Going to California? - NearBlackOrchid (2024)

Chapter 1: Dr. Winterbourne Session 9

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 1 – Dr Winterbourne Session 9

"I've gotten a job offer since the last time I was here."

"Really?" Dr. Winterbourne shifted in her chair to take a closer look at me. "Is this something you were looking for?"

"No, it was a complete surprise to me. I haven't been—I doubt if John will let me leave my current position." Even though I felt sure my psychiatrist knew who I was, she didn't let on and I couldn't tell if she'd managed to piece together who the people in my stories were. Vought was Weyland-Yutani, Homelander was John, Starlight was Annie, Stan Edgar was Gus, and so on and so on. I made my appointments under the name Lily Roberts, claimed no insurance, and paid in cash at the end of each session so no paper trail back to Ashley Barrett would exist.

I didn't know what else to say after that, and Dr. Winterbourne let the silence stretch out before saying, "From what you've told me in previous sessions, I think you're afraid there's a chance that John will become violent if you try to leave."

Try a one hundred percent chance, but I settled for nodding. "I've seen him become violent over a lot less. I know too much for him to let me go."

At the first session, she consulted the intake notes she had. "I see you're reporting anxiety serious enough that you've hyperventilated until you lost consciousness on two occasions, trichotillomania as an attempt to de-stress, and mild paranoia, all of which you report as being a result of the job you currently hold. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"I can prescribe Ativan for the anxiety, but could you tell me why you don't simply quit your current job and find another job with a lesser level of stress?"

I'd had to lay out some rules for the good doctor. "I work for an organization that isn't quite the Mafia, but a lot of illegal activity exists, some of which I'm involved in, both directly and indirectly. Because if I give you specifics for certain things, you'd have to report this activity, and elements in the organization I work for would kill you if they thought you could prove anything you knew, I'm going to elide certain things and misrepresent others. I'll do my best to stick as closely to the truth as I can, but for both our sakes, I can't tell you everything. If you don't want to treat me after this, I understand."

Dr. Winterbourne, a plump sixtyish woman with salt-and-pepper hair in a topknot, blinked at me like an owl and took a few moments before saying, "I'm going to trust that you're telling me the truth about this and, from what you're said, I do want to try treating you. With your lack of a familial and friendship network for support, you really do need someone to talk to. I'm surprised you've managed as well as you have up until this point."

I came out of the memory when she asked, "You've never mentioned this, but have you ever been romantically involved with John? His level of possessiveness seems a bit out of proportion to a strictly working relationship."

"No. He's a control freak with everyone." Dr. Winterbourne might not be a human lie detector like Homelander, but nobody could miss the truth in what I said. "He goes for women who look like models and movie stars, so I'm lucky in that respect. I'm a talking lamp to him."

"Is there anything that he could have misinterpreted, like getting coffee or a business meeting at dinner that he might have thought of as a date but didn't make that clear to you?"

I started to say no, but then I remembered the Deep and Timothy and my mouth fell open. "Yes! But it wasn't presented to me as a date. There was an employee who left the company for a while and then came back to his job. John told me there was going to be a small get-together to welcome him back and I needed to be there in my position with Weyland-Yutani, so I thought a small party, maybe a dozen people, but when I got there it was just Kevin—the employee—and his wife, and John. I was the only other person there besides them. So I guess he may have intended that as a double date but he didn't want to give me a chance to say no?"

"Is that in keeping with the way he handles things?"

"Yes. But something horrible happened that makes me think he couldn't have intended it that way." How to phrase it? Homelander making the Deep eat Timothy was just too garish and sad*stic. She might decide I was lying about everything. "Kevin is a vegetarian and John forced him to eat raw meat, very much against his will."

"Why do you think he did that?"

"Dominance and control, the only reasons he does anything. It tells everyone there that he's strong enough to get away with it and no one can stop him or say no. He wanted to remind Kevin of that, I think."

"Has he done anything like that with you?"

The wig incident rose up and choked me. "Yes. I didn't think he knew about my hair-pulling, but he…did. I wear a wig because it's so bad. He made me take off my wig in front of Kevin and another coworker. Kevin didn't know at all, but Reggie—he was the other person there—had seen me do that once, but I don't think he knew it was a consistent thing."

"How did he make you remove your wig?"

"He'd done something extremely violent to someone else and let us know he'd done it. He was not in a good headspace, to say the least. It was the kind of thing you can't stand up against. If he did something like that to his best friend, what will he do to people he despises? So the possibility of future violence."

"Has he said he despises you and Kevin and Reggie?"

"He said that none of us were as good as his friend, that we weren't his family, and he didn't need any of us. I don't believe he wants to keep me with the company for personal reasons. My only real job is to protect his image. I'm just a figurehead and he has all the power. He could find a new figurehead in no time. I'm dispensable to him. And that he has said, in so many words."

Dr. Winterbourne took a long time to answer that. "He may not care about Lily as an individual with her own hopes and dreams and needs, but—is he a stupid man?"

"No. On some subjects he has blinders on due to the way he was raised, but he's not stupid at all."

