To Sir

by Rachell Nichole

  After another soft squeeze on her shoulder, Mom turned and headed back toward the house. Liz followed her up the walkway and over the threshold of her personal hell. As a kid, she’d always thought this house was so huge. Imposing and evil. She knew that wasn’t the case, and the house she lived in now was almost as big as this one. But when she was young, this place had been like a prison, intimidating her into feeling small.

  “You’re late.” Dad’s booming voice made her queasy.

  “Sorry, lots of traffic tonight,” she lied easily. Every month it became harder to get herself ready to come here. To put on the appropriate clothes, do her hair and makeup right so Dad wouldn’t call her a slut. For years, she’d purposely dressed in the most provocative clothes—sandals to show off the scorpion tattoo on her foot and anything that was strappy or see-through enough in the back to display the cherry blossom branches. But those nights had seen her mother in tears, an endless string of insults from Dad, and general screwed-upness that she wasn’t strong enough to deal with anymore. She’d stopped intentionally antagonizing her father on most occasions, and these dinners were calmer, if not better.

  Tonight he sat in his rocking chair, and her brother, Lee, sat on the couch mere feet from Dad. The two looked so similar that even as a kid she’d started to resent her younger brother. Not only had he gotten all the attention from her parents, but he’d been praised where she’d been reprimanded, rewarded when he spoke his mind instead of punished. At first, she’d tried to love him, protect him, play with him.

  But as he grew older and became infected by their father’s poison, he’d turned mean, learning he could say or do anything to his older sister with no consequences. College had mellowed him out some, and he wasn’t anywhere near as cruel as he had been when they were kids, for which she was grateful. She’d put up with her father’s crap for Mom’s sake, but Lee had said something cross to her one night after she’d published her first book, and she’d punched him in the face. She was no dummy; she’d had martial arts training as soon as she’d moved into her first apartment all by herself. So when she’d hit him, it hadn’t been some sissy little smack. She’d almost broken his nose. Their relationship had gotten a lot better after that.

  She took her place at her mother’s side in the kitchen to help finish dinner. Before long, it was so hot in the kitchen she wanted her hair up. But makeup could only do so much to hide the mark on her neck, and she’d worn her hair down to conceal it. As soon as Mom’s back was turned, she lifted her hair off her neck, trying to cool off.

  Mom’s gasp made her cringe. Crud. “Elizabeth Leigh. What is that?” Her shrill voice was loud.

  “Shh. Mom, relax. It’s a bug bite,” Liz lied. “It’s been itching like crazy. I know it looks all red and irritated. But really, it’s fine.”

  She let down her hair, covering the mark and praying the warmth she felt in her face didn’t show a bright red blush. No way could she fend off any more questions without turning the color of a tomato.

  “Upstairs, now.” Rarely did she hear such steel in her mother’s voice, so without protest, she followed her up the stairs and into the bathroom. Rolling her eyes, she sat on the toilet at her mom’s urging. The disapproving gaze her mother gave her made Liz feel like she was five years old again. Would she never get used to it?

  It was one thing to say she hated her mom, and sometimes she really did. Would it honestly have cost the woman that much to be in her daughter’s corner just once? But the anger and resentment didn’t stop Liz from needing her mother’s approval, as much as she tried to protect herself from being hurt every time Mom was disappointed in her.

  “What happened?” her mother asked in her normal voice while rifling around in the cabinets.

  “You really don’t want to know. It’s only a hickey, for crying out loud. Don’t worry about it.” Well, didn’t that sound like a different tune from the one she’d been singing at Chase’s last night? How could she justify it as nothing to her mother after she’d been so angry with him? What a hypocrite. She swallowed as her stomach lurched. Shoot. Did that mean she had to apologize to him for overreacting? She didn’t want to. Wanted instead to shroud herself in her anger and pretend she’d never met Chase Masters. Anything was better than admitting to herself that he terrified and thrilled her.

  She obligingly held up her hair as Mom neared her with heavy-duty concealer. Liz remembered the bottle. “Jeez, how old is that stuff?”

