Ch. 16..20: Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Dad Chapter 16-20

Chapter 16

The party ended quickly after that. Alden left after one drink and, afterwards, since the apparent draw of the evening was gone, all of the rest of the guests began to filter out as well. As I watched them all leave - none saying a word to me, though they certainly looked me - I wondered about the point of this party.

Why had Kent wanted to introduce me to my father in front of all of these people, instead of in private? It certainly hadn't been a party to celebrate me. Instead, it was more like a proof of life. Kent was demonstrating to the world that I exist - and that I'm in his power.

I stare down at the diamond on my finger, twisting the ring back and forth, seeing how it catches the light. Even though I've changed and into a pair of leggings and a super soft sweater - honestly, how do these clothes keep showing up in my room? - I don't have the heart to take the ring off.

It's just so beautiful. I've rarely had anything really pretty in my life and this was...stunning. And priceless, I think.

Maybe if I run away, I can sell this at a pawn shop and use the money to get to Europe, where Kent and my father can't find me.

I grimace at the impossibility of all of that, though. I don't even have a passport.

As I stare at the ring, I realize that I had higher hopes for that meeting with Alden. My father. I had kind of hoped he would be my ticket out of the Lippert house, maybe even to a place where I'd have a better chance to get back to my normal life.

But after this evening I realize that I'm just as much of a pawn in Alden's world as Kent's. And after seeing his crazy mood swings, I'm not sure Alden would be a better choice. Kent can be cruel, but at least he's always in control. Suddenly, outside of my door, I hear a huge thump and a groan. What -

I jump up from the bed and stare at the door, expecting it to swing open like it always does.

But nothing.

I hear the groan again.

Scared, but needing to know, I run to the door and pull it open.

I gasp at the sight before me.

Kent Lippert is laying on the ground of the hallway, groaning, his eyes pressed closed as he clutches his chest.

"Oh my god!" I say, looking either way down the hall for help. No one's there.

I fall to my knees beside him, reaching out to quickly feel for a pulse at his neck.

"Kent," I say, "are you all right?"

"I'm. Fine." He says, teeth gritted.

My eyes flick to his face because - obviously - he is not fine. But I'm relieved that he's conscious, at least. I hesitate, trying to remember the First Responder course I took in college. "What's wrong? Are you having pain in your chest, your left arm?"

"I'm fine -" he says again, his eyes still pressed shut as he begins to pant. He tries to sit up but I put hands on his shoulders, pressing him down to the ground.

"Just stay still," I say, my head whipping around, still looking up and down the hall for help. Still, no one appears. How can I possibly be the only one who noticed!? "I'll go for help," I say, rising to my knee, but he grabs my wrist.

"Fay," he says, opening his eyes a little to squint at me. "Don't go anywhere. Tell no one."

"What!?" I hiss at him, appalled. "Kent, you could die -"

"I'm not going to die," he grumbles, forcing the words from between his clenched teeth. "This happens sometimes. It will -"

He groans before forcing out the last word in the sentence.

"Pass." He rests his head back against the floor, squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing in pain.

I gape at him. Is he serious? Is this honestly a common thing for him?

"Well, what can I do to help?" I ask, still frantic.

He opens one eye and looks at me, clearly annoyed. "Go away, that's what you can do."

"What!?" I stare at him. Was he crazy? "Kent, you're probably having a heart attack -"

Suddenly, footsteps sound in the hall below. He freezes, tries to sit up, and then groans in pain as he cannot. "Fine," he says, looking at me. "You want to help? Get me into your room." "What!?"

"Stop saying what," he growls, trying again to sit up. "Just help me!"

I hesitate and then get to my feet. I move behind Kent as he sits up and hook my hands in his armpits. Then, I heave with all my might, pulling him towards the open door to my room. Kent helps as much as he can, pushing with his feet to speed us along. When he's fully in my room, I drop him and he collapses again on the floor with a heavy groan. "The door," he murmurs, and I quickly close it. Then, I lean back against the door, staring at Kent on the floor as he breathes hard.

A few horrible minutes pass when I consider what the hell will happen to me if people discover the Mafia Boss's dead body in my room.

But, during those minutes, Kent's breath softens. The horrible, crinkled look of pain disappears and his face takes on its normal lines. He's still sweaty and exhausted but he was right. It passes.

"Are you...are you okay?" I venture after a few minutes of calm breathing.

He doesn't open his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Um," I hesitate. "Are you sure you don't want me to call someone? A doctor?"

He sits up on my floor, hooking his arms around his knees for support, and then straight at me. "I don't need a doctor."

I stare at him, and I'm sure he can tell by my face that I think he's definitely wrong. He shakes his head and looks down - embarrassed, I think - and pauses before he speaks.

