Chapter Twelve

ARTHUR IS NOT an easy man to incapacitate. He shoves Kit back into the bathroom and doesn’t hesitate: he disarms the first of Ward’s men easily, taking his gun by the barrel and ripping it from his hands. They don’t immediately shoot him, so they’re clearly trying to incapacitate rather than kill. He punches the guy in the face and moves to the next one. He dodges a fist, grips his arm, and rolls him over his shoulder and sends him crashing into an end table. He lunges at the next man but pulls up short as he hears something smash behind him. The cock of a pistol sends ice through his veins. The hair on his neck prickles, and he freezes and turns. Ward has Kit. He’s holding a Beretta, pointing it vaguely in the direction of Kit’s head. Arthur lifts his hands.

Ward nods, and two of the men grip him from each side, holding him in place. He lets them, his eyes fixed on Ward’s trigger finger. Then he feels a prick of a needle in the top of his shoulder. He turns and tries to fight again, but Ward says, “Tsk tsk, Mr. Adams,” and wiggles his gun.

Arthur goes dizzy. Before he goes under, he hears Ward laugh. “As if I would ever hurt you.” He wonders if they’re going to take him, too, or if they’ll only take Kit, and then everything goes black.

 

ARTHUR HAS BEEN captured before. He has been tied up, imprisoned. Once, notably, he had even been subjected to “advanced” interrogation methods, which were, in a word, unpleasant. He had been waterboarded as part of his training, and that was one of the worst things he has experienced. The list of worse feelings is short: the first time he killed a man, waking up after not bleeding out from a gunshot wound to the neck, and this. He is bound and gagged, seated in a metal folding chair. His arms are stretched up and out, with a spreader bar resting on his shoulders, like the first guard had been. There’s a ball gag in his mouth, and saliva drips, uncomfortably, down his chin. His legs are tied, which isn’t a new experience, but they’re bound with interlocking knots that crisscross and hold him in place. He recognizes the work. Ward has a brand. Arthur strains again against the bar. He tells himself to calm down and wait. At least they dressed me. He isn’t wearing any shoes.

They are in a well-appointed room with a shiny parquet floor and a sort of wide plinth in the middle, like a low stage. There are seats around the room and dark, paneled walls with wainscot trim. The light fixtures cast a reddish glow about the place, and Arthur realizes it must be some sort of set. It feels like something out of Eyes Wide Shut, and Arthur hated that movie, and he hates that he’s living some powerful bastard’s sexual fantasy right now, which was probably fed by that exact film.

But the bad feeling has nothing to do with his bindings or the setting. The bad feeling is a result of seeing Kit across from him, sitting in one of the wingback chairs. He’s wearing Arthur’s clothes, and they’re too big—not a huge amount, as Kit isn’t a small man, he just is not as large as Arthur. He isn’t tied, but he looks terrified. He’s covering it as well as he can, but it’s clear in his eyes. A young woman wearing a negligee and stilettos carries a tray to him, and it holds one of those wide-brimmed, old-fashioned champagne glasses, full to the brim. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispers to her. “There are other studios than Empire. You can get help.” Arthur can’t see her face. “This isn’t a movie,” Kit continues to hiss. “This isn’t an act—please help us, and we can help you too.”

“Don’t you know that everything’s an act?” Michael Ward steps out of the doorway to the room. “All the world’s a stage.” He walks across the room. “I remember when you were in that play. Twelfth Night.”

“It’s As You Like It, you twat.” He mutters, “Can’t even get your clichés right, for fuck’s sake.” The fear leaves his eyes, replaced by a seething, loathing look. He sets his jaw.

Ward licks his lips. “You’re still so spirited. I love that about you, K.”

“Where are we?”

“You don’t recognize it? I guess we’ve made some changes over the years.”

“Why aren’t we at your house? Why Jameson’s?”

