“And then what?”
“And then I come back and use some of these toys on you.”
Christ. My dick gets hard just thinking about it.
I attach her ankles to the cuffs and they pull her legs taut. She’s tied up on the mattress, spread-eagle for me. I lean over her on the bed, my brain pounding with blood. Fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck her. I trail my fingers down her neck and I slide my hand under the dress, grabbing one of her orb-like tits and watching her face burn.
“Luc, if you keep fucking me without a condom, I’ll get pregnant.”
A primal sort of energy makes blood gallop through my veins. I’d thought about the consequences, of course, and I didn’t really give a shit.
“Maybe I’m trying to knock you up again.”
Yes. Unconsciously, maybe I am. Maybe I’m just addicted to filling her cunt with my cum. I do want a little brother or sister for my son, and she’ll give it to me.
She makes a high-pitched gasp. “No, Luc. I can’t.”
“You’re mine, remember? This is mine.” I grope up her thigh, stroking my finger over the cotton fabric of her panties. There’s a bead of wetness gathering there already. “If I want to fill your pussy with cum around the clock, that’s what I’ll do.”
She thrashes in her chains. “You can’t just lock me up and fuck me whenever you want!”
“I don’t trust you.”
“I’m not going to leave you! I heard what Johnny said.”
“That still doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“What the hell do I have to do?”
I lean over her flushed face, hooking my finger around the edge of her panties to tease her clit, already soaked with need.
“Give me another baby, and maybe I’ll forgive you.”
Claire’s eyes widen as I lean down, kissing her once on her frozen cheek before I stand up, heading back upstairs.
* * *
The glow in my chest after visiting my son in his crib fades the moment I step outside. The knives stab my body, over and over again, and I close my eyes, forcing my brain to freeze.
Man up. You have a son. Time to get to work. Mom and Dad still don’t know that he exists. Cautiously I dig into my pants for the flip phone Johnny gave me and I punch in the numbers. They blazed in my head the whole time I was locked up. The chaplain asked me if I had any loved ones to call while I was in recovery. They had to put a chest tube in me. Jesus Christ—the pain. Anyway, I didn’t give him their number. What would I say? Hi, Dad. I was in a prison fight and I almost died.
Serves you right for working for those animals.
But now I’m out, and I have a son. Maybe they’ll be willing to build a relationship with him. Maybe they won’t despise me as much. My throat tightens as I sit behind the steering wheel and push the “call” button.
Please, Dad, don’t pick up.
My chest shakes with the heavy drumlike beat of my heart, and a crackle sounds through the tiny speaker and a voice trembles.
“Hello?”
I close my eyes in relief. “Ma, it’s me.”
“Luc?”
“I just got out of jail.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—”
“I need to tell you something.”
“You shouldn’t have called. When your father finds out…”
My chest tightens with pain. “Just let me—”
“I don’t want to hear it. I’ve had enough. Don’t call here again.”
“I have a son!”
I bellow into the receiver, and I hear static on the other end. My heart soars—I’ve gotten through to her—and then I hear that dreaded silence.
The phone is hot against my cheek. I look at the screen, and it’s black. Then I tuck it back into my pocket as my scar burns. The pain starts there, and then it moves to my brain like a slow-acting poison. My father’s voice screams in my ear, “You’re a worthless piece of shit. A gangster.”
I still remember that feeling in my chest. A pain that ran deep inside me. He beat me when he caught me working as a street thug for Johnny’s crew. He couldn’t stand that his only son worked for that Johnny Cravotta. He called him a parasite.
It was all for them—so my dad could finally retire and stop breaking his back every day in the restaurant. He didn’t want my money. He threw it back in my face.
The day I was sentenced for the money-laundering scheme, I called my father. My girl had just betrayed me and I felt really fucking low.
“You’re dead to me.”
Those were the only words he said to me before hanging up the phone. I could still hear the shame and disgust in his voice.
Fuck it.
I slide my key in the ignition and the engine roars to life. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I pull away from the curb and drive toward the asshole I’m supposed to beat the shit out of for Johnny. I let the rage build up behind my ribs. I can’t do the straightedge life and work twelve hours a day breaking my fucking back serving tables. Fuck him for judging me. Fuck her, too. And fuck that cop.