DALE

SPENDING THE REST of the day dozing in The Church, I wake up to find it empty. I clean up the place a little, take a quick shower, and head out. I think little about anything else but the weekend I am about to enjoy. Iris offers up a splendid reprieve where I can just be me.

I stop in Sugargrove and pick up some essentials from Ruby’s groceries. I have until Sunday afternoon to toy with Raniero’s bitch. I know it doesn’t make any sense. How can I enjoy doing what Sal and I did early this morning yet feel the need to punish him by having Iris my way?

It is simple really.

I have a spinning reel of snapshots floating in my mind. The way Amber looks at him, the way he commands her, the way she insists on sitting on his lap every god damned chance she gets.

This morning brought on growth.

Tonight is about revenge.

Maybe it makes me a psychopath to learn from him only to flip it to hurt him. But I am pissed beyond words. I feel cheated and ignored. I want their relationship to be ours. I yearn for her to gaze at me the way she does at him. Who knows, maybe she will find out about last night and have a taste of jealousy?

God knows, I have had my fill.

Driving past my sister’s farmhouse, I pull into the driveway of Jack’s. I hate that Serene gave him the property. The house meant to be Kaci and Sal’s, holding a lifetime of beautiful memories. Instead, the house sat like a tomb, empty and hollow. Up until six months ago, the appliances still had shipping plastic on them. The pool sat empty. The house held nothing more than the ghosts of the past up until January and Iris’ contract. Why Jack wanted to stash her here was beyond me…

Maybe he didn’t keep her at all.

With his many secrets, I wonder if Sal still owns the house.

Maybe he is behind the whole thing.

My thoughts diminish as the garage door opens and I pull inside. Iris stands, waiting in a billowy tank top and skimpy shorts. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail, she smiles and drops the garage door.

“Hi,” I say, grabbing my shopping bags. Happy to see her, I kiss her on the cheek as we head inside. The house greets my belly with the aroma of fresh baked bread.

We unpack the groceries, grab a bottle of wine, and meander to the living room. Tucking her feet underneath her butt, she assertively says, “I want to negotiate the weekend.”

“Fair enough,” I counter, pouring the wine. “I don’t want to leave you broken for Jack.”

“You assume I am breakable,” she teases, taking the glass I offer. “I would think, considering everything I have endured, that if I was going to turn into a blabbering mess, I would have already done so.”

Sitting back, I think about what she said and how she said it. I take a swig of the wine and bounce back, “Are you suggesting we play without a safe?”

“I am,” she coaxes with a smile.

Flabbergasted by her offer, I inquire, “For all three nights?”

“Sure, why not?” Downing her glass of wine, she darts up and glances at me. Her attitude turns on a dime as she wastes no time. “Would you prefer formal presentation and protocol, Sir?”

Fuck. Whoa!

In that moment, I start to drown. Capsizing brought forth a deluge of innate curiosity, and I resist the urge to tread, letting my oversized body sink into this world where he and she reside. I crave the knowledge and fear the unknown.

She practices in a different league with a strange language. I am pond scum, dwelling out at The Holding Room while she struts into a French chateau with an old wooden dungeon door and holds her own. Despite the anomalies in our histories, I smirk in avid agreement. Playing the role of highly regarded Dominant, I acknowledge, “Yes, please.”

Gazing at the sway in her hips, I have seen the flip side in Sal. I know what a skilled Dom he must garner between Jack and Kaci’s lessons and my sister’s harsh spiritual deconstruction and reconstruction. He held out on me, dumbing it all down, acting the role of chameleon, and hiding his truth to blend in. It occurs to me then that I really might not know the guy. His colorful shades conceal everything real about his core.

If he can flaunt it with the best of them and still manage to get a guy like me on my knees, I hate to know what he can do with a trained submissive. One blaring thing became apparent, my sloppy and inconsistent teachings—in my discipline and reward. Amber and I were casual players…correction, I am a casual player. I imagine Sal and Iris can compete and easily win with their flowing dance.

Perhaps that is part of the problem. For years, Amber was worked over by Sal, but I expected her to behave with my lackadaisical attitude.

This whole thing is my fault, my flaw.

I asked him to train and keep her ready for me, but she is now far superior to my handling. Her bottom outranks my casual top spot by a mile.

