“I remember when I thought the world was getting better,” Fedora Man slurred behind him. “Now I know we’re all headed for oblivion.”
Derek imagined what the Beaconsfield under-sixteens would make of this knob and snorted. They’d eat him alive and spit out the fedora, and that was no more than the prick deserved. But he couldn’t coach them. He didn’t have the time or the skills, and they deserved better.
Draining the last of his beer, Derek checked his phone, wishing Mara was there. He was getting creepy about her; he knew that. He couldn’t stop pushing for more sex, dates, time. But she’d always been his lifeline to the outside world—the person who made it possible to socialise without putting his head through a plate glass window. And the less connected he felt, the more he needed her. It felt like she was the last person in the world still speaking English.
Tapping the tabletop, he wondered what she’d planned for them. It was something kinky—something she’d promised would be intense but safe and fun. Derek was man enough to admit he was doubtful. He trusted Mara, but he was always the one who organised this kind of stuff. He didn’t know how much intensity she’d be able to bring to a scene on her own.
Maybe that’s the point, he thought.Maybe she’s looking for something new…
His mind wandered back to the under-sixteens. The girls were about to start pre-season training. They’d gotten all their new gear, but Gavin had posted on the team’s Facebook page asking for volunteer coaches, and no one had replied or even liked it…
Mad at himself, Derek stood to get another beer. As he did, his phone rang. Mara was calling.
He picked up. “Hey, baby. Everything okay?”
A stranger’s voice came through the line, deep and robotic. “Not hardly. I’ve got your wife.”
Derek’s blood turned to ice. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he knew this had to be the start of the scene, but the rest of him lurched into panic. “The fuck are you talking about?”
“Your wife,” the stranger said. Their voice was distorted like a whistleblower on TV. “I’ve got her, Hardiman. Do you want her back, or should I keep her?”
“You fucking?—”
Derek became aware everyone, including Fedora douche, was staring at him. He was speaking way too loudly. “Hang on,” he muttered.
The robot voice laughed. “Whatever you say.”
Avoiding everyone’s eyes, he shifted between tables to the exit and ducked into a concrete alcove outside the pub, blood pounding in his ears. What kind of game was Mara playing?He’dwanted to be the one to kidnap her. This was… God, it was fake, wasn’t it?
“The fuck’s happening?” he barked down the line. “Where’s Mara?”
Another robotic laugh. “Want me to show you?”
Whoever they were, whatever they were using to modulate their voice, he caught the twist of a Kiwi accent. Mara couldn’t do a Kiwi accent. She couldn’t do any accents. And she didn’t know any Kiwi blokes, even if he’d wanted them to be pretending to hold her hostage. Who the fuck was involved in this shit? What was happening?
Derek gripped his phone. “Seriously, what is this? I’m not fucking around.Tell me.”
A distorted sigh. “Slow on the uptake, aren’t you, Hardiman? Here…”
There was a crackle, and Mara’s voice came over the phone, high and trembling. “Derek, I love you. I’m okay. Please do whatever they say.”
His body went slack with relief. He loved his wife, but she wasn’t a professional actress. He knew what she sounded like when she was in a genuine panic, and he knew how she sounded when she was playing. Whatever this was, itwasa game. He turned his back to the street. “I’ll come get you, baby. I’ll come find you.”
The mechanical voice was back, and the snorting robotic laughter was weirdly familiar.
“We’ll see. And you’ll see, too. Did you get my message?”
Derek pulled the phone from his face. There was a text from Mara. He opened it. It was a photo of his wife tied up on what looked like a wooden floor, with grey duct tape over her mouth. Her hands and ankles were bound together, and she was naked except for black lace panties.
“Sexy, isn’t she?” the robot asked. “And gagging for it. You must not be giving it to her right, Hardiman.”
He heard Mara’s moan of horror, and his head throbbed like an open wound. Whatever the reality of this scene was, Mara hadn’t tied herself up and taken a picture. Another man was looking at her body. Another man had touched her. He opened his mouth to tell whoever was on the phone this was fucked, and the game was over, but the words didn’t come.
“Hardiman? I’m waiting.”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” Derek growled. “Just tell me where she is.”
“Not so fast. First, there’s something you need to do for me.”