"It's just..." he says, "something that happens to me. From time to time. It's been happening for the past couple of years. At times of...stress."

I sink to the floor, my back still against the door, putting the pieces together.

I can't believe it. "Oh my god," I say, not even thinking about whether or not I should say it. "You have panic attacks."

He glances up at me.

"They're really common," I continue, "but not usually to this extent. But we learned, in my program, that when they're really severe they can present with the intensity of a heart attack..."

He doesn't look at me or say a word. I bite my lip, feeling suddenly sorry for him. I can't help it. I've never really been able to see another person in pain and not want to help them.

"You know," I say quietly. "There are doctors that can help you with this sort of thing. You shouldn't suffer like this, if they happen all the time."

"I don't need to see a doctor." He says, his voice determined.

I roll my eyes at him, a gesture I'm not sure I'd make if he were looking at me.

"Well, if you don't want to see a doctor," I say, hesitating again. "Maybe I could help?"

He lifts his head, his eyes open now. "How could you possibly help me."

I purse my lips, frustrated. "I mean, I am a trained therapist. I wouldn't think you'd forget that, considering it's how we met."

He laughs a little. "Yes, Fay's little certificate," he says, his voice derisive.

"Kent, this can be a seriously debilitating mental condition -" I say, but he interrupts me.

"I have spoken to my doctor, Fay," he says. "There is nothing wrong with me."

But my training, and my desire to help, push back against my instinct to follow his command. "You have an anxiety disorder, Kent," I say, my voice serious.

He just laughs at me. "An anxiety disorder? A mental illness? Sissies make those up terms so they can have an excuse for why they're so inadequate."

With that, he pushes himself to his feet. I do too, blocking the door with my body. "It's not for sissies - it's an important aspect of your health -"

"Fay," he says, angry with me, pressing his hand flat against the door so that I'm trapped between him and the exit. "Do you know what would happen to me in this world, if word ever got out that I have some kind weakness in my mind?"

I hesitate. I can guess, but I choose silence.

"I'd be dead, Fay." He says, glaring at me. "If they ever found my body, it'd be at the bottom of a lake with cinder blocks for shoes. And while I was missing, all of my enemies would come - like the carrion birds they are - and pick pick pick -"he taps the top of my head, like a little bird pecking - "at the world I've worked so hard to build."

I stare up at him, not knowing what to say.

"So, if you don't mind," he says, still glaring, "I think I'll decline your offer of mental health services."

He pushes himself up off the door and I step aside so he can leave. He twists the handle, but he hesitates before he pulls it open. "You will tell no one what you witnessed tonight. Ever. Not even Daniel. Do you understand?"

Slowly, I nod as he strides out of my room and down the hall.

I watch him go, still shocked at the events of the evening.

Then, a slow smile creeps over my face.

Well. It looks like I finally got my first little piece of power in this mafia game. The question was, how would I use it?

 

Chapter 17

The next morning, Kent is working in his office when a knock comes at the door.

"Come in," he calls, hardly paying attention.

The door creeks open but no one says anything. Annoyed, Kent looks up, ready to tell whatever captain or guard was coming to report to get on with it and stop wasting his time.

To his surprise, though, Fay stands in the doorway. Kent leans back in his chair with a smirk, curious. What on earth could she want now?

"Yes?" he asks.

"Um, can I come in?" she says, anxiously playing with her hair.

"I already told you to come in, Fay," he says evenly. Annoyed, she drops her hair and takes two steps into the room, pushing the door closed behind her. Then, she leans against the wall, a little afraid. Like a kitten in a tiger's cage. Kent can't help but smile at the sight of her.

Today she's wearing brown riding boots over tight jeans, a green cashmere sweater on top. The green brings out the cream of her complexion, the fire of her hair. As he knew it would. He'd selected the sweater for precisely that reason, had it sent up to her room with the housekeeper.

She starts to play with her hair again, and Kent decides that he likes it down better than up. He makes a mental note to tell the housekeeper to leave it down more often. "Yesss...?" Kent prompts, impatient.

"I just wanted to talk. About last night." She hesitates again. "Is it safe to talk in here? About..."

He sighs and gives her a little glare. "Yes, Fay. Go ahead."

"I just wanted to offer, again, to help. In whatever way I can. I'm happy to offer my services."

"Your...services," he says, letting his eyes rove over her body as much as they want to, deliberately trying to be lewd. If he embarrasses her, she'll give up, he thinks. As she's done before.

She blushes deliciously - he feels a stirring within himself, watching her squirm - and then stands up straight.

"You know what I mean, Kent," she says. "I could council you, offer some therapies."

"I don't need those," he says, looking back to the papers on the desk as if they're more interesting and important.

"We could just try," she says, frustrated. He smiles and looks back at her, liking the fire he sees in her when she gets pissed off. God, but he loves to stir that fire.