I like the play, the chaise, and the game, but the longer I sit there, the more I ascertain how much I am missing the mark. I haven’t even hit the target — not for her or me — Amber needs me skillfully sharp and hard. I may have the ability to instill the fear, but the ability to make her listen remains nil.

I think about our past, the nights at the cabins, the good scenes we have shared. The tension unfolds out of a prodding, whittling her down and breaking her will. The practice has done more harm than good. The repeated fractures didn’t have time to heal or mend before enduring another injury. Maybe I have forsaken patience for the happy ending high.

As I deal with the hefty round of self-doubt, I accept that I have no self-discipline. It only takes me a minute to know the guy I have spent every day with for the last few years is the Master of his own discipline. I start collecting pieces of our past and assembling them in order. The glitch in my system leading to my desire to bend for him. I probably never would have if I started as he did—as a submissive. But I didn’t. Now, I am a forty-two-year-old taking underhanded lessons from a twenty-five-year-old kid.

Feeling a bit in over my head, I pace around the living room, understanding that this too serves as another lesson. Perhaps a weekend with a girl like Iris can change the misalignment between Amber and I. Though I have a good feeling it will do nothing but drive the wedge deeper—unless I put forth the work, resurrecting a competent Master that she will have no choice but to obey.

* * *

AMBER

Pacing around the small, empty office space I am being kept in, I want to like Nico. He is a good-looking guy. I remember how pretty Jaid looked going off with my fiancé. It must be in the genes.

I wish I could go back, take back the moments where I fucked up. I never thought Pock—my own biological father—would take me hostage.

But he did.

And I haven’t seen him since he got out of the car—five days ago.

I wonder if D is looking for me, if he is missing me. Maybe we are all just kaleidoscope, flicking together through a tube and mirroring one another as we go. The moment passes as the barrel twists and shifts and our love isn’t aligned anymore. We are different now, malformed and jarred in a different spectrum of hearts colliding.

But what happens when the light darkens and there are no hearts left to beat?

Hughey bangs open the door with a thud and drops a tray at my feet. “You need to eat, bitch. You’re going up on the block soon, and we can’t have you stick thin,” he squats down low, tilts my head up, and looks me in the eye. “They won’t pay as much for a whore with no meat on her bone.”

He slaps my cheek—hard.

The skin burns at my touch as tears come to the surface. And I cannot help but think—he is my father. He is responsible.

Hughey pivots away, and Nico appears in the doorway as the tears drip onto my grunge covered t-shirt. I want a two-hour bath in my overindulgent tub, the pampered princess of a man who is trying to get it right. And doesn’t that count for something?

D is trying to be a good man. An honest man. A responsible man.

Suddenly, all of our issues fall apart. They mean nothing. They bear no meaning in how he feels about me or who we are to become. Big deal he went off with Jaid to a dungeon, so what if he fucked Iris alone without me… None of it fucking matters anymore.

I want him here with me, saving me from the unforgiven sinners and their heinous crimes. They are derelict and demented tribes of wrath raining their evil upon my body, allowing it to crawl—seeping ever so slowly into my spirit—corrupting me and violating every morsel and molecule in the hostage situation of their leader’s savior.

Fuck him.

I no longer care to know Jerry “Pock” Allen. I may have his blood running in my veins, but I am nothing like him. He is doing this because he knows the hierarchy. He knows when he falls, I will control his Southern quadrant.

I make a silent vow to myself, focusing everything I am to watch his demise. I will dismantle his legend, pawn it off with a promise to stay away. I do not want this nastiness, tarnishing my soul and harming my future. He is the scum of the earth. I want to extract his being from mine, retract his sperm, and pretend he never even existed.

“How are you doing?” Nico asks, sitting in front of me cross-legged. He is the only one who sits on the floor with me. This says grand things about this man to me like he isn’t one of them. Like maybe I should trust him. Like maybe he is my only fucking hope.

“Terrible.”

“You need to eat,” he says, peering into the bowl and scowling. From his jacket, he hands me a shiny red apple. Twirling the fruit in my fingers, I hate to eat it. It’s so pretty.

“Are you Adam?” I ask teasingly. “Cause I am no Eve.”

Picking up my beat, he continues with a surprising ease, “Eat the forbidden, Amber. You won’t regret it.”

I am still trying to determine if I trust this snake as he is wrapping himself around my feet and slithering up my leg. I realize I have no other choice as I take a bite. The sweetness is refreshing and practically melts upon my tongue.

