A Harper Twins Mystery - Madam X enters the chat (MMF/F)

[Stiletto Amore]

Madam X enters the chat



Veronica Harper—renowned teenage detective, honorary president of the chess club, and inter-school debate champion three years running—was currently in the basement of an abandoned warehouse being tied up by a pair of burly henchmen in ill fitting suits.

Most rational people, when faced with such a scenario, might reasonably be expected to cycle through a choice selection of the stages of grief. At the very least, they might have cause to reevaluate some of their life choices—such as whether it was really prudent to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night to snoop around the waterfront looking for smugglers.

But not Veronica Harper.

She took the whole thing in her stride with the weary, practiced calm of someone who'd been through just this sort of nonsense before. For Veronica, getting trussed up was less an existential crisis and more a logistical inconvenience.

After all, if you’re the type of girl who regularly exposes counterfeit printing schemes and unmasks criminal masterminds posing as school janitors, it's somewhat inevitable that you’re going to become a regular target for kidnapping—so much so that your parents have oft-remarked that you should carry a ransom note. Where other teens might collect Pokémon or Insta-followers, Veronica acquired a string of powerful enemies—all of whom seemed to subscribe to the maxim that teen detectives should be "seen and not heard."

Veronica Harper, all five feet three inches of her, was dressed in her signature masculine/ hobo-chic look—in this instance, a crisp starched white dress shirt (buttoned primly to the neck), a pair of high-waisted, wide-legged forest green slacks with a thick patent-leather belt, an oversized sports coat, and a pair of Chelsea boots (now caked with mud)

Aside from being a bold fashion choice, this sleuthing outfit had its practical advantages too—long sleeves being an absolute must for the detective about town trying to avoid unsightly rope burns.

Speaking of which, despite her best attempts at wriggling free, Veronica was currently in the process of being roped to a heavy wooden chair. Sitting, ramrod straight against a heavy wooden chair, with thick ropes cutting into her wrists pinning them to the wide armrests, palms facing down and her ankles were each tightly secured to a seperate chair leg.

The warehouse was cold and damp, lit only by a swinging bulb overhead that cast long, shifting

shadows on the cracked concrete floor. The smell of oil, rust, and old cigarettes hung thick in the air. It was the kind of venue that cockroaches went to die.

"I suggest you quit your struggling, or I'll pull these knots so tight your fingers will turn blue!" the largest of the goons barked as he looped a length of the rope around her chest just below her bustline.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Veronica scowled in defiance, as she felt the ropes constrict around her ample waist.

"There! That should hold er'!" The rotund footsoldier gloated, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

Distinctly unimpressed, Veronica glared at her two captors.

It might be fair to say that the Cooper Brothers, for that was they, were a study in contrasts.

Mitchell Cooper, a hulking brute with a crooked nose and tattoos crawling up his neck like creeping ivy, leaned against a rusted metal crate, arms crossed, staring at Veronica with a leer that made her skin crawl.

Veronica stared him down, refusing to flinch. If he expected her to cower or whimper, then he'd picked the wrong girl.

Danny, the younger brother, was wiry and twitchy. He lingered near the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his fingers drumming against his thigh in a nervous rhythm. Every so often, his eyes flicked toward Veronica—but he couldn’t seem to hold her gaze for long before sheepishly looking away like a guilty puppy.

"So, You, uh… Erm, that is to say- You want a drink or somethin’?" Danny blurted out, then immediately winced in surprise at the strangulated pitch of his own voice.

Mitchell groaned. "C'mon, Danny. She’s a hostage, not a guest at a tea party."

"I was just bein' polite is all" He replied

"And just how's she gonna' drink it genius?" Mitchell pointed out.

"Maybe we could loosen her ropes for a bit" Danny stammered, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean, she looks real uncomfortable, sittin' there all tied up like that"

Veronica arched an eyebrow. "What is this - Good cop/ Bad cop?"

"Don't mind Danny," Mitchell said, jerking his thumb toward his younger brother. "He ain't much of a talker. Gets all tongue-tied around girls. Especially the pretty ones,"

Veronica seized the moment. "Maybe he’s got a conscience," she said, tilting her head toward Danny. "There's still time to do the right thing, you know."

