[B.S. #2] Bound to Cyn (11 page)

“You were just friends?”

Lance nodded. “Friendship is too small a word. I would say allies fighting on the same side of the same war, but yes, nothing romantic ever happened between us.”

Angel released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He was glad that he didn’t have to be jealous of Cyn and Lance’s relationship. “Please continue.”

Lance took another sip of his drink. This part of the story was harder to tell. “We kind of lost touch when she went away to collage across the country. The odd letter or call was exchanged for years. Then one day out of the blue, I got a call from Cinnamon. She was in California and in trouble and asked for my help.”

“Why would she call you after being out of touch for so long?”

Lance shrugged. “Maybe because she knew I was the only one she could count on? Of course I grabbed the first plane and went to her. I found her in jail with a bunch of losers. She didn’t look that great herself. I found out after she got out of college she joined a cult.”

“A cult?”

Lance nodded. “Did you ever hear on the news about a man named Ward Commings?”

“Cyn was in The Church of Lost Souls?” Angel asked. Now he knew why he recognized Ward Coming’s name. Ward and his cult of followers were on all the news reports a few years ago. Their weapons bust by the Feds was one of the largest in American history.

“Yes.” Pausing for another drink, Lance continued. “She was one of sixty members arrested when the Feds raided their compound. What the followers didn’t know, but found out later, was that they were more lost after they joined up with Ward then they were before. When the raid happened they were penniless and dirty. Ward Cummings took their money and their dignity. They were living in a commune without running water or hydro. The ‘evils of modern life’ he told them. Anyway, he had used their money to buy arms parts off the black market. He said it was for the protection of the group but then had the members reassembled the parts and then sold the guns at the market along with their homemade jams, jellies and fresh vegetables. This went on for quite some time.”

“If he had his followers so brainwashed, how did the Feds get wind of the operation?”

“Someone who purchased a bad gun complained to the authorities.” Lance stopped and looked down at his glass in his hand then at Angel.

“Continue.” Angel needed to know the whole story if they needed to help Cyn.

“Well, the Feds stepped in and this Ward, who lived off the commune in a mansion, took the rap.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he was the top man, and Ward liked that being known. And besides there was no one else that could take the blame. The V.P., Howard, didn’t live the high life so they couldn’t pin it on him either.” Lance frowned. “But for a while, it looked like Cinnamon might be charged with Ward as she had been his favorite lady.”

“What?” Angel was livid. It was one thing to get caught up in a cult and another to be seen as the “first lady.”

“Remember, she was a mess. He had played with her mind so much that she wasn’t the Cinnamon I knew before. At the trial it was hard to tell if she really knew what was going on. She just wanted to go back to her hut and look after her garden. We thought at first it was drugs. But tests proved this wrong. The only time she seemed to come alive is when she would look at Ward in court. It took some legal side stepping and a lot of praying for the Feds to believe she wasn’t in on the scheme. The thing that saved her in the end was that she never lived with him in the mansion and she was clearly under some sort of mind control. After the trial, the Feds wanted to put her in a mental institute.”

Angel shuddered. “Cyn doesn’t belong in a mental institute.”

“Not any more she doesn’t.” Lance chucked humorlessly. “This is where I have to give our families credit. Although they didn’t want anything to do with the trial, afterward they did supply enough money for me to get Cinnamon help and in my custody. The first year was spent visiting head doctors. I really didn’t have too much hope. But after a few months she started to come around.”

“Thank God they were able to help her.”

“Yeah it was touch and go for a while, but the Cyn I knew came back to us, mostly. Once she was ninety-nine percent herself, it was just like the old days again, me and her against the world. We spent so much time together building up our friendship again. We talked about everything. Eventually we got talking one day about relationships. She always knew I was a little kinky.” Lance chuckled again, this time with a smile.” I told her about the clubs that I had explored all over America during the years while we had been apart. Our talk that day sparked an interest in me to start a club that would allow me to practice my lifestyle.”

“And the VSP was born.” Angel smiled. He could only imagine how that confession had gone over with Cinnamon, and the fancy footwork it must have taken to get her involved.

