Vengeance, Part 2

Knight reran the video of young Fletcher Balfour, studying the youth’s face and movements. Shifting his chair slightly, Knight brought up the dossier he had built on the young man and his father – his scarred face widening in an evil smile. He was still amazed at the things money would buy – and the irony was that much of the money spent to build the dossier on Balfour junior had come directly from old Balfour himself. His company had paid Knight a small fortune to devise inventory control, payroll management, and personnel scheduling software for several of his legitimate companies. Knight had found the irony too delicious to refuse the requests. In the past two decades, Knight had amassed almost as large a fortune as Balfour – some of the fortune came from his programming projects, some from legal investments, and some from some inside information derived from his hacking into the computers of various major corporations.

Perusing the dossier, Knight raised an eyebrow in wonder – Balfour senior had certainly seen to it that his boy was given all the best opportunities in life. Only the best of the exclusive boarding schools had been good enough for the boy. Then, Oxford University – but, all of that information was fluff. Anyone could get that pitiful information easily enough – it was what wasn’t readily accessible that really interested Knight. Young Fletcher was bisexual and seemed to have inherited his father’s interest in the less than mainstream activities the sexual world had to offer. He even seemed to have the same sadistic tendencies – although he hadn’t had much chance to really cultivate them so far. He’d had several scrapes with the law – all of them quickly and quietly covered up thanks to generous bribes from his father’s solicitors. Young Fletcher spent last summer with his father aboard the yacht as four more young men – this time from Australia – had been kidnapped and castrated. Knight figured the father was grooming the son for a place in the family business. He entered Oxford as soon as he returned from the summer cruise and spent more time in pubs with his mates than he did cracking the books. Knight guessed the contacts the young man would make at the university were far more important than grades to the Balfours – especially since the young man was assured of a lucrative place in his daddy’s empire.

As Knight brought up another file, the lights in the dim room came fully on flooding the room in harsh light. Knight didn’t need to glance up to know Anika Lofquist had entered the room. The Icelandic dominatrix took a perverse delight in flooding any room Knight was in with light. Swiveling in his chair, Knight turned so that the mangled left side face was in full view. The scars had pulled the flesh on the left side of his face tight causing his left eye to droop slightly downward and to the left. The scar running from his mouth to his ear had pulled the corner of his mouth left and upward in a parody of a grin. Anika regarded his face with her cold green eyes showing no expression of revulsion at all.

“You’ve had your fun, Anika,” Knight said softly. “Now be a good girl and turn the fucking lights down.

“I don’t know why you insist on hiding yourself,” Anika said, returning the lights to their previous dim level. “How many times do I tell you the scars add an aura of intrigue and mystery to you. They are appealing in a very sensual way to me.” Striding across the room in her knee-length high heeled boots, Anika perched on the corner of the desk, crossing her leather clad legs at the ankle. She reached out and traced the scars with a well-manicured scarlet nail. “You could always wear your hair loose from that ponytail and hide the scars that way. You know how much I love men with long, flowing hair – and your hair is so perfect.”

“Is there something on your mind, or are you just here to annoy me?” Knight asked, reaching back and fingering his mid-back length ponytail.

Anika pulled a small back case from her purse and opened it, revealing a hypodermic syringe. “It is time again for your hormone shot. The doctor wanted to interrupt you and give it to you,” Anika purred. “I told him to go away, that I would take care of this for you.” She smiled seductively. “You know how much I enjoy giving injections.”

Knight snorted in dark amusement – normally whenever Anika gave an injection the recipient awoke a day or so later minus cash, jewelry, and sometimes even clothes. He rolled back the sleeve of his shirt and held out his arm. “Get it over with,” Knight growled.

“No, no, no my dear,” Anika grinned impishly. “Not in the arm, show me that firm, tight ass – that’s where all good boys get their shots.”

“You forget, my Icelandic bitch, that I’m not an good boy,” Knight said good-naturedly as he rose and dropped his pants.