"Then he would definitely care about the person whose job it is to protect him, whether that's you or someone else, even if it's only for selfish reasons."

"It's more convenient for him to keep me in my position because it would annoy him to have to break someone else to the point where I am now. That's why he'll never let me leave."

"Can you tell me about the job offer itself? Is it something you'd be open to if the situation with John didn't exist?"

Oh boy. I took a deep breath. "It involves a man I'm having sort of an on-again off-again relationship with. Let's call him Zach. We met each other when he was working on a project for Weyland-Yutani. We had some common interests and hit it off, started having those kind of dinner meetings that gradually turn into dates, and the relationship eventually turned physical. When the project ended, he had another project lined up immediately afterward on the other side of the world, so I put it down to a fling and moved on. We reconnected when he came back to the East Coast for some additional work on our project, but there's been way too much drama at work for me to concentrate on a relationship, so I've been flying out to the West Coast every couple of months to see him. He wants that to be—something more."

Before she could say anything, I hurried on. "I know you're about to say it isn't a good idea to be in a business relationship with someone you have a romantic relationship with, but it's not quite that simple. Zach has this—kink, I guess you'd say. He's into being humiliated during sex, and I found out later there's some overlap into the BDSM sphere. He wants me to accept a job as his full-time, live-in domme."

Dr. Winterbourne must have been familiar with the terminology as she didn't ask for an explanation. "Have you ever engaged in this activity on a professional basis before?"

"No, and I've only dommed occasionally. I don't remember if I told you that I don't enjoy sex—" I looked at her questioningly.

"No. Your sexuality didn't seem like a priority compared to the anxiety and trichotillomania."

"OK. I spent a lot of time looking around for something that might click with me. Domming, subbing, men, women, I never really found anything that suited me, but I think I could manage as a domme. He likes the humiliation better than the sex anyway, so I could put up with it when he wants it."

"Have you dominated him before?"

"No, which is why I'd be iffy on this if John didn't exist. I did some humiliating and apparently, as far as it went, I was all that."

"I have some concerns that you may not understand what you're getting into with a live-in relationship that's also a job, since this isn't something you've done before. Perhaps you should have some scenes with Zach so you can make sure that the two of you mesh before you make a decision."

"That's a good idea, but it's all academic since I can't take the offer because of my current situation."

"So if John finds out about this job offer than Zach has made you, and he has misinterpreted your relationship with him, this could set off some responses on a personal level."

"That would be violent, yes. I'm trying to protect Zach as well as myself here. And I'm not sure I'd take the job offer anyway. I've been under John's thumb for years now. It might be nice not to be under another man's thumb."

"If you're open to this, I think we should deal with your sexuality more than we have, since this job offer involves it directly and you've admitted to having issues with it in the past."

I didn't disagree, and the session ended shortly after this, freeing me to hit the vending machines in the lobby of the office building for lunch. A Hershey's chocolate bar with almonds and a can of Coca-Cola wasn't what I'd call a healthy lunch, but it would tide me over until I got on the train to go home after work.

My cell rang as I was getting into a cab to return to Vought Tower. Everyone on my phone has a personalized ringtone, so when I heard "Sex and Candy" I knew it was Adam. "Have you thought about my offer?"

"Yes, but I haven't decided yet. It's complicated with the situation at work. I'm not sure it would be the best time for me to go."

"Is any time going to be a good time to leave?" I heard the impatience in his voice. When he'd worked with Homelander on Dawn of the Seven, the supe had been on his best behavior-at least on set-so Adam might have no idea about his dark side, the side that might well kill the both of us if I made a move to escape Vought. Maybe I should do some explaining?

"There are some things going on that you should know about since we're talking about this arrangement. I'm going to have to ask you to keep a lot of this quiet, but it would help if you knew certain things. I'm not just thinking about the offer to draw things out or put you off."

He sighed. "All right. Are you coming out this weekend?"

"Just like we planned. I'll let you in on everything, but I don't think you'll be happy with what you find out."

"At least I'll know what's going on. I'll have a driver for you at the airport on Friday and we can have dinner before we get into any long talks."

I smiled. With all the problems in our little affair, Adam tried to be considerate of my stress level. I hadn't come clean about the trichotillomania, but he might have figured it out from our bathroom encounter at the Dawn of the Seven premiere. "That would be great. I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too."

I had the phone stowed in my purse before the cab pulled up in front of Vought Tower and the old, familiar despair washed over me at the sight of its façade. It was a prison that I got a weekend pass for, but the bars were there even if they were invisible. Getting out of the cab, I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and went back into the building.

Chapter 2: Explanations and Unconsciousness

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 – Explanations and Unconsciousness

The job offer from Adam and the session with Dr. Winterbourne distracted me for the rest of the day. I thought I'd done a good job of covering up until I was going over some of Homelander's numbers with him in the living room of his apartment and the next thing I heard was, "What the hell is the matter with you?"

Startled, I looked up at him and realized I'd just been listening to him talk—not even listening, really, just letting the sound of his voice wash over me. When he wasn't shouting or unleashing verbal venom, he had a nice voice. The usual burst of anxiety hit me and I managed to croak out, "I'm sