The Angel (The Original Sinners) (36 page)

Michael Dimir…with Griffin Fiske? What the hell…

“Jesus, what kind of church is this?” Suzanne asked herself out
loud.

“My church,” said a familiar voice from behind her.

Suzanne only smiled as Nora Sutherlin patted the boy, Michael
Dimir, on the cheek. She looked back, raised her sunglasses, gave Suzanne an
arrogant wink and headed toward a BMW in the parking lot.

“Do you ever just want to beat the hell out of the woman?”
Suzanne asked.

Father Stearns released a heavy, much put-upon sigh.

“Every day of my life.”

Laughing, Suzanne turned around and faced him. She found him
holding a small but exquisite bouquet of white roses.

“For me?” she teased.

“No.” The slight smile left his face and he gave her a look of
the deepest compassion. “For Adam. I think it’s time you visited your brother’s
grave.”

Suzanne fell silent. Her throat clenched. Tears welled in her
eyes.

“I will go with you. You won’t be alone,” Father Stearns said
as he handed her the flowers. Suzanne held them to her chest.

“Okay,” she whispered. She looked up at him and tried to smile
through her tears. “He’s buried—”

“I know where he is. I also know where he’s buried. We’ll go
now. I’ll meet you there.”

Suzanne couldn’t even speak to thank him. She merely headed to
her car and drove to the city cemetery where the family had laid her brother to
rest. Public ground. Unconsecrated ground. When she made it to the graveside,
Father Stearns was already there with his perfectly blond head bowed in silent
prayer.

“I still hate the Church for refusing him a Catholic burial,”
Suzanne admitted as she laid the flowers on the grave. While on her knees she
pulled some stray weeds off the tombstone.

Adam Gabriel Kanter. Born July 3, 1978,
died November 1, 2006. The Lord hath given him rest from all his enemies. II
Samuel 7:1

“I can’t blame you,” Father Stearns said. “But I can help
there.”

Suzanne looked up and saw Father Stearns pull a vial of water
out of his pocket. He opened it and sprinkled it over the ground.

Holy water.

Suzanne added her own tears to the holy water that he poured
onto the ground.

“You’ll pray for him, won’t you?” Suzanne asked. “I can’t. I
just can’t believe enough to pray. But it would mean something to me if you
did.”

“I will pray for him and for you, Suzanne, every day.”

“I’ll never see you again, will I?”

Father Stearns didn’t smile.

“I think our paths were meant to cross. And perhaps it’s best
they do not cross again. Not in this life anyway.”

Suzanne took the hint.

“Thank you…for everything. For Adam. For being a good priest, a
good man.”

“I’m as human and as fallible as anyone. But thank you. Your
faith in me is heartening. Maybe someday you’ll find your faith in Him
again.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But don’t hold your breath.”

Father Stearns nodded. He reached out and caressed the arch of
her cheekbone.

“Goodbye, Suzanne. If you ever truly need me, you know where to
find me.”

“War zones,” she reminded him with a smile. “I can take care of
myself.”

His fingers grazed her lips like the softest kiss.

“I know you can.”

He dropped his hand and started to walk off. At the edge of a
cemetery she saw a Rolls Royce waiting.

“Your trust fund,” Suzanne called out suddenly remembering one
last question. “Nora Sutherlin said you gave your trust fund away. Who did you
give it to?”

Father Stearns kept walking.

“Rolls Royces don’t buy themselves, do they, Suzanne?” He
stopped in his tracks, turned around and winked at her before walking off again
toward the Rolls.

The wink seemed so familiar. Nora Sutherlin had winked at her
just like that.

Just…like…that…

And Suzanne realized she’d been had.

She stared after him, after the Catholic priest who’d
single-handedly bankrolled New York’s kink Underground. The story of the century
walked on and walked off. With one phone call she could ruin him, ruin the
diocese, bring more shame and infamy onto the Catholic Church than all the more
horrible but less torrid sex scandals combined.

“Nora Sutherlin…” she sighed as she watched the erotica
writer’s lover get into the backseat of the Rolls. “You lucky fucking
bitch.”