Clasping his hands together, Nico smiles and says, “I have to leave for a bit, but I want you to know I will return.”

“When are you going?” I inquire with my mouth full of apple.

He laughs at me. “Soon.”

Chewing fast—which is unfortunate because I really want to take my time and enjoy this—I swallow and ask, “Where are you going?”

“Did we get married and I not get the memo?” he jokes with a grin. “If so, I bet it was a hell of a honeymoon.”

Leaning forward, I lay my hand on his. “You are the only one here who I trust. You have been barking out orders left and right for these guys to stay away from me.”

“And they will,” he assures with a tilt of his head and a smirk from the corner of his slim mouth.

With a desperation, I plead, “How do you know?”

Nico replies, “Because you just sold.”

I close my eyes as the tears leak through. I don’t know that being sold will be any better. I could end up half way around the world in a shanty shack serving a sheik.

“Hey, hey…little girl…this is a good thing. I know where you are going, and you’re going to be fine,” he says confidently, giving my hands a final clutch. “Trust me.”

Ahh, yes. The word I fear the most.

Rising up, he is staggeringly beautiful in this mucked up mess. So clear he doesn’t belong with his designer ripped jeans and real leather jacket. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

His hands brush against my shoulder, consoling and comforting. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave. “Look, if I’m wrong and you get in trouble, try and move. Run through this joint, the buildings all connect and if you make it to the back one, it goes up four floors. There are plenty of places for you to hide.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Nico leaving sealed my fate.

The only question I needed answering—which ones would my boys need to kill afterwards?

* * *

DALE

Embracing my nerves, I walk over to the hallway Iris disappeared in. I ponder the element of patience and waiting. Now, that I have given her just regard, I bolt down the hallway, searching for his girl.

I know she likes to play, taking way too much enjoyment with the element of surprise. I hate it. Nonetheless, I get the games she partakes in with Sal because he is good at them, too. The balance shifts and I feel it lean towards my favor. I can do this. I can take her for a ride that she will never forget.

In a gorgeous bedroom, I find her—tethered to the bed. I am in awe by the baby pink walls, creamy vanilla linens, and sparkling chandeliers. Looks like Jack built his precious a room worth staying in. Assuming he is responsible for all of this…which I am still not so sure. The questions continue to flip through my mind and the one they all whittle down to beats in my head like a drum.

Why is she here, Raniero?

“The wrist bands haven’t been tightened, Sir,” she whispers amongst the candles and soft music. It is seductive and alluring. I could easily be swept away and coerced into making love to her, but we don’t really want that, do we?

I want to hurt her, make her cry, and fuck the holy halo off her pretty little noggin. Maybe it isn’t I who needs to up my game; maybe it is she who needs a taste of slummin. She is spoiled. That much is clear. Pampered and doted on and fuck I want to get this bitch dirty. Make her hundred-dollar mascara run. Stain her pretty wings with my cum. I am certain she has never been…muddied.

I want her wet and dripping in filth.

I reckon I have more money than Jack and Sal combined. I find all of the grandiose gestures of the room to be more burdensome than functional. I realize I cannot do this here. It’s too much—all of it.

Skimming my eyes over her black corseted body, I growl, “When does Jack get home?”

“His flight gets in at 1 PM on Sunday,” she replies promptly.

Snickering, I shoot her a glare and lift an inquisitive brow. “Shouldn’t you add a Sir to that?”

“I was afraid I might be overdoing it for your liking…Sir.”

Removing her arms from the loops, I give her a snide remark that I didn’t expect a response for. “You’re kind of a fucking cunt, aren’t you?”

Her sapphire eyes flicker beneath me as she tosses me a pristine smile. No doubt braces. Holding her own, she says, “I prefer smart ass. Pushy bottom. Intrinsically difficult.”

Unable to control my chuckle, I repeat, “Intrinsically difficult?”

“Yes, it means…”

“I know what it means. Just because I look like I am from the backwoods doesn’t mean I am,” I say, tossing her over my shoulder. “Raniero has your ass spoiled, baby girl.”

Careful to not damage the goods, I work our way through the house, grab her keys, and lock the door. The angel is taking a field trip to the sticks.

* * *

AMBER

When I was a little girl, Evie used to sing me songs to bring me out of a mental funk. Poor girl could never sing a note. But hell if she didn’t try. She would make up the song and rhythm on the fly. Sometimes we would end up rolling in laughter or crying with despair. People want to believe that children never know when they are poor.

