The sun has overtaken the horizon by the time I get to the looming office building overlooking South Side. It’s early enough that the city has barely come to life, but the air is buzzing with the promise of a new day, the damp chill receding with the fresh rays of sun. From the front steps of Payne Holdings, Inc., it’s easy to imagine last night never happened. I never killed a man in a dark, wet alley. I never ran from the police as my stepbrother bled out into the back of my car. I never opened myself up for them, showed my Lords just what kind of Lady they’ve been living with these last weeks. It’s almost as if I could go back to their brownstone and find them all at the dining room table, doling out orders for the day.
Instead, I’m here.
With a deep breath, I reach out for the handle and give it a pull. It’s not locked. I stride through the doors, past the empty security desk and chairs, and mash the button on the elevator. The last time I was here with Dimitri, and I well remember him pressing the button for the top floor. That’s what I do now, and it’s surprising.
I’m not nervous in the least.
When the elevator dings, I step out into his immaculate lobby. The receptionist I met before, Vivenne, isn’t in the lobby. I walk past her tidy desk on the way to my stepfather’s office, catching a scent of her perfume. It’s an oily, lingering scent that makes my nose itch. I wonder if my mother smells it on him when he gets home. On his suit. On his skin.
Does she turn a blind eye to it the way she did with me?
Daniel’s door is cracked, and I pause outside, hearing his voice carry as he speaks on the phone.
“I know it’s a mess. Dead bodies tend to leave one. I pay you to handle situations like this.” His voice is strained with irritation, and from the ebb and flow of it, it sounds like he’s pacing. “Chief, it’s not my job to tell you how to deal with something like this. If you happen to ‘lose’ the bullet and any other evidence, I’m sure everyone will understand. Just,” his voice tightens, “fix it.”
I push the door open just as he rests the phone on the receiver. His shoulders tense and his eyes dart up, but whatever annoyance he had with the chief slips away into that signature Payne indifference.
“Story,” he says, my name falling from his mouth like something that’s disappointed him. “Things are a little hectic right now. Maybe you can come back—”
I cut him off, saying the words that I’ve been holding in for so long. “I know who you are.”
It isn’t until he’s seated in the chair behind the desk that he raises an eyebrow, shrewdly asks, “Who exactly am I?”
He’s going to make me say it. Once he does—once it’s out in the open, veil lifted—the game is over. I doubt he’d want that. Personally, I’m done playing games.
“You’re Ted.”
Propping an elbow on the arm of the chair, he slowly swivels side-to-side, pinning me under his fierce gaze. “And you’re my Sweet Cherry.” My skin crawls hearing the name come from his mouth and it’s only half due to the casual confirmation of all my fears and doubts. It’s been years since anyone but the guys called me that.
God.
All this time, my own stepfather was stalking me.
“Well,” he adds, rubbing two fingers over his mouth, “you were. Now you’re just…” His eyes sweep over me dismissively, lip curling in distaste. “Used up trash. Just like every other woman. Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He sounds bored and repulsed, and the bile I taste in the back of my throat is the only thing that stops me from responding.
Leaning back in his seat, he asks, “What are you doing here?” He raises a hand. “No, let me guess. You’re here to ask for more money. Or maybe for my help transferring away from Forsyth. Perhaps you’re looking to get away from my son and his friends, which wouldn’t surprise me.” His mouth curves into a mean smile. “I didn’t think you’d last long with them. Good boys, but a bit on the rough side. No finesse, I think you’ll agree.”
Unable to hear him speak of them, I clench my teeth. “I want you to leave them alone.”
“Leave them alone,” he listlessly repeats.
“Obviously,” I say in a steely voice, “you sent Ugly Nick after them last night. He shot Killian—almost killed him.” The bile creeps up again, but it’s a different sort. The memory of the gun in my hand, the scent of sulphur, Nick’s limp body on the ground, the wound to his cheek…it all makes me want to heave. “And I know you did that because…because I provoked you, but—”
“What is this about Killian?” He jolts from his chair, face gone ashen. “What do you mean he’s been shot?”
“Like you don’t already know what Ugly Nick did!” I snap.
“Clearly, I do not!” he shouts back, swiping his smart phone from the desk and thumbing through it. “Why would Nick shoot Killian?” He seems to ask this more to his phone than to me, and there’s a flash where I feel like I’ve gone mental.
“Because you sent him,” I answer, voice dripping with disdain.