"Why are you pushing so hard for this," he asks, leaning back in his chair, studying her. He's genuinely curious. Is she trying to get one over on him, use her new knowledge to her advantage?

She shrugs. "I just want to help - that's why I got into counseling to begin with. I like to...help people.

"Well that's nice, Fay, but I don't need help," he says, perfectly calm.

"And maybe -" she continues, her voice rushing now. "If I were able to help you to give you something - maybe...maybe you'd respect me more. Stop belittling me," she says, frustrated, looking back down at the floor. He can't help the deepening of his smile. Take away his favorite new hobby? He didn't think so.

"Thank you for your offer, Fay," he says, "but again. No."

With that, he turns back to his papers, deliberately ignoring her until he hears her sigh and open the door to leave. As he hears her move through the door, he glances up to catch one last glimpse before she shuts it. Those tight jeans were a good choice, he notes. He'll repeat that fashion choice again.

As Fay leaves, Kent turns his attention to the screen on his computer which holds all of the surveillance footage in his house. A few clicks allow him to focus the cameras on her, following her path as she goes back up the stairs towards her room. She surprises him, though, by passing her room -

Continuing down the hallway-

Stopping at Daniel's room. Kent gives a little hum of interest, leaning back in his chair as he watches her tap gently on Daniel's door.

His son answers and smiles at her, inviting her in. The girl disappears inside.

Kent stares at Daniel's closed bedroom door, working to deny the jealousy that's roiling in his gut.

Not giving himself a chance to think about it too much, he leans over to the intercom on his desk, pressing number 8 for his own bedroom. "Fiona?" he says.

A few moments later, she answers. "Hey baby," she purrs.

"Can you come down to my office, please?"

Fay flops down on Daniel's bed, sighing.

"What's wrong?" he asks, sitting on the edge next to her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she murmurs, looking around. The room is tastefully decorated in shades of brown and green that match Daniel's eyes, but there's very little personal decoration - not much that seems like Daniel himself has chosen it.

"What do you guys do all day, here?" She asks, suddenly wondering about Daniel's life as an only child in a mafia family.

He shrugs. "I mostly stay in here," he says, nodding to his computer and the several bookcases full of texts against the far wall. "I keep busy."

"Don't you get bored?" She wonders, sitting up.

"Of course," he says, laughing a little. "Doesn't everyone?"

"Do you ever get to leave?" She asks, studying her handsome fiancé.

"Of course," he replies, laughing. "Don't forget, you met me outside of this house, so, that's evidence of that." He hesitates, realizing the direction of her questions. "But we can't leave now. Not for a while. Not until things are more...settled." Fay sighs, disappointed, and falls back against his pillows.

"It's not always going to be like this," he murmurs, sorry that she feels so discontented. "Once everything dies down, once we're married, we'll have like...complete freedom. We can go back to the bookshops...maybe to Paris..." he gives her a shy smile, knowing she'd love it there.

She gives him a little half-smile in response, but he knows she's not content with what he's offering.

"Come on, Fay," he says, scooting closer to her and taking her hand. "Some people would kill for what we have. We actually like each other's company and we have all the money in the world at our disposal. Soon you'll be one of the richest, most powerful women in this city, Fay," he says temptingly.

Fay glares at him a little. "Sure, I can have whatever I want, except, you know, the freedom to leave this house. A marriage to someone who loves me."

Daniel tilts his head, truly wanting to make it better. "I love you, Fay. In my own way."

She sighs, knowing he means well.

"I just don't care about all of this, Daniel," she says. "I don't care about this wealth and power that everyone thinks is so important. Plus, you're forgetting the fact that all of this wealth and power come with the heavy pricetag of violence." Daniel screws his mouth to the side, admitting, silently, that she's right.

"Don't you want to choose your own lover?" She asks, leaning forward eagerly. "Instead of being assigned one?"

He hesitates, squeezing her hand. "I kind of did pick you, Fay. And you picked me. Even before I knew we were 'assigned.""

She sighs, taking her hand gently from his. "Yeah, but that was before I had all the information," she murmurs. Back when she thought he was Prince Charming, not the heir to a mafia cartel.

"I'm going to be a good husband to you," Daniel murmurs, really meaning it. He always knew he'd get married to a woman, and even if he knew it wouldn't be a s****l relationship - or even one in which he was faithful - he had always hoped it would be to someone like Fay. His best friend.

Fay flicks her eyes to him, full of doubt. "But what kind of wife would you want me to be?" she asks softly. "Would I even be able to pursue my career, which means so much to me?"

Daniel hesitates. He knows, frankly, that the answer is no - his wife would be expected to stay home, manage his social affairs, raise their kids. But he also knows that saying that aloud right now isn't going to make this any easier.