Suzanne turned back to Adam’s grave and smiled.

“I miss you, big bro,” she said. She kissed her fingertips and
touched the tombstone. She left it at that. Next time she came by the grave,
she’d stay a little longer.

Suzanne pulled out her cell and hit the first number on her
speed dial.

“Hey, you,” she said when Patrick answered.

“Hey, you okay?” Patrick asked.

“I’m actually amazing. Wrapped up the whole Father Stearns
story once and for all.”

“Good. Done with that?”

“Completely. Wasn’t even the sister. You were right. He’d
donated some money that raised the church’s eyebrow. He won’t be bishop although
he probably should be. But whatever. Want to get some dinner?”

She tensed when Patrick didn’t answer immediately.

“I don’t know. Is this dinner? Or is this a date?”

Suzanne returned the pause with a pause before answering.

“It’s a date.”

* * *

Michael obediently closed his eyes and tried not to
sneeze or flinch.

“This is ridiculous, Nora,” he said. “I feel like I’m getting
married.”

Nora grinned.

“Nothing so formal or terrifying. Collaring ceremonies here at
The 8th Circle are just an excuse to publicly humiliate a sub and razz a
dominant for falling in love. Griffin is way overdue for much razzing.”

“Is the guyliner part of the humiliation?” Michael opened his
eyes when Nora finished adorning them with eyeliner.

“I know Griffin. He’ll pee himself when he sees you in
eyeliner. One of his weaknesses.”

“Awesome.” He took a quick breath. “I can’t believe this is
real. It is real, right?”

Nora took a step back and angled his face into the low light.
She nodded approval at her own handiwork.

“Yes. Very real. And it’ll feel very real when it stops being
fun. The first time Griffin puts his foot down about something you don’t
like…the whole collared thing really sinks in. But it’s worth it. You find the
right dom, and it’s completely worth it. Just enjoy the honeymoon period while
it lasts.”

Michael looked at Nora as she capped her eyeliner pencil and
put it away. She looked so weird tonight wearing all white. White skirt, white
blouse, white collar around her neck. He was in all white too—white pants, no
shoes, white button-down shirt untucked with the sleeves rolled up to the
elbows.

“He’s taking me to Key West for a week tomorrow. Speaking of
honeymoons.”

Nora adjusted her collar.

“Good choice for same-sex couples. Have you two figured out the
school/living situation in all this excitement?”

“Yeah. He’s getting a new place that’ll be easy to get to by
the train. I’ll just be in the dorms during the week and be his on the
weekends.”

“You going to tell everybody at school that you’re the bisexual
collared submissive of the richest trust fund baby in New York?”

“Maybe not this semester.”

Nora grinned.

“Good call. Your mom handling everything okay?”

“Yeah. Better than I thought.”

“Mothers can surprise you sometimes.”

Michael went over to his backpack and pulled a photo folder
out.

“Here. I better give this back to you. Griffin might
snoop.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the photo back. She opened the
burgundy folder and smiled at the picture. “God, they were sexy as hell, weren’t
they?”

“Seriously,” Michael agreed as he looked over Nora’s shoulder
at the black-and-white photograph. In the picture he saw an eighteen-year-old
Father S sitting casually in an armchair in a dark suit, tidy and pin neat. At
his feet sat another boy, only a year younger, with longer dark hair and his
Catholic school uniform artfully rumpled with the jacket abandoned, the tie
loose and the collar open.

“Kingsley and Søren…I think this is the only picture ever taken
of them as teenagers. Looks like they were studying, working on something.
Wonder if anyone else other than us kinksters get it.”

Michael had gotten it. He understood. Young Kingsley’s neck
bore two bruises that anyone without any kink experience would simply assume
were hickeys or love bites. But Michael knew those marks, had borne them on his
own skin. Lips hadn’t made them, nor teeth. A thumb and index finger pressing
into the skin had left those bruises. Kingsley had been pinned down by his neck
during sex with a young Father S.

