Pretty in Kink

by Titania Ladley

She riffled through the drawer, searching for more of the packet, negatives, something. And here she’d at first gone and blamed Lexi for them surfacing in the magazine. It made her feel like a horrible friend. She’d even considered Doris as a suspect, could have cost her her career and her relationship with her agent. And all along it had been Diego who’d submitted them to the magazine.

  It had to be him. He’d promised her he hadn’t copied them or entered them in the contest, but with this bit of evidence, how could there be any other explanation?

  Since Lexi’s confessions of losing the pictures, and Diego’s denials, Britt had been holding out hope that maybe someone else in the photo shop had somehow gotten a hold of them and turned them in to the contest. No, she hadn’t wanted it to be either Lexi or Diego.

  But it had been him.

  “You lied to me. You promised me just last night you didn’t copy them and you didn’t submit them to the magazine. But you really did, you asshole. You fucked me over big-time.”

  She should have known better, she fumed with self-disgust. She should have gone with her gut instincts, but instead she’d gone with her sexual drive. She’d seen a few prior issues of that type of magazine in the rack next to his lounge chair in the living room. They’d even discussed her mortification at being exposed between the cold pages of a BDSM publication. Yet she’d continued to waver and believe him. Then not believe him. Then believe him, then—

  She growled to herself as she rummaged through the drawers and let the humiliation eat away at her. Even when he’d reenacted several of the poses with her, she’d been gullible and so damn seducible.

  She’d even gotten to some sick place in her head where she’d enjoyed the idea that he had seen them, and that she could control him somehow by allowing him to reenact the poses.

  You stupid fool!

  He’d professed just last night that it had been nothing more than an obsession on his part, but she knew now with every cell of her body that he’d done way more than become infatuated with her. He’d gotten a hold of her private pictures and had used them against her. And he’d even made tens of thousands of dollars off her body! He’d lied to her, and all the while he’d been seducing her into his bed and his wild lifestyle.

  She heard the rumble of his bike as he fired it up.

  “Oh no you don’t. You can’t get far, you bastard. You’re going to pay.”

  Britt held tight to the picture and shoved the drawer shut. She folded the crinkled snapshot, stuffed it in her pocket and marched into the living room. Her gaze darted around the room until she located her purse, then she slammed the door behind her and started down the front porch steps. Too late. He hadn’t seen her. Looking far too sexy, he took off in a flurry of screeching tires and the roar of an engine.

  “You son of a bitch. You’re not getting away from me.” She sprinted to her car, digging for her keys as she ran. Squalling out of the driveway in pursuit of “Scoundrel”, she could see him up ahead, and she refused to let him out of her sight.

  He followed the coast road for a bit, then turned inland on a county road, skirting the northern edge of town. Diego weaved in and out of traffic, but Britt didn’t lose sight of him. Her eyes drilled holes into the back of that muscle-packed body. She could just picture herself wrapping her hands around his thick neck and squeezing the life from him. She gripped the steering wheel and stomped on the gas to keep up with him when he turned left onto a side street. Britt almost lost him, but caught sight of him turning into the parking lot of a church. A church? Diego?

  There were a few cars parked in the lot, but not many. She glanced to the opposite end. Was that the car she’d seen Carolyn standing by at Diego’s house the night she’d shown up and seen them making love in the hot tub?

  Aw shit. Maybe she should leave?

  Or maybe they were back together, meeting here on the sly?

  She lifted her chin, breathed in and gathered her courage. “No. Too bad if she’s here. I’m not waiting to confront him.”

  He’d parked in a spot near a line of palm trees and a walkway that disappeared around the building. She held back and idled her car behind a copse of low palmettos on the street and waited until he dismounted his motorcycle and followed the sidewalk.

  She pulled into the lot, found a spot opposite his and leaped from the car. Hands fisted, she darted across the lot and took the same pathway. She slid the picture from her pocket and gripped it in her trembling hand. It wasn’t the place, but she’d get her point across as calmly yet succinctly as possible. She’d dangle the picture in front of his stunned face, prove to him she’d no longer be his toy puppet. She’d storm out of here and never look back. The fantasy of it all moved through her mind in movie frames. Her whole body quaked with the anticipation of seeing the look on his face when she revealed she’d found him out.

