by M James
I’m so close to that, hovering on the edge of it, balancing on a narrow beam.
And I’m terrified that I won’t be able to stop myself from falling.
17
Zach
When we get back to the house, it’s empty except for me, Rain, Erin, and April, so I take the opportunity to do the thing that I’ve been looking forward to the least.
Reviewing the camera footage from Erin’s room.
I don’t know what sort of information she thinks is going to be found there. I doubt Vincent is holding secret business meetings in his fiancée’s sister's room. I let out a frustrated huff before I open up the file on my phone.
I keep one earbud in and one out, so I can hear anyone before seeing them if they come into the room and close out the footage on my laptop. I’m sitting facing the door, just in case, but I can’t be too careful.
There’s nothing strange like I expected. Erin goes into her room, slams the door, flops down on her bed. There’s a lot of the usual stuff I’d expect a teenage girl to be doing—browsing her phone, watching tv, listening to something with headphones on for about twenty minutes. Then the door opens, and I see Vincent walk in.
“Hey,” he says, sitting down on the side of the bed. “How are you holding up after what happened tonight?”
Erin eyes him cautiously. “Why do you care?” she asks sullenly. “You’re still mad at me about what happened in Italy.”
“Well, yes, I am angry about that. You put a lot of people at risk with your foolish behavior with Matteo. You’re the reason my father’s in the hospital.”
Erin presses her lips tightly together. “I’m sorry,” she says in a small voice. “I really didn’t know. I thought—”
“You thought that Sonya and your sister were just warning you away from him to be contrary, to keep you from having your fun, right? All rebellious little girls think like that. I thought you were a good girl, Erin.” Vincent’s voice is almost sad, remonstrative.
“I am. I didn’t know—I’m sorry about your dad. I like Ezio. I wouldn’t have ever done anything on purpose to hurt him…or anyone.” Erin’s voice is wavering now, as if she’s on the verge of tears.
“I do all of this for you and for your sister. She wants more than even what I’ve given her. And now you, disobeying and bringing someone onto my family’s property who wanted to—and did do—us so much harm.”
“I said I was sorry!” Erin sits up straight; her voice is suddenly sharper. “I’ve done everything I can to make it up. I’ve stayed in my room when you told me to. I tell Rain how great her life is here and that she should be way more grateful! I thought when you let me go out shopping and to the club opening that you weren’t mad at me anymore. But clearly, you are.”
“Why wouldn’t I be mad at you?” Vincent narrows his eyes. “You caused a great deal of commotion. You wouldn’t listen to those who were trying to care for you, and as a result, two guests lost their lives, and others were hurt. Everything is in disarray now.”
“I really am sorry,” Erin insists. She pauses then, and her face changes, going from rebellious and immature to something older in the space of a second. I don’t want to call it seductive because Erin is too young for it to really be that. It’s more the expression of a teenager trying to be seductive, and most men would find it laughable rather than hot. But Vincent isn’t most men.
“What can I do to make it up to you?” Erin purrs, sliding closer to him on the bed. “I know you’ve done so much for our family, Vincent. And I know you’re marrying my sister—but it’s just…hard for me to think of you as a brother-in-law.”
Vincent raises an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“You’re so handsome.” Erin’s eyes flick over his face, her mouth curling in a pretty smile, and my stomach twists watching this because I’m pretty sure I know where this is headed. I wish I could reach through the computer screen and stop it, but whatever happens here has already happened. It’s already over. I don’t want to watch it, either, but I have to because if Vincent lets something slip that might be useful, I need to know about it. And I need to know what he’s up to because that could be useful too—especially if it involves sex with an underage girl.
“And you’re so powerful,” Erin continues, reaching out to run her hand over Vincent’s forearm. He should pull back, tell her not to touch him like that, but he doesn’t. Instead, he smiles. He fucking smiles as if he’s enjoying her flattery, her praise.
“I see the way everyone treats you. My sister doesn’t appreciate what she has. You’ve worked so hard for everything, and you’re so nice to share it with us, to help our family the way you have. Rain doesn’t deserve you.”
