Collared

Author: irishchicka

Co-Author, Muse and Beta Supreme: Mamadog93

Rating: NC-17, to the umpth degree

Summary: The Volturi Brothers have their hands in all things dark and sinful…drugs, crime and an intrical part of the BDSM community of Chicago. FBI Special Agent, Edward Masen and his partner Emmett McCarthy have put blood, sweat and a year of stake-outs to collar them to no avail. One poker game between directors of the FBI and DEA, throw Agent Masen and DEA Agent Isabella Swan into an undercover world of bondage, domination and submission. What happens when it uncovers the darkest desires that even they don't realize?

Warning: This story contains BDSM scenes, big sexy gritty ones. (Yes, we're that bad!) If that kind of thing squicks you out, you may not want to read it. Yes, Stephanie Meyer owns the characters used…but they weren't quite perverted enough for us, so we tweaked them a bit…no offense meant, just scratching an itch….so to speak.

Author's Note: Most chapters will be in Edwards POV. We just feel comfortable in his perverted mind, may change along the way…but we'll tell you ahead of time. Edward's internal POV will be in italics to differentiate the difference. Enjoy!

Chapter One: Stake-Outs, Full Houses and WTF?

(Edward)

I take a sip of the swill passing for gas station coffee and wince at the bitter aftertaste on my tongue. 364 days of all night camping out in this car….it smells of stale McDonald's fries, sweat and gunpowder. A light sheen of rain pelts the windshield as I peer through the raindrops toward the bane of my existence….the unassuming club-front of Peccato. Sinful….I have to snort at the implication. Oh, it's sinful alright….the members only club of the Volturi brothers that caters to every decadent sin, every fetish and socially unacceptable form of sex on the planet. I was just waiting for one chance, one fucking chance to bring the whole place down around those Italian fucker's ears. 364 days and I had NOTHING!

I jumped slightly as the car door opened and my partner, Emmett, flopped into the passenger seat, carrying an armful of fast food. As he shut the car door, we were again cloaked in darkness. He shoved a grease stained bag into my lap and dove into his own pseudo-dinner.

"Sorry Eddie, they were out of mustard. What hotdog stand in their right mind is out of fucking mustard?" He bites down into his own dog, obliterating half of it in one bite.

"Fuck! Emmett, I'm sick of this food! And DON'T CALL ME EDDIE!" I deadpan, preparing my own meal.

"Christ, Ed-WARD! You need to lighten up. Get your knob shined or something….uptight bastard." He mumbles into his own food.

I had to laugh; it was always the same with Emmett and me. We'd gone from shiny-faced shitheads on the first day at Langley to having a partnership of four years under our belt collaring some of the worst criminals to ever hit Chicago. It was a marriage of sorts, albeit a marriage of cursing each other out, having each other's back and two gunshots between us. We could mirror each other's movements without a second thought. He was a big son-of-a-bitch, but he always had my well-being in mind.

"I got my knob shined…as you say….last night as a matter of fact." I had to smirk at the remembrance of my hands wrapped in Kim….Kelly….no, Kate….yes Kate's hair as she swallowed me down.

Emmett laughed and chortled as he spoke with a mouthful of fries (not a pretty picture). "Do you even know her name, Edward?"

"Fuck you, asshole. It was Kate!" I said, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

"And her last name?" He asked, shaking his head with the dimples on full wattage.

When I didn't answer immediately, he slapped his knee and the car windows rattled as the big goon laughed his ass off at my expense. Ok, so I was a bit of a slut….don't judge me! I couldn't help it if I had a skyscraper libido and there were so many women in Chicago I hadn't serviced yet.

"It begins with a 'D'!" I mumbled, which only made him laugh harder. Asshole!

"Slut! What'd I miss?" He asked between bites of three hotdogs.

"Nothing, unfortunately, just a parade of girls on leashes, lots of leather and a guy in a tutu." I said as I again put the binoculars to my eyes.

"No appearance of the Three Stooges?" He asked wiping his mammoth hands on his jeans.

My lack of answer reminiscent of the last year of stake-outs on this god-forsaken hellhole! We'd been here way too many damn nights to count, scoping the place out trying to catch those Italian motherfuckers in something….hell, I'd arrest them for jaywalking right now….but nothing!

The Volturi Brothers had their hands in every criminal pot in Chicago. Drugs…murder for hire…human trafficking and we had yet to collar them with a speeding ticket! They owned the upscale club we were currently staking out, but being a tight, members-only, we couldn't get inside. Even with my insatiable need for sex, I could only imagine what went on in that club.

Cigar smoke wafted up lazily to the beams of the impressive ceiling, the smoke disbursed around the movements of the four men surrounding the decorative oak and green felt table. Disgruntled groans broke the silence with one man cackling raucously as he raked the chips in the center towards him. To any observer, it would look like a normal "boys-night" poker game, but it was anything but the norm. For encased in the lush leather seats were four of the most powerful directors of the federal government; Carlisle Cullen, FBI…Ben Cheney, CIA…..Peter Mosley, DEA and Mike Newton, Homeland Security.

The men shifted at the soft shuffle of the cards and tumblers of amber liquid were sipped. This monthly gathering fueled more than one person chuckling at the end of the night as he escaped with the entire kitty; this was a meeting of the minds.

"Carlisle, how goes the Volturi case?" Ben asked as he dealt the cards and chips for the ante were tossed into the center.

Two disgruntled groans echoed from Carlisle and Peter. The striking blonde checked his cards and threw in a $50 chip before he sighed, "You have more of a chance of winning this hand, Ben, than I do of catching those bastards anytime soon."

The table erupted in quiet "ooohs" as the gauntlet was thrown. Chips continued to be tossed into the middle as cards were exchanged and hands were examined.

"Tell me about it, "Peter mumbled, throwing his cards down in disgust. "My guys get so close and it's like those fuckers vaporize into thin air."

"I've had my two best agents staking out that sin den for a YEAR, and nothing!" Carlisle said as he downed the remainder of his scotch.

"Well, have you thought about getting agents INTO the club? Bird's eye view couldn't hurt." Mike muttered and threw in his cards. "Fold."

Both Carlisle and Ben look to each other wildly, and the room seems to shift.

"God, why didn't I—"

"Fuck! It's so simp—"

"I know just the cocky agent to put inside, but I need a female agent…." Carlisle said with a Cheshire-cat smile. "Full house!"

"I think I can help you out there, Carlisle, you bastard!" Ben exclaimed as he flung his cards down and watched the blonde rake in his winnings.