Favo Novel
Chapter 30
Chapter 30
The Story Continues in
Saviours
Mastering the Virgin
Part Seventeen
Saviours
Saviours
Richard
“Go. Find Charlotte.”
White-faced, glossy-eyed and reluctant, she leaves. Images of black-masked men, gunfire and smoke
headlined across my brain, the offices are under attack. I must deal with that, but I have sent my
beloved Elizabeth to the safest place I know; the penthouse apartment under Charlotte’s care.
She’s proved her survival skills….
…. and her loyalty….
Elizabeth has only just been rescued by Charlotte from abduction by traffickers, and is still recovering
emotionally from the experience. My gut clutching, panic wells up in me at the thought of her reaction to
what is happening now….
She’s as safe as it’s possible to be….
Get a grip.
Do your job….
Think….
Act.
I take another look at the security monitors, then lean in closer at what I see….
Christ!
The building’s on fire….
Elizabeth….
And I sent her up….
Snatching at my mobile, I ring Elizabeth’s number…. It rings….
…. Then I realise I’m hearing the ringtone from the other side of the room: Elizabeth’s phone sits there,
flashing at me.
Fuck!
Charlotte….
I stab at my contacts.
Christ, she’s not in there….
Of course, I’ve always contacted her through James to avoid any…. issues….
Her Dom.
The intercom….
I tap in the code for the penthouse suite but hear only the crackle of static….
Lines must be cut….
How far has the fire spread?
And I set off at a run….
Not the elevators….
….. and I head helter-skeltering to the stairs….
Running hard, I take the steps upwards two at a time, two stories, three, four….
As I take the seventh flight, now beginning to breathe heavily, the lighting flickers and goes out.
Thank God this happened in daylight….
And I keep running, but as I hit the twelfth flight up, fire-crews in yellow protective suits are coming
down. “You can’t go that way. Down! Get down….”
“There’s women up there….”
“You can’t help them by going this way. The fire’s already on the floors above. “
“They can’t escape?”
“Not this way. Now move….”
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Bech
Fire-engines are still screaming into the site, their sirens adding to the cacophony of police,
ambulances and the wail of alarms. In the background, against the cordon, the ‘general public’ stands
gawping at the show, pointing and goggling, most with that ‘it happened to someone else’ look about
them.
Vans screech up, “City TV News’, and the camera crew tumbles out, lenses gorging on the spectacle.
Bech watches all this with the semi-interested detachment of one who expected it all. But he’s not
happy.
This is madness….
…. His obsession with this woman is going to put all our heads in the noose….
A column of smoke, black and bulging, spirals up from the Haswell office building, surging from the
lower floors and now emerging from the upper floor windows too.
Flush them out….
All the fucking women that have gone through his hands over the years….
…. Hundreds of them….
He could have taken any of them….
…. Had them doing whatever he wanted….
Bech snorts a laugh to himself, but there is no humour in it.
He’s in a position to insist….
So, what’s the fucking deal with this one?
Still, a little ‘interpretation’ of orders….
The bitch’ll not make it alive out of this….
…. And good riddance….
A tall man in casual slacks and shirt bursts from a side-door at ground-floor level, a cloth pressed over
his mouth and nose, followed by a fire-crew hot on his tail.
Bech mutters under his breath in recognition, eyes slitting as he watches.
That’s Haswell….
The man takes the briefest of looks around him, then up. The smoke, black and menacing, is billowing
from windows right up the height of the skyscraper now. Flames flicker out from some floors, licking up
the side of the building. Anyone more than a few floors up has no chance of escape.
Haswell jerks a phone from his pocket, tapping in a number and after a short pause starts talking into it.
After a moment, palm pressed over his other ear, he starts shouting into the phone.
Bech grabs a clipboard and his radio, gets out of the car and angles closer to the billionaire, a spot
where a uniformed officer can loiter unnoticed.
*****