Crimson Pt. 01

This new series centers on domination and submission, and includes themes within the BDSM sphere. This has slavery themes and has women who are put in submission reluctantly. If any of this is a turnoff, stop reading now.

This series will eventually tie into two of my others; Santo Diablo and Family Submission. These three series exist in the same universe, and will include characters from all three to build a bigger world and deeper story. This first part is a little longer than I usually post and acts as an introduction.

If you take the time to read it through; thank you. I enjoy writing and I hope you enjoy it as well. Let me know what you think.

Assassin Wolf

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise showed, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this story are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are over the age of eighteen, unless otherwise specified.

Crimson Pt. 1 A New Life

I awoke next to my beautiful wife, Amanda. The sun shining through the window of our apartment promised a nice day. She lay there, still sleeping on her back, and I reached over and touched her stomach. Eight and a half months pregnant, I couldn't believe I would have a son in the next few weeks. As my hand caressed her skin, she turned toward me.

"Damn, James, couldn't you let me sleep just a few more minutes?" She asked, yawning.

"I couldn't help it." I replied with a smile. "You looked like a dream laying there. I just had to touch you."

She was a dream; my dream. We knew each other since the second grade. Amanda was always in my class each year. While we weren't best friends, we were friendly with each other. At that age, girls were gross, but I always liked her. When we were in middle school and puberty hit, I was done. Amanda was the only girl I had eyes for. Luckily, she felt the same way. From the first time we kissed, we were inseparable. She was always my guiding light and my conscious.

I leaned over and kissed her.

"Oh baby, you need to brush your teeth." She said, making a face.

"Enjoy it, that may be the last kiss you get." I replied, joking with her.

"Don't say that." She exclaimed. "Never joke about that."

I laughed as she slowly rolled up out of bed and waddled to the bathroom. I walked in a few moments later and started my shower. Half way through my shower, Amanda was brushing her teeth when she called out in pain.

"James, I'm having a contraction." She grimaced and bent over the sink.

I practically jumped out of the shower. I put my arm around her to steady her and walked her back to the bedroom. She sat down in a chair, still in pain. Not a minute later, her nightgown was drenched. Her water broke.

I grabbed the first clothes that I could see and put them on. With the go bag we packed for this occasion, we walked out to my squad car. On the way to the hospital, I put on my lights and siren, turning a twenty-minute drive into ten. I called ahead and there was someone waiting at the entrance with a wheelchair. Being a police officer had some perks.

We went straight to a delivery room. The hospital had these rooms set up specifically for that purpose. They were peaceful, with comfortable lights, aroma therapy, and calming sounds pumped in. They told us to bring some items from home that made Amanda happy, and I set them up. We had pictures of us, of her family, and a large figurine of an angel her grandmother gave her years prior. The nurse hooked her up to the monitors as a precaution and told us to wait.

I sat there with her as she made it through a few contractions. Everything was going according to plan. Suddenly, she doubled over, and the monitors went crazy. Lights started flashing. The machines were beeping incessantly. As I was standing up to get the nurse, the beeping stopped. Amanda went limp, and a long steady tone was the only sound I heard. I ran to the door and yelled for help. People came rushing past me into the room. I was trying to get back to Amanda, pushing through the gaggle that surrounded her. Someone grabbed me and pulled me back, then pushed me out into the hall.

Twenty minutes passed, and I was beside myself. I paced back and forth, not knowing what was happening. More people entered the room. Some came rushing out just to run back in moments later. I asked them what was happening. I begged them to tell me. No one said a word.

When the door opened for the last time, I knew immediately she was gone. The look on the doctor's face said it all. He couldn't make eye contact until he started talking. He told me what happened, but I couldn't understand what he was saying beyond my wife and son were dead. My head spun. I stood against the wall, then slid down until I was sitting. I put my head down and cried.

I heard a faint beeping sound that continued to get louder. When it reached the point of hurting my ears, I raised my head and saw Amanda in front of me. She was no longer pregnant, but looked like she did on our wedding day. She appeared angelic in her white dress. It flowed around her, shimmering in the light. She bent down and I could smell her lavender body lotion. She took my face in her hands and said, "James, it's time to wake up." My eyes traveled through the open door beyond her to the angel figurine I set up an hour prior.