Danny flushed a vivid shade of crimson and mumbled something unintelligible, staring fixedly at the cracked floor. Not for the first time in his life, a fleeting moment of bravery had withered and died beneath his older brother’s glare.

"Don't waste your breath," Mitchell said, leaning in so close Veronica could smell the egg sandwich he had for lunch. "We’re getting paid to keep you out of trouble so you’re staying put. End of story!"

"You're not going to get away with this," Veronica said boldly.

"That's what they always say," came a languid drawl from the doorway at the back of the room.

A sudden hush fell over the warehouse, only to be replaced by by the soft, sharp click of approaching heels.

Mitchell’s posture shifted at the sound, standing a little straighter, like a soldier in the presence of a field marshal, whilst Danny, who had been nervously fiddling with his sleeve, immediately snapped to attention, wiping his sweaty palms against his pants.

All at once Madam X emerged from the shadows like an apparition.

With her sleek black hair cut into a severe bob, and cheekbones that could cut glass, she

resembled a movie starlet from the Golden Age of Hollywood

Dressed in elbow length opera gloves and a crimson ball gown that clung to her body like a second skin, she moved with the fluidity of a jungle cat.

Veronica couldn't help but notice the black velvet eyepatch that covered Madam X's right eye. It was a perfect contrast to her flawless porcelain skin, only added to her air of mystery. Was it an injury? Or was it merely part of a well-calculated persona? Veronica couldn’t decide, but she found it impossible to stare in wonder at this hypnotising beauty.

“You’re late,” Mitchell grumbled, though his voice lacked it's usual bravado.

Madam X’s gaze flicked over to him, her lips curving slightly upward, though the smile didn’t ever threaten to reach her eyes.

“I’m never late, Mr. Cooper. I arrive precisely when I mean to.”

She turned her gaze to Veronica, who struggled to meet her stare without flinching.

"So, this is the famous teen detective," Madam X mused, her voice sounding almost amused, as if she were inspecting an oddity in a zoo. "Miss Veronica Harper I presume"

"My reputation proceeds me" Veronica replied "I'd offer to shake your hand, but as you can see, I'm a little tied up—"

"Indeed you are," purred Madam X admiringly. "I do hope my boys weren't too rough when they captured you..."

"Nothing I can't handle," Veronica insisted.

"So I gather," Madam X said pointedly, circling the chair like a lioness languidly toying with her prey.

"You know," she continued, tone mock-casual, "if you wanted to meet me, you could have just knocked on the door and asked, rather than going to all the trouble of breaking and entering."

Veronica’s lips curled into a dry smirk. "And where would be the fun in that?"

Madam X gave a long, amused hum.

"Oh, I like you," she said in a suitably seductive drawl.

Veronica found herself blushing under her tight collar.

"What are you planning to do to me?" Veronica heard herself ask.

Madam X looked amused. "Who, me? Why? What do you suggest?!"

"You can torture me all you like, I won't talk!" Veronica snapped back defiantly.

"Torture you? Now why on Earth would we want to do a thing like that?" She asked, sounding as though this were the furthest thing from her mind.

"Unless you'd like me to torture you?" She added mockingly

Aware that her cheeks were flushed, Veronica stammered out a barely coherent reply. "N-n-no. Of course not. It's just—well, isn't that the kind of thing you people usually do to your prisoners?"

"Only the ones who ask really nicely..." She teased

"Oh, erm, okay, well—either way, I won't talk. So you might as well go ahead and gag me!"

Madam X seemed momentarily taken aback but quickly recovered her ice-cool composure.

"Very well. Danny!-" she said, snapping her fingers and holding out her hand.

Moments later, a flustered Danny hurriedly pressed a thick black scarf into his Bosses's outstretched hand.

Despite her predicament, Veronica couldn't fail to be impressed.

"I feel I must say," began Madam X as she shook out the material, "you really are the most obliging of hostages. Most people in your position would be begging for mercy or threatening all manner of retributions."

"Well, this isn't exactly my first rodeo," Veronica replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"So I gather," Madam X said, tying a thick knot in the center of the scarf.

Veronica swallowed nervously,

"Bondage, imprisonment, torture—what a colorful life you must lead," drawled Madam X

"I suppose it does have its moments..." Veronica conceded with a bashful smile, as she opened her mouth wide, allowing Madam X to place the gag between her teeth.