“Sometimes I think that’s true,” Vincent says thoughtfully. “But you’re young. You don’t know what it’s like to be a fiancée or wife..”
“Maybe.” Erin shrugs. “But I’m not too young for some things.” She smiles up at him, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder, so much like Rain’s, and it makes me feel sick as I watch her tense under his touch, as if she knows where this is going too, but feels equally powerless to stop it.
Vincent purses his lips, and he reaches out to run his hand over her hair. “It’s true that I don’t think of you as a future sister either, Erin. I can’t help but think of you as a beautiful young woman in your own right.” He pauses, his mouth twisting down regretfully. “It’s a shame, Erin, that I didn’t meet you in a few years, I think, while still single. Maybe you would have made a better wife for me.”
Erin’s eyes widen. “But—” she pauses, her hand sliding from his forearm to his thigh. “I’ve picked up a little bit about men like you since I’ve been here, I think. And I don’t think that men like you are faithful to their wives.”
“What kind of men are those, Erin?” Vincent’s voice has dropped a register to something darker and more dangerous. Still, Erin keeps pushing forward, completely heedless of what she’s heading into.
“Powerful men,” Erin whispers. “You’re not like any other man I’ve ever met, Vincent.” She shrugs, looking up at him from under her long eyelashes. “I always thought my first time would be with a guy my age, but after being here, I don’t know if I can go back to the kind of boys I knew back home.” She pouts a little, prettily, her lower lip pushing out as she looks up at Vincent. “They’re…Not like you.” Her hand slides up his thigh a little bit, her slender body leaning towards him. “I want someone to show me what it should really be like. I want it to feel good. You would know how to make it feel good, I bet.”
“And what would your sister say about that?” Vincent asks sternly, but he doesn’t push her hand away, which tells me all I need to know. He’s not opposed to Erin propositioning him. But he’s going to make her ask for it, make sure she’s the aggressor, so that if it ever comes out, he can claim that she came on to him, that she wanted it, that she was the one who pushed the relationship. Never mind that Erin is a teen, and in no position of power here. I hate Vincent more than ever, watching this play out, knowing where it’s going.
“She doesn’t need to know,” Erin almost whispers.
“We couldn’t hide it forever.” Vincent frowns, but then his hand goes to hers, not pushing it away, but rubbing his thumb over the back as Erin shivers, looking up at him with those wide eyes.
“Your sister has been pulling away from me,” Vincent says quietly. “And I love her so much, but—I’m a man. I have needs.”
Erin smiles up at him, shifting even closer. “I’m inexperienced—but…I’m a quick learner.” Her hand climbs higher until she’s almost touching his groin. “I want you.” She whispers that last, so low that the microphone on the camera almost doesn’t pick it up. “Vincent, please—”
He smiles then, and it makes me sick to see it because I know this is what he wants, what he likes, beautiful women begging him.
“You’ve done so much for my family and me,” Erin whispers, and now her hand does slide up to
his dick, massaging him through his slacks as his hand comes up to cup her jaw, his thumb rubbing over her skin.
Vincent smiles down at her, groaning as she slides his zipper down, her hand slipping inside and wrapping around him. “You’re so beautiful,” he says thoughtfully, his voice deeper now. “Like a beautiful flower. Would you be my flower?”
“Yes,” Erin breathes, her hand moving faster now as she leans up, her lips close to his. “I want that, Vincent. I want you to be my first. I want to be yours, just like my sister, I want to know how good it could be with you—” She licks her lips, her eyes wide and pleading. It makes me feel sick, but to a man like Vincent, it’s probably more seductive than anything else could be.
“My little Violet.” Vincent strokes her cheek, his hand moving up to slide along her thigh. She’s wearing pajama shorts and a tank top, and I can see her shiver as he touches her, pulling her in, drawing her close. “I’ll make it special for you. The more you please me, Violet, the more I’ll give you in return.” He runs his hand through her hair. “You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you, little Violet? Thinking about me naked, your sister’s fiancé. Wanting my cock inside of you.”