  Mom shrugged, a small smile forming on her lips. Okay, so maybe Mom had been supportive at some points when Liz was a kid. They’d used this same concealer to cover up Liz’s first attempts at tattoos. They’d been henna, temporary but not washable. Mom had not been pleased. Liz always assumed she’d helped conceal them to keep the peace in the house, and maybe she had, but perhaps it was more about protecting Liz from her straitlaced senator father than she’d thought.

  “Guess it still works,” Mom said, slathering on the cream.

  God, Liz wished she could talk to her mother about this mess with Chase, but that was completely out of the question. She’d tried to talk to her mom about guys exactly one time and then never brought it up again. She shuddered thinking about the disaster that had been.

  Mom brushed some powder on Liz’s neck and blew cool air over it to dry. “There, much better.” She rested her hand on Liz’s shoulder. “You sure everything is okay?”

  Liz smiled at the concern in her mom’s voice and let her hair drop. “Yeah.” She’d lied to her parents about everything for years, to the point where she didn’t really care any longer. She certainly didn’t feel okay, but she’d sort it out on her own, like she always did. Somehow.

  “Let’s go before your father comes searching for us.”

  “Or before we burn dinner.” She stood up, and just as her mom put her hand on the door, Liz touched her arm. “Mom?” Her mother turned. “Are you happy?” She blurted the words before she could chicken out.

  “Why would you ask such a silly question?”

  Of course that would be the reaction she got. Why did she even bother? “That wasn’t an answer,” she whispered.

  “Yes. I’m happy. I…well, I wish you and your father weren’t always so at odds with each other. I thought once you grew up, moved out on your own, and made your way in the world, you wouldn’t—”

  “I wouldn’t what, Mom? Have my own opinions? Talk back? Tell Dad to go screw himself for the way he treats you?”

  “That you wouldn’t hate him so much. Some people simply don’t know how to talk to children.” Mom looked her right in the eye. “I don’t think he ever understood you or why you despised him. He never really wanted children, you know? He did it for me, because he loves me. And he’s under a lot of stress to be perfect. That hasn’t made parenthood very easy for him.”

  She scoffed. “Perfection doesn’t exist. I hated him because of the way he treated you like a second-class citizen. He’s so freaking selfish. Not to mention the way he treated me. Why don’t you see that?” It made a sick sort of sense now. Her dad had hated her from the start because he’d never wanted kids. Had he resented her since birth because she had her mother’s love and attention, and it took something away from him?

  “Language, Elizabeth.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Freak is not a curse.”

  Mom shook her head and turned to Liz, holding her shoulders lightly and locking gazes with her. They were the same height, but her mother was slightly shorter when Liz wore heels like she did today. “I love your father. And I like making him happy. I don’t care if he doesn’t cook or clean, or if he only watches what he wants on the television. That kind of nonsense doesn’t matter to me.”

  “But the way he talks to you.”

  “It’s only because he’s always so convinced he knows what’s best for all of us. And you know what? He’s usually right.” She actually believed what she was saying. Liz could see it in her sincere eyes.

  “Whatever. Let’s drop i
t, okay?” Arguing until she was blue in the face wouldn’t make her mother see her side of the situation.

  Mom nodded and left the bathroom. Liz took a deep breath, then followed her mother back into the kitchen, which was smoking. Crap. Mom opened a window and pulled the roast from the oven.

  “Oh, poo,” her mother said, fanning the smoke out of the oven.

  Where was her dad? Normally when the kitchen smelled like smoke, he’d be in here in a second, demanding to know what happened to his dinner. Mom closed the oven. “Think the roast is fine,” she said as she lifted the foil from the pan.

  “What the hell is this filth?” Dad’s angry scream from behind her made her freeze.

  Oh, God. Please, no, no, no. She could not have been stupid enough to leave her purse unattended in the living room.

  Her stomach dropped as she turned to see that yes, she absolutely could be and, in fact, was that stupid. Her notebook dangled from Dad’s fingers.