I opened my eyes and sat staring at the same angel figurine from that morning, sitting next to my alarm clock. Fuck, I hate that dream. That was twenty-one years ago, the day I lost my wife and son. I felt a tear running down my face. The emotions from that day were as vivid to me laying in my bed alone as they were that morning.

To no one in particular, I said, "I can't wait for this life to be over."

That was all I wanted. I was not, however, someone that could take his own life. Amanda didn't believe in that, and I continued living for her. I stood up and stumbled into the bathroom, running over the aftermath of that day. Almost the entire precinct attended her funeral. My lieutenant told me to take a few weeks off, and I complied.

That gave me time to pick up a nice alcohol dependency, which I have to this day. I returned to work, but my enthusiasm disappeared. I was a decent cop. Well, I thought so. Truth was, I barely put in any effort. After so many years of service, I made detective. I do not know how. Someone probably felt sorry for me. Along with the way I worked vice, and I came to know many of the women who worked the streets. I felt a connection with them; my life was just as screwed up as theirs.

As I moved up and transferred to another department, I never lost touch with those women. They knew me, and they knew I wouldn't hassle them. I did what I could. I brought them food and often had something hot for them to drink on chilly nights.

My career finally brought me to where I am today; missing persons. You may ask why not homicide? That department is for the dedicated detectives, the golden children of the force. I was nowhere near that. My reputation was as a lazy drunk. It was accurate, so I couldn't argue with it. Some days I didn't know why they kept me. That's ok, it brought a paycheck, and that's all that mattered.

I climbed out of the shower and dressed. I chose the least dirty of my shirts and thought it might be a good idea to do laundry later. While I walked to the kitchen, I vainly attempted to smooth the wrinkles out and put on my tie. I needed something to eat, but the only thing that greeted me was a single bottle of beer in the refrigerator. Well, add shopping to my list of things to do.

I grabbed the beer and what remained of an almost empty bottle of bourbon on the counter next to it. Barley, Hops, Wheat, and Rye. That sounded like the breakfast of champions, so I downed both and left my apartment. As I closed the door, memories of walking through that same door with my wife came flooding back. I could see her anticipation and excitement the first time we walked in. It was our first and only place together. It might be my last.

The neighborhood had seen better days, and the building looked like it should be condemned. My rent actually went down, and most people wondered why I still lived there. I didn't have a choice. My wife was there. I put my head down and walked out to my car.

I needed to lose weight. Over the years, I gained a few pounds. While I wasn't fat, I certainly wasn't in shape. I climbed into my police issued vehicle, a black sedan, and drove to work. After parking it near the precinct, I walked across the street to the neighborhood market. It was larger than a bodega, but smaller than a grocery store. It had a decent selection of fruits and vegetables, along with everything else you would expect. It was my primary source of food, and conveniently, the liquor store was right next door.

As I walked up, I saw Brenda walking in. She was one prostitute that worked the streets around that area, and I knew her well. I always thought she looked out of place. She never had the telltale signs of drug abuse, nor had I ever witnessed her drinking anything alcoholic. She was twenty-eight years old and looked to be in good shape. Larger C cup breasts and wide hips combined with a small waist gave her a stunning hourglass figure. She stood 5'8 inches tall, but in her three-inch heels, was only two inches shorter than me. She wore brunette hair that hung down to her upper back. Her heels were off this morning and she now wore a pair of flats.

"Good morning, Brenda." I called out. "I hope you're having a splendid morning."

She turned around quickly and smiled. "Oh, good morning, Detective Greene. Yes, it looks like a beautiful day."

"How did you do last night?" I inquired.

"Made enough to cover this month's rent with a day to spare, and some left over for food." She answered, pleased with herself.

"That's great to hear." I replied. "How's Kathy?"