  Church, her ass. Ha. The devil must be here to curse the holy place or something.

  When she turned the rear corner of the quiet structure, her eyes searched for him. She could hear the drone of his voice in the distance and she followed it, a she-wolf on the scent of her kill.

  Her gaze zoned in on him. Her steps came to an abrupt halt. A graveyard? Behind the little church perched a small, fenced-in knoll shaded by mossy oaks and lined with rows of various-sized headstones. From her standpoint, she could see his profile and she could just barely see Carolyn standing nearby, her arms crossed in an aggressive stance. They flanked a headstone decorated with helium balloons, teddy bears and toy trucks.

  Britt covered her mouth and bit the heel of her hand. No. It can’t be. This isn’t… Is it Tyler’s grave?

  So his son is dead?

  She eased herself behind a blooming bush, slid her hand down to her chest and rubbed at the sudden ache, tried to still the erratic beating of her heart.

  Carolyn’s quivering voice carried across the space of the church’s quaint backyard. “I was here first. You can just come back another day.”

  “I’m not coming back. I shouldn’t have to clear it with you every time I want to see him. He’s my son too. One of these days, you’re going to have to accept that fact. But until then, I’m not budging.”

  “Why do you keep doing this to me?” Carolyn shrieked, her rigid, skinny body trembling as she rose on tiptoe and glowered at him.

  He took a step back and glanced to his left. “Shh, damn you, this isn’t the kind of place to raise your voice. And I don’t keep doing anything to you, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Raise my voice? What about you using Christ’s name in vain in a ‘kind of place’ like this? Hypocrite. Now get the hell out of my sight.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Diego said, his tone firm. “It’s his birthday. I’m his dad.”

  “He’s my son, goddamn it. And you’ll never have the right to claim him, no matter what the fucking court papers say. You blew that chance years ago. It’s because of you—all of this is because of you!”

  She flung a hand out in her anger, grazing Diego’s abdomen, and Britt had to suppress a gasp to keep from being noticed.

  Diego caught Carolyn’s wrist in his grip before she could do him any further damage. “You’re wrong. You always have been wrong, but it would do me no good to set you straight. And you keep your hands to yourself, or I’ll call the police and have them escort you off the property. Again.”

  Carolyn’s body trembled and her voice shook with emotion and rage. “You’re all talk and never any action. You’ve been saying that all along, all that crap about me being wrong. Well I’m sick of hearing it. If you think you’re so fucking right, you bastard, then quit being such a coward and spit it out. Spit it out and then get the fuck out of my life. Out of my son’s life. Or rather, his death.”

  Diego dropped onto a park bench. He looked up at her, and from her vantage point behind the bush, Britt saw the flicker of pain cross his face. She squeezed the picture in her fist, tried to remember his betrayal, but for the moment she’d been caught up in the d
rama unfolding before her.

  “You want me to say it? You really want to hear it?”

  Carolyn plopped onto the bench next to him and slapped the space between them. “Yeah, I really want to hear whatever the hell it is you seem to be keeping secret from me.”

  He leaned forward, held his head in his hands. “You sure?”

  Seeing him that way, so beaten down, made Britt’s eyes sting. She ignored it, turned her head so she wouldn’t miss a word.

  “I’m sure,” Carolyn sneered.

  He inhaled, as if he contemplated whether he should go through with his disclosure or not. “Okay, maybe it would be best. Maybe you do need to finally hear it.”

  She groaned in derision. “How many times have you said that? Hear what?”

  “That it wasn’t me.” He leaned back and stared up through the swaying trees. Rays of sunlight speared through the leaves and twinkled across his grim expression.

  Carolyn rolled her eyes and exhaled. She slumped on the seat. “What wasn’t you?”

  “The person behind the wheel.”

  Her face paled a shade or two. She straightened, swayed and gripped the edge of the bench. “What did you say?”