It is a load of shit.

We knew we were trash. From our salvaged clothes and shoes to not having dinner and being cold at night, we got it. Although Evie accepted her role, I never did. I wanted more. I always wanted more. And I would have done anything to leave that hell.

I am laying on my back with my legs spread and tossing the apple core repeatedly into the air. I have no other source of entertainment. Maybe it’s sticky, but what the fuck does it matter?

The second Nico left the compound, Hughey grabbed me. Screw playing pool, let’s line up and knock around with Amber. There would be a time to cry and retch and wish I was dead. This was not that time.

I wanted music to drown in like I do when I write. Some sort of noise to make it all disappear. This would all be so much easier then. I wouldn’t hear the grunting and groaning. I wouldn’t hear them talking about me like I am a piece of meat.

I don’t react at all as they switch. I am on my third one. He is rough and unkind. I might like it if he had asked first. He isn’t half bad looking either for a boonies fellow. He is young with long brown hair and pretty hazel eyes and a skeleton tattoo on his chest.

As he is thrusting away, I imagine the blood dripping down his throat from a nice garrote. It’ll be a pity to lose this one. His pretty ink will be ruined because he’ll be dead.

Oh well.

At least he knows how to move, the first two—Hughey and some big fellow named Reggie—pumped and done. I want to say what the fuck is this and give a couple lessons. I mean shit, what is the purpose of that really?

I am doing as well as can be expected so far. There are about fourteen of them gathered round, cheering their buddies on. I am avoiding feeling diminished and using the wrong term for this little soiree. We are just having a party.

Just having a party.

Pumping a vein full of some sort of twirling good celebratory cocktail, Hughey laughs up by my head. The elastic band pops my hair, and I grab it. I have made a point in avoiding that my whole life, but maybe now is the time. The guys cum and go, as do the onlookers. No one wants to get caught in the pool room with amusement park Amber when my bastards bust through the door. Might as well be signing their own ticket to the big trailer park in the sky.

In the corner, by an old video arcade game, I recognize a guy holding a bong, but I cannot place him. He is laughing and blowing smoke clouds at the stained-glass lights. His buddy in a ball cap walks up and gives him a high five as they share the ganja. Removing his hat, he turns and points my direction when I realize who he is.

Fifteen years have passed since Hairless, Husky, Faceless, and Toothless took me captive. I would never forget them—their tattoos, their scars, and the pain they put me through. I blame them for Dale’s eventual departure…oh no, no.

No, no, no. Not again.

He is not going to leave me for another fifteen.

I lucked out when I was eighteen. Not so tonight as the most handsome hellion of the bunch finishes with the bellow. His dick falls out of me, and I know the four are coming for me. I know the party in my mind is about to become the horrific nightmare of my undoing. Bracing against the pool table, I tighten up and try not to cry.

Don’t you cry, girl. Don’t you give them that.

I am looking for a way to survive. Running is not an option. My ankles are bound to the pool table legs with a thick rope. I am on the very edge of the bumper, the drive-thru pussy. I can sit up, but that is about all. They were nice enough to give me a tattered pillow for my head, didn’t want to hurt my back after all.

How kind.

Without a solution to the problem, sometimes the only way is to join the party. Given my lack of saving grace and my heroes apparent tardiness, I say, “Does anyone have any good party drugs?”

Let me make this very clear, I hate the idea. I have spent years cleaning up my act and have been beating myself up for doing a line of Fink’s snow. But the simple fact is I have been on the sordid side of things for the better part of my life. I can talk this shit with the best of them, and they will be none the wiser that I belong to a billionaire. I am trash turned tinsel.

Tilting his head, Husky moves closer. “You are that fucking bitch from twenty years ago…”

I want to correct him, but the last thing I need is another pop to the cheek. I smirk with a sexy smile and candidly ask, “It’s good seeing you. You got any candy? I like to party.”

From the front of his jeans, he pops a couple of colorful tablets on my tongue. “You need a rail?”

I take a deep breath and before I can respond, he is cutting a line of pure white coke on a cigarette box. I snort it up and wait to soar. It will come. It always does.

After doing one himself, Husky surprises me by cutting another one and offering it. The worst thing that can happen is…

Faceless is down between my legs, untying my ropes. He jerks my arm up and away we go—the four thugs and I—to party on like rock stars in the ride of their life.

