Broken Hearts. Grace Monroe

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       Chapter Ten

      The door was no different to any of the other respectable doors in the road. It was painted a conservative black in accordance with planning regulations, and the brass plate beside the bell gave the number of the house but not the identity or occupation of its inhabitants.

      Thankfully.

      When I parked the bike outside it I was in a good mood again. The cheques from Graham Marshall were in my pocket and I was certain they wouldn’t bounce. I had Googled Marshall before I left the office and his fame was more widespread and greater than even Lavender had led me to believe. The man was world famous. He operated alone in a small private hospital in Edinburgh; celebrities and the filthy rich came here from all over the world, just to be nipped and tucked by him. I had decided that it was a good sign that he chose me; my reputation was known amongst the criminal fraternity but he was an outsider. Naturally I was curious about the nature of his potential case–not to mention his manners–but many professionals and businesses retain legal firms for all sorts of reasons. The mistake ‘respectable’ people often make when getting into trouble is to instruct one of the big-name commercial firms, who may be excellent at drawing up a lease, but don’t know their arse from their elbow when it comes to court work.

      I rang the bell and waited, but not for long. Kailash’s staff knew better than to keep a punter hanging around on the doorstep. Malcolm opened the door. He looked well. As usual his make-up was impeccable. His eyes flicked over me and I was found wanting. Helmet hair and unidentifiable squashed things on my leathers meant that I didn’t pass his grooming test. I handed him my helmet and walked in.

      ‘You’re in trouble,’ he warned as I marched down the Georgian hallway. The brothel (or ‘club’, as Malcolm preferred to call it) was very upmarket, more like a chic boutique hotel than a sex joint. In my mind, no matter what colour the paint job was, it was still a knocking shop. I half turned to face him. Like a child I pulled the cheque out from my inside pocket and waved it in his face. He shrugged his shoulders.

      ‘She won’t be impressed. Kailash could write you a cheque for twice that amount from her housekeeping and never even notice it was gone.’ He reached out and held my elbow. ‘You only have to ask her, Brodie–she’d love to help you if you need it. She doesn’t want you to struggle like she did.’ Only Malcolm could compare the financial struggles of an Edinburgh lawyer with Kailash’s past. He had been Kailash’s dresser for decades. They’d met in Amsterdam when she was an underage runaway. He patched her up when the punters got too rough, and he was with her when she made the momentous decision to become a ‘top’, the one who wields the whip. I had become acquainted with the world of bondage, domination and sadomasochism when we were reunited.

      Malcolm moved ahead of me and removed the thick blue rope that barred the stairs down to the private quarters. I followed him down into the kitchen, where Kailash sat at a substantial oak table surrounded by shiny red Poggenpohl units. A couple of girls, between clients, were at the other end of the table drinking tequila. Kailash poured me a mug of tea and passed it across. I sat down beside her, feeling like something stronger than tea–but having seen the look in her eye, I wasn’t going to ask.

      ‘So…who is this VIP client, the one who ranks above us?’ she asked immediately.

      Kailash had a golden rule–never betray or let down family or friends. It was one that she had only taken to relatively recently, but she was now a true convert. What had happened to and between us in recent years had made her convinced that we would never be apart again, even if we were still learning about each other, but it was hard going at times. Clients and work were way down her list of life’s priorities, and she made that clear to everyone. The girls and boys she employed were the family she’d made herself, so although she spent long hours in her businesses, she didn’t consider it work. I didn’t want to say too much because Graham Marshall clearly wanted discretion, but there was no harm in saying he’d come to my office; besides, he might be a friend of hers. I leaned forward, my voice hushed.

      ‘Now this is top secret.’ I glanced around at the girls but a flash of annoyance crossed all their faces. In their line of work, they knew how to keep their traps shut. ‘Don’t breathe a word of this unless I give you the say-so.’ The girls nodded. Kailash rolled her eyes and feigned disinterest.

      ‘Dr Graham Marshall,’ I said.

      Even Kailash perked up at the sound of his name. ‘Really?’ She thought for a moment. ‘He’s good, Brodie, very good–I’ve used him.’

      My mother rarely spoke about what she’d had done. She was beautiful, and naturally so–but she wasn’t shy about enhancing and investing in what she already had. I looked at her in the warm glow of the real fire in the kitchen. Gorgeous dark hair–but filled out with extensions. Perfect figure for someone in her forties (a damn sight better than mine)–but undoubtedly helped by impossibly pert implants, something Kailash would never deign to speak about directly. A face to launch a thousand fantasies–fantasies that were helped СКАЧАТЬ