  “I wasn’t the one driving that night. You’ve blamed me all this time, but I thought it might be easier on you—safer—if you just kept thinking it was me.”

  “W-what are you saying? I don’t understand.”

  Diego propped his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. He combed his fingers through his hair over and over. It made Britt long to run to him, to hold him and ease his stress.

  The pictures, remember the pictures.

  “I came home from the shop that night. As usual, we fought.”

  He paused, and Carolyn’s jaw started to sag.

  His head came up. “Do you remember?”

  “No—yes, I…”

  He dragged himself to his feet and paced in front of her, apparently determined to get this torture off his chest. “Your drinking had become an off-and-on issue, so when I noticed you sipping a drink, I made a point to locate your keys, hide them. It had become a pattern, the drinking then me hiding the keys, I mean, sort of like something a person doesn’t notice anymore. A fixture. But I was the one at fault since I stormed outside and left him alone with you.”

  “No…”

  “Yes, Carolyn, yes. Your keys were in my pocket, I sat on the back deck, didn’t hear you leave. You must have located the spare—why didn’t I think of that? Goddamn it, why didn’t I think of that?” He kicked the bench. The sound of raw pain tore through his throat in a husky cry.

  A tear spilled over Britt’s cheek. She swiped at it, fighting her own pain.

  “No, no… Surely you don’t mean…” Carolyn choked out.

  He nodded, didn’t look at her, just stared at the grave sprawled out at their feet. “Yes. I followed you. You’d put Tyler in the car with you and didn’t buckle him in.”

  A sound resembling a squealing cat forced its way out of Carolyn’s mouth. She covered her face, rocked her body back and forth. A long, eerie pause reached Britt’s ears, followed by Carolyn’s suppressed groans and the swish of the breeze through the trees.

  Diego sliced a pained glance down at her. “He was…he was dead by the time I got down into the ravine. It was bad, real bad. There was…” His voice cracked. He covered his face and moaned. “There was no saving him. I called paramedics, said I’d had a wreck with my wife and son in the car, tried CPR for the longest time. But it didn’t work. Sirens started off in the distance. I hid my bike in a thick copse of trees and palmettos a ways off the road. I dragged you to the passenger’s side, climbed into the driver’s seat just as the first ambulance and squad car arrived.”

  “No!” She shot to her feet. Her legs gave out, but Diego was there to catch her. She sobbed, her bony fists pounding his chest. “Y-you’re lying, you bastard. You’re lying. Why are you being so cruel? You’re the one. Y-you’re the one w-who drove that night. It’s in the police report. It was you. Not me. Not me.”

  He held her upper arms and stared deep into her grief-stricken eyes. He shook her gently and said, “No, I’m sorry, but it wasn’t me. You, Carolyn. It was you. I didn’t want you to blame yourself—you weren’t yourself that night. You were worse. Way worse. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it. You might’ve sobered up behind bars, but I couldn’t add that to the pain of what couldn’t be changed or taken back. I see now it was wrong. It was a snap decision made during a moment of shock and grief. I just couldn’t let them know the truth.”

  They stood now where Britt could see them from the side as they faced each other.

  Carolyn’s gaze bounced back and forth. “N-no.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. All this time, I’ve let you think it was me, because at first, I still loved you. I knew you’d be devastated, but I should have told you the truth from the beginning. Maybe you’d have worked your way through it by now instead of spending every nonworking minute of your life inebriated and resenting me. But I’m to blame too. I shouldn’t have left him in the house with you. I was sober and should have thought to protect him from you, taken him outside with me or something.

  “You would’ve just passed out eventually, never even known I’d taken him. I’ve dealt with my own guilt and demons over that, believe me. At the time, I was livid over whatever it was we’d been arguing about and just went outside to calm my ass down. I wasn’t thinking straight. You don’t know how many times I’ve longed for that moment back, that one moment I walked out the door and left him in there with you.”

  She just stood there staring at him, her chest rising and falling, her breaths coming rapid and shallow. She blurted, “Diego, what have I done? Oh my god, Diego.”

  “I’m…I’m sorry, so sorry.”