  “Elizabeth, explain yourself. Right now.”

  “I’m an adult. I don’t have to answer to you for anything.” She tried to keep her cool and took two steps forward, holding out her hand for her notebook. “That’s mine, and I want it back. Now.” In all the arguments she’d had with her father over the years, she’d never ordered him about. He narrowed his eyes and raised the notebook well out of her reach. Bastard.

  They knew she was a writer, but she wrote under a different name, and she didn’t think anyone in her family had cared to find anything she’d written, thank God. And now here was Dad, holding her dirtiest, most erotic little secrets in his hands.

  “This filth will never see the light of day. Is this what you write? I tried so hard to raise you right. To instill good, God-fearing values in you, give you an education, a home, and this is how you repay me?”

  “I hate to ruin your egocentric image, but what I write has absolutely nothing to do with you. In fact, I spend most of my life trying not to think about you at all. Now give it back.”

  He turned toward the sink of soapy water, and a horrified scream tore from her throat. She stopped thinking and reacted. She barreled into her father, shoving all her strength through her shoulder and into his solar plexus.

  Dad crumpled to the floor, taking her with him. The notebook went flying from his grasp. Not into the sink. Please, God, not in the sink. She hadn’t sifted through the notes and writing last night when she’d gotten home; she’d been too raw. She didn’t have another copy, couldn’t remember what she’d written while sitting in Chase’s kitchen, but she knew it had been a major turning point.

  Her mother screamed behind her, and Dad grunted. She scrambled off him, sure the shock on his face must be reflected on hers. Not taking another second to worry about it, she lunged for the notebook, where it had fallen on the floor a few feet away, and snatched it up.

  She sent a look to her mom that she hoped conveyed her apology. But there was no way she was sticking around for round two. She ran into the living room while Mom was helping Dad up and grabbed her purse. “Thanks a lot for the assistance, asshole,” she said to her brother on the way to the door.

  From behind her, she heard her dad stomping through the house toward her. She was halfway down the porch steps when he flung open the front door. “Don’t you ever set foot in this house again, young lady. I am done with you. Do not come around; do not call. It’ll be like you never existed in the first place.”

  Each word sliced through her, but she refused to turn around, refused to acknowledge that he’d spoken.

  “William, don’t,” her mother pleaded.

  “Get in the house, Jane.” Her father’s voice was low and all the scarier for it. For a moment, she had real fear for her mother. But he’d never raised his hand to any of them, only his voice. She’d never even been spanked as a child, no matter how much he grounded her, locked her in her room, yelled, or took things away. No doubt it was because he feared physical violence would mar his perfect family-man persona in the eyes of his constituents. She wasn’t sure he’d ever been angrier than he was right then, but she didn’t think he’d start lashing out physically now.

  She should have broken off contact with her family a long time ago, if only for her sanity. This was a good thing. Her gut roiled even as she repeated the words silently. She flung herself into the car and took three tries to get the keys in the ignition because her hands shook so badly. But then she was speeding out of the driveway, spinning around, and driving away, not caring what direction she went, as long as she ended up far, far away from this place.

  Tears threatened, but she wouldn’t let them fall. She would not cry over shredding whatever failing relationship she’d had with her family. Even though she and her mom had almost had a bonding moment in the bathroom tonight.

  Liz drove and drove until her heart slowed and her cheeks dried from the tears she wouldn’t admit had slipped out. A car honked and veered to avoid her. She jumped in her seat, the belt cutting against her skin, and checked her blind spot before pulling into a gas station. Where the heck was she?

  Dark buildings surrounded the brightly lit station. Somewhere in the warehouse district, then. She locked the doors and crumpled, her head resting on the steering wheel as sobs consumed her. Well, that was that. She was finally, completely, and totally alone in the world.

  She didn’t know how long she sat in the gas station, but eventually her tears stopped, and she wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Okay, enough of this crap.” She glanced around and tried to get her bearings. After a minute, she was pretty sure of the direction that would take her back to the highway, and with a last calming breath, she pulled out into the light traffic.

  She drove down a few more blocks and then slammed on the brakes. Was that…? She looked up, and sure enough, in her review mirror, blazing to life, was the sign for the K Club. God hated her. He must. It was the only explanation she had for the way her life was going right now. Several people loitered in front of the building, smoking.

  Must be the club was reopened. Maybe that was the news that was so important Chase had answered his phone after sort of tying her to the bedpost. She should have left right when he’d deserted her. But something besides an orgasm had been brewing inside her, and she hadn’t been willing to give it up just yet. And she should leave now.

  Two huge guys stood on either side of the door, wearing black pants and black shirts with SECURITY emblazoned on them in white capital letters. Chase hadn’t been kidding when he’d talked about the rules and regs at the club. She imagined these two were his main enforcers if things got out of control. Why was she still sitting here?

  She’d followed her GPS here the first time, but maybe she could backtrack and find the highway without it. She’d left it in her house since she knew the way from her place to her parents’.

  She didn’t move. The longer she sat here, the more her mind taunted her. All she could hear was every insult and reprimand her father had ever hurtled at her. She’d show him.

  If he thought she was such a filthy slut, maybe she should be. If she was going to get blamed for it anyway, she might as well do half the stuff he thought she had and have some freaking fun for once. Before she could lose her nerve, she hopped out of her car, locked her purse in the trunk, and jogged across the street in her demure heels.

  Breathless, she stopped in front of the bouncers. “Hi. I’m here to see Chase.”

  They looked at her and then at each other. “Sorry, honey,” the one on the left said. “I don’t know who that is. This is a private club. We’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

  She scoffed. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know your own boss’s name. I need to see him. Now. It’s important. Trust me, he’ll want to see me. Just tell him I’m here.” What did she look like in her yellow flower dress, with red-rimmed and swollen eyes, any hint of makeup washed from her face by her tears? At least she hadn’t been wearing eyeliner and mascara.

  “Unless this gen
tleman you’re searching for is a card-carrying member of this club and brings you in as his”—he laughed—“date, you’re out of luck.” The look he gave her told her how impossible he thought it was that she could be anyone’s date, let alone Chase’s.

  “Fine. I’ll call him.” She grabbed her phone and dialed the club’s main number.

  A few seconds later, a woman answered, “The K Club. How may I help you?”

  “I need to speak with Chase, please.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. Mr. Masters is unavailable at this time. Can I take a message?”

  “Ugh!” Liz hung up. “Look, just let me talk to Dusty. He’s got to be around here somewhere.”

  The guards exchanged another glance, only this one was a bit more cautious. They really must have thought she was lying about knowing Chase. Since she’d dropped Dusty’s name, they seemed to think she was legit. And possibly a stalker, by the way they were looking at her.

  “Guys, I was here a couple weeks ago. Got a private tour with Dusty and Chase. I’m an author. And I have unfinished business with your boss.” Great, now even she thought she sounded crazed. But she couldn’t help it. She’d made up her mind, and she was going through those doors one way or another. She wasn’t backing down. She’d already tackled one guy today; she wouldn’t mind a couple more. Maybe she could work out her frustration on them.

  Unsure of her plan but determined to get inside, she started forward.

  * * * *

  Chase stared down at the pinkened flesh, his hand stinging. Amber was a sub he’d had fun with in the past. And when he’d seen her downstairs tonight, still unclaimed, he’d invited her up for a little spanking, a little orgasm denial, and perhaps some relief. For both of them. He had to do something, anything, to wipe the feel of Ms. Elizabeth Leigh Clark from his body. Thank God Suzanna hadn’t been here tonight, or he might have asked her instead, stupid as that would’ve been. But he’d needed someone to help him work through his riled emotions.

  He’d decided maybe it was better if he didn’t apologize to Liz. He owed it to her, but if she accepted his apology, he didn’t think he could be trusted to keep their relationship on a professional level. He wanted her too badly, despite all the reasons he shouldn’t.