“We all have to start somewhere, right?” Nora asked, closing
the folder and tucking the photograph away. “Søren and Kingsley have no shame at
all that they were lovers when they were kids. Kingsley just doesn’t want anyone
to know he’s a switch.”

“I won’t tell. I promise. Not even Griffin.”

“I know,” Nora said. “We better go. They’re waiting.”

Together they left Father S’s private dungeon at The 8th
Circle, the club where he, Nora, Griffin and Kingsley did their hardest playing
a couple of times a week.

A few doors down was Griffin’s private dungeon. Michael had
already been warned he’d be spending a lot of time naked and tied up in this
room. Even now as he entered it unfettered and fully clothed, he felt naked and
bound. Nakedly vulnerable. Bound to Griffin.

Looking around as the entered the room, he saw Father S and
Kingsley Edge talking to each other in hushed tones. Both of them wore all black
apart from Father S’s white collar and a white handkerchief in Kingsley’s
pocket. An incredibly beautiful woman with ebony skin wearing a jaw-dropping
ivory dress sat on a black leather sofa. Kingsley snapped his fingers and the
woman rose and came to his side. It must be Juliette. Nora had told him about
her—Kingsley’s Haitian secretary who kept both Kingsley and all of his business
interests in line outside the bedroom while Kingsley kept her in line inside.
Juliette gave him a dazzling smile and Michael’s knees nearly buckled from the
force of her beauty.

Nora guided Michael to the center of the room and stood next to
him. Griffin entered, wearing black pants and a black silk shirt and no shoes.
He took one look at Michael and made a beeline for him. Before they could meet,
Nora interposed herself between them.

“Whoa, slow down, Fiske. You don’t get to kiss the sub yet.
Down, boy,” Nora ordered and Griffin playfully bared his teeth at her.

“Then let’s get this over with. I need to kiss him. Now. Right
now,” Griffin said, trying to step around Nora.

“Patience is a virtue, Griffin,” Father S said as they all
formed a loose circle around Griffin and Michael.

“I haven’t seen him all day. That’s as much patience as you’ll
get from me,” Griffin said.

“It’s a start,” Father S said. “Go ahead.”

Nora stepped to the side and Griffin pulled a black leather
collar out of his pocket, clasped it around Michael’s neck, buckled it and
locked it shut. Michael closed his eyes as Griffin’s arms came around him.

“I love you,” Griffin whispered as the tiny lock in the back of
the collar clicked shut. “And you belong to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Michael said, smiling. He opened his eyes and
Griffin kissed him deeply, passionately and without reservation.

“Gross,” Nora said. “Those two guys are kissing. That’s
disgusting.”

“It’s quite unnatural,” Kingsley agreed. “I shudder at the very
thought.”

“Is that so?” Juliette asked in her rich, melodic Haitian
accent. “Then what were you doing with that young man last night?”

“Business meeting. We were discussing the ledgers at the
Möbius.”

“While naked?” Juliette asked, batting her eyelashes.

“It was an informal meeting,” Kingsley said.

Michael had to stop kissing so he could laugh. At least here
among these weirdos and perverts, he and Griffin would always find acceptance.
And maybe if they were lucky, others would accept them too.

“Griffin Randolph Fiske,” Father S began, “you are now the
proud owner of Michael Dimir. He is like a son to me. If you hurt him in any way
that he does not want, you will answer to me.”

“And me,” Nora said, stepping forward to give both Michael and
Griffin quick kisses on the cheek.

“Et moi,”
said Kingsley.

“Et moi aussi,”
said Juliette.

Michael swallowed a lump in his throat. He knew Griffin would
never do anything to harm him, but it moved him beyond words to know he had all
these amazing people on his side if he did.

“Don’t worry. Not going to happen,” Griffin said, taking
Michael by the hand. “But I would like to hurt him in the ways he likes right
now. So unless you want to watch, scoot.”

Griffin made the shooing gesture that had worked so well on
Michael’s father.

No one moved. Griffin glared at Nora.

“What?” she asked with feigned innocence. “We all want to
watch.”

