testing boundaries. I responded according to standard training protocols."

"Noted." Algerone's gaze flickered between us, analyzing, calculating. "See that you maintain such... professional standards in all future interactions."

I pushed myself to my feet, that familiar hollow feeling spreading through my chest. To him, I wasn't a child needing protection, I was an investment being mishandled.

"Lucky Losers has accepted a contract from the Russian consortium," Algerone announced, his precise diction filling the room. "The target is someone who has, until now, been untouchable through legal channels. Someone whose wealth and connections have made them effectively immune to conventional justice." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "I trust you're both familiar with Avery Roche?"

Without waiting for a response, he activated the massive display screen. Holy fuck. It was Avery fucking Roche. The legendary designer was exiting a French courthouse, their angular features a mask of cool indifference despite the media circus. They were wearing what looked like an original piece from their infamous "Beautiful Monster" collection.

The way they'd styled that suit was pure genius. They had taken traditional masculine elements and twisted them into something dangerous and beautiful. I saw myself in how the design rejected binary constraints. It was neither masculine nor feminine, but defiantly both and neither. The design embodied everything the MEAN QUEER aesthetic stood for, everything I'd been trying to express through my own relationship with fashion since realizing I wasn't bound by binary gender.

"Fashion mogul Avery Roche has been cleared of involvement in a string of model disappearances," the BBC reporter announced. "After a highly publicized trial, the French court cited insufficient evidence to proceed with charges, marking the third time allegations against the designer have failed to stick."

"Your familiarity with Roche's work will be relevant to this operation," Algerone said, his voice as measured as a metronome. "But more importantly, you need to understand why conventional justice has failed." He tapped his tablet, bringing up a new series of images. "What the public knows about are disappearances. Missing persons cases that never stick. What they don't know is that we've found some of the bodies."

Crime scene photos spread across the screen like a grotesque gallery. What I first took for mannequins in the images made my stomach turn when I looked closer. The bodies had been preserved somehow, posed like living dolls in elaborate couture. Their skin had an unnatural sheen, faces frozen in eternal beauty. Empty eyes stared out from perfect makeup, limbs arranged with loving precision. These weren't just murders. They were transformations.

"The police can't connect these discoveries to Roche," Algerone continued, his voice clinical. "The preservation techniques make time of death impossible to determine. The bodies are displayed like art installations in private collectionsacross Europe, and Roche's lawyers ensure any evidence that does surface is inadmissible or discredited. Their workshop may be in Paris, but their 'art' has an international audience."

A handsome young man appeared in several recent surveillance photos, always at Roche's side. He moved with the practiced grace of a model, sharp cheekbones and an athlete's build making him stand out even in the grainy footage. There was something familiar about him that I couldn't quite place, like I'd seen him at a family event or in Papa's photos. But before I could chase that thought, my attention was caught by a medical examiner's report, phrases jumping out in stark clinical language: "evidence of post-mortem sexual activity" and "chemical preservation techniques similar to taxidermy."

My hands shook as I took in more details. All the victims had been queer models and performers, each one chosen with meticulous care. Roche wasn't just killing them; they were collecting them, turning them into permanent pieces of their twisted art collection. The same eye for beauty that had revolutionized fashion was being used to create something monstrous.

"The Russian consortium has committed one point five million euros for confirmation of death," Algerone stated, maintaining that purely transactional tone. "But more importantly, they want this stopped before Roche's operation can expand. We have intelligence suggesting they're planning to begin taking commissions. Preserving beauty for wealthy collectors who share their... particular tastes."

"Holy shit," I breathed, my earlier excitement about Roche's designs turning to ash in my mouth. Their "Beautiful Monster" collection took on new meaning now. They hadn’t just been playing with gender presentation, but exploring something darker. The way they transformed traditional masculine silhouettes wasn't just artistic vision. It was practice.

"Roche frequents certain exclusive clubs in Paris," Algerone continued. "Private venues where they scout new talent and... evaluate potential acquisitions." His eyes fixed on me. "You'll be positioned as fresh meat in their hunting grounds. The kind of unique beauty that would catch their eye. If we play this correctly, they'll invite you to one of their private gatherings – the kind where phones are checked at the door and NDAs are required for entry."

My heart actually stopped. Being chosen by Roche. The thought bounced around my skull like pinballs, a twisted parody of the dreams I'd had when I first discovered their work. Back then, I'd imagined being noticed by them, being appreciated for exactly who and what I was. But now those dreams were tainted by the knowledge of what "appreciation" meant to Roche. Their perfect victims forever frozen in artful poses, turned into the ultimate fashion statements. This wasn't about modeling or art. This was about becoming prey.

"You're the perfect type for them," Algerone said. "Young. Beautiful. Gender non-conforming. Exactly the kind of unique beauty they like to... preserve."

He was using me as bait, I realized. Using my looks, my identity, everything that made me who I was as a lure for a monster. And the worst part? I knew it would work. Because part of me was still thrilled at the idea of being chosen, even knowing what that choice would mean. What did that say about me?

"Why outsource to Lucky Losers?" I asked. "The Bratva usually handles their own cleaning."

"Market positioning." Algerone's response was measured, corporate. "A Russian signature on this would be inefficient. Lucky Losers provides a more elegant solution with our established legitimate cover." He straightened an already immaculate tie. "The primary objective will be to take Roche out at home or somewhere private, which means approachinghim off duty. We’ve selected a number of clubs Roche and his current…doll…frequent. You’ll be engaging with him there.”

“What about him?” I pointed to the doll Algerone had mentioned earlier.

"Mikhailina Vasiliev." Algerone's voice carried a note of something almost like regret. "Though he goes by Misha now. His extraction is a secondary objective, but a delicate one. Viktor Vasiliev may have publicly disowned his child for being transgender, but having Misha so... publicly displayed... by Roche creates complications. Not to mention Roche is using him as insurance against direct action from the Russians. They know we won't move against them while Misha is in their possession."

Misha…Maybe Algerone considered his rescue a secondary objective, but I intended to make it a priority. I wasn’t going to let Roche hurt anyone else, not if I could help it.

"The mission parameters require a marriage cover," Algerone continued, every word precise. "Roche's pattern includes involving couples in their private gatherings. This provides optimal access." He fixed us both with an arctic stare. "To be explicitly clear: this is a professional operation. Any deviation from appropriate conduct will result in immediate contract termination."

The clinical way he discussed it made me shiver. Even our pretend marriage was just another business transaction to him, another asset to be managed.

---