His other hand slips inside of her pajama shorts, and Erin whimpers, biting her bottom lip. “Yes,” she breathes. “I’m such a bad girl. I’ve been so bad, Vincent. Let me make it up to you.” She slides off of the bed, then suddenly, going down onto her knees in front of him. “Let me do this for you.” She reaches up, undoing his belt. Vincent stands up then, his hand smoothing over her hair, unbuttoning his shirt slowly with the other as Erin reaches for him. Luckily he’s turned slightly away from the camera, so at least I don’t have to see Vincent’s dick.
“Have you done this before?” Vincent asks, and Erin shakes her head.
“Never,” Erin whispers.
“Good.” Vincent sounds satisfied, and I wince as I hear the sounds of Erin taking him in her mouth.
“If you want to be my flower, Erin,” he says, his voice hoarse with pleasure, “you can never lie to me. If you’re good to me, if you’ll be my sweet flower, I’ll be good to you. You’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted—pleasure, jewelry, nice things, beautiful clothes. A home. You can stay here forever with us if you want. Would you like that? Living with your sister, in Manhattan, away from Indiana?” His voice thickens, and Erin stops for a moment, looking up at him.
“Yes,” she breathes happily. “I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here with you.”
“Good.” Vincent’s head tips back. “Yes, just like that, ahh—you suck my cock so well already, little Violet. Too well.” He steps back, reaching for her to help her back up onto the bed. “I’ll come too soon if I let you keep doing that.”
I can’t look. I can’t watch, but I have to fucking listen to it, and it goes on for fucking forever. I feel sick as I hear him groan when she touches him, her small whimper when he kisses her for the first time. The creak of the bed as he lays her back, the rustle of sheets, the sound of her small cry as he slides into her for the first time. Erin moans. She’s as into this as he is, the seductress, really, but she’s also fucking seventeen.
I feel the heat at the back of my eyes, and I realize that I’m on the verge of fucking tears. I’ve rarely ever cried in my life, I think maybe only three times ever—out of frustration the first time I was old enough to realize my dad was hitting my mom, out of fear and grief when I realized I’d shot him, and on the day I knew I’d have to leave Rain.
I need the proof, and something deep down tells me that someone should witness this awful shit because even if Erin is willing—and it’s clear that she is, she’s not in any position to consent. Vincent is older than her, more powerful, and he holds her family’s safety in the palm of his hand. I’m hearing the man who’s supposed to marry the love of my life rape her seventeen-year-old sister. For a moment, as I blink away the stinging tears of helpless rage, I think I might actually vomit.
I’ll do anything I have to in order to take Vincent down, I think, clenching my fists until my nails bite into my palms. I’ll fucking burn this whole place down, I’ll kill him, I’ll do anything.
I think of Rain. This would kill her if she knew. This is so low, so vile that I wouldn’t have thought even Vincent would go this low, and the fact that Erin initiated this, will destroy Rain. I pull my hair with my fists. From the sounds coming through my earbud, Erin is fucking enjoying herself, but that doesn’t make it any better. I don’t look back until the sounds have finished, and when I glance back at the screen, they’re both under the covers, and Vincent pulls Erin to his chest.
“I knew you were special,” he murmurs. “My beautiful Violet. I’ll take care of you, you’ll see. You and Poppy. And when the time is right, we’ll tell her about this, and she’ll be happy that you’re safe. That you’re cared for, just like she is.”
“You’re going to tell her?” Erin sounds alarmed. “But I thought no one would have to know.”
“Poppy knows about my flowers,” Vincent says calmly. “She’ll be my wife, but she knows that she’s not enough for me. That I need more than what she can give me. So eventually, we’ll share with her that you’re a part of my garden. She knows that making me happy means a better, happier life for her, for you. Your entire family. So she’ll come around, even if she’s upset at first. This is my house, Violet,” he says sternly. “No one tells me what I can and cannot have. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”
He pushes back the blankets, but Erin reaches for him, rolling towards him as her hand slides down his abdomen. “Don’t go yet,” she whispers, her voice husky. “I want to do it again.”
