by Keri Lake
“Of course. I’m happy to work with you.”
“As for the events of today, I’m going to issue a two-day suspension and recommend that he seek counseling. I can’t seem to get him to share his side of the story, so I have to act accordingly with school policy.”
“He is in counseling. And therapy. And classes. Look, he came home with a black eye about a week ago. I’m guessing … maybe that had something to do with it?” I tip my head to get Oliver’s attention, but he continues to ignore me. “I spoke with his counselor and last I heard, there’d be follow up with you.”
“I’ve not received any reports regarding that. Only the incident today.”
No report. My kid gets punched in the eye and nothing is done about it. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t. Because no one sticks up for the one being bullied.”
“Mrs. Tensley, with all due respect, we try to address all forms of bullying as they occur. One could argue the opposite, with your son’s show of aggression today. He frightened a number of kids who witnessed it.”
“I understand.”
“I’m sorry, I know Oliver is a good kid. It troubles me to see things like what happened today, particularly as I know that’s just not his personality.”
Sneaking another glimpse of my son, looking downtrodden where he sits, I shake my head. “Definitely not. It’s my fault. I’ve been … working a lot of hours, and I haven’t been able to spend much time with him. I’ll work to correct that.”
“That sounds fair.”
We finish up the meeting with Principal Johnson, and I wait for Oliver to gather his things from his locker. The walk to the car is silent, but once inside, I sit for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.
“What was this, Oli? I mean, I don’t want to start a routine of picking you up from school for fighting. That’s not where we’re headed, are we?”
Brows furrowed, he crosses his arms and stares out the window.
“No, you’re not ignoring me.” I pull a notepad and pen from my purse and set it on the console between us. “What happened?”
He doesn’t move, his face still scrunched with anger.
“Fine. I’ll add anger management therapy to your weekly doctor visits.”
Snapping his head toward me, he swipes up the notepad and furiously scribbles across the page. When he’s finished, he tosses it onto the console once more.
The kid punched me a week ago. He got a group of friends to try to beat me up after lunch. I knocked him out with a pressure point.
“Pressure point? What is that? Something you learned on YouTube?”
He turns the notepad and writes Voss showed me across the page.
“Voss. Voss showed you how to do that?” The anger pulsing through me stiffens my jaw, and I grind my teeth together when Oliver nods.
Lip snarled in disgust, I flip on the engine. “Well, Voss has a bit of explaining to do, then.”
* * *
By the time I arrive home, my emotions are all over the place. I want to be mad at Oliver for what he did, and a big part of me is. Had that boy’s family decided to press charges, we’d be sued. And screwed.
Which is easy for a guy like Voss, who probably welcomes the hostility. I’m not as quick to jump into conflict, but at the moment, I’m practically vibrating with the need to chew my boundary-stomping tenant’s ass out.
Oliver dumps his backpack at the foot of the stairs, and with one hand on the staircase bannister, he pauses. The expression on his face carries less anger and more remorse than before.
“Something you need to say?” I ask, crossing my arms.
Remorse flips back to anger, his lip curled, as if he wants to tell me to go to hell right now, before he jogs up the staircase, toward his room.
With frustration boiling inside of me, I march through the house, out the back door, and up to the in-law suite.
I knock on the door to the apartment, the headache I’ve mounted on the way over about three times more intense now. Voss’s car is in the driveway, so I know he’s here, but the guy never responds to unexpected company in a normal way, like ‘Just a second!’. No, I’m always left standing on the front porch, banging away at his door like a psychotic doof, until he answers.
The door swings open, and he glances back into the room. “Star Wars, what’s going on?” Another glance leaves me wondering if I caught him at a bad time. Like … mid-cheating asshole o’clock, or something.
Without invitation, I push past him to the middle of the room, from where I can see his bedroom is empty. Thankfully. Because under the circumstances, catching another woman in his bed after last night would surely send me into raging bitch mode.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Well, you’ve certainly got my attention,” he says, closing the door. “You come to make that trade we talked about?”
“This is serious, Voss. Very serious.”
“What happened?”
“Oli got suspended today. For making one of his classmates pass out in a little trick you apparently taught him.”
I want to smack the smug look that appears on his face, and when he rubs his jaw to hide his smile, I want to smack him twice for it.
“Really?”
“Really? That’s all you have to say? Really?” My attempt to mock him is poorly received, evident in the grin that stretches his lips that only goads my anger. “He could’ve hurt that kid.”
And just like that, his face screws up into something more serious. “Well, if it’s the same little shit who gave him the black eye, that kid had every intention of hurting him. He threatened to rip his tongue out.”
A flicker of anger rushes through me at the thought of someone saying something so cruel to my son, but I tamp it down for the irritation of him trying to justify himself. “There’s a huge difference between threatening, and actually doing something.”
“It’s a shitty world, Nola. You’re either a victim, or a victor. Better to strike first.”
“First of all, this isn’t the Colosseum and Gladiator. Second of all, I’m his mom. I decide whether, or not, he gets thrown in the pit with the other contenders.”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shrugs. “That’s not how it works out there. The world decides for you.”