Intuiting his response, Fay sighs again. "This isn't what either of us really want, Daniel," she says, speaking the truth for both of them. "But somehow, you've just...given in to it. I feel sorry for you."

Her words are like a knife to his heart. Fay Thompson, this poor, delicate, timid girl, feels sorry for him?

God he must be so pathetic. He hangs his head.

"I'm sorry, Fay," he says softly. "I'll do my best to make you happy."

Fay moves until she's sitting next to him, putting her head on his shoulder. "And so will I. When I go, Daniel, I'm not going to leave you behind."

He looks at her, then, realizing that she still plans to escape. He doesn't burst her bubble.

But deep down, he knows it's impossible.

 

Chapter 18

Fiona pants, her mouth open and her eyes closed, as she and Kent finish in his office.

She's straddling him in his chair, her black silk panties discarded on the floor.

Kent breathes hard too, on hand wrapped in her hair, the other pressed against her lower back. Slowly, she raises herself off of him, lowering her feet to the ground. She leans forward, her hands on the arms of the chair, pressing a kiss to his mouth. "Thanks, baby," she murmurs. "I always like a little afternoon treat."

Kent doesn't say anything, just pulls up his pants and buckles them as she stands and leans back against the desk.

"Oh," Fiona says, looking casually at the security monitors still on his screen. "Lookie here," she points a finger at the little rectangle that shows the door to Daniel's room. "Looks like the love birds were having a little tryst."

She laughs but Kent can't help himself from clamping his teeth together, watching closely.

Fiona notices Kent's tension and tilts her head with curiosity, looking between Kent and the screen. Kent ignores her.

Kent is not used to having to control himself around the women that he wants. Usually, it's not very hard to seduce them, and he can pick and choose who he wants and when he wants them. Women like him, he knows. They come willingly to his bed, or wherever else he takes them.

But as he stares at Fay on the screen, walking back down the hall to her room, he fights to control himself. He knows that he wants her - can't deny it any more - in a rough, primal sort of way. Different than the way he wants Fiona, who slakes his thirst. But Fay? She leaves him parched.

Fiona smirks, watching her lover stare at the girl on the screen. "You know," she says, folding her arms and keeping her voice light. "I don't think anything funny even went on in that room."

Kent's eyes flash to her. "What?"

"Just look," Fiona says, gesturing to the screen, where Fay has reached her door. The camera shows Fay's face as she twists the knob and walks in. "Can't you see? Her hair isn't mussed, and neither is her makeup. Her lips aren't even swollen." Kent, unable to help himself, turns to study the image, nothing that Fiona is correct.

"She's not even walking funny," Fiona says, smirking and watching Kent's face. "If Daniel had really given it to her -"

"That's enough," Kent says, his voice harsh. Fiona's secret smile only deepens.

Kent stands up, ready to move on with his day. "Of course nothing happened in there," he says. "She's his fiancé, he respects her. Daniel knows it's impious to have s*x before the wedding."

Fiona laughs and stands up as well, crossing herself casually as she does so. "Oh, I didn't know we were suddenly so pious in this house," she says, heading for the door. "I'll have to say a couple of Hail Mary's to wash away my sins from this afternoon," she says, winking at him and heading out.

Kent grunts a goodbye in her direction and returns his attention to some paperwork on his desk.

Still, unable to concentrate, his mind turns again to the innocent, untouched young woman upstairs.

That afternoon, Fiona opens Fay's door and gives her a big smile. "I have a surprise for you, baby," she says.

Putting down her book, I look at her with curiosity. "What is it?"

"Come and find out." Fiona holds the door open and I hop out of bed to follow her.

Fay leads me downstairs towards the front of the house, where she throws open the doors to the parlor. My eyebrows shoot up and I cover my mouth with both hands when I look inside.

Everything is covered in white - white tulle, white lace, white silk, white satin - hanging from racks, draped over chairs, stacked on the sofa. The only dark spot in the room is Kent, before the fireplace, directing the workers who carry piles of garment bags. "What's going on?" Daniel says, peering into the room behind me, a sandwich in his hand.

"Don't bring that in here," Fiona scolds, swatting at him. Daniel laughs and finishes the sandwich in two big bites, brushing his hands on his pants to get free of crumbs. Fiona glares at him a little but then nods, deeming him clean enough to enter. "Is this..." I say, looking around in awe, a little anxiety roiling in my stomach as I realize what all of these white things are.

"Wedding dresses!" Fiona says, clapping her hands. "Aren't they gorgeous? They're all brought in from Kleinfeld."

"Now, you come stand here," Fiona says, pulling me and Daniel further into the room to stand by Kent, "out of the way, while I get everything set up."

With that, she bustles away to shoo everyone unessential out of the room. As she works, I look up at Kent.

"Was it like this?" I ask. "For your own wedding?"