“He agreed we needed to do this the right way.” Ward looks at the girl. “Give us a kiss before you go, sweetheart.” She pecks him on the cheek and saunters out of the room. She’s wobbly in the heels, and Arthur wonders how long she’s been here. Ward sits in the chair beside Kit. He stares at him for a long time. Kit stares back, like he’s showing dominance to an animal. Ward lifts his hand, as if he’s going to touch Kit’s cheek, and Kit slaps it. “Oo-hoo. So much spirit. That fire you have, K…” He sighs. “It’s what I miss most, you know?” His voice turns plaintive. “Getting all of it under control. There’s no one else like you. No one.” He leans toward Kit, and Arthur strains at the bar. “I saw the video you did with Bobby last winter. I saw the way you knelt for him, the way you let him use you, K, but he doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t have it. I could see it in your eyes. You need someone who understands you to make that connection. Somebody who recognizes the spark, who has one of his own. I could see you making decisions—you wouldn’t let him make them for you. You need someone who can take care of you.”

“I’m actually quite able to take care of myself now, thanks.”

“But you shouldn’t have to, baby. I can treat you so much better—”

“If I want to be taken care of, I am also quite capable of choosing someone who will take excellent care of me.”

“Not like me. Remember, K? Those trips to the Caymans? We made the beach your playground. Everyone was so jealous—they wanted you so bad. No tan lines, remember? The fun we had… And Amsterdam, London, Tokyo…”

“I remember fine. It was fun for a few years. And then it wasn’t.”

Ward wets his lips again. “That night in Seoul. We kept the lights on, the curtains open, and made love where everyone could see you, and how magnificent you were.” He shakes his head. “No one will ever be able to do the things to your body I know how to do. The connection we have, K. We’re perfect for each other. You’re so perfect, K.”

Kit looks pointedly away. “What do you want?”

“I told you. I want you to come back. But you wouldn’t come on your own. You don’t understand, do you? I have to show you.” His eyes are wide.

“Understand what?”

“How much I love you.”

Kit makes a face. “No, you don’t.”

“I do, K. I love your spirit—it calls out to me.” Kit rolls his eyes. “I see it, still, when I watch you. You look into the camera, and you look for me.” Ward taps himself on his chest. “I know you do.”

“That’s acting. It isn’t for you. It’s for whoever is watching the video.”

“No. No, it isn’t.” Ward’s voice gets louder, but then he softens it to just above a whisper. “I know what’s happening, but it’s okay. I’m not going to let it.”

“What?”

“It’s him. He’s trying to pull you away from me.” He leans toward Kit.

“I was away from you a long time before I met him, Mike.”

“We spent some time apart, but it was just you waiting for me to show you how much you mean to me. I know, now, you needed me to show you how much I love you. I didn’t show you enough before, and that’s why you left. But I will now. I am now. I’m going to take care of you, K. I’m going to prove it.” Ward walks across the plinth to Arthur. He cups his cheek, and Arthur thrashes in his bindings. His voice goes monotone. “I’m going to prove it, and I’m going to record it so we can always have this memory to cherish.”

“Record what? What are you talking about?”

“This one…” He strokes a finger across Arthur’s jawline. He sucks in a sharp breath. “He’s strong. I see what you think you like about him. So, I’ll be stronger.”

“What do you mean? What are you planning?”

Ward’s eyes gleam in the rosy lights. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Pain,” he whispers.

Kit stands up. “No. I’m not going to—” A pair of men come through the door. They’re dressed, bizarrely, in formal suits with dove-gray gloves, like some strange duo of butlers or footmen.

“Mr. Ward, sir,” one says, “Mr. Jameson sent us to collect your friend. His dinner is prepared.”

Ward’s mouth becomes a thin line. “Just as well. You need to be taken care of first. I had them make your favorites. And then I’m having a bath prepared for you to wash away these past years. And then…” He licks his lips. “Then we’ll go to bed.”

Kit briefly looks repulsed, but his face quickly recovers its neutrality. “I’m tired, Mike. I think I’d rather sleep.”

“I’m just going to make it good for you, baby. You won’t have to do a thing. I saw your stream the other night. You took those toys like such a good boy, and I saw how much you liked it.”

“I’m not a boy, Mike. I’m a grown man, and if I say I’m tired, I’m tired.”

“So petulant.” He clicks his tongue. “Let’s get you some dinner and see how you feel after you eat.”

Kit pulls in a long breath. He exhales through his mouth. “Right.” He looks at Arthur, then back at Ward. Arthur can see him processing, thinking. His face goes perfectly neutral, and he curls his shoulders in, lowering his gaze. “You’ve really waited for me, for all this time?” he asks. His voice, as he speaks, shifts into a softer tone.