“Oh. Okay, Doctor Spock.” One hand at my hip, I give a quick wave for him to continue. “Allow me to step back and let you enlighten me with your brilliant parenting advice.”
“I never claimed to be an expert on parenting. But I do know a thing, or two, about living on the streets and getting my ass whooped.”
Brows winged up, I tip my head. “Oh. You had to crawl your way to Wall Street first? Funny, I thought you’d have a prestigious finance degree, courtesy of your parents, like every other successful wolf.”
“I’m not doing this with you, Nola. You can try, but I’m not biting.”
“Then, do me a favor and stay the hell away from my son.”
His eye twitches, and he crosses his arms again. “I was trying to help him. That’s all.”
“When he needs help, he comes to me. Me!” I thump my finger against my chest to make the point.
“You’re not always going to be around. You can’t protect him from everything. He needs to learn how to protect himself.”
My anger is at its height, and before I can stop myself, I’m standing inches from him, teeth grinding in my skull. I draw my hand back and strike hard across his cheek, hard enough that I almost regret it.
All he does is tighten his lips in response. “Feel better now?”
“Fuck you!” I scream, as his face blurs behind my tears.
Before I can back away, arms grip tight to my shoulders, holding me in place. I wriggle and squirm, hiking my knee up to kick him, but he pulls me tight to his body, turning me around until my back is against his chest.
He squeezes tighter. “It’s true, Nola. You teach him to rely on you, and you might as well feed him to a pack of wolves.”
&nbs
p; “He’s my son, goddamn it! I’d do anything for him!”
“I know you would. Because you’re a good mom. But you’re making him weak.”
“He’s not weak, you son of a bitch!” I snap my head back, hoping for a connection with his nose, but my skull thumps against his solid chest.
“He’s not weak.” He twists us around, pressing my chest against the wall, places his lips at my ear. “He’s a strong kid. And he took care of himself today. You should be proud of that. He proved to all those other kids that he’s something to be feared and respected.”
“I don’t want him to be feared.” My hands get loose, but he quickly pins them to the wall at my sides, using his hips to anchor the rest of me.
“You do, because nobody fucks with someone like that.”
“Is that how you climbed the ladder, Voss? By making everyone fear you?”
“Yes. That’s the only way to get what you want in life.”
“Well, I’m not afraid of you.”
Setting one of my arms loose, he snakes a free hand up to my throat, gripping just enough to make me still against him. The weight of his body pressing into me forces me to keep both hands braced against the wall. “Aren’t you, Nola?”
Squirming again, I fight to get away from him, before his hand skates down my hip, and up under the hem of my uniform.
“The trick I taught him is only self-defense. He didn’t kill anyone.”
“He could’ve.”
“He didn’t. He got away from an attack,” he says, rubbing his hand over my ass, where he gives a hearty squeeze that only heightens my frustration.
“Well, maybe I should’ve had him show me before I came up here.”
“Is that what you want, Nola?” Fingers rubbing against my nylons, he kisses the shell of my ear. “You want to get away from me?”
My body responds with a surge of wetness I know he can feel through the cotton panties.
His fingers curl around the sheer thin fabric of my stockings, and the tearing sound tells me he’s broken through.
Still holding my throat, he fumbles around at my back, and the click of metal I hear is a warning that he’s undoing his slacks one-handedly.
I should tell him to stop and end this, because my anger from before hasn’t waned, but I don’t. I can’t. Part of me is enthralled by the act, the other half horrified that I’d let him take what he wants so forcefully. It’s a confusion that keeps me still against him as he pushes aside my panties and guides his tip inside of me.
“Fight me, Nola.”
“Is that how you get off? Pretending to take it by force?”
“It’s the only way I get off.”
I lick my lips, trying to decide if I’m a sick masochist for wanting this as much as I do. Wriggling against him, I do as he says, trying to fend him off.
He presses harder against my throat and thrusts up into me, so deep, I cry out and have to brace myself against the wall again.
“That’s it.” The shaky quality of his voice carries an air of excitement that wasn’t there last night. Like a wolf that’s finally been given steak instead of kibble. “I’ll be honest, Nola. I’ve never made love to a woman, until last night. But fucking you like this is everything I dreamed it would be.”
In and out, he pumps into me, keeping me pinned against the wall. He’s rough, and my body jostles with his hard and abrupt movements. But the slick sounds and wet trickle down my legs reveals a horrifying truth about me. Something I’ve always fantasized about, but never dreamed I’d actually enjoy. Excitement that mingles with a small bit of fear.
The wall smashes against my face, as he presses his cheek against mine, the scent of warm cinnamon and tobacco on his breath where it heats my skin. I writhe against him, flexing my shoulder to put room between my body and the wall, but he crushes himself against me.
“Let me go!” My words are feigned for the sake of whatever this is, and whatever this is, I’m not sure.
“You tell me to stop, and I will, but I’m not letting you go.”
He’s flipped some survival trigger, sending an intoxicating rush of adrenaline through my blood. All I have to do is say stop, and he will.