He glances down at me but looks back at the room as he answers. "No. We had a small wedding, in Sicily. That's where she was from."

I raise my eyebrows, surprised. "Oh," I say. "Is she...still there?"

I scream at myself, inwardly, for such an awkward question. But come on - I can't just blurt out is she dead? How did she die? Which is what I really want to know.

Kent looks down at me with a withering look. I work hard to keep my face straight, but I feel so terribly awkward that I open my mouth to say something else - anything else -

Daniel saves me. He links elbows with me and pulls me closer. "My mom died when I was young," he says casually. "Her marriage to my dad was actually arranged," he notes cheerfully. "Like ours."

"Oh!" I say, looking between Kent and Daniel, genuinely surprised. "Um, was her death...an accident? An illness?"

Kent sighs and looks at me sharply. "If you want to ask, Fay, if I murdered her, or she died in a gunfight, or was kidnapped and tortured by my enemies, just be forthright about it."

I press my lips together, embarrassed. Because of course, that's exactly what I want to know. I say nothing.

"Cancer," Daniel whispers beside me. I feel sadness flood me, then, and open my mouth to tell him how sorry I am, but he stops me with a smile. "It's okay," he says. "It really was a long time ago. Dad and I are all patched up."

"Well," I say, turning to smile at Daniel again. "I guess that's something else we have in common. Both of our moms died young."

"Rather a macabre thing to bond over," Kent says dryly, putting his hands in his pockets. "But you will start a new family soon."

I wonder at the truth of that, but before I can say anything, Fiona pulls me forward to try on the first gown.

The fittings take all afternoon. At first it was fun, playing princess, but after a while I get tired of fighting my way through yards and yards of tulle. Daniel and Kent leave immediately as the trials begin.

Daniel didn't want to see the dress, insisting that it was bad luck, and Kent only wants to come in once the final selection is made. He said that if he's paying for it, he wants final approval.

"Okay," Fiona says, studying me in the last dress. She holds up the beaded Oscar de la Renta that was our other top choice, an incredible off-white beaded silk that fell heavily to the floor and made a fantastic shushing sound as I walked.

"This one?" She indicates the Oscar, "or that?" She gestures towards the incredibly romantic Caroline Herrera dress that hugs my waist with a tight bodice, the off-shoulder sleeves flowing down in to the flowing charmeuse of the skirt, which sweeps behind me in a five-foot train.

"This one," I say, a little breathless, staring at myself in the mirror. I had never really been the kind of girl who dreamed about her wedding before, but in a dress like this? I am actually starting to feel like a bride.

"Oh thank god," Fiona says, wiping a tear from her eye. "That was my favorite too. If you'd picked the Oscar, you'd have broken my heart."

I laugh a little as she picks up her phone, texting someone. I realize, suddenly, that she's messaging Kent - telling him to come down for final approval.

When the door opens, I turn to face him, biting my lip, wondering, passively, if he'll approve.

He's looking down at his phone as he walks into the room but, about halfway across the room from us, he glances up.

Kent stops dead in his tracks.

I feel fear curl in the bottom of my belly. Does he not like it? Did I make the right choice?

His whole body stiffens, his arm dropping to his side as his eyes slowly rove over my form. I turn to him, running my hands across the fabric at my hips, and see his mouth fall ever so slightly open.

Then, his eyes snap back to my own and his mouth slams shut. He takes a step forward, his eyes burning, and, surprised, I take one step back -

My reaction is totally animal, that of prey flinching back from a predator. Kent sees it, registers my fear, and wills himself back into composure. His eyes flick to Fiona for a moment as he slowly rolls his shoulders back, putting his hands into his pockets. Then, he studies me again. It's a mask, though, this time - I can tell. He's just pretending to be the passive buyer studying his goods.

Beneath, he's the wolf, and I am his supper.

I stare at him, aware, in some part of me, that I have made him ravenous. I shift my position, then, trying out how this knowledge feels in in my body, twisting my hips so that my thighs rub together beneath the skirt of my gown.

Kent's eyes flash to my legs, my thighs, and I see a muscle flicker in his cheek as he clenches his jaw.

"So," Fiona says, her arms folded, her eyes flashing between us. "I guess you like it, Kent?"

I turn my head to look at her, breaking out of my strange reverie, and blush to see the awareness on her face.

"Yes," Kent says, and when I look back I see that he is, again, all control. "The Herrera is a good choice. Charge it to my account."

With that, he turns and leaves the room.

"How..." I say, turning my surprise in my mind, "how does he know all the designers?" I ask.

"Baby," Fiona says, sauntering over to me with a smirk. "He chose all of these gowns. Not me." My mouth falls open in surprise.

 

Chapter 19

"Come on, baby Fay," she says with a smile. "Let's go have a drink."

