Chapter Twenty Seven

Savage watched from underneath the branches of the private gated park. There was now a security guard on the door to suit the area. Discreet, all black clothing, no shaved head.

Echo walked from the opposite end of the street, crossed the road. She got herself into character by adding bounce to her step, and swung her handbag as she walked. She looked up at the building as she passed, no self-consciousness at all, and skipped up the steps to talk to security.

Girly, flirty, legs together, she leaned forward to ask him a question, pointed a finger up at the building, the same hand came down onto the guard's arm before he answered.

He smiled when he spoke. She smiled back. They laughed, another touch of the arm, a toodle-ooh wave of the fingers and she moved off with another little bounce.

At the end of the block she crossed the road and headed towards Savage. He moved further into the shadows, out of any potential eye-line from the tall windows in the even taller building.

She added a little bounce to her step and touched his arm just as she had the guard. His heart fluttered. Good technique.

'Is this Eaton Gardens?' she said, before Savage could answer she said, 'Yes it is ma'am,' in a deep voice. Her approximation of the bouncer.

'So this is the venue for tonight's Kitty Kat Klub?'

She leaned forward, touched his arm, flirted.

'Yes, it is ma'am?' Savage guessed.

'Fantastic,' another touch, lingering fingers and eyes, 'I'll be seeing a lot more of you later.'

She bounced up to Savage and gave him a kiss.

'Did I do good?'

'You did great.' He kissed her back. Then pulled himself together. 'What's the Kitty Kat Klub?'

'You've heard of it right?'

He shrugged a half smile, 'I've been out of the country a while.'

'I always wanted to go. It's an elite sexual club run by women for women so they can explore all their fantasies and sexual desires. Only the good looking and truly successful can be members. It pays homage to the sexy Killing Kittens nights but also the Kit Kat Club of the eighteenth century. It’s a politics, power and sex cocktail.'

'How can I get in?'

'Men have to submit an application with a photo and a profile. Then it's got to be reviewed and approved by the Kats.'

'Who are?'

'Powerful and successful women.'

'Great. Only we don’t have any time.'

He glared at the door. How hard could it be to get in? There was the one security guard. His eyes explored the shadowed building. Two cameras, full one-eighty spread. Social engineer his way in? The staff had already arrived. What could he do?

'Time to get sneaky,’ he said. ‘What time do these things normally kick off?'

'About now, and they go on as long as they need to.'

'John,' he looked back at her. 'What are you thinking?'

'I’m going in.'

'Looks aren't gonna do it,' she teased.

'Thanks.'

'Seriously, check these two out.'

The first guests were arriving, a tall woman with a dark razor edge bob stepped out of a black Mercedes and grabbed on to the arm of a model-handsome man-mountain in Soho black. They ascended the steps toward sexual heaven. The door opened automatically. Nothing so utilitarian as bell-pressing involved. They gurned their way through the pearly gates.

Savage saw the flash of a long red dress on the maîtresse d' and the show-piece arms of more muscle on the inside. Cut-off dress shirt, dickie bow and muscles.

‘Women like their bimbos too, huh?’

‘Hey, if men will fantasise about school uniforms you really shouldn't be so prudish.’

The door closed.

Echo was right. After his time in Muslim lands he’d only unbuttoned his shirt sleeves once in public since he’d returned. An easy way to not stand out from the crowd in countries where bare arms or tight trousers and shirts were seen as too revealing. Inciting lust.

Savage felt Echo’s stare.

'John, the front door isn't going to work.'

He tilted his head, ‘Yeah, I get it.’

'Even if we could make you look like pretty-boy gym-muscles you'd never get rid of that look in your eyes.'

'What look?'

'That look,' she pointed at him. 'The one that says “Tell me what you know or I'm going through you.”'

'Really? I’m sorry.'

'Don't be.'

He grinned lewdly at her.

'What?'

'I like going through you.'

She laughed. 'So cheesy.'

'And scarily true.' He kissed her on the cheek just below her ear. Then on the lips. 'Go home,' he said.

'Stay safe,' she said and kissed him back. Their eyes lingered, then she span round.