Kathy, or Kathryn, is her eight-year-old daughter. Brenda lives with her in an apartment not much better than mine. Over the years, I've formed a sort of relationship with Brenda. Nothing on the intimate level, but just friends. Some nights I'll pay her double her usual rate and take her out to dinner. Truthfully, I just like having someone to talk to. Most of my friends, if you want to call them that, only want to help me. I don't want help. Brenda doesn't judge me, and we just sit and talk about life and what we've been up to.

Last year, she started bringing her daughter to our dinners. That was great with me. I never knew how much I missed not having a kid until I talked with Kathy. She's just adorable. I live for stories of her schoolyard adventures, and which kid is talking about which kid. It both helps me and breaks my heart that I never met my son.

"Kathy will kill me if I don't pick up milk and cereal." Brenda announced as she walked ahead of me, breaking me out of my thoughts. "I need to get it home so she can eat before school. I hope you have a good day, detective. Are we still on for tonight?"

"Absolutely." I answered. "I'm looking forward to it. Bring Kathy if she doesn't have too much homework."

"I sure will." Brenda replied, hurrying down the cereal aisle away from me.

I picked up what I needed. A microwave sandwich, a bag of chips, beef jerky, and an energy drink. Yeah, I know, the epitome of health. Like I said, I need to lose weight. It just wouldn't be today.

I paid for my things and walked over to the precinct. As I walked through the door, I passed my lieutenant.

"Damn, James, couldn't you at least hold a razor close to your face?" He admonished me. "You look like crap."

"I'm sorry boss." I answered, somewhat sarcastically. "I'm going for that tough, outdoors look. I think I pull it off nicely."

"That wouldn't work very well." He shot back. "A bear would smell you from a mile away. Put on some cologne after you shave. Do that before you start work."

He shook his head and walked off. Lieutenant Connor was a good guy. He wasn't a stickler for rules, but he liked to keep up appearances. I couldn't complain, since any other lieutenant would have run me off years ago. If I cared about much, the fact he had eight fewer years on the force would have bothered me. I couldn't care less. I was here to collect a paycheck and go home.

Missing persons; it should name it missing souls. Not for the actual people missing, but for the unfortunate few that were assigned to it. I spent my day pushing papers from one pile to another. We handled hundreds of cases a month, ranging from a husband that left his wife to a friend that didn't show up on time for a party. Even if we believe the circumstances weren't suspicious, we have to take the call and get the information.

I had a mother come in around mid-morning to report her daughter missing. The daughter's name was Cassie, and she attended the local college. Her mother, Samantha, told me it was out of character for Cassie to remain out of contact with the family, and all of her phone calls went straight to voice mail. I took the information and a few photos and filled out the forms. Around thirty-six hours had passed since her last contact. Anything was better than sitting in a dingy office, so I drove out to the college.

After talking with the college administration and security, they had Cassie's friends come by the admin office for interviews. I talked with six other women and two men. No one had seen Cassie since she left to stay at her parent's house for the weekend. This was Tuesday morning, and her parents last saw her Sunday evening. Cassie's car and phone were missing as well, but none of her clothes or belongings were. This was looking a little suspicious.

Stranger abductions are rare, but they happen. I tried to locate her phone, but it must have been off. I checked emails, text, and voice mail; nothing. I looked at her academic history and found she was close to failing a few subjects. Her friends couldn't enlighten me on that; they all thought she was doing well. I also discovered some maxed-out credit cards in her name that her parents didn't know about. Most of the charges were to Crystal Lake Casino, located outside the city. Now we were getting somewhere.

I felt bad because I was happy I may have caught an actual case. Most of my cases ended when people came back after a few days. All that paperwork, background, and interviews were for nothing. I hoped this wasn't the same. Part of me didn't want Cassie to come back, so I would have something to do. I don't know if that makes me a bad person, but I didn't feel bad about it.

I drove to the casino, which took me an extra hour due to traffic. It was after lunch, so before I let anyone know why I was there, I hit the buffet. It was enormous. I always heard about this place, but not being a gambler, never saw the need to visit. I filled up my plate three times, all for just $15 dollars.