I shrug, not hating the idea, and let Fiona help me out of the wedding gown. After I change, I follow her through the kitchen and out into a beautiful little garden I didn't know was here. "Oh wow," I say, looking around. "It's beautiful out here."

It really is. There's a full grill and wet bar pressed up against the house. Next to it is a stone patio with a hand-carved wooden table covered by a tall pergola that has grape vines curling all around it. The whole area is surrounded by tall hedges, keeping out prying eyes.

Fiona bends down to remove a bottle of wine from the fridge and pops it open, filling two delicate glasses that she takes down from the rack above the sink. I sit down at the table as she brings the glasses over.

"This is Kent's latest vintage," she says as I raise the glass to my lips. The wine is dry, but I feel a little bit of bubble against my lips as I sip.

It's delicious. As I peer at it in the glass, I suddenly realize something. "Wait, has Kent been the one sending the clothes up to my room? The ones I wear everyday?"

Fiona shrugs. "Probably. He has my wardrobe restocked every couple of months, so he definitely has the stores on call."

I stare at the door, then, a little appalled to realize that Kent has made me his little Barbie doll, dressing me up so that I look just the way he wants me to.

But behind my disgust at the idea, a very little bit of me...likes it.

"It's so nice to have a chance to sit with you one-on-one," Fiona says, interrupting my thoughts. "You know, have a little girl talk."

I smile at her. "Yes, I agree. I used to do this all the time with my sister."

"Aww," Fiona says, giving me a warm smile. You can consider me your sister now, if you want."

I smile at her and nod.

"So!" she says, leaning forward. "How are things going with you and Daniel?"

I press my lips together. I definitely can't tell her the truth - I promised Daniel I wouldn't - but, frankly, I'm dying for someone to talk to.

She leans in. "Don't be shy," she says. "You can trust me."

"Well," I say, hesitating. "I mean, I really like Daniel a lot - but, I'm just not sure we're meant to be. Romantically."

"Why do you say that?" she says, curious. "Is the physical connection just not there?"

I hesitate, realizing that we're getting a little too close to the truth here.

She leans forward to whisper more. "Is he no good in bed?"

I blush terribly then, biting my lip, too ashamed to admit that I have no way of knowing. And never will.

Fiona stares at me and then figures it out, sitting back with a gasp. "You mean...you never..."

My blush deepens.

"Fay," she says, looking actually worried for me now. "You're not a..."

My eyes dart to her and I know she can see the truth there.

"Oh my god," she murmurs. "You're a virgin."

I nod hastily and then take a big gulp of my wine. If we're going to have this conversation, I'd rather be lubricated.

To my surprise, Fiona laughs loudly and claps her hands, tickled by the idea. "Baby Fay!" she laughs, "you are too cute!" I can't help but laugh with her.

When she finishes laughing she shakes her head at me, truly playing the role of a big sister. "So what's the problem, baby? Why haven't you given it up to him? Are you scared? Shy?"

I shrug a little, not really knowing how to say it. "I'm not...opposed. I just...I don't know what to do."

"Well sweetie," she says, finishing her glass of wine and standing up. "In this world, you've got to keep your man happy. Let me help."

I stand up with her and swallow my glass of. Then, I follow Fiona back into the house, not really knowing what's going on.

Fiona bustles through the house and I trail behind, following her to a door in the kitchen that I hadn't noticed before. She opens it and heads quickly downstairs.

The air is noticeably cooler down here and we pass a series of metal doors. I slow my pace the further we go, getting anxious. What was this place?

"Just down here," Fiona says, opening the last door on the left. I'm surprised when I enter it. It's just a little study with a worn rug on the ground beneath a fine leather recliner. There's a coffee table next to it and a large television facing the recliner. The walls are covered in media - old VHS tapes, magazines, books, photo albums.

"Kent doesn't use this place anymore," she says, "but I organized it a while ago. I thought it was better like this than everything just in boxes. This way if he needs to look through anything, he's got a place to sit."

"He's lucky to have your help," I murmur, looking around.

"That's all old family stuff," Fiona says, waving her hand at the far wall, "but this," she leads me over to a corner with stacks of magazines and VHS tapes. "This is what I wanted to show you."

Fiona picks up a stack of magazines and plops them in my hand. I glance at them, curious, and then realize that they're all Playboys. I gasp and almost drop them, eliciting another laugh from Fiona.

"You see what I mean, baby Fay?" she says, adding another bunch to the stack in my hand. "You're just a little too uptight about this sort of thing," she says. "It's just sex. I thought if you came down here, explored a little," she raises a suggestive eyebrow at me, "that maybe you'd get a little...inspiration. For you and Daniel."

My mouth falls open in surprise. Is that what Fiona thinks our problem is? I have to stop myself from laughing.