* * *

DALE

While scouring the listings for a house in Sugargrove, I noticed the ad for the cabin for sale. Fairly close by and well cared for, the owner needed out and made a quick haggle. I thought it would make an awesome weekend escape for Amber and I.

As I pull down the rocky path towards it, I am met with an objection from the passenger seat. “Why are we going to Mack Larrabee’s cabin?”

Gripping the steering wheel, I respond quick, “It’s not his anymore, I bought it a couple weeks ago. You know it?”

Her expression reflects a broken girl as she sighs, “He was a friend of mine. I came here many times.”

“Was?” I ask, noting her past use.

“Sir Dale, I haven’t seen anyone but Jack, Serene, and Sal since February. It’s now almost May,” she reveals with a shrug.

I didn’t realize they had actually sequestered her in the house. I needed to get to the bottom of why. I had to. I understood contracts, but shit… Iris was a damned prisoner.

But whose?

I stop my jacked-up beast of a truck and hop out. The air cool and inviting, I move to the passenger side and grab my prize. She doesn’t resist or flail about which at the time seems inviting. At least, she will be complacent, I need a good session with a nice malleable piece. I rush inside as the last thing I want right now is a freak passerby, wondering why the big, bearded man is taking a little cupcake, dressed in slave gear to a cabin.

Why d’ya think, fucker?

The mere thought makes my johnson rocket launch in my jeans. I am so going to hurt this bitch and teach her a thing or two while I am at it. I slam the door behind us and lock it up. We aren’t going anywhere until Sunday morning.

Setting Iris on the kitchen counter, I pull out a few things from the fridge. She crosses her feet and slightly swings her legs. She is fucking irresistible in the gear—collar on the neck, black one-piece full body harness with a divine bustier, elevating her tits, and knee-high boots that make me seriously question leaving them on her all weekend long. The perfect little tramp for me to put my stamp of approval on.

Raniero is going to fucking murder me.

I ignore my inner demons and feed the angel some chicken, rice, and vegetables. I am gloriously high on my little stolen doll. And I am already beyond impressed by her training. She does not even speak unless I initiate the conversation. I feed her small spoonfuls and hold the cup while she drinks. If I wanted pliable, she is it.

Kicking backing in the chair, I wipe my mouth and look at her multi-shaded, not so pretty mane—black at the roots, red at the length, and blonde tipped. She looks like a rotten, poorly dipped Easter egg. I nod and ask, “Why is your hair such a mess?”

“Ella and Kate had been taking me to Ruby’s, but since the contract, I haven’t been,” she explains almost embarrassed.

“Sal hasn’t…”

With a smile, she informs, “The visits with Sal are not spent dying my hair.”

I furrow my brow and one side lifts inquisitively. “He is your Dom.”

“Yes, but he cannot bruise me or Jack will know and Serene will issue a hell of a punishment,” she confides, showing some experience. “We are…cautious.”

During my childhood, I spent years watching my mother and grandmother cut, curl, and dye. Maybe this is my one small flamboyant bit, but I cannot stand a bad color job. After grandma died, I helped mom for years. Dana was always off doing some sort of activity or with friends, and aside from football, I had nothing. I kept to myself at school, did most of my homework there, and came home to shadow mom. I can also garden, cook, and arrange a nice bunch of wildflowers…but we are not going there.

Clearing the table, I inform, “I am doing something with your hair this weekend. Maybe a nice dirty blonde with a few ginger-red undertones and pop it with some brown-sugar blonde highlights. It will be gorgeous. And if you want, I’ll trim your ends.”

I finally get a reaction out of her as she blinks my direction several times. She is stunned by the offer. I realize Amber believes I am some sociopath who likes to control her hair color, but actually the opposite is true. I want the lady to be at her best, and her damn standard mocha brown pulls her down. This is why we have battles over the blonde. She hates it; I love it. Not because I am a twisted fuck.

Well, I am. But not for that reason.

“Thank you, Sir,” she replies, waiting in the chair with her hands curled in her lap. “I would sincerely appreciate it.”

Iris is a sweet girl, perhaps too good for Raniero. It doesn’t change the fact that I am about to find out what kind of kink she can bring. Her behavior betrays the truth until confronted with my arsenal. Washing the dishes, I am startled as she grabs a towel and begins to dry them. “What are you doing?”