As I sat eating, I noticed the casino staff. There was the usual collection of workers. The women all wore the same uniform; black skirt, thigh length, red blouse, and three-inch heels. They all wore their hair down, all styled. The men wore black suits, and I picked out security by the bulges in their suit jackets; they were armed.

As I took mental notes of everyone, I noticed a woman walk by with her hair up. She was the odd one out. As she passed me, I spotted a tattoo on the back of her neck, right below the hairline. It was a red letter C, longer than it was taller, and in bold. She made it a few steps past my table when a security guard intercepted her. I couldn't hear exactly what he said, but she quickly put her hair down. She looked scared, and after he finished chastising her, she hurried off.

That was unusual, and I took some notes on it, along with her name; Allison. I read that on her nametag as she passed my table. It didn't pertain to my case, so I didn't dwell on it. I finished my lunch and figured it was time to introduce myself.

I walked back to the front of the casino and inquired about a manager at the information desk. After waiting a few minutes, a man walked out dressed in a suit and tie. It was like the other male workers in the casino, but this was nicer.

"Hello, Detective." He greeted me. "My name is Paul Rogers. I'm the day manager here at Crystal Lakes Casino, and how may I help you."

"Nice to meet you." I answered. "You have a marvelous place. This is my first time here, and I have to pay my compliments to the chef. Lunch was delicious. I'm here to inquire about a young lady that has been reported missing."

I filled him in on the details, gave him her name, and showed him a picture. I explained what I discovered when running her credit card information and mentioned the charges to the casino. Paul listened, then asked for a moment. He walked over to the other side of the information desk and called someone on his cell phone. When he finished, he walked back over.

Paul asked me to follow him, that we could talk more in private. We walked through the casino lobby into a large room filled with slot machines. The room was abuzz with flashing lights and clanging sounds from what looked like a hundred slots. People occupied around half the machines, putting in tokens and pulling the levers over and over.

We walked to the back and through a plain black door. This opened to a hallway illuminated with florescent lights. They were extremely bright, and the glare of the lights reflected off of the unusually shiny white floors. Every twenty feet were two doors across the hall from one another. As we neared the halfway point, a door opened at the end of the hall and out stepped a woman. One of the security guards followed closely.

As we closed the distance to each other, I could see her name tag. It was Allison from earlier in the dining room. She glanced at me, and it appeared she had been crying. She had swollen eyes and her makeup was a little smudged. She quickly looked down when we made eye contact and hurried past us. We reached the end of the hall and walked through the same door Allison and her escort exited.

We walked into a very nice office. It was a good size, enough for an oversize desk, a full living room set off on the side with a large screen television, and a conference table on the other. Behind the desk was a large, ornate wooden door. Seated behind the desk was a man that appeared to be in his fifties. He was in shape, but not overly tall; maybe 5'8. His hair was black and showed no signs of thinning. He was clean shaven, sporting no facial hair. I picked up a smell of leather and wood. I did not know why the office would smell like that, but it was pleasant.

"Good afternoon detective." He said as we walked closer. "I'm Thomas Kinkaid. I'm the general manager of Crystal Lakes Casino. Paul tells me you're looking for a young lady. She is here with us. She came in looking for a job to pay off her debts, and we were happy to oblige her."

"Why hasn't she been in contact with her parents or her school?" I inquired.

"You'll have to ask her that yourself, detective." Thomas answered.

As soon as he said that, the door to the office opened behind us and in stepped Cassie. I turned around and watched as she walked toward us. She wore the same uniform as the other women, and another of the security guards escorted her.

She stopped a few feet away and said, "I'm ok detective. I'm not missing. I'm sorry for not returning anyone's phone calls, but I've been busy in training." After speaking, she glanced at the security guard, then back at me.

"What kind of training are you in that cuts off all contact with your family and friends?" I asked. I looked her over carefully. She had what appeared to be a rash or red discoloration on her wrists. I also noticed a bruise on her left thigh just below her hem line. She wore makeup, but she applied it in a rush and it was uneven. She looked scared and tried her best not to make eye contact with me. Her attempt to put on a fake smile failed.