"Um, thank you," I say, blushing again, "but -"

"No buts!" she says, taking me by the shoulders and settling me into the leather chair. "Listen, I'm going to leave you down here by yourself, so just go ahead and explore," she says.

"There's lots of VHS tapes up there," she continues, gesturing towards the corner where she found the magazines, "if movies are more your thing. Stay for as long as you want - nobody is going to bother you here!"

I sigh as I find myself alone in the room, staring at the stack of porn in my lap. What the hell was I doing here? This is so not my thing.

But, well. I have to admit I'm curious about this crazy porn stash. And It's not like there's anything else to do. I flick through a couple of the magazines - they're super old, definitely before Kent's time - and wonder who collected them in the first place. Bored with that, I wander over to the stack of movies, laughing a little at the titles.

Busty Co-Eds and their Punishing Professors

Street Skanks in 3D.

What the hell was this crap?

A few of the tapes are unlabeled in black plastic boxes. Curious, I reach up and take one down. When I open the box, the VHS inside also doesn't have any writing on it. Maybe a home video, put over here by mistake? Curious, I take it over to the waiting VCR and pop it in, rewinding to the start. Then I sit back in the chair and press play on the remote.

It is indeed a home video. The room being recorded is empty, though I can see a bed in a pretty room with two windows behind it. Frowning, I lean forward. Those windows look a lot like the ones in my -

I gasp, then, as a woman walks naked onto the screen. She lays herself down on the bed, looking offscreen at the person who must have turned on the video recorder. Then, laying on her back, she slowly lets her knees drift apart, beckoning with a crooked finger.

I stare, fascinated, as someone else comes on the screen. I slap my hand across my mouth when I realize that he, too, is totally naked. The man crawls onto the bed, slipping a hand beneath the woman to flip her over so that she's kneeling down, her weight resting on her knees.

When the man positions himself so that he's kneeling behind her, I get the shock of my life.

It's Kent. I'm watching Kent Lippert's homemade p**n.

Mesmerized, I watch Kent reach down to touch himself. The woman is in the way - I can't see any details - but I can tell he's hard and ready for her. He gives her a loud smack on the a*s and, as she gives a little yelp, plunges himself inside her, grabbing her by the hips.

The woman's mouth opens in a gasp that turns into a moan, and suddenly she's saying his name -

I lean forward, fascinated, when suddenly the door next to the television swings open.

My eyes fly to the door to see my worst nightmare -

Kent is standing right there.

Chapter 20

My heart pounding, I press the stop button on the remote as fast as I can and return my wide eyes to Kent, who is still looking at me. Please, please, please. By all that is holy, let him not have seen me watching his s*x tape.

"What are you doing in here," he asks, angry.

"Um," I say, terrified, hoping he doesn't pick up on the tremor in my voice. "Fiona brought me here? Said I could look through some..." my eyes dart around the room for an answer that is not p**n. "Some family photo albums? And home videos?"

He narrows his eyes at me, his eyes flicking to the pile of vintage Playboys on the floor. "She shouldn't have brought you down here," he says, moving aside so that I can leave the room. I quickly get to my feet, flicking the power button on the remote so that the TV goes blank.

Then, dropping the remote, I scurry out of the room, praying with all my might that Kent does not go back in to see what tape is in the VCR.

He closes the door behind me as I head for the steps. "Go upstairs," he says. "Don't come down here."

Glad to obey, I hurry out into the kitchen, heaving a sigh of relief. I head back towards the main part of the house, looking forward to going to my room so I can bury my nose into a very different kind of book, my hand sliding to the back pocket of my jeans to check on my phone.

My hand slides over smooth denim. I stop dead in my tracks, panicked, and pat all over my body looking for it. Then, slowly, I turn back towards the little door. I definitely felt it in my back pocket when we left the patio...

God damnit. My phone must have fallen out in the weird p**n room.

Steeling myself, I know I have to go back. If my dad or Janeen ever called I didn't have it - I'd just die with guilt.

On tiptoes, I walk back to the little door in the kitchen, pulling it open a crack to listen. I don't hear a sound. Tentatively, I put a foot on the step, waiting for a creek. Nothing. Then, silently, I hurry down the stairs and through the hallway.

I let myself back into the little room and grab my phone, which is sitting on the leather chair. Then, for good measure, I pop the VHS out of the VCR and put it back in its black casing, which I slide back on the shelf. There, good. Now no one will ever know.

I leave the room and, quiet as a mouse, shut the door behind me. I begin to creep back along the hallway when I hear something to my left.

I stop dead, terrified that I've been caught.

But no one comes out to scold me.

I hear the sound again to my left, a kind of snap, and then a muffled groan. Unable to stop myself, I consider the door from which the sound is coming. It's thick, made of iron, with no window. It has a bolt on the outside, like a prison. But I can also see that the bolt is not locked.