But I don’t. I can’t.
With tears in my eyes, I remain silent while he takes me so viciously, because surely there’s something wrong with me. Surely, a woman like me—who would never stand for violence against another woman, who’s disgusted by men like Harvey and, apparently, Voss, men who get off on power—would find such an act repulsive. I try to imagine how we look: raw and filthy, as he keeps me pinned against the wall with my nylons torn, skirt hiked up, and him, throttling my neck as he fucks me from behind.
I don’t feel powerless, but powerful—that I brought him to such a primitive state of mind.
With one hard shove against the wall, I manage to slip from his grip, before tumbling to the floor. Crawling on hands and knees, I scramble toward the door.
At the grip of my ankle, my arms buckle beneath me, and a hard yank drags me backward. Voss straddles my back, pinning my arms to the floor, and with the weight of him pressing into my back, he nudges my thighs wide with his knees and enters me again.
“You love this, don’t you? You and me? We’re the same breed.” He groans on one hard thrust, and at the fullness of his erection slamming into me, I cry out. “I was right about you,” he says raggedly.
With my cheek smashed into the floor, all I can do is squirm, as he ruts against me, fucking me in every sense of the word.
I tell myself to find wrong in this, but I can’t. It’s the carnality, the ravaging I’ve always craved, without the pain of being harmed in the process. Nothing hurts, in fact, everything he’s doing feels good. So good, I want to cry as he curls his fingers into mine and ups his pace. And when the first twinge of orgasm strikes me, rippling up my spine and crashing in the back of my head, I’m so fucking wet, I can’t tell if it’s from him or me, until warm fluids leak from my entrance and dribble down my thighs.
His hand nearly crushes mine in a tight grip, while his other arm slides beneath me, and he palms my breast as he lets out a long, drawn-out, masculine moan, his hips slowing their pace. He shudders, banging out the last of his load, his arms locked like a cage around my body.
“Fuck.” Chest rising and falling against my back, he nuzzles his face into my neck, peppering my skin with kisses. “You did this to me, Nola. I didn’t want it to be this way with you, but I knew the moment I met you. I saw it in your eyes. You’re what I need. What I’ve craved for too damn long.”
Everything about the last ten minutes should disgust me, but it doesn’t. It was exhilarating, giving up my control, my inhibitions.
I don’t say a word as he scoops me up from the floor, into his arms, and carries me into the bathroom. I’m adrift on a sea of questions with no answers. Numb and cold. Shaken to the core, but satisfied. And as he peels off my uniform, undergarments, shoes, and the torn nylons, I can’t muster a single word to tell him so. To ease the guilt I can see drawn on his face, his eyebrows knitted together, jaw tight, as he sets me down into the shower stall. Warm water beats against my back, and I want to collapse at the weakness in my muscles, but at the brush of stubble against my belly, I look down at Voss on his knees, holding either side of my hips.
I reach down and tip his head back, and catch the agony etched on his face. Thumb tracing over his scar, I’m reminded that Voss isn’t an easy read. What lies on the surface fails to reveal the depths of him.
“Forgive me.”
“I never told you to stop. You didn’t hurt me.”
“I would never hurt you, Nola. Never.” He kisses my belly and rests his head against it. Wet lips find my slit, and he sucks and licks the water dribbling down my body.
My stomach tightens at the feel of his mouth there.
He pushes to his feet until towering over me, and wraps me up against his body. “Please tell me you know I wouldn’t hurt you.”
I n
od, and as I run my fingers through his hair, staring into his stormy gray eyes, I realize I’m not lying when I say, “I do.”
* * *
I lay naked in bed beside Voss, his big body smothering me with his arms wrapped around me. Streaks of orange light beam through the closed curtains, reminding me it’s dusk and will soon be dark. I should be back at the diner, finishing out my shift, but I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically. “Were you telling the truth earlier?”
“About what?”
“About growing up on the streets?”
“Yes.” A beat of silence follows, and he kisses my shoulder. “My mother died when I was thirteen years old. I was raised by my wealthy grandfather and uncle. Both were … cruel. Abusive. They resented me. So I left home, lived on the streets for almost a year, before I joined the military and eventually ended up in New York.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That your mother died. That you had live with such cruelty after.”
“It’s like I said before. Much as you want to protect Oliver for the rest of his life, you can’t.”
“I know.” Rolling onto my back, I look up at him, and he moves his arm down across my belly, before leaning in for a kiss. “When I was his age, I had an older sister. She went out one night and never came home. I don’t know if she was picked up, or if she decided to break free. But I remember the agony and the guilt my parents went through, wishing they’d paid more attention, regretting their whole lives, basically. I guess I just want Oliver to know that I’ll always be here for him. I’ll never pressure him, or make him feel unloved.”
Instead of responding, Voss slants his lips over mine and kisses me lazily, indulgently, brushing his tongue over my lips and into my mouth. “You’re an incredible woman, Nola.”
“You’re pretty incredible yourself.” I smile against his lips and push up onto my elbow, looking out through the crack in the curtains at where my house stands off. “I better go check on him.”