“I know you are not a good boy,” Anika teased, jabbing the needle home. “That’s why I like you so much. Good boys are no fun.” She massaged the muscles of the bare ass cheek before her and wondered for the thousandth time if she would be so intrigued by Knight if they were able to have sexual relations. Giving Knight’s ass one last pat, she glanced over at the monitors where he was working. “Again with the Balfour boy?”

Yes again,” Knight said, pulling his pants back up and resuming his seat. “It’s almost time to make a move.”

“Finally?” That excited Anika – like Knight, she knew the Balfour dossiers by heart, and she knew Knight’s plans. “When is it going to happen?”

“New Year’s Eve,” Knight said. “Young Fletcher likes to stay out late on the weekends – and just after midnight on the thirty-first he’s going to meet a very special woman.”

“Hmmm, I hope he likes blondes,” Anika purred. “Do I get to play with him, or is it all work?”

“You set him up and pump him full of your joy juice,” Knight said. “Once we get him where we want him, you can play with him for a while. It will take at least a day to get the others there to watch the fun and games.”

“What others?” This was the first time Anika had heard of witnesses to what Knight planned. In answer, Knight punched up some files on the computer bringing up three photographs she recognized. The three were Fletcher’s close friends, but she had no idea who the fourth young man was.

“Sam Lovett, Thomas Jordan, Morgan Parker,” Knight said tapping the first three pictures of Fletcher’s friends. “This one is Seth Holden.”

“And who is he?” Anika wondered. “He certainly doesn’t look like the circle of people Fletcher normally surrounds himself with.”

“What you mean is that he’s not one of the pretty people,” Knight said bluntly.

“True – but he is kind of cute,” Anika observed. It was true – some would find Seth Holden cute, if they were looking for a submissive-looking fellow. Large, nervous blue eyes stared into the camera lens from behind round, metal rimmed glasses. A mass of dirty blonde hair covered his head and fell over his brow, giving him a little-boy-lost look. “He would look better if he did something with that hair,” Anika observed. “It’s that shade that is neither blonde nor brown – he should decide which way he wants to go and color his hair.”

“Don’t get too excited over him,” Knight said. “He’s had the misfortune to attend school with Fletcher since both were boys – and he’s been harassed by Fletcher Balfour the whole time. Balfour has done everything he could to make Holden’s life miserable. Considering what I have planned for Balfour, I think it’s only fitting Holden should be permitted to watch everything.”

“And the others, his friends are also going to witness everything.” Anika said, understanding dawning on her.

“Precisely,” Knight said, nodding. “And, if I know their kind – they’ll blab everything to the world, too.”

Knight cleared the screens and opened new files – the files of the teams of thugs who had been hired to deliver the four young men. They had been recruited through an underworld contact of Knight’s. None of the four teams knew anything about the other, and didn’t know anything about Knight. Once the four victims had been picked up, Knight had arranged for the underworld contact to disappear forever. He didn’t want any loose ends left to cause any hitches in his plan. The last team, the men supporting Anika had been recruited directly by Knight himself – they were paid so well that he had no worries about them letting something slip before everything was set in motion. They didn’t know the identity of Anika’s victim, and besides – all of them were dedicated to the blonde dominatrix.

The next two weeks were busy as Knight checked and double-checked all of the plans to make sure nothing would go wrong. Satisfied everything was in place, Knight left London for a remote island off the Scottish coast in the North Sea. No one else lived on the wind and sea swept island. The last to try had given up in disgust at least ten years earlier. All that remained at the time Knight bought the island were a few rundown stone houses, a dilapidated pier, and a large manor house. Knight had had the pier and manor house renovated. Several different construction crews had been employed for the manor house renovations – one crew had restored the building and made it habitable, the other had come later to build the bunker behind the manor house and construct the tunnel leading from the cellars to the bunker. As far as they knew, the bunker was designed as a place of refuge from the viscous storms that regularly lashed the island. The explanation made sense – the storms were the reason every other attempt to inhabit the island had failed.