“Helping?” she whispers with an innocent smile.

Jesus. This is going to be terrible.

Clicking off the light, I escort her to the bedroom. She proceeds to kneel in the middle of the floor and places her hands behind her back. I want to believe that she is going to take off and fight me, but as it stands, I see nothing that would bring about that kind of friction. She is well-behaved, polite, and kind.

And maybe that is reason enough to do what I am about to do.

I’ve got enough pent up sexual energy for several rounds of fun with her, so when I sit across from her on the bed, I already have a plan—no matter what she says. “Anything you won’t do? Any preferences?”

“I am yours for the weekend, Sir Dale, though I would prefer no backside.”

“No anal?” I smirk. “Are you saving it for someone special?”

“You could say that,” she whispers, closing her eyes and gazing down.

I will respect her wishes. I get it. She wants to give it to the Dom of her dreams. Hell, a lot of subs do. It doesn’t always work out that way. I didn’t get Amber’s, and that’s okay. She is mine now.

“Safeword, just in case?”

“Dandelion,” she mutters like the word hurts her to say it. “But I won’t call it.”

With a chuckle, I approach her slow and put a finger under chin, pulling her up to look at me. Her eyes are fucking mesmerizing as I scold, “You look at me. Don’t break.”

I undo my jeans, and chubs pops out. I have been packing a semi since kidnapping the bitch. The outlaw in me wants to do things to her that will make her scream. And the savior in me needs to know she is good enough for my boy. I wrap my fist around my dick and stroke one off quick. I splatter all over her face. Yeah, it’s degrading and humiliating, but a good test to see how much she can handle. Most bitches hate it.

Her focus never leaves mine as the cum drips over her pouty little mouth. To my surprise, she opens her mouth slightly and licks a taste as she bites her lip. It’s fucking sexy as hell and I cannot imagine a six-month romp with a seductive little minx such as her. I’d have her used and bruised, taken and torn.

Maybe that is why he stuffed her to Jack’s.

Raniero cannot control himself.

If there is one thing I know about him, he is all about self-imposed discipline. Maybe he thought she would take over every thought he had and destroy his income. It’s ludicrous, but considering who we’re talking about—entirely plausible.

I pull off my shirt and toss it at her face. She lets it hit her before picking it up and wiping her face. In that sole act, I know she trusts me. She won’t deflect. She won’t fight. Not because she can’t, but because she has no need to. So, I decide to play a few cards of my own.

Feeling the need to further provoke and be a real bastard, I poke, “You know he’s a manwhore, right?”

She tilts her head and says, “I am very well aware of Mr. Raniero’s fetishes…”

I snarl, “Doesn’t change anything?”

“Nope.”

I lower myself to the floor and sit in front of her. “Why him?”

“I could give you the rundown of our history last year, but really what you want isn’t more facts and figures. You want to know why I like fucking him, and the reason is simple—I love his cock. I love his dick in my mouth. His dick in my cunt. I even like it on my tits and in my hand. And I like it when he spanks me because I know he likes it. And when Sal likes something, he gets hard.”

I know she is fucking with me in her sensual, graphic tone. She sounds intelligent like the word cunt isn’t typically in her vocabulary and she is dumbing it down to appease me. But there is no way this little dollop has this much dedication. “Why sign a contract with Jack?”

“To stay whole,” she replies.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Sal spent a lot of time rebuilding me,” she informs. I am acutely aware of everything he did for her, I just wish I knew why. “If I stayed at Juliet for another semester, I would have been different.”

“You mean, you wouldn’t have been raw…”

“Right. And there is beauty in rawness. At least, Sal believes so.”

“There is,” I acknowledge, wondering if my original assessment of diva princess is way off. She is hidden, retracted, and distant. Perhaps on purpose, maybe trained, either way—I want to break her walls down.

“What if I smacked your ass and told you to run…”

Hastily, she returns with a response, “I would run, Sir.”

Running the back of my finger over her cheek, I ask, “How do I make you cry pretty?”

“Do you like it when girls cry?”

Grappling with the fact that she isn’t as demure as I believed, I confirm, “Yeah, I do.”

“All you have to do is ask,” she says, flicking my finger with her tongue and sucking suggestively. I want to get her dirty—make her sweat, wail, and scream. I enforce my will because I can, pushing my finger deeper into her mouth.