26

Nora couldn’t stop smiling. She took a sip of her white
wine and set the glass back on the table. It tasted so good she wanted to chug
the whole thing, but they were at The 8
th
Circle and the new bartender Kingsley had hired actually enforced the
two-drink-maximum rule. Surely she and Søren would play later that night, so it
was for the best she stay sober and alert. Søren had been acting strangely all
night. He and Kingsley kept sneaking off to whisper to each other. It wasn’t
like either of them to keep her this out of the loop. But she trusted Søren.
He’d tell her what was up when it was time. From across the room he glanced at
her, and Nora smiled. He didn’t smile back.

After a few minutes he made his way to her. She stood at the
edge of the bar in the VIP section looking down on the horde below. Music
pounded in the background, bodies writhed. She used to love to play in the pit
at The Circle. Topping…subbing…didn’t matter. Public kink was so humiliating, so
primal. She’d experienced her worst agonies in the pit, had her strongest
orgasms. But tonight, it seemed like another world to her—alien, foreign,
distant.

“You’re quiet tonight, little one,” Søren said as he came to
her and kissed her forehead.

“I’m fine, sir. My mind’s been a lot of places lately.”

“Has it been in Kentucky?”

Nora looked up at him sharply.

“Kentucky? No, it—”

“Eleanor.” Søren covered her lips with one finger. “Tell me the
truth or do not speak at all.”

She nodded and he pulled his hand away.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Sometimes it wanders to Kentucky. But it
always comes back here, comes back to you.”

“I know it does. Being separated from you this summer…you
should know I too felt my heart touched by someone else.”

Nora’s stomach tightened.

“That reporter was much hotter than she needed to be.”

“And intelligent and damaged.”

“Just your type. I’m glad she didn’t, you know, get to you more
than she did. Get to us. I was worried there for a while that she’d find out
what we are. Things could have gotten ugly. But I guess that would have kept you
from being bishop, right?”

“The fact I had a reporter digging into my past kept me from
becoming bishop,” Søren said, a little glint shining in his eyes. The glint told
her all.

“Oh, you son of a bitch,” Nora groaned. “You were the one who
tipped her off, weren’t you?”

“Kingsley, actually. Although it was my idea. I knew if I could
tell the search committee that I had a tenacious reporter dogging my every step,
they wouldn’t risk making me bishop and the news of my donation to the diocese
going public.”

“You manipulative Machiavellian asshole, I love you.” Nora
burst into laughter. She should have known. She absolutely should have known
Suzanne’s presence in their lives had been Søren’s idea all along.

“In my defense,” Søren said without a hint of shame or
contrition, “we did choose her because I knew I could help her.”

“Yes, you’re a saint. St. Søren the Bastard, Patron of
Manipulation.” She couldn’t stop laughing. He really would do anything to
protect them, to protect her.

“I’m still awaiting final approval on my canonization.”

Nora rose up on her toes and kissed him.

“You can open the card now,” Søren said into her lips.

“The card? Oh, the card.” Nora remembered that infuriating note
Søren had given her at the beginning of the summer. She’d resisted the
temptation to open it for weeks. From behind the bar she grabbed her bag and dug
through it. Pulling out the card, she tore it open and read the words written on
it in Søren’s elegant script.

You are formally invited to attend the
collaring of Griffin Fiske and Michael Dimir.

Nora’s jaw dropped. She looked at Søren and swatted his arm
with the card.

“You knew?” Nora’s eyes nearly fell out of her head.

“Of course I knew,” Søren said. “I’ve known Griffin for years.
I’m Michael’s confessor. I knew they’d fall in love with each other. I knew it
would be a good opportunity for Griffin to redeem himself. I’m quite happy for
Michael. He needs someone as out and as effusive in his affection as
Griffin.”

“So you ordered Griffin to stay away from Michael
because…?”

“We value the most what we must sacrifice to have. I never want
Griffin taking Michael for granted. I don’t think he ever will.”

Nora looked at the card before tearing it into pieces and
throwing it up in the air like confetti.

“I love you, you terrifyingly brilliant man.” Nora threw her
arms around Søren in what she thought would be a quick, playful hug. But Søren
pulled her close and held her tight to him. So tight it almost scared her. He
buried his face in her hair and inhaled.