His eyes snap up to mine, sparking. “That’s ridiculous. You think I want to kill my own son?”
“I—” But I find I can’t answer, because I don’t know. Maybe Daniel is just a brilliant actor, but the frantic way he’s listening for Killian to answer his phone doesn’t look fake.
“Where is he?” he asks, trying to call Killian’s phone again. “How serious is it?”
I’m thrown off balance by his reaction, stammering out, “He’s alive. It’s…serious, but probably not fatal if they can get him to someone soon.”
“Where is he?” Daniel asks, not looking happy about needing to repeat himself.
I shake my head, laughing darkly. “I’m not telling you where they are. You really expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this when you emailed me the location?”
“What location?” he asks, slamming his phone down. “The only time I’ve emailed you in the last two years was right after you sent me that disgusting picture.”
I thrust an accusing finger at him. “And I remember what it said! ‘I take my restitutions in flesh’.”
An eerie quiet settles over the room, the only sound being the squeak of Daniel’s leather shoes as he slowly circles the desk and stands before me. There’s something dark brewing under Daniel’s skin, something I’ve never witnessed before. A chill runs up my spine as I realize that I’m not in the presence of my stepfather. I’m standing before The King.
“I didn’t send Ugly Nick to hurt my son. When I told you I’m taking my restitution in flesh, I didn’t mean from him.” He tilts his head, those menacing eyes cutting into me. “Do you realize how valuable those boys are to me? To my enterprise? To my legacy? Killian and I may have our differences, but he’s my most prized asset—my heir. And you.” He scoffs, sneering, “You had so much value before you spread those twiggy little legs for my son. Do you have any idea the kind of offers I had for you? The opportunities!”
I flinch back at his roar, almost stumbling over. “Offers?”
“Oh, yes.” He bears down on me, driving me back into the wall. “You’d be surprised what you could get for a sweet little sixteen-year-old virgin—provided you can get her parents out of the picture and keep her…intact.”
I stare at him in horror. “You wanted to sell me?”
He tilts his hand back and forth. “I like to think of it as more of an exchange of assets.” He snorts, looking so much like his son that it jars me. “Killian thought I got you for him, you know. I love my son, but he does tend to exaggerate his importance. When you returned, I actually believed I had a second chance. You’re older, but a twenty-year-old virgin is still a bit novel. Not that it matters anymore.” Flicking at the worn hoodie I’m wearing, he chews out, “You’re worthless to me now. A waste of four years providing for you, educating you, hunting you down over states and counties to keep tabs on you.” He shakes his head, giving a barbed laugh. “You should have stayed in Colorado and saved everyone the trouble.”
“Then why?” I gape at him, utterly lost. “Why did you kill Jack? Why would you send all those letters threatening me, and Ugly Nick—”
He gives me a long, narrow-eyed look. “I don’t know who Jack is, but I didn’t kill anyone—not on account of you, and certainly not my own legitimate flesh and blood. If that’s your measure of your own importance, then it would seem my son has rubbed off on you.” Holding my stare, he sleazily adds, “In more ways than one.”
“I-I don’t understand,” I rush out. “You’re Ted.”
His eyes flash in exasperation. “Ted was a fake name I used for all of three months to ensure my investment wasn’t letting dirty old men between her thighs. Ted doesn’t exist! His account is long gone.” He saunters over to the window, irritably musing, “Before your crude email a few weeks ago, I didn’t even realize the address was still active.”
My mind spins. If he didn’t send Ugly Nick, then who did? Who sent me those texts? Once again, I feel off kilter, like there are pieces to the puzzle I’m missing. When I look at Daniel again, this doesn’t seem to be one of his worries.
“So,” he begins, demeanor shifting to business as usual. “Which of my wayward sons killed Nick? Was it Rath? You’d think someone with that much precision on a piano would have less of a twitchy trigger finger, but you’d be wrong.”
I’m stunned that he can talk about it so cavalierly—as if a life hasn’t been taken. As if we’re not under attack by some mysterious entity he claims to know nothing about.
“It was me.” The confession pours out of me lifelessly, quiet and unbidden.
“You.” His face remains blank, gaze trained on the streets below. “And where am I to send Ray? Killian needs seen to, I assume.”
“I-I can’t say.” Even if Daniel is telling the truth about not being behind the attack, I get the sense Tristian wouldn’t forgive it. “He’s going to be in contact soon. Today.”