A delicate hint of her femininity hung in the air. He watched her leave and then turned his attention to the house. He counted the number of buildings in the street and headed for the lane of mews houses behind.

Each two storey mews backed onto the larger four and five storey houses on the main street. He walked along the far side of the lane and counted the houses in. Beneath the building was a mews with no lights on. That didn't mean it was unoccupied. For all he knew there were pervs waiting in with the lights off for the free show in their neighbour’s building.

He checked out the houses on either side. Both had lights on. He listened at their doors, heard voices and a TV in one. And moved on to the other side. Where he heard nothing.

It could just mean someone was napping or in the bath. He rang the doorbell. Waited a minute. Rang again. No answer.

He spotted an alarm system that he hadn't researched and a lock that, even if he had a pick-set with him, would have taken too long to open.

He tested the flimsy drain pipe.

The good thing about mews houses from an urban access perspective he realised, is that the ceilings are relatively low and the windows and doors relatively large.

He placed his left foot on the thin wooden window sill of the central window, lifted his right two feet higher up on to the large solid doorbell protruding only a short distance from the wall.

Pushing up on his right for the main thrust, a flick of his left gave him the last bit of juice he needed to grab onto the balcony rail of the next floor. He swung his left foot up and hopped over the balcony, then heard voices from further up the alley.

A couple turned in.

No reason to panic. He leaned against the rail, casual, just a friend over for the night.

They didn't even glance up, walked right under him to a house two doors down, talking about people he’d never know, in accents he'd never own, with a concern he'd never have.

At the door slam he found the edges of the period archway that surrounded the main bedroom window. A quick glance inside told him the place was unfurnished. A rental waiting for it's high-net-worth tenant.

He pulled up, grabbed onto the flat roof with one hand and used the archway and his feet to do the rest. He rolled onto the roof and crept across to the other side.

Beneath him the back garden of the Mews was neat and functional for it's future occupants. To his left, the back yard of the party house was laid out with tables and gas lamps for light and warmth. Servers were being prepped by an officious looking woman demonstrating the proper decorum of presenting canapés on a tray.

The mews house with no lights backed directly onto their garden, a line of small trees dividing the two properties. The servants quarters to their larger neighbour. The windows of the darkened building were open on the first floor, curtains wafting as the evening cooled.

Old fashioned attic windows stuck out of the roof like the eyes on a frog. He took position behind one of them and waited for the dark to descend.

After a few moments he reminded himself this wasn't the Middle East where it only took seconds for the sun to crash into the horizon like the big ball of fire it really was.

North of the equator the sun's descent was all the more gradual. By the time twilight finally got it's act together Savage was calm and rested. He'd even had time to brush off his suit and straighten out his shirt.

The garden filled with guests: single women, girlfriends, single men, couples with dominant female partners, vetted and approved to be in the highest order of physical and professional specimens, they mingled confidently and sipped bubbles with a care-free, well deserved air.

These were the beautiful people. Dressed to impress in gutter-chic haute couture.

There were one or two slightly less attractive, but more commanding guests, older, wiser, greys well hidden. The uber-powerful he assumed.

Savage moved quickly from one flat topped mews to the next. He flattened his body so as not to leave an obvious silhouette and peered over the edge of the roof. Beneath the gently billowing curtain on the floor below, a camera lens stuck out, then he spotted another to the right. One stills camera, one video, by the look of it.

He stretched over, saw only a single operator inside, and then shuffled over the tiles towards the drain pipe. A solid fixture this time. He lowered his feet smoothly over the edge and slid down until he was level with the window.

The operator's attention was focused on the pretty faces and jiggling of bodice rippers.

Savage lowered himself further under control, muscles straining as he kept a steady arm over arm pace until his shoes touched soil.

He composed himself waited for his heart beat and breathing to settle down, then strode out between the trees as if he'd just walked through the door.

It had been a long day, his trousers didn't look the best, and he'd opened his shirt to display a deep tan and a gnarl of chest sinew. He set his attitude to serial-killer-with-the-horn and moved in, the hell with demure.