On the Saturday before New Year’s Eve, Dr. Derek Collins was preparing to leave his modest home outside the city for a night in one of Balfour’s brothels. He had one of the very rare private medical practices – he worked exclusively for Duncan Balfour, and had become modestly wealthy. Most of the work was simple – surgical castrations and occasional nullifications. Collins had lost count of the number of castrations he had preformed – and had certainly never regretted doing a single one of them. Balfour saved the prettiest of the young men for his personal brothels and always allowed Collins to assist in training the new boys in the skills of their new professions. Although many of the young men Balfour kidnapped were gay, that had never been a requirement for him – Balfour only cared about how good looking his kidnap victims were. Straight or gay, all learned how to suck dick or offer their ass to Balfour’s clients and Dr. Collins was one of the people who got to take advantage of their training period – especially on the summer cruises.

Early in life Collins had discovered his own sexual pleasure was heightened when he was able to force his cock into the unwilling ass or mouth of a beautiful young man. He knew the brothel he was planning to visit had just gotten some new boys in – boys who needed training and eventually castration. The brothel manager had told Collins that one of the new boys was only fifteen years old and still a virgin. Collins had excitedly asked for a description of the boy and found himself growing erect at the description – a little over five feet tall, slender, with floppy hair, and very frightened. Delighted by the description, Collins had told the manager to have the boy ready for his visit. He was going to enjoy breaking in the frightened youth how and being the first to plow his virgin ass. Grabbing his overcoat and muffler, Collins started whistling as he opened the front door.

The whistling died as Collins found himself staring into the chest of one of the biggest men he had ever seen. Just over six feet tall, the stranger was nearly as wide as the doorway and even wearing an overcoat, it was easy to tell he was heavily muscled. The cold, pale blue eyes stared from a bald head – all in all, the stranger was built like a gorilla someone had shaved and shoved into a suit.. Collins tried to look around the stranger to the gate at the bottom of the driveway that should have prevented this stranger from entering the grounds – it was still closed. A massive, beefy hand was planted in Collins’ chest, pushing him back into the house.

“Nah, you ain’t going nowhere,” the stranger said, his deep voice coming from the depths of some dark, gravelly quarry. A sound behind Collins made him look around – two rat faced young men were entering the hallway from the back of the house.

“Alarms is all off,” the dark haired of the two rat faced men announced.

“Good job, Mickey,” the large man growled as he pushed Collins deeper into the house.

“Now look here – I’ve got influential friends,” Collins started to protest.

“Ah, shut yer gob,” the large man said, giving Collins a warning look. The large man turned Collins over to the others and began lumbering around the house. Minutes later he reappeared and led the way back to the kitchen. “Take his coat off, we’re going to be here a while,” the large man said, removing his own overcoat and sitting heavily at the butcher block table. He jerked his head towards the chair opposite his own, indicating the two rat-faced men should force Collins to sit there. Mickey and his unnamed friend jerked Collins’ coat and forced him into the chair. Producing ropes from a back pack, they quickly tied the doctor to the chair. The large bald man smiled across the table. “The name’s Harry – Hammer Harry, some calls me. Now, let’s get some groundwork straight right off – I got orders not to kill you, so there’s no reason for you to start trying to struggle or scream for help. “Course, you could scream all you want – the neighbors on each side is gone so shouting wouldn’t be no help noway, would it?” Harry pushed away from the table and began banging around the kitchen. Collins couldn’t believe it – the ape was preparing to brew a pot of tea. “As for trying to get loose from them ropes – well, Mickey there used to be a Boy Scout and he knows his knots. But, just in case you was to get them knots loose, I want you to know I will do what I have to do, right? And, if I have to kill you, I will – and I will make it as painful as possible, right? Do I make meself clear?”

“Clear – very clear,” Collins managed to stammer. “What’s going to happen?”

“First, we’re going to have a cuppa like we was old friends,” Harry said, pouring two mugs of tea. “I like mine with cream and sugar – how do you take yours?” Collins stared open-mouthed – he couldn’t believe the homey manner of the thug. “Well, what say you try it the way I likes mine?” He carried a mug to Collins and put it gently on the table in front of the doctor. “Mickey, I think you can untie the doctor’s arms – he’s going to be a good boy. Once you get him loose, you and Weasel can help yourselves to a cuppa.”