“Then we’ll have to settle this among ourselves for now,” he says, crossing his arms and turning to me. His eyes, the ones that match his son’s, flicker with resolve. “I’ve got a dead body in the morgue with our figurative fingerprints all over it, bribes to pay, destruction of evidence, and the loss of a seasoned South Side foot soldier. This is, naturally, on top of boarding school, Forsyth tuition, and the considerable depreciation of the investment they were meant to be recouped with.” He shakes his head, looking me up and down. “There are many people in my employ, and even more in my debt. But do you want to know what’s interesting? No one has cost me nearly as much money as you have.”
What I say next makes my stomach turn, but I can’t think of any other way. “Maybe Tristian can—”
“I already told you.” His shoulders go as tight as his voice. “I take my compensation in flesh.”
Deflated and full of dread, I ask, “What does that mean?”
“You’ve been to The Velvet Hideaway.” It’s not a question. “We’re a modern facility, providing more upscale services than what you’d find out on the avenue.” He steps forward and runs his finger down my cheek. In a flash, I’m fourteen again and he’s got me in his lap. “I already know you’re comfortable in front of a camera, and since you’re fucking Tristian, I assume you have some experience performing in front of a group.” He turns on his heel, pacing back to the desk. “I’ve decided you’ll perform for me. I think I’ll charge five-hundred for the live audience and two-fifty for virtual.”
I try to follow what he’s asking me to do. Maybe it’s the strain from the last forty-eight hours, or the lack of sleep, or just everything, but I can’t. Perform? In person? Virtual? “What are you talking about?”
“It’s time for you to make good on your debts.” He raises his chin, eyes piercing. “You can’t possibly earn enough to truly compensate for what you’ve lost me, but I’ll settle for the tuitions and whatever it takes to make this Nick situation disappear.” His mouth purses into something thoughtfully derisive. “I can’t bill you as a virgin, but that’s okay. We’ll put you in something slutty and young. A schoolgirl skirt, perhaps. Knee-highs and pigtails. Set you up with my best guy and really play up that dewy ingenue thing you’ve got going on.” He grips my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t worry. The man I have in mind is a professional. He’ll make it hurt like it’s your first time.”
“You’re asking me to have sex with someone,” I realize, feeling like I might be sick, “in front of other people?!”
“Don’t consider it a request,” he answers, eyes hard and cold. “Consider it extortion. Because if you don’t, then I just might fail to pay off the people investigating Ugly Nick’s grisly murder.”
My mouth works around a series of aborted replies, brain swimming with disgust. “It was self-defense.”
He scoffs. “Sure, you can take your chances with that. Someone with a history of lying, whoring, running away, and increasingly erratic behavior will appear very reputable.”
I lurch out of his hold, banging into the wall behind me. “I’ll tell my mom.”
“Alright.” He just shrugs, slinking back over to prop himself against his desk. “But I think we both know what she’d say if she were here. She’d tell you this is just what women need to do sometimes. She’d say it’s important—for the family — plus, it’s only one time. Are you really going to tell your sweet mother, who’s found herself on her back to support you more times than either of us can count, that you refuse to repay that favor because you’re above it?” When my face twists in outrage, he lifts a hand. “Before you decide, you should know that I’ll stop at nothing to protect my son. Killian will be fine. And Tristian? He’s a Mercer, and therefore, untouchable. But Rath, well…he’s got debts of his own, you see.” He tsks, head shaking. “Troubled boy with a long rap sheet. It might be difficult to keep him out of this if I find myself…unnecessarily aggrieved.”
I find myself lost in a suspended moment of acknowledging how utterly stupid I am. Walking in here and telling him I’m the one who killed Ugly Nick. Telling Daniel to leave them alone was giving him a peek at my hand—at the things I care about.
If there was any doubt about him being a Lord, it’s gone.
The wall is solid and cool as I slide down it, knees too weary to hold me upright. There was a time when the thought of doing something like this was unspeakable. Deplorable. The height of impossibility.
Throat clicking with a swallow, I ask, “One time?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll leave us alone?” I ask, voice trembling. “After this, you’ll let me go. You won’t follow me, or let Dimitri get busted. And…” My chest hitches with a sharp breath. “You can’t tell them.” I can’t bear to have them think this is what I am. That maybe this is what I’ve always been. That everything I said before was a lie.
His reply is perfectly congenial. “Of course.”
If I had any left, I think there’d be tears in my eyes. As it is, I just raise my gaze to his and give my dull, lifeless answer.
“Tell me when.”