A garden full of eyes turned to check him out. He glared back at them, not unkindly, just not shrinking his violet.

'Drink sir?' A lithe female waiter offered him the tray.

He jumped on the band wagon and took a glass of something fizzy. When he looked up again, a lot of the eyes had moved back to the objects of their desire. Several kept looking, they combined the demure who looked away and the bold who held his glare with their own and a smile.

A tall forty-something blonde with a tight gym body and a sheer gold evening dress returned his look and made her way over to him.

'You're a vanilla?' she said. She looked him up and down, meat on a slab.

Fifty-fifty chance he got the answer right. 'Yes.'

'Where's your lapel?'

'Oh hell, I must have left it in the rest room,' he said. 'Will you forgive me?'

She steeled him some more, then held out her hand, 'Imelda,' she said. He kissed it, tenderly, she chuckled. He pulled her gently toward him until their chests touched.

'Easy tiger,' she said.

He made a growling noise at the back of his throat. She purred. 'Are you new here?'

'Is it that obvious?'

She gave a simple maybe pout.

'Some of the women here like to dominate, some like to be dominated,' she said.

'And which do you prefer?'

She bared her teeth at him, the ruby red of her lipstick like the fresh blood from a carcass.

'Guess?'

'I'd better be on my best behaviour?'

'Hmm, where's the fun in that?'

His hand found the base of her spine, he reached through the rough fabric of her dress and ran his hand along the vertebrae until he cradled her neck. He gripped her hair and pulled gently but steadily back until her head was clasped in his hand.

She grabbed his hair in the same spot and pulled back with a jerk, revealing his taut neck. She moved in, bared her teeth and dug in, hovering at the edge where flesh would break. Less vampire, more animal. There were murmurs from some of the couples near them.

'You like to dominate the dominator,' he said, 'am I right?'

She let go and their heads drew level, arms still around each other. She licked her tongue across her top lip, 'What do you think?'

They ran their hands over each others’ firm body and through each others’ hair.

She pulled his head close and whispered in his ear, 'I'll find you later,' then walked away from him. A curt dismissal that put him publicly in his place. He turned and watched her curves push and tease through her dress as she walked away.

Around the garden the couples chatted and the buzz grew as the alcohol removed inhibitions and the night drew in. Exhibition clearly the way to climb the social hierarchy.

Inside the house, ground level was wall to wall people.

He mingled and noticed the lapel pendant that each member wore. Vanilla, that straightest of straight flavours appeared to be reserved for single men, orchid for single femmes or couples and another pendent, a fuchsia for other single women and couples. Presumably one meant straight, one bi- or curved.

Near the patio doors he saw a young man standing on his own looking nervous with his Tux jacket over his arm. Tall, cheek bones most women would kill for, and a crop of spiked hair. Savage had to look up when he introduced himself.

'John,' he said, held out his hand.

'Justin,' he shook it briefly.

'You new here too?'

The young man nodded.

'Well there's certainly plenty to see,' he gestured to the room behind him and the voluptuous lines of the women within. Savage moved his hand to the boy's shoulder and took the vanilla pendent from his button hole in one move.

'You should have a good time. Relax, enjoy yourself. I'll catch you later.'

He moved deeper inside the house and pinned the make believe flower to his shirt.

The downstairs rooms were open from front to back of the building. A makeshift bar, white table cloth and flowers ran along the right hand wall serving the standard reds, whites, sparkles and juices. A fridge contained bottled beer and a popular barman in his mid-twenties did his best young Tom Cruise, bottles, glasses and shakers flying in front of the ladies and their servant males.

Savage gave small odds that the Cruise-alike would keep his clothes on all night.

The outfits stayed mainly in the evening dress, basque and masked range.

Then something peculiar happened. A nervous tremor of excitement reverberated around the room as if a hidden switch had been hit.

Beautiful women cooed, laughed, displayed even more flesh for each other, confident in it.

A duo of hungry woman with fuchsia pendants stripped him with their eyes.

He turned away to see a lone woman on the edge of a loud group of nervous WAGs glare at him over her glass.