“Yes, in part. While Cinnamon wasn’t completely sold, she decided that the club should have an alternative spot, for people that support us, but weren’t into the scene like I was. So we started the first Vanilla and Spice Private Playground. Homesickness finally brought us back to Detroit. This club was to be our home base and a place where we were going to finally put down roots.”

“And that’s all of it?”

“Yes, that’s our entire story.” Lance poured another shot of Jack Daniels and swallowed it down, as if he was clearing his throat of the awful story.

“If Ward is dead, who’s in the photograph?”

“If you say it’s his second-in-command, then it must be Howard.”

“You don’t think that you could have told me earlier that that Cinnamon—my Cinnamon—was deeply involved in a cult, and the VP could be stalking the woman of the club? I wish you would have told us earlier and not wasted time. We could have just staked out the parking lot and not concentrated on the club at all.”

Lance nodded. “You’re right, I don’t think he’s ever been inside of the club or else I would have remembered him, I’m sure.”

Angel stood and began pacing. Even though he now knew Cyn’s entire story he felt like there was still something missing. “When Cinnamon was in the cult, do you know how they triggered her to obey? Did the head shrink ever find out? She did act strange with both you and me today. I hope this guy hasn’t got to her.” Angel was having a hard time wrapping his mind around his lady being involved in a cult. He knew Lance protected Cinnamon, but he didn’t know why Lance didn’t connect it with her, when it became apparent that the women being grabbed, matched Cinnamon’s description closely.

“No, they could never figure out what triggered these people to give this man so much devotion. I hope you are wrong and it has nothing to do with this cult. I don’t think Cinnamon would come out in one piece again if they get a hold of her.”

Angel grabbed his cell out of his pocket and told Lance as he called Brad, “I’m going to get Brad to go over to her house right now. He should be just about finished meeting our new clients. I hope that is where she went. We were stupid to think she was safe until night.” Talking to Brad, he arranged for him to go to the house right away.

Angel got up and almost shuddered at the thought of his Cinnamon in a cult, under someone’s control. “I’m going back to the office and getting Grant on this. For tonight, put one of your meaner Doms at the front and backdoors. But I don’t think you’ll have trouble tonight. He probably knows where she lives by now. God, I have to get to Grant then to Cinnamon.”

Angel walked to the door and paused. “Lance I think you’re the type of guy that would probably like to help, like Chase, but for now just concentrate on the club and the parking lot.” Walking briskly out the front door, Angel almost ran to his truck and climbed in. He wanted to go to Cinnamon first, but they had to know what they were truly dealing with. Grant could dig out the information for them and Angel knew if he stood at his back watching, it would be found even faster. He trusted Brad to look after Cinnamon until he got the information they needed.

Chapter Thirteen

Parking in the underground parking lot of the Braden office building, Angel hurried to the elevator. He had called Grant and filled him in on the new information he had gotten from Lance on his way here. They needed this information ASAP. Cinnamon could be in grave danger. But it still bugged Angel that he couldn’t think of a reason why they would come after her after all this time. Yes, he knew the leader Ward had died, but what would they want with Cinnamon now? Watching the elevator light up at each floor as it rose, he mulled over all he had learnt from Lance. The door open on the fifth floor and Angel hastily strove into the office. Grace was at her desk and gave him a startled look as he rushed past her. He usually was polite and always stopped and said good day to her. Today he didn’t have time. Walking down the hall to Grant’s office, he opened the door so abruptly that the door smashed into the back wall. Grant sitting at his desk, engrossed looking at the computer, jumped as the harsh noise broke his concentration.

Grant looked up, pissed. “You could have knocked. I know this is important to you, but you could have screwed us all. I’m hacking into the Feds’ computer and I don’t want to make a wrong move. It’s not exactly legal you know.” Grant returned to furiously pounding on the computer keys, turning his back on Angel.