Ward visibly swallows. “More than that. It made me mad at first, I admit. I didn’t understand why you were testing me like that. But I learned. I’ve paid attention. I saw it in your eyes, last week, when you were filming—that you were finally ready to come back. I saw the way you looked for me during your solo scene.”

Kit clears his throat. “I see.”

Ward nods. “But then he came and distracted you. He abducted you and took you to his house. I knew, someday, someone would try to take you from me. I knew I would need to show you how much more I love you than anyone else. I’m ready now. And now nothing will ever take you from me again. It’ll be like before—but better. It’s just me and Jameson, no one directing us, telling you what to do. You’ll only need to listen to me, the person who loves you most in the world.” His voice is low and earnest, and Arthur thinks it would be pathetic if it weren’t so disturbing. “The only person who truly loves you and understands you. And I’ll only ever make you feel good, K. You know I’ve only ever wanted you to feel good.”

“Why don’t you untie my friend? That will make me feel better about eating.”

“K, baby, you know I can’t do that. He’s still very strong. We need to give it a little time before we take any risks like that.”

“I’m not eating anything until you at least take the gag out.” He tilts his head down and looks up at Ward through his eyelashes. “Please?” he asks in a low voice.

Ward sucks in a breath. His eyes scan down Kit’s body. He squeezes his hands closed a few times. “I see. Would that make you feel better, baby?”

Kit nods.

“Do you want to undo the gag?”

Kit nods again, eyelashes fluttering.

“Okay. But no touching other than that. We don’t play until after we eat our dinner.”

“Thank you,” Kit murmurs, deferent and soft. He steps around Arthur. His fingers brush against Arthur’s hair as he unbuckles the gag. He pulls it free, and it falls to the floor with a thump. Arthur closes his aching jaw and pulls in a deeper breath.

“Lead the way,” Ward directs the servants. One goes ahead of them, and the other, without sparing Arthur a glance, follows behind.

“Oh, please close the door,” Kit requests. “I don’t want anyone else to play with my toy.”

“Of course,” Ward agrees. “Shut it.”

The door slams closed. They definitely have cameras. Someone might be watching right now. Arthur tries to turn as much as possible and spot them, but it’s futile. His mobility is limited. Think. He pulls against the bar. It’s solid metal, but the cuffs aren’t. They’re leather, attached to the bar with links of chain. “Huh,” Arthur says. Evidently, they aren’t used to people actually trying to break free—at least people with years of training.

The problem isn’t breaking out, in and of itself. Arthur will need to break out fast, before they can send guards to stop him—and he needs to find Kit and get him out.

Then he needs to call Pike. He’s been abducted, and he isn’t afraid to testify. It isn’t trafficking, but it is kidnapping. Pain, he said. Pain. What does that mean? Torture? Arthur wonders if they’re planning to film him being maimed or if Ward intends to kill him. He remembers there’s a Nicolas Cage movie about snuff films, and he chuckles. “Fucking Nic Cage,” he mutters. What was the movie called? He could search for it in seconds if he had access to his phone. That’s what he’s going to do right after calling Pike. All he can think of right now is that pyramid mausoleum Nicolas Cage has in New Orleans, and it isn’t helpful in the slightest. He looks at the wrist cuffs. If he leverages the bar against something, he should be able to snap the connection—he can see where it’s welded together. Then what? He only sees the one door. He tries to listen for anything outside the room, but no sound penetrates the door. Break the cuff, untie the rope, make it to the door, listen, open it to peek out, procure a weapon, incapacitate any guards, secure a line of sight… He forces himself to focus. Once he determines if there’s a guard, he’ll be able to plan.

It isn’t pleasant. He has to twist his wrist to grip the bar, and his arm protests at the awkward angle as he holds it to leverage against his force on the other side. He exhales—this better not break my fucking wrist—and he commits, jerking his arm down.