“Søren? What’s wrong?” she whispered. “You’ve been tense all
night.”

Søren’s hand rested at her neck. She felt something, heard a
click, and her white collar came off in Søren’s hands. She looked down at the
collar and up at Søren.

“Sir?” Nora’s hands went numb. Her heart raced.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you enough to take this from you
for a little while. I love you enough to give you this in return.”

He reached into his pocket and handed her a key with a white
ribbon on it in place of a keychain. A white ribbon…the key to the White Room.
She’d met Michael in that room last year and taken his virginity. Søren had
given her this very key with the words
He’s still a virgin…
You can close your eyes and pretend it’s…

“Søren?”

“You came back to me after years apart. And it gave me such joy
to have you again that I neglected to ask the most important question—why? Why
did you come back to me? And were you coming to me? Or were you leaving someone
else?”

“You know I was—”

“I saw your book. I saw the dedication.”

Nora closed her eyes. She’d hoped Søren wouldn’t notice that
for the first time ever she’d dedicated a book to someone other than him.

“Many waters…” Søren said. “You still love him.”

A tear fell from Nora’s eye. She couldn’t deny the words. But
she didn’t want to admit it, either.

“I love you too much to keep you against your will,” Søren
said.

Nora looked up at him.

“Even if against my will is what I want?”

“Even then.” The key felt warm on the palm of her hand. She
stared at it and wondered. “Go. You know it’s what you want.”

Nora’s fingers curled around the key. A well of hope sprung up
in her heart. But she tamped it back down. No…she couldn’t believe…could it
be?

“I’ll come back,” she promised. “I’ll always come back to
you.”

“I know,” he said with cold, calm arrogance. “If I didn’t
believe that, I wouldn’t let you go.”

“Believe it. It’s true.” She took a step back. Then another.
“Always.”

“Eleanor, if you have any mercy in that dark heart of yours,
when you leave right now, you will walk and not run.”

She gave him a smile, a smile that told him everything she
wanted to say but didn’t have the words or the voice to say.

“I’d never run from you, remember? But I’ll always run
back.”

Nora didn’t kiss him or touch him anymore. If she did, she
feared she wouldn’t be able to stop. And she had to go, had to leave, had to see
whoever waited for her behind the door of the White Room.

Turning around she walked with agonizing slowness to the door
at the back of the bar. She opened the door and stepped across the threshold,
shutting the door behind her.

Once alone, Nora stopped and looked down at her feet. She wore
high heels. She always did these days at the club. Søren preferred them to the
boots she’d always strapped on during her days as a dominatrix. More demure,
high heels were. More ladylike. She could do anything in her heels if she had
to. Anything but run, and she knew that was the real reason Søren made her wear
them.

She kicked off her shoes and left them behind in the hall. And
Nora didn’t walk and she didn’t crawl and she didn’t fly.

She ran. Down the hall she ran as if the hounds of hell nipped
at her heels. She ran as if God himself had ordered her to. She ran as if her
life depended on it and in that moment she might have sworn that it did.

She didn’t know why she ran. She didn’t know who or what waited
for her in the White Room. She only knew she had to get there as fast as she
could and whoever it was, he was worth running to.

Nora’s hand shook so hard when she finally reached the door to
the White Room, she could barely get the key in the lock. But then it was in,
and the door flew open, and she stopped running. She stopped running because for
no reason, none that made sense, none that mattered, he was right there in front
of her.

“Wesley…” she breathed, unable to take another step. But she
didn’t have to, because he was on his feet and running to her now, and he held
her in his arms and she held him in hers, and she knew she’d never run again.
Not from him anyway. Not from her Wesley.

“Nora…I missed you…so much…”

She pulled back to stare at him. Her Wesley—same boyishly
handsome face, same big brown eyes that looked at her like he’d never seen
anything like her before.

Nora took his face in her hands, still unable to really believe
it was him, her Wes, right in front of her.

“My God, you need a haircut.”

* * * * *