“It’s a surprise, babe. You’ll see soon enough.”

A surprise. I wonder what the fuck that could possibly be. I have to strain forcibly to stop my eyes from rolling violently back into my head.

“I like your jacket,” I say softly. “It looks comfy.”

He puffs his chest out and studies himself in the mirror next to the bed. “I got it when I became president of this club,” he says, and something inside of me dies a little. So it is my father’s jacket.

“Get dressed,” Dornan says, still preening himself in front of the mirror. I obey, swinging my legs out of the bed. I find my bag next to the bed and select a new outfit – dark denim jeans and a white halter top that exposes my cleavage nicely. I pull on the jeans and halter, then make my way into the adjoining bathroom to apply some more mascara and fix my bed hair.

 Ten minutes later, I am being paraded around in front of the club members who are still at the club. We are downstairs in the main room, which features lots of low-back leather couches, a fully-stocked bar that we stand in front of, and a small stage at one end. There are no windows, which makes me itch. I know why. Windows mean people can see inside. Windows mean people can shoot bullets through.

I look around, scanning the dozen or so guys and girls hanging off Dornan’s every nauseating word. I guess most people have decided to return home after the storm warning was issued. I tune in to what Dornan is saying as he’s finishing up.

 “Nobody is to touch her,” he finishes. “She’s mine. You hear?”

I smile vacantly as a few guys jostle and wolf-whistle and a few slutty-looking girls look seethingly jealous as they look me up and down.

 Dornan snaps his fingers and grabs my arm. “Come on,” he says. “Time for me to go.” I trot after him like an obedient puppy, taking in every detail I can about the place.

 Some things have changed, and some have stayed exactly the same. Dornan is still an asshole – that definitely hasn’t changed.

 I follow him out of the main club room, down a narrow hallway that has several closed doors and which eventually opens up into a large kitchen, complete with several dining tables.

 “Wait here,” he says, stabbing a table with his finger. I sit at the table and look up at him. “What am I waiting for?”

He leans on the side of the table and studies my face. “We’re just waiting, that’s all.”

I nod, looking around the room. Photos of club members dot the walls, and my throat catches when my gaze lands squarely on a photo I remember well. A photo I’ve been carrying around for six years. My copy now lies in a safety deposit box under another fake name in downtown LA.

My father.

I force myself to look away, certain Dornan is studying me. He may have allowed me into his club, but I know damn well that he still doesn’t trust me an inch.

Jase hurries into the room a few moments later, looking as though he’s just stepped out of a shower fully dressed. He’s creating a water slick behind him and when he stops in front of his father, that slick becomes a full-fledged puddle.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dornan says, towering over his son even though they are both about the same height.

“You’re making a goddamned mess, boy.”

Jase wipes the moisture from his face and more droplets of water rain down. I have to force myself not to smile. Jase clearly enjoys making his father upset.

“I had to ride through the rain. It’s crazy out there.”

It is only now that I realize he’s carrying a black motorcycle helmet in one hand, the chin strap looped over his fingers.

Dornan shakes his head. “Borrow a fucking car next time,” he says. “I don’t need you dyin’ out there.”

Jase nods. “Why’d you call me down? I thought you wanted me in the club today.”

Dornan shifts so that Jase can see me. Jase immediately looks unimpressed.

“I gotta go on a run for a day or two,” Dornan says. “I need you to keep this one company for me.”

“This one?” Jase asks caustically. “Isn’t this one supposed to be working tonight?”

Dornan looks from me to his son and sighs. “Look, boy, I don’t have time to get into it now. She’s something special, you hear? I’ve decided she’s better off here at the club, keeping your old man company.”

I am dying to speak, but I know Dornan likes his women stupid and obedient, so I keep my mouth shut.

“How long you planning to be gone?” Jase asks, looking generally disinterested.

“Two days, tops,” Dornan replies. “Get Kathy to cover you at the club. And son … ” He pulls me from my seat by my shoulder and stands me in front of Jase - “I would never let your brothers near Sammi here, you understand?”

Yeah, right, I think to myself.