"Go ahead—do your worst—Mpph!"

Madam X took Veronica at her word and pulled both ends of the scarf cruelly tight before firmly double-knotting it behind her head.

“Darling,” she purred, her voice syrupy with amusement, as she took a long, celebratory drag from her cigarette holder before exhaling a curling wisp of smoke that wafted lazily past Veronica’s ear. “You look simply divine with a gag in your mouth - It's a look that really suits you!”

Veronica’s only answer was a muffled grunt and a stare that could stop traffic.

Madam X smiled indulgently as she leaned closer, slowly bringing her face level with Veronica’s.

“And that little scowl of yours is sooo precious,” she whispered, gently running a gloved finger along Veronica's shirt collar. "But I think we can drop the act now, don't you?"

Veronica stared back at her in bewilderment.

"Are we really supposed to believe you don't enjoy getting roped up like this? Snooping around an abandoned factory in the middle of the night—you were practically begging to get trussed up and gagged."

Veronica turned her face away, trying to avoid her captor’s gaze—but not before Madam X caught the flush of crimson in her cheeks.

“Hmm… I thought as much,” she murmured, stepping closer still. “But don’t worry, Nancy Drew, your secret is safe with me.”

Veronica squirmed in her seat, the ropes creaking faintly. Her shoulders stiffened in embarrassment. She was cold, anxious, and humiliated—but that only made her cheeks burn hotter.

“I did so enjoy this little tête-à-tête,” Madam X continued, her voice like liquid velvet. “I sincerely hope we can do this all again sometime.”

Veronica shot her an enigmatic look that could equally be interpreted as 'go jump in a lake'—or 'I can hardly wait'.

Madam X just smiled.

“But now, it's time for the floor show."

She gestured languidly, and this time Mitchell—who had been standing like a bored bouncer in the shadows—stepped forward, carrying a sleek black case.

“I do hope you're as good an escape artist as your reputation suggests,” Madam X said as she opened the case with a practiced flick of her gloved hand.

Inside was a sleek device: matte black, compact, and with a red digital timer.

Veronica’s heart skipped.

"Mm Mphhh!?"

"Yes dear, a bomb. But don't worry - I've been very generous with the countdown - Half an hour should give you plenty of time to get free"

After setting the device carefully on a crate in front of Veronica, Madam X tapped a series of buttons. Sure enough, Madam X was as good as her word and the timer lit up in bold red numbers: 00:30:00.

She turned back to Veronica, who was now staring hard at the bomb, eyes wide behind her thick glasses.

"I hope you'll forgive the cliché," Madam X said, her voice soft and teasing. "But I just can't resist a classic."

Veronica’s hands clenched as she shifted in the ropes, her gag muffling her low protest. Her breath came faster now.

Madam X stepped close again, kneeling slightly so they were eye to eye. “Don't worry—I'm sure you’ll figure something out,” she said, brushing a loose curl from Veronica’s cheek.

Veronica jerked her head back, but not fast enough to avoid the flutter of Madam X’s touch.

With a soft sigh, the villain raised herself to her full height, smoothing the folds of her shimmering gown.

“Alas, parting is such sweet sorrow.” She gave a mock-dramatic sniff, then turned to her goons. “Shall we?”

As they began filing toward the exit, Madam X stopped one last time, half-turned, her silhouette framed in the fading light from the warehouse’s high window.

“Oh—and Veronica?” she called sweetly.

The girl looked up, expression tight with fury and fear.

Madam X blew her a kiss. “Best of luck.”

And with that, she was gone.

The steel door slammed shut behind her, and the only sound that remained was the faint whir of the bomb’s timer ticking down to zero.



The device sat on a nearby crate, not ten feet in front of her. It was sleek, modern, and blinking in a deeply unfriendly manner. A digital display glowed red: 00:16:45 and ticking.

Veronica let out a strangled noise, narrowed her eyes, and continued thrashing about in earnest. The chair scraped noisily against the concrete floor as she wiggled, jerked, and twisted, trying to dislodge anything. But Madam X’s henchmen had done their job well. Thick ropes crisscrossed her torso like a Christmas goose, and her wrists and ankles were cinched so tightly that her fingers were starting to tingle.

“MMMPH!” she grunted in frustration.

