The Alpha Men's Secret Club 3(16)

A pause on the other end. Carlo could tell that Rita Cunningham was not the type of woman who liked to be played. But he wasn’t the type of man who liked to be played either, and so that made two of them.

He had seen her photo on the web anyway. She was red-headed. Hair in a mess of tightly wound curls. Pretty. Slightly plump in a very pleasing way.

Rita said, “I managed to get a hold of the coroner’s inquests. The patients all died of pneumonia or diabetic complications or kidney failure. Nothing out of the ordinary, except that the deaths were pretty much following one another in the space of months or even weeks. The patients were criminally insane, and they were mostly all but abandoned by their own family. And so no one really cared about what happened to them.”

“What do you think happened to them?”

“I thought you had something to tell me.”

“It goes both ways if you’re going to make any inroads on this.”

Rita paused. Then:

“I think they’re covering something up.”

“Who? Connor O’Brien?”

“It’s time you told me what you wanted to tell me. Unless you have nothing to tell me and you’re just trying to pry information out of me.” Her tone was challenging.

“Oh, no. I have something to tell you all right. You have every right to suspect those deaths were not all they seemed. Did you follow up on the case throughout the years?”

“My editor pulled me off it.”

“Dig further. You’ll probably find that the deaths didn’t stop at five years ago, but they would probably now be more evenly spaced out so as not to attract attention. The coroner’s reports would be all the same – death from diseases found in institutions. After all, criminally insane patients are a susceptible bunch.”

“I don’t need an informer to tell me that,” she said smugly.

“But maybe you need an informer to point you to the motive. Five years ago, Connor O’Brien’s son, Rust, worked with him in Bellevue.”

“I know that. It was in my research.”

“Did you speak to Rust?”

“No. Connor was the spokesperson for Bellevue, along with the administrator at that time.” Rita’s tone turned cunning. “So you’re telling me the deaths weren’t accidental?”

“Accidental is such a connotative word. Let’s just say some experiments were conducted for research purposes. As to the motive for those experiments, I’ll leave you to your investigative wiles. It’s worth opening up the file again, Ms. Cunningham. This could be the scoop of a century. We’re talking a mind-blowing discovery which could change how we view the world.”

He could hear her sharp intake of breath. He smiled. He knew he had gotten her.

“Pulitzer Prize winning type discovery?” she said.

“Maybe even better. Scoop this, and your life will never be the same again. I promise.”

“Tell me more.” She was suddenly eager.

“Goodbye, Ms. Cunningham.”

Still smiling, he clicked down the payphone.





13



The Gathering!

Only it had a really old name – Ceilidh. It was in Gaelic.

Kate’s body was still trembling from the intensive fucking she had received from Rust in his old bedroom. She sensed that Rust was trying to make a point under his parents’ roof. I’ll do what I want with whom I want, and there’s nothing either of you can do anything about it.

And now she was going to the Ceilidh.

SATURDAY NIGHT’s clothing, it seemed, was optional.

Rust and she were in their Four Seasons suite. He was helping her dress. Or undress.

She studied her reflection in the mirror. She was in what could only be described as a blue micro-string bikini. Her large tits were encased in a delicate spider web mesh, and her nipples were almost completely exposed, save for a concentration on the tips of her pink areolas.

The underwear portion of was equally embarrassing. Her clit was covered only by a string with a bright jewel in it. Her labia were completely exposed. The string was tight, pressing down on her clit and the cleft between her buttocks.

“You look beautiful,” Rust said from behind her. “You need jewelry.”

He adorned her neck with a sapphire and diamond necklace which was so magnificent it took her breath away.

“If you tell me this was your mother’s, I’m going to scream,” she said.

“Then I won’t tell you it’s my mother’s.” He augmented this with matching earrings.

She looked and felt like a manga princess.

“Is everyone going like this?” she asked.

“Yes.”

For a denouement, he wrapped her up in the fur coat which formed most of SATURDAY NIGHT’s attire bulk. She noted that it was mink.