And she bites me.

* * *

AMBER

Every summer in the middle of my hometown, the pop-up fairgrounds would arrive. I always begged to go, wanting to ride the Ferris wheel and roller coasters. My favorite was the carousel. We would go round and round, blurring the colorful lights into streaks of splendor.

We would eat cotton candy and stay up late.

The older I got, the less I went. My childhood days passed in hazy shades of hypodermics and hallucinations of a world I pretended to live in—one with a mother cooking dinner and a doting father, swooping home from work and scooping me onto his shoulder. I wanted to be a Daddy’s Girl—really, anyone’s girl.

Riding high on Faceless’ shoulder, I want to believe I can still capture that feeling. Tonight, they are all my daddy. They will protect me like their own, keep me like they need me.

Evie left my world for theirs. My fake-ass momma didn’t love anyone or anything like the skunk. And daddy proved he didn’t want me when he got out of the car.

“Take the bitch.”

“I don’t care what the fuck you do with her.”

“Just contain the fucking whore.”

The last possible connection severs my life in Arkansas. With the luck I possess, will I ever want to find out who my real mother is?

I hate her already, and I don’t even know her name. I blame her for all of it. Maybe if she stood up to Pock thirty-three years ago when she was pregnant, I wouldn’t be laying on a card table about to be raped…again.

I need the snow to kick in. I want to be chasing carousels and out of my mind when they do their thing, so that my body will not feel it. I want to run past the carts—between the ponies—my hands jetting back like wings.

Flying. Soaring. Higher. Faster. Spinning. Falling. Twirling.

Down.

His slap stings my cheek, bringing me out of the dream and leaving me in the nightmare. I think about Nico and what he said as they grab my legs and pull my ass to the edge of the table. I hear the zipper of one come down. A sound that would typically lead to an immediate wetness, dampening my thighs.

I cringe, holding my legs together as tight as I can. I want to push him out of me as my body rejects his and spits him out on the floor.

Snow, snow, my beloved blow, where are you now?

They are all over me—hands and mouths and dicks, dicks, and more fucking dicks. I am their cum receptacle and nothing more. They push me down just like my supposed mother and now, my father always did. Push little Amber around because she will take it and come back for more. For the right man, she will even beg, crawling on her hands and knees.

I am weak.

Another slap to the cheek leaves me breathless and in a panic. He knocks his fist to my face and my vision blurs as they bat me around like a cat with a toy mouse. It no longer matters who did what or when or which one did his thing, they are all responsible.

Because not a single one of them—stopped it.

The guilt is not mine to bear. It is theirs, and I will have no remorse on their day of reckoning. My vindictive pleas will not be made by me, but the glory of their demise is my crown of gold.

I am a motherfucking princess.

I am a Daddy’s girl.

And when he finds out what they have done, his fury will not be contained. The groans of one indicate the switch to another as I turn to look away. The neon signs hang on the wall in a blur of color and suddenly, I am chasing carousels…

Thank fucking god.

Someone is going to have to clean up this party—a janitor perhaps. I know a couple—sweeping messes under the rug, hiding things beyond the cellar door, keeping criminals in lost dungeons. The table is no longer beneath me, gravity escapes, and surreal clouds engulf my soul.

They will kill me here. Laughter erupts as a bottle thrusts inside my womb. Slamming it down, another and another, break the neck and fuck her to death. My final moments of breath in an office belonging to none other than my own blood.

Isn’t it ironic?

I open my mouth to scream, but a tiny, hoarse squeak is all that I have left to give. They have taken everything else—my mind, my soul, my body, my womb—my spirit uprises, shattering the ponies on the carousel into a million shards of glass.

One swift kick to his head and I am up. I am running—my feet gushing with blood—cutting myself to regain a heartbeat. The red oozes up between my toes, slippery and sticky as I trip and slide into the black leather boots.

“Stay down!” her voice commands.

Gunshots pierce through the air, reverberating against the tin walls. It is loud. So very loud. My hands collapse around my head as I lay against her boot. I am covered in filth—tears, blood, and cum. My clothes tattered.

“Nicky!” She is solid, profound as I hear her on the phone. “Hi, it’s me.”

On the floor, in the distance, I watch the scuffed brown lace boots rush before me. Nico carefully swoops his arms beneath my injured flesh and carries me in his arms like a baby. Slowly, I move my head to look back and see the swish of her long hair.