Just then, a faint creak echoed through the warehouse. Her ears perked up.

Another sound—footsteps. Light, hurried, and oddly familiar.

“Veronica?” came a voice, hushed but insistent. “Veronica, are you in here?”

She would’ve shouted if she could. Instead, she resorted to a frantic series of mmphs and bangs, kicking the floor with her muddied Chelsea boots.

“Hold on, I think I can hear you!”

A moment later, a figure skidded around a stack of wooden pallets, looking wildly from side to side. It was Thomas Harper—Veronica’s twin brother, dressed in his olive-green scout uniform complete with neckerchief and a sash full of merit badges.

“V! There you are!” he exclaimed, rushing forward. “Whoa. They really got you good this time, huh?”

“MMMPH!”

“I know, I know,” he said, already tugging at the knots around her wrist. “Man, these guys did not mess around. Are you okay?”

Veronica grunted and nodded toward the crate, trying to alert her idiot brother to the dire nature of the situation.

“Huh?” Thomas glanced over his shoulder.

Then he saw the timer.

"Oh my!"

"Mph mpph mpphh!"

"Yes, I guessed that" Thomas replied "Oh wow. Okay. Okay. Don’t panic, Thomas. You’ve got this.”

Veronica mmmph’d again, louder this time, jerking her head toward him and then at the gag in her mouth.

“Sorry Sis,” he said, holding up a finger. “But if I take the gag off now, you’re just going to yell at me and distract me, and honestly? I need total focus for this.”

Her eyes went wide. “MMPH?!”

Thomas crouched beside the bomb “Relax, V. Big brother's got this.”

Veronica groaned skeptically behind her gag.

"Don't be so cynical," he insisted. "I watched four YouTube tutorials on bomb disposal—one of which I watched all the way to the end. So I think that makes me something of an expert."

Thomas leaned over the bomb, examining the wires with theatrical care. “Right, okay. Red wire. Blue wire. Yellow wire. That seems straightforward enough—oh, and a green wire - ”

Veronica began thumping her foot against the chair leg in alarm, her eyes never leaving the countdown: 00:11:32.

“Can you keep it down?” Thomas said without looking up. “I need to concentrate.”

He hesitated, then raised a hand and slowly hovered it over the wires, murmuring softly, “Eeny, meeny, miney... moe…”

Veronica shrieked behind the gag and frantically shook her head.

Thomas ignored her. “Catch a tiger by the toe… If he hollers, let him go…”

“MMPHHHHH!”

“…eeny, meeny, miney… MOE!”

Holding his breath, Thomas yanked the yellow wire.

The countdown froze.

00:09:03.

Silence.

Veronica stared. Then blinked. Then let out a long, drawn-out sigh of relief that emerged as something closer to a whimper.

Then Thomas let out a triumphant whoop.

“Who da' man?!” He asked, whilst beating his fists against his chest like a giant ape.

Veronica felt she had little choice but to agree.

"Mmp, mmph mmnpp!"

"Darn right I am!"

Thomas turned to his sister with a grin. “Okay, I suppose I better get that gag off you.”

A few moments later, the scarf was tugged loose. Veronica coughed, flexed her jaw, and rasped, “You absolute maniac.”

“What can I say, except—you’re welcome, V,” he said smugly, in his best imitation of Rock 'the Dwayne' Johnson.

“Eeny meeny miney moe?”

“It’s a proven scientific method for avoiding choice paralysis,” he said with a grin. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it?"

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Barely.”

"Well, you know what they say—close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades."

Veronica wanted to argue, but frankly, what would be the point?

The ropes dropped to the concrete floor with a dull thud as Thomas worked the last knot free. Veronica rubbed her wrists, grimacing at the tender, reddened skin under her blouse cuffs. The heavy wooden chair creaked as she pushed herself unsteadily to her feet, the black scarf that had served as her gag now hanging loosely around her neck like a neckerchief.

"You're seriously lucky I found you when I did," Thomas said, puffing out his chest a little.

Veronica gave him a dry look. "Trust me, I’m well aware."

As she adjusted her slacks, smoothing the creases the ropes had pressed into the fabric, her fingers brushed against something stiff in her pocket.

She frowned and slipped a hand inside.

Her fingers closed around a card—thick, crisp, and suspiciously pristine given the night's events.