“I think you’ve made a mistake,” Collins said, carefully wrapping his hands around the steaming mug.

“Nah, we ain’t made no mistakes,” Harry said genially, his voice a deep rumble. “Now, you are about to make a fucking mistake. You’re thinking about tossing that mug of hot tea in my face, and that is going to be one fucking serious as a fucking heart attack fucking mistake.” Collins slowly unwrapped his hands from the mug and carefully took a sip. “That’s better, Doc. Now, I got to tell you – you’ve been doing the naughty naughty for quite some time now.” The bleep of a cell phone interrupted Harry. Reaching into his breast pocket, the big man pulled the phone out and excused himself politely. He left the room and Collins could hear his deep rumble from the hallway, but couldn’t make out the words. Moments later, Harry returned and whispered to the one he had called Weasel. The rat-faced man nodded and hurried from the room.

“Now, where was we?” Harry asked, resuming his seat. “Right – you being a naughty boy all these years. I understand you get your jollies cutting the balls off of young men, right. Now, I got to tell you, Doc – that just don’t sound like a nice thing to be doing.” Weasel returned carrying what looked like an old fashioned medical bag which he placed on the table next to Harry. “One of your patients didn’t like what you done to him,” Harry continued, opening the bag and removing a folder. “He decided he wants to make sure you don’t do no more operations, right.” Harry pulled some photographs from the folder and laid them on the table in front of Collins. The doctor glanced over the pictures of a long haired, blond young man. He was beautiful – but, then all of them had been beautiful young men. He couldn’t place the young man at all – there had been so many of them over the years. “Think back about twenty years, Doc,” Harry prompted him. “You removed all the tackle from this young man. Just before he got away, someone carved up his face.”

“He’s dead,” Collins said, the memory of the young man flooding back. Over the years that one had been the one who put up the most resistance.

“Nah, he ain’t dead,” Harry assured him. “He’s still alive and decided it’s time to set all accounts straight.”

“Please don’t kill me,” Collins whimpered, his bladder releasing. Everyone in the room could hear the urine spilling onto the floor. Collins hung his head in shame, beginning for the first time to understand how all those young men must have felt over the years.

“I told you, my orders is that you ain’t supposed to be killed,” Harry assured him. “My employer just wants a guarantee that you ain’t never going to do them naughty things again.”

“I swear it won’t ever happen again,” Collins blubbered.

“Well, a promise ain’t as good as a guarantee, and my employer has come up with a perfect guarantee,” Harry said, standing and removing his suit jacket. Rolling up his sleeves, the large man reached into the bag and pulled out a red ball gag and handed it to Mickey who set about forcing it into the doctor’s mouth.

Weasel disappeared from the room and returned a few moments later with a very heavy bag. He and Mickey pulled a pair of vises and a portable drill from the bag. Mickey worked smoothly, drilling through the butcher block table and bolting the vises to the table. Once each vise was secured to the table top, the two smaller thugs produced four squares of thick foam rubber. Placing a square of the padding on either side of the doctor’s right forearm, Mickey held the arm in place while Weasel clamped the vice down tight. They repeated the procedure on his left arm as Harry began pulling tools from his bag. Harry produced a number of syringes and began injecting the doctor’s hands. The initial stab of pain quickly gave way to a growing numbness in each of the doctor’s hands.

“The boss remembers you gave him shots to kill the pain when you cut him,” Harry said conversationally. “He decided to return the one favor you done him.” Harry reached into the bag again and pulled out a pair of gleaming vice grips pliers. “Even though they calls me Hammer Harry, I prefer working with these,” Harry said, holding the tool up lovingly. “Truth is I only uses a hammer on knees.”