“Retract the bid,” she yells with authority. “I am taking the girl. You send a message to Pock in two minutes. Tell him he can go fuck himself. Get a clean-up crew in here ASAP.”

Closing my eyes, I feel the color reabsorbing into my soul. This isn’t over. I am not done. Everything here will burn.

* * *

DALE

“Fucking whore!” I snap, taking back my hand.

Iris giggles like a little girl as I stride to the bathroom. My finger trickles red down the drain as I run the cool water over it. Maybe that is it. She is his little. His kitten, his doll, his princess, his baby girl. Keep her safe in the castle until the prince reveals his darkness.

Returning to her side, I push her onto her back. Everything has gone splendidly until the bite. I yank the harness undone at the crotch only to find her corset locked up with a thin silver chain and lock.

“What the FU…?”

“Your friend came by earlier and did it,” she smirks as I pick her up and toss her on the bed. “He asked me to say—Good luck, fucker!”

Rarely did words ever evade me. My mouth drops open, and I pace about the small space. I could cut the fucking thing, but I know that is risky. If I harm his girl, he actually will kill me.

“You knew—and failed to say anything?”

She grins mischievously. I want to call her every damn name in the book, but I simply and calmly ask, “Where is the key?”

Her blue eyes blink and caress over my angry expression as she meekly replies, “Sal has it on a chain around his neck.”

Frustrated, I rebuke, “And there isn’t another key?”

She shakes her head.

Fuck.

“Stay here,” I command and head out to the truck. I unlock the glove box and pull out my phone. God, I hate to do this. I didn’t even want him to know where we went.

“Well, you got me, you son-of-a-bitch. Can you bring me the key?”

Staring at the pink fading into yellow sunset, I wait outside and smoke three cigarettes. I figure he is with Amber in Austin, probably picking out fabric for the drapes in the dungeon. The thought excites me—our future being built before me.

Heading inside, I grab a beer from the fridge and head back to the bedroom. The low lights and flickering candles set the stage for an enchanting night. Iris props on pillows against the headboard as a shirtless Sal grins like the devil. His shimmering olive frame weaves between her porcelain thighs as he takes his time.

“You abuse the system,” I bark, staring at the two of them. They are perfect, match made.

“Correction, I use the system,” Sal replies, undoing the lock and removing the chain. Draping the chain around his neck and locking it with the tiny, silver clasp, he prods, “I can find your ass anywhere.”

“Ya, unfortunately I know,” I scoff. “Where is Amber?”

He holds up a finger as his face presses to her crotch. I can tell he loves this girl as I swivel to make a quick escape. “Wait, Hoss.” He kisses her lower lips once and does a graceful push up to her mouth. “I’ll be right back, beautiful.”

Leaning against the wall, I wait for the strict comeuppance. I feel a need to grovel before a Master. “I’m sorry, S—al, I should have told you.”

“Fuck, did you think I am going to rip you a new one?” He punches my shoulder. “And I have no idea where Amber is. I assume she is at home. I called her this morning about leaving for Dallas, but she never returned the call. I assume she got busy with work and let it slip. You know how those writerly types are. Should I go look?”

“We cannot leave that behind…” I say, gesturing over to Iris.

“What do you wanna do, Hoss?”

“Get Iris and let’s go.”

Sal floors it all the way to my house. I sense something is wrong. Something isn’t right. Time passes in slow motion as we—all three of us—run through the house in search of my girl.

“She was at The Church last night with us,” I recollect in frantic mode. “Call Fink and Jaid, see if they have heard from her.”

Iris stares blankly at Sal. “…The Church?”

“Long story, babe,” he segues with a smirk and winks as Jaid answers his line.

I am texting everyone I can think of—Dana, Rachel, Aimee, and my mom. I even sent a message to Serene. “Have you seen Amber?”

“Let’s get Iris home,” Sal suggests, “Maybe someone will contact you.”

Reluctantly, I agree and notice her purse and keys still here. It isn’t like her to leave them. My mind flashes back to Raniero’s birthday when he pulled up in the drive.

“He’s here, honey…”

My beautiful girl walked down the stairs, and I was awestruck. She smiled and kissed me. “Do you want to take your purse?”

She laughed and said, “So you can carry it while I am on the dance floor?”

All feeling drops from my limbs as I realize she never came home.

Where the fuck are you, Amber Leigh?