I know it's a mistake. I know I shouldn't.

Even as I know these things, though, I stare at the door, consumed by my need to know more.

I take two steps closer, reaching out a hand to grip the metal handle and then, my inner voice still screaming at me to stop, I pull it open just a crack and look inside.

The noise from inside is suddenly louder without the thick door to keep it in.

I see two men facing me, strapped to chairs, fabric gags tied across their mouths. They're moaning, one sobbing, as they look at something just out of my sight, terror in their eyes. As I watch, though, their torturer reveals himself.

Kent, dressed in his suit pants and an undershirt, steps into my line of sight. My eyes take in the strong muscles of his back, the rage that I can see pulsing through him just by the way he stands over these men.

He's wrapped his belt around his hand, a long piece of it hanging down from his fist, the buckle dangling. As I watch, Kent rips his fist to the side, letting the belt drag across the men's faces like a whip, the buckle tearing the flesh of their cheeks.

"TELL ME," Kent commands, his shoulders heaving. The men tremble before him, crying. They shake their heads no, but this is apparently not the answer that Kent wants. He drops the belt, moving to the man on the left and pulling a knife from his pocket. The man starts to scream as Kent stands behind him, pressing the sharp edge of the knife to the man's pinky finger. The scream turns to a howl of horror, of pain, as Kent presses the blade deeper.

I'm frozen to the spot, horrified. Though I can feel myself trembling, I can't move, can't stop watching. The man not being cut begins to scream in panic, looking everywhere for a way out and then -

Oh my god -

His eyes fix on me. He sees me peeking through the door, fixates on me. He begins to scream in my direction and I think I can hear the words "help! HELP!" reverberate through the room.

Sensing a change, Kent's eyes shift to the other man and then move directly to me.

I gasp and push the door shut and then bolt - bolt - from the hallway.

Panic moves me faster than I thought I could go as I scramble up the stairs, sprint across the kitchen, pull open the kitchen door and then use the banister to propel myself up the main stairs two steps at a time.

Oh my god, I think, he's a monster, he's a psychopath!

Of course, I had already made this assessment - in jail when I'd interviewed him, then again when he kidnapped me - but now? The truth feels like it has hit home inside of me, after seeing that scene in the Mafia King's basement.

I reach the top of the stairs and throw myself towards my room, my fingers inches from my doorknob, when something grabs me around my waist, hauling me back against a solid body -

I scramble, shrieking, trying to get free, but he holds me fast. He grabs me by the hair at the back of my neck, forcing my head back, my face turned up towards his. I pant, in his arms, pinned against him, finally still. "What did I tell you to do, Fay?" "My phone!" I gasp, remembering my rationale for being there. "I forgot my phone!"

"You deliberately disobeyed me, Fay," he says, walking forward a few steps, pressing me backwards, my feet working to keep up as I feel the door to my bedroom press into my back. It swing opens and then, suddenly, we're in my room. Kent kicks the door shut and pushes me up against the wall. My breath comes fast then - I almost hyperventilate -

"Calm down, Fay," he says, his body pressed against mine. I blink up at him, realizing that he's completely calm. That he's been completely calm this entire time.

It takes a minute, but I force my breath to come slower. I look up into his face and he watches me, his fingers loosening in my hair, beginning to stroke slowly at the base of my neck.

I can't tear my eyes from him as he brings his face close to mine. "Did you like watching me work, Fay?" he asks, his voice dangerous.

I feel my lip starts to tremble. I see him look down at it.

"Do you know what happens to people who watch me when they're not supposed to?" He murmurs, his voice tipped with a razor's edge.

Slowly, I shake my head no.

He brings his mouth close to my ear, the stubble of his jaw brushing against my cheek. "They get punished," he whispers.

My breathing grows heavier at this. I can feel my breath matching up with my pounding heart, my chest pressing against his. I know he can feel it too.

He withdraws his mouth from my ear, looking at me again, a cruel smile lighting his lips. "What is it, Fay," he murmurs, wondering. "It's almost as if, disobeying me like that, you want me to punish you..."

I close my eyes as a moan slips out of my mouth when he says that. God damnit - god damnit - my whole body goes loose in his arms, pressed against him - a steady ache builds at the apex of my thighs, and, suddenly, I know that I'm wet for him.

I feel horror cross my face, shame - god, what was wrong with me -

"No, Fay," he growls, and I open my eyes to see him staring down into mine. "Don't fight it. You want to pretend that you don't belong in this world, but you were born to be here. Just like me," his voice lowers, stroking me like velvet, "you're drawn to the danger, Fay." He brings his face even closer to mine so that I feel his next words like a force against my lips. "Danger," he says. "It makes you want to fuck."