“Sorry, didn’t think.” Taking a seat in front of Grant’s desk, Angel tried to be quiet and not heckle Grant to go faster. He was starting to get a really bad feeling. Brad hadn’t called back yet to tell him that he was with Cinnamon. That wasn’t like Brad. He should have checked in by now and given him an update. Angel’s hairs on his neck were starting to tingle, telling him all was not right. He didn’t want to disturb Grant, but he knew in his gut that something had gone wrong. After watching Grant tap at the keys and grunt every once in a while, Angel had had enough. Getting up, he started pacing back and forth in front of Grant’s desk, glancing at him every once and a while.

Finally, Grant pushed away from his computer and straightened up in his chair and righted it behind his desk.

“It took a while, but I think I’ve got as much as the Feds have on it. The cult started in 1965. It goes back to the hippies. In the beginning it was an upright cult, if there is such a thing. The Church of Lost Souls was started by a guy raging against the government. The cult people were nonviolent and lived off the land.”

“When did that change?”

Grant pulled up a photo of a man in his thirties in a suit. “The change seems to have come with the new regime. The man that took over was a guy that saw the potential that the cult had. He stepped into the cult business when the heat from the government started to cool. Bit by bit he preached and changed the mindset of the people. He started bringing in shipments of gun parts and these people were put to work, not in their gardens anymore, but on an assembly line assembling guns. These guns were to be a new source of income for the cult and everyone would share in the profits. He had them snowed but good. For years they were told the profits had to go back into the product.”

“But let me guess, it didn’t.”

“Nope.”

Angel couldn’t believe his ears, and was just starting to ask Grant questions, when Grant continued after pushing his glass up that had slipped down as he read.

“Meanwhile he bought a mansion and lived the high life. His spiel was ‘give me your money and I will help you live off the government grid.’ They believed after a couple of years they would have all the time and money needed to help all the lost souls of the world. They bought it hook, line, and sinker.”

“And this is around the time that Cinnamon joined the group?”

Grant nodded, “Unfortunately yes. As with most cults, the Church of Lost Souls was made up of college kids just wanting to smoke their dope, with no aim in life, just wanting to be left alone. This cult gave them a purpose—they were left alone and they thought they were helping all the other lost souls that they could relate to.”

Angel tried to imagine the Cinnamon he knew being the same woman who had once needed a place to belong. If Angel tried, it wasn’t so hard to see the attraction of a group of like-minded people who had all felt lost at one time or another.

“How involved was she?”

“Very. Cinnamon rose pretty fast through the ranks to become the special pet of Ward, the leader.”

“Is that the man in the photograph?”

“Yes.”

Angel’s stomach turned at the thought. “Go on.”

Grant looked up before he continued. He knew this must be hard for Angel to hear. “I think he knew of her background and parents’ money, so she stood out from the other drifters. And you have to admit he had good taste. I’ve seen pictures of her on his arm. They always wore long robes and looked very humble. Anyway, I guess the guy got too greedy and started shipping the guns through the mail and not just selling them at the corner market with the vegetables. The Feds got wind of the shipments and they investigated the cult. Charges of gun trafficking were brought against the group, but the gun charge that stuck was only on Ward. He was the only one that had profited from the sales, living in a mansion and living the high life. The others the Feds could see were just poor saps living almost in crude conditions.”

“But the Feds still charged them anyway?”

Grant nodded. “Yes. Cinnamon was charged as she was always on his arm and at all the recruitment rallies that took place. She got off by having one of the best lawyers of the time. He argued that she had no idea what was going on and since she was living like the others off the land, she was just naive and gullible.”

Angel took a deep breath. That might have been the defense—hell, that might have even been the truth at the time—but the Cinnamon he knew now was nowhere near gullible or naïve.

Grant pushed his chair back from his desk and ran a hand through him hair. “Angel, looking at the news clips, it reminds me of the Manson children. All the people seemed to be in some daze and the ones brought in to testify all spoke with reverence about this Ward guy”—he paused—“even Cinnamon. The Feds put him away, but according to their records, they never did fully recover all the profits from the sale of these guns. Their estimate was eight million. They recovered only four of it and most of that came from the sale of his mansion and other goodies he had accumulated.”