Vincent’s eyebrows go up. “Well, aren’t you a little vixen? Again, already?”
“You feel so good.” Erin’s hand slides lower, below the sheets, playing with him. “I didn’t come the first time. I want to come. Show me what that feels like, Vincent.”
“Oh, there are better ways for me to show you that.” He grins, leaning forward to kiss her, and then he starts to make his way down her body, slow and steady.
I look away again, wanting to vomit, having to listen to the sounds of Vincent eating Erin out, making her moan.
This sick prick!
Vincent actually thinks he can keep his fiancée’s fucking sister around as a mistress like he’s goddamn Henry the Eighth or something. It would be laughable if it weren’t real and in front of me on the laptop screen.
When it’s clear that Erin is going to sleep and there’s nothing left to happen, I save the file, stashing it away in an encrypted folder. This is good stuff, objectively, proof of Vincent committing statutory rape. It’ll just add to the list of things we can hopefully charge him with, eventually.
But for now, I need to go up to bed, which makes my stomach twist with anxiety. I just have to hope that Sonya isn’t in any mood to fuck, because I’m pretty sure I can’t get it up after what I just witnessed.
When I walk into our room, though, the expression on Sonya’s face tells me that she’s not in the mood either.
She’s sitting on the bed, in black silk pajama pants and a matching tank, her hair loose around her face, which is set in angry lines. “Glad to see you finally made it.” Her voice is tight, almost spitting out the words, and I know that whatever she has to say, it’s not going to be good.
“I had to go to the police station after the shooting at the club,” I say carefully. “And then Vincent needed to speak with me.”
I sit next to her on the bed, drawing on all my patience to make sure I can help put out whatever fire my sort-of-faux-girlfriend is dealing with. “What’s going on? Is it what happened tonight? I’m sorry I wasn’t able to check on you sooner—”
“It’s not that,” she snaps, waving her hand. “I’m not a child. I can handle myself. It’s that I’ve gotten some especially shitty news, and now I have to make arrangements to deal with it.”
“What is it?” I reach for her hand, but she snatches
it away.
“I’m fucking pregnant,” Sonya says flatly. “I found out this morning. I took a test.”
My entire world spins around and comes to a screeching halt. “What?” I ask dumbly, feeling my stomach twist into knots. That’s the last thing I’d expected Sonya to say. However, I remember very clearly the night that she convinced me to come inside of her, practically forced it, saying she’d take Plan B afterward.
Well, if she did, evidently, it didn’t fucking work!
Everything in me revolts at the idea of Sonya carrying my kid. She’s part of a fucking criminal organization, a notorious mob family, I’m trying to take down, but besides that, she’d be a terrible mother, as far as I can tell from what I’ve seen. Nothing is nurturing or tender about Sonya, except in brief glimpses with Gianna and Ezio. There’s always a chance that I’m wrong, that there’s some deep maternal instinct in her that I’m missing, but I doubt it. And I can’t imagine Sonya wanting a baby.
“What do you want to do?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even and sympathetic.
Sonya gives me a withering glare. “Are you fucking stupid, Chase?” she snaps. “I knew I liked you for your looks over your brains, but goddamn.”
“Wow, Sonya,” I glare at her. “I was trying not to assume. It’s a valid question. Of course, it’s your choice, whatever you want to—”
“I’m getting a fucking abortion,” Sonya hisses. “I’m not risking everything I’ve tried so hard to build just to have a fucking baby right now. Maybe I’d want one, eventually, when things are more secure. But right now? It’d be the perfect excuse for Vincent to make sure that I don’t inherit anything. That I’m just shoved into irrelevance with my pregnant belly, to nest and keep house like any other little woman in this fucking family.” She’s spitting with rage, her face flushed.