Page 33 of Connor

He was quiet for a moment and then I heard an irritated sigh over the line. I seemed to have that effect on him. “The party is inappropriate for someone like you.”

“Someone like me, huh? Is that because I don’t have the money or status of your other friends?”

“Don’t be insulting. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do. You’ve decided you know more about me than I know myself. That’s all I know, Jared. Maybe I want to learn more about being a sub. Did you ever think of that?”

“Why? So you and I can…”

“There is no ‘you and I.’ Like I said, you made that more than clear. But you aren’t the only damn Dom in that club, and this isn’t some ploy to win you over. You told me once that you don’t have the patience for training someone new. I accept that. But I doubt that every Dom in your club feels that way.”

“You’re saying you want sub training?”

“Maybe. I’d like to explore the idea. Isn’t that why you invited me to your Daddy Club to start with?”

If it were possible to feel anger radiating across the air waves, I felt it then, cold, implacable and harsh. He was quiet for another long few seconds and then his taut, furious voice came trembling over the line.

“I offered to find you someone.”

“I don’t want someone you find. I want to find my own.”

“I ought to let you do this.”

“Yes, you should. I want to come to your party, Jared. I want to meet someone new. Let me come.”

“Do as you damn well please, Connor. You always do.” With that, he abruptly ended the call without another word, and I was left shaking a little as I played back the conversation over and over again in my mind. Was I making a mistake? Probably. I’d definitely burned some bridges tonight with that conversation. But the thing about bridges was that they led both ways—back to where you’d just come from or leading off to someplace new. And seeing as how I never wanted to return to where I’d been even a couple of weeks before, I might as well burn that son-of-a-bitching bridge and make it impossible to go back.

My mother hadn’t died of a brain tumor, or in a car wreck or eaten by cannibals or any of the other crazy stories I’d told over the years. She had been murdered when I was nine years old. And the man who’d done it had been my dad.

I’d heard my parents arguing all that day and it had gotten worse as the evening wore on. They argued all the time, but this time it was louder and angrier and scarier. My dad had been drinking, which wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and my mother screamed at him to leave or she’d call the cops. I’d been coloring in my room when I heard the screams and the shots and I’d frozen for a minute, unable to process the fact that he’d was really shooting off a gun in our house. Then I heard the slow, heavy steps coming up the stairs.

He came to my bedroom door and stood outside for a long time. I think he was trying to get up the nerve to shoot me too. But then I heard him stumble back down the stairs, and the front door slam after him. It was me who went down to check on her and found her body, but she was already gone. She’d been shot numerous times. I knew that if she wasn’t gone already, she had to be soon. It would be hard to live with holes that big in your chest. She had one shot through her left eye too, and she’d lost so much blood. I called 911 for help, like they always told us in school, and the 911 lady had kept me on the phone until the police arrived. My dad was shot and killed by the police later that day when he tried to run a roadblock. It was after that I went into foster care, which wasn’t a horrible experience, like people said. It was just a little lonely.

Did it mess me up? Undoubtedly it did, although I thought at the time that I was okay. The state sent me to a child psychologist not long after, but he didn’t help much. I just tried to get on with it, like my foster parents told me to. Just put all the pain behind me and not think about it. Not deal with it. I walled it off and tried to move past it.

I was still trying, and I hoped this might be the solution I’d been searching for all those years. If the pain a Dom inflicted on me was bad enough, real enough, then I’d have no choice but to concentrate on it and not on any inner pain or frustrations. I wouldn’t have to think about my past, or my failures at my job and relationships or any of the other bullshit that tormented me. Maybe that was the attraction. Anyway, I wanted to find out.

I called Cruz back and updated him on developments.

“I know your Papi called Master Jared.”

“I wanted to warn you, but he wouldn’t let me. I’m sorry, Connor.”

“No, it’s all right. I shouldn’t have involved you in the first place. I’m going to the party though, so maybe I’ll see you there.”

“Connor, be careful. I don’t think this is a great idea.”

“It’s not like I’ll be in any danger, Cruz.”

“I know. But maybe we should meet up. I’ll talk to Papi again. I think you might need a little backup.”

****

The night of the party I parked along the long circular driveway with all the other cars. My old Ford clunker looked woefully out of place among the Land Rovers and Mercedes and Lexus’s. And plenty of others I didn’t even know the names of. I took a deep breath and got out of the car. The huge three-story mansion was still all lit up for the holidays, and it looked like something out of a magazine spread in Southern Homes and Gardens.

The weather was just as bad as the weatherman had promised that evening, so I was very glad I had my new leather jacket with the warm lining. After our argument the other night on the phone, I imagined Jared was regretting whatever he paid for the expensive jacket. I hoped I’d see Jared at some point so I could at least thank him for it, though. I knew he didn’t really want to see me here at his party. Maybe it would be best if I just tried to stay out of his way.

I went in the front door and handed my jacket off to a security person that I didn’t recognize from my brief stay a couple of weeks before. He was very polite, though he looked like a WWE fighter, and he gave me a card so I could retrieve it later, and I was glad for that level of organization. I didn’t want anyone walking off with my beautiful jacket.

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