The link holds its place, and the entire bar bends instead, wrapping around his shoulder. “The fuck?” Arthur tries to lift his arms, to force it over his head. His muscles cramp with the angle, and his shoulders feel like they’re about to pop out of the sockets. If they do, you get them back in. Come on. He strains, lowers his head as much as he can, and, with a hiss of discomfort, gets the thing over his head. He manages to get it beneath his bound legs, puts his weight on it, and snaps the welds free from each cuff.

Then he has to figure out the damn knots. “How the hell…?” He calms himself and focuses, finds an end, and pulls it slack. Once the knots start to unravel, he shakes it free easily. He picks up the rope and the gag. He shakes out his sore, fatigued muscles as he creeps to the door. He leans against it but hears nothing. “Soundproof,” he murmurs. He turns the handle and carefully, quietly, pulls open the door.

Instead of a traditional guard, one of the strangely dressed servants stands outside the room. He’s playing on his cellphone. Arthur scans the hall, sees no one else, and gets his arm around the man’s neck. He squeezes off the man’s carotid for five, four, three, two, and he goes limp. Arthur knows he’ll only be out for a second, so he gets the gag in the man’s mouth first. He drags him back into the room. He’s disoriented as he wakes, and Arthur already has him half tied by the time he’s fully conscious. “You’ll be fine,” he says. He picks up the man’s phone in the hallway, but it’s locked. It uses facial recognition, but it won’t work with the gag in the man’s mouth. “Unlock it.”

The man glares at him. Arthur enters zeroes. The phone unlocks.

“Hmm,” he says. “Good job, Kanye.” He dials Maurice.

He doesn’t answer. What’s Cooper’s number? He stares at the numbers for a moment. “Oh. Right.” He dials Cooper.

Cooper picks up on the third ring. “This better be good,” he growls.

“Kit and I have been abducted. I think we’re in Jameson’s weird mansion.”

“Fuck! Are you okay?”

“No. Not sure how I’m going to get out of this without… Right. Get Pike…and Dom.”

“Vaughan?”

“He doesn’t go by that name anymore, remember?”

“Shit, right. Rossi. I’ll head straight there.”

“Ross, not Rossi. And not by yourself. Get Micah.”

“You know he isn’t good at this sort of thing. He’s an intelligence guy.”

“We need somebody.”

“I, uh, I know someone.”

“Who?”

“My neighbor. His name’s Aiden.”

“You’re going to bring your neighbor on a rescue mission? You know what, fine. This is taking too long. Just make sure you get Pike.” He hears thumping in the background over the phone, but it’s still quiet there. “I got a bad feeling…”

“This your phone?”

“I’ll keep it on me.”

“Be there soon, bro. As long as it takes me to get over the river.”

“Mm.” Arthur hangs up. The floor is warm beneath his feet.

The stage room must be at one end of the house, with another large room opposite. The hallway appears to stretch down the middle, with a door mirroring it at the other end. This place really is massive. The floors are parquet in the hall, too, with a runner. Several doors also lead from the hall to rooms along each side, and there’s an opening, presumably a staircase, in the middle. They have to see me on security cameras. Why haven’t they come?

He needs something to use as a weapon. He opens the first door he comes to. Inside is a room set with a massage table. He closes the door and moves to the next room. It holds a washing machine and dryer, and he stares and blinks at it for a moment, remembering these are actual people. He moves to the next room. It contains what appears to be a hospital bed with IV equipment. “The fuck?” He moves on.

The next room is by the staircase, and he peeks up. He can hear a murmur of voices upstairs. There’s definitely someone there, and he needs to find a better way up if he wants to have even the slightest chance of surprise. He opens the door.

The room is set up like some sort of medieval torture chamber, as if the Inquisition has returned and they’re extracting confessions. This room, unlike the others, also holds film equipment. Pain, Arthur thinks. He unlocks the phone again and does a quick search. It’s 8mm. Joaquin Phoenix was in that too? “Hm.” He picks up a knife.

Arthur can hear a piano playing somewhere in the house. He opens the next door and finds it’s a sort of foyer with an elevator. The floor indicator is patinaed metal and shows the lift at the fourth floor. This place is huge. What did they call it? Xanadu. The door is an elaborate metal gate, and Arthur pries it open. He looks down, then up. A long way up. The service ladder is on the wall to his right. Xanadu, isn’t that in a poem? He holds the knife in his mouth and jumps.