  Carolyn flew into his arms and wailed. She clutched his shirt and pounded his chest. “No, no, no.”

  Diego stared over the top of her head and rubbed her back. He soothed and cooed, but Britt could see the relief edging in on the bitterness he carried for his ex-wife.

  Britt tried to suppress the tears, but they flowed down her cheeks wet and free. Her heart ached for Diego, and for Carolyn too.

  “I-I have to go,” Carolyn sniffed. “Now.”

  Diego nodded and stood back, releasing her from his embrace.

  Carolyn rushed over to the sidewalk.

  Britt took cover, hugging the church wall. She heard Carolyn’s final words.

  “Diego…I-I’m sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

  “I know, Carolyn. I know. Me too.”

  Carolyn scurried by, sobbing. But at the last second, she glanced to the side and spotted Britt hunkering in the bushes.

  She crossed to where Britt crouched and gazed down at her with puffy eyes. “I-I’m sorry about that night. That night I was so nasty to you and Diego. It was awful of me, horrible to treat you both that way. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Sure, y-yes, it’s okay,” Britt croaked, gradually standing up.

  Carolyn turned, but she stopped in her tracks and glanced over her shoulder. Her pleading gaze met Britt’s. “My head’s clear for now, and I’m starting to realize he’s always been a very good man at heart. But I screwed up with him. Don’t you do the same. He deserves better than what I’ve given him over the years.”

  Before Britt could reply, Carolyn rushed away.

  The photo in her hand reminded her he did have a side to him that wasn’t so good. Britt knew she should go before he saw her, knew it wasn’t the best time for Diego, but she had demons of her own riding her. She stepped out from behind the bushes.

  He’d sat back down on the bench, his hands laced together and dangling between his spread legs. He didn’t seem to notice her approach, not even when she passed through the little graveyard gate. Drawn to him by both the rage that still burned in her gut, and pity, she walked toward him.

  Still, he made no indication of noticing her.

  “Hey,
buddy, happy birthday.” He leaned forward, his head bent, talking to the ground. To the grave.

  Her eyes stung, her throat tightened, her stomach hurt. Britt’s gaze scanned the tombstone.

  Tyler Caleb Mansini. Beloved son, heaven’s angel.

  A smiling face beamed a child’s innocent happiness inside a heart, the same face in the picture in Diego’s office. She swallowed a lump, stood cemented to a spot not ten feet from him.

  Then Britt’s heart ceased beating when he dropped to his knees and sobbed. She suppressed a gasp and reached a hand out, stopped herself from stumbling to his side and interrupting.

  “Your mama, she had to leave,” he said conversationally, his voice crackling. “But she told me to tell you she loves you.”

  He lifted a hand and stroked the picture on the tombstone. “Tyler…” His shoulders trembled. Britt heard the faint sobs. They tore through her like the slash of a knife. She longed to go to him, to hold him and soothe the pain brought on by the accident that had caused his son to be here—Carolyn’s alcoholism.

  “I’m so sorry. I should’ve taken you with me. I shouldn’t have let my anger get the better of me. I should have…” He shook his head, his voice hitching as he clenched his fists atop his thighs. “It was childish and irresponsible of me to storm out like that and abandon you. But you know what, Tyler?” He stroked the picture, his voice taking on a tone of hope.

  Britt took quiet steps until she stood next to him. Still, he didn’t seem to notice her. Tears poured down his cheeks, washing away the anger in Britt’s soul. “I-I’m working on my temper. A-and I’ve got this great woman in my life now. B-Britt. Her name’s Britt. Isn’t that a cool name? She’s so beautiful, so awesome, you’d—”

  The gasp of tears tore from Britt’s throat.

  His head snapped up. He turned and looked up at her, and the agony she saw there in his tearstained face made her bite the back of her hand.

  She fell to her knees and gathered him in her arms, the naughty picture wadded in her hand.

  “Britt…” He clutched at her, kissed her cheeks, her chin, the top of her head.

  She pulled back, combed her fingers through his hair. The thick strands were damp with tears and sweat. “Diego, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I just…”