Next to her a trio of young starlets, designer t-shirted boy-toys on their arms, gave him the once over.

'What about an older man?' one said.

'He’d look good nailing Rufus,' said another.

Savage kept his face impassive, moved on through the crowd. In the front room, the more mature company-owner set boasted about their latest business conquests, this was where the sensible single men lingered, working their charms.

It reminded Savage of a brothel foyer. The only difference was the men waiting to be purchased didn't charge.

A woman seized his arm, he turned to find a sequinned cat mask and pretty red lips. She waved a finger.

'You only speak when spoken to, understand?' she said.

He looked around him, the women all had the air of the entitled, they demanded attention at their leisure. He frowned at the woman, removed her arm from his and moved past her, ignoring her. She didn't like it. He didn't care.

In the hallway, he saw the same flash of red dress, and another set of muscles earned his money opening the main door.

The well-heeled handed over their invites and then their coats to the cloak room attendants. He caught a glimpse of the woman in red's face.

Natasja.

He couldn’t just stand there and watch her.

Savage turned and walked up the main staircase of wide red carpet unmolested. He turned back for another look, she was still as darkly delicious as ever, both men and women found it hard not to look at her.

One man in particular as he handed his coat to the attendant. A face Savage recognised. The gangster's nephew.

Pink Crystal, Savage thought. Now what the hell was he doing here?

Natasja turned in Savage’s direction, he about faced and headed quickly up the stairs.

Paired off women pushed past him. The occasional man in tow.

Halfway up the stairs the décor became more sumptuous and ever more expensive. Dark wooden walls were disguised with lilac, soft pinks, and silver swathes of fabric to lead the eye onwards.

At the first landing, large double doors on the right opened onto a modest high-ceilinged ball room with a parquet floor. The floor was covered in expensive throws, rugs, and bear skins, the walls lined with Bacchanalian red lights that burned behind the fabric like the fires of some nearby hell.

In the centre of the room was one enormous oversized bed. A thin metal-framed pyramid extended to each corner and up to the ceiling.

But that wasn’t what drew the eye. Above the bed, the all-white spectral figure of a beautiful young woman floated in mid-air. Scantily clad, an imaginary wind blew around her and her dress billowed softly in all directions.

She held out a hand and beckoned him forward with a finger.

‘Let go your inhibitions,’ she whispered.

His skin prickled and he stepped further into the room.

A blonde woman in shocking pink lingerie barged past him giggling, pulling a lithe red-haired woman in a sheer satin dress behind her.

In the half-full room a few faces turned in their direction.

They ran over to the rectangular bed where several bodies already writhed, all female Savage saw, tongues probed mouths, hands sought breasts, inner thighs, fingers slipped inside.

He wasn't the only one watching, the bi-curious lined the walls along with men, like himself, who liked to watch women.

With her shock of blonde hair and well defined arms the blonde grabbed the redhead and ate her face before throwing her amongst the pillows.

She had everyone's attention now.

The satin evening gown slid along the redhead's legs until there was enough space for the blonde to see what she was working with. A hand movement and the panties tore, then her face was between red's legs, a hand grabbed blonde’s head and pulled her in.

The ghostly figure above sighed in approval.

More bodies jostled in past Savage. He heard a man’s voice on the landing behind him.

'It's hotting up in there. Good god, what is that?'

‘It’s a 3D hologram. They stole the idea from Alexander McQueen,’ a woman said, ‘Come on.’

When Savage looked round the man's legs were already disappearing up the next flight of stairs after a set of high heels.

On the other side of the landing was another room with low lights and comfortable chairs. Savage moved off to take a look and walked straight into the brick wall of Justin's chest.

'Hey,' Justin said in recognition.

Imelda, the woman in gold from the garden, appeared behind him. 'Oh you already know each other?'

'I'm his guidance counsellor,' Savage said.

'Well, I'll give him marks out of ten when I'm done,' she said, 'and then come and find the teacher for punishment or reward.'

'I can't wait,' he winked.

She gave a drunken grin and pulled Justin into the red room.