Realization dawned on Collins as Harry carefully placed the pliers around the first knuckle of his little finger. He tried to scream, jerk his hands free from the vises holding his arms to the table, to do anything that would free him from what was about to happen. He couldn’t believe the horror of what was happening – Harry casually, but professionally crushed each knuckle of each finger. Collins could feel the joints pop and hear the crunch of bones as each joint was mashed to pulp. As he worked, Harry took the time to explain each step to his two assistants – like a master training his apprentices in the finer points of their business. Harry took his time working – pausing once for a tea break, searching through the cupboards for biscuits. As the horror continued, Collins felt his sphincter release filling his trousers with excrement and the room with the odor of what he had done. Mickey and Weasel teased the doctor about soiling himself like a little baby, suggesting he invest in some nappies. When Harry finished with the doctor’s fingers, he went to work on the bones in the doctor’s hands breaking each one in several places.

As Harry put his tools away, Collins forced himself to examine the ruin of his hands – the fingers hung limply, swelling and beginning to bruise. A detached corner of his mind professionally analyzed the damage done and confirmed that Collins would never operate again – in fact, it would be a miracle if he was ever able to do anything with precision again. Harry solicitously wiped the tears and sweat from the doctor’s face before injecting his ruined hands with more novocaine. Amazingly, instead of leaving, Harry put on another pot of tea and sat down as if waiting for further orders. Harry and the other two chatted amicably among themselves as if Collins wasn’t even in the room. About two hours later, the phone in Harry’s pocket bleeped again and the big man once more left the room to take the call.

“Right,” he said lumbering back into the room. “The other thing just went down – we can pack it in here.”

Harry dug into his bag and pulled out a portable DVD Player and disc. Turning the unit on, he started the player and Collins saw to his horror that the disc contained the video footage of the castrations he had performed. Balfour had insisted on making videos of the castrations – edited versions were then sold to select clients who were willing to pay dearly for the opportunity to vicariously experience taking a young man’s testicles. The disc had obviously been made from some of the master tapes because they clearly showed Collins doing the cutting. Harry also removed a hammer from the bag and ordered Mickey to hold the doctor’s head firmly in place.

Collins felt his bladder empty again as Mickey wrapped strong hands around his head. He was sure the massive thug was going to bash his head in with the hammer. But, Harry didn’t plan to kill the doctor – instead, he expertly swung the hammer against the side of the doctor’s face. Collins felt his jaw break as agonizing pain blossomed in his face. Harry slammed the hammer into the other side of the doctor’s face, breaking the jaw again, and then slammed the hammer against the doctor’s chin causing yet another break in the bone.

“That’s so you don’t go talking too soon,” Harry said, conversationally. He turned to Weasel. “Shoot him up with pain killer – the boss don’t want him suffering too much.”

Weasel did as he was ordered, and though Collins was thankful for the injections – they didn’t totally alleviate the pain. The ball gag was removed so the blood and several teeth could drop onto the doctor’s starched shirt front. Harry went to the phone on the wall, lifted the receiver and jabbed a beefy finger three times, dialing 999.

“Right – there’s been a bit of a accident at the home of Dr. Derek Collins – you better send a ambulance and police round,” Harry grumbled into the phone. “What? Oh, right – the address.” Harry dug in his pocket for the address and repeated it into the phone before hanging up. He lumbered over to Collins and jabbed a threatening finger in his face. “What you got tonight was like a mother’s kindness compared to what you’ll get if I have visit you again, right. You don’t know who done this to you – you don’t know no names. Keep your fucking mouth shut, right. Fucking open your mouth and you’ll learn just how good I am with a hammer.”

Harry lumbered into the front hall, opened the front door wide and punched the button that electronically opened the main gate. Satisfied the emergency personnel wouldn’t have any problems getting to the doctor, he led the other two out the back door and across the garden to the lane where their car waited them. In an hour, the three of them would be flying out of a private airfield and spending the next two weeks at a resort in Spain where they had already checked into a resort earlier in the week before returning to London for this job.

In the kitchen, Collins both dreaded the arrival of the emergency people and wished they would get to him as soon as possible. The pain was growing in his hands, but he dreaded what would happen when they saw the DVD that was playing There was no way to explain what the disc showed – he was already beginning to imagine the scandal and humiliation that would follow. He jerked his head up, he could hear the wail of sirens growing closer in the distance. He hung his head, wondering how he would endure the shame that was about to envelop him.

To be continued, in Part 3