She pulled it out, her heart giving a sharp thump against her ribs.

It was an embossed business card.

Madam X

Consultant in Acquisitions and Negotiations'

'Discretion guarateeed'

There was a contact number underneath

The lettering shimmered slightly under the warehouse’s dim lights. Turning it over with trembling fingers, Veronica spotted a message written in flowing, elegant script:

"Cut the yellow wire. Love, Madam X."

She sucked in a quick breath.

It must have been slipped into her pocket—while she’d been tied up.

A flicker of warmth raced up her spine, part alarm, part breathless excitement. She hastily shoved the card deep into her trouser pocket, careful not to let Thomas see.

"Come on, V," he said, tugging at her arm. "We'd better scram before someone calls the cops!"

Veronica nodded, hoping her brother hadn't noticed her reddened cheeks. Her mind was already racing ahead—to later, to the card, to the number printed in crisp ink.



Hours later, in the safety of her room, Veronica sat cross-legged on her neatly made bed, the card resting lightly in her palm. The scarf that had once served as her gag—still faintly scented with expensive perfume—remained tied loosely around her neck like a cravat.

The house was silent, save for the ticking of the clock on her dresser.

Her phone lay beside her, the screen glowing faintly in the dark.

She stared at the number.

She knew it was reckless. Foolish, even.

But the temptation was proving irresistible.

With a sharp breath, she picked up the phone and dialed.

It rang only once.

"Well, well," came the low, sultry voice she hadn’t realized she’d been aching to hear. "I wondered how long it would take you"

Veronica’s fingers tightened around the card. "I suppose I should thank you,.." she managed, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

"For what, darling?" Madam X purred, innocently.

"Thomas told me that he got a phone call telling him that I was tied up at the old reservoir building. What's more she told him which wire to cut"

A warm chuckle rolled down the line "That could have been anyone"

"True, but he described the caller as sounding like Lauren Bacall crossed with Jessica Rabbit"

"Well, let's just call it an insurance policy in case you couldn't get free on your own"

"Fat chance of that. Your goons did far too through a job tying me up"

"You say that now," Madam X replied lightly. "but, I didn't hear you complaining at the time."

Veronica felt her cheeks flush in the dim light. She tugged awkwardly at the scarf around her neck. "Maybe that’s because I'd been gagged?"

Madam X laughed again—a rich and luxurious sound that made Veronica's heart skip a beat "At your suggestion, if I recall correctly,.."

"Don't pretend you weren't going to muzzle me sooner or later. You just wanted to play with your food."

"But darling, don't pretend you didn't enjoy it. I saw you getting all hot under your primly buttoned collar."

Veronica huffed, more embarrassed than annoyed. "Well, maybe next time," she said, her voice sharpening into a challenge, "the story will end with you in irons."

There was a heartbeat of silence, then Madam X’s voice dropped into an amused, almost affectionate purr.

"Promises, promises,.. But alas, rotting away in a prison cell doesn’t exactly suit my bohemian

lifestyle."

Veronica couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her. "Well, I think we'll let a jury of your peers be the judge of that."

"They'll have to catch me first," Madam X teased, her tone playful and edged with promise. "But equally, I imagine you wouldn't be too upset to find yourself bound and gagged in my clutches once more..."

Veronica opened her mouth to fire back a retort—but found herself hesitating.

After all, Madam X was hardly wrong.

Instead, she glanced at the clock. It was now after four. Her first class was at eight.

"I should go," she said, clearing her throat. "I’ve got school in the morning."

"Of course," Madam X said smoothly. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of a young woman’s education."

Veronica smiled despite herself, reaching to end the call—but Madam X’s voice slipped back in, lazy and teasing.

"Oh—and Veronica?"

She paused. "Yes?"

"You can keep the scarf as a souvenir. Think of it as... a reminder of our little adventure together."

Veronica’s hand reflexively touched the soft fabric still draped around her neck.

Her breath caught. She briefly considered asking how Madam X knew she had kept it but instead stammered a grateful, "Thanks."

Then the line clicked dead.

With a small, stunned laugh, Veronica flopped backward onto the bed.

She knew she should be furious, wary, even scared.

But mostly?

She couldn't help thinking: I hope this isn't the last I see of the mysterious Madam X.