“But you, son, I know you’ve had it real hard since Raelene left us. God bless her soul. So if you wanna sample this fine piece of ass,” he slaps my ass with his wide hand, “you go right ahead, you hear?”

My whole body jumps a little at being slapped and I look at Dornan questioningly.

Jase is glaring at his father and refuses to look at me or even acknowledge my presence. “I don’t need your sloppy seconds,” he says to his father, and I want to vomit. This is so much harder, so much more real, than I ever imagined it would be. The way Jase looks at me, when he does look at me, makes me want to scream.

It is a far cry from the guy who offered me a glass of water and a seat yesterday, and nothing at all like the boy who wanted to save me from all of this once upon a time.

The boy who I used to love.

“Are you sure you’re not one of those fucking faggots?” Dornan asks, clearly pissed off at his son’s blatant rejection of what he no doubt considers to be a generous offer.

Jase just rolls his eyes. “I’m sure, Pop. Go on now, before you miss your chance. That storm is a bitch and it’s only getting worse.”

Lightning cracks on cue overhead and I jump nervously.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jase demands.

I hate storms. I fucking hate them with a passion. When I was a little girl, I used to go and hide under my bedcovers and wait for the fury of Mother Nature to pass.

Sometimes, when we were younger, Jase used to hide with me.

“Nothing,” I say. “I don’t like storms is all.”

Jase eyes me curiously, flicking his eyes up and down me. In that moment, I wonder if he is going to guess who I am eventually. He is clever and shrewd, and I am probably only a few careless remarks away from raising his suspicion.

“They make my hair frizz,” I add, trying to think of other reasons why people might hate storms. “I have to use my hair straightener, like, three times a day when it’s this humid.”

Jase looks at me like one might look at a cockroach squashed on the bottom of their shoe. I shrivel inside under the power of his ambivalence.

You used to love me once.

I can’t think of those things right now. Maybe not ever.

Dornan pulls me towards him and plants his hands firmly on my ass cheeks.

“Gonna miss you, baby girl,” he says, sucking hard at my neck so that I gasp. He’s a grown man giving me a fucking hickey. Marking me as his.

I pull his face to meet mine and kiss him deeply, an I want to fuck you kiss that he must feel all the way to the tips of his toes. He shudders slightly, pulling me towards him, and I feel his hardness against the itch of my fresh ink and tentatively covered scars.

“Do you have to leave?” I ask sweetly, after we break apart. “We only just started having fun.”

“Ugh!” Dornan groans. “You’re killing me, princess. I gotta run. The boys are waiting for me. I’ll see you in a day or two.”

I nod, trying to appear sad, and I yelp as he slaps my ass again.

“Watch her,” he says, stabbing Jase’s chest with his finger. “I’m out.”

He leaves without looking back, and I relax immediately.

“Happy that he’s gone?” Jase asks darkly.

I had forgotten that he was there for a moment. Christ. I really need to keep my wits about me.

“I’m hungry,” I explain. “All the man wants to do is fuck, and I haven’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday.”

He gives me a look so withering, it takes all of my will not to break down and tell him who I really am. I didn’t anticipate having to be in the same room as him, let alone be babysat by him. Being judged like a common whore by him.

Jase strides over to the open window that separates the kitchen from the dining room. “Hey, Carol, you there?” he asks, in a voice more like a teddy bear’s than the asshole tone he’s been using with me.

Before I can think, a woman pops her head around the corner of the kitchen doorway, smiling.

“Hey, Jase,” she says, ruffling his hair. I swallow hard and look for an escape that doesn’t exist.

“Sammi here missed breakfast. Do you think we could grab some cereal or something from the pantry?”

Carol wipes her hands on a dishrag and smiles, looking straight at me. I freeze like a deer in headlights.

She is only forty but looks closer to fifty, a life of excess and violence written in each deep line that draws out from underneath her huge green eyes. Her dark blonde hair sits atop her head in a messy French bun, peppered with fine slivers of grey.

“Hello, Sammi,” Carol says, extending her hand. “You must be new here. I can fix you anything – eggs? Toast?”

“Cereal is fine,” I squeak as I shake my mother’s hand.

Ten

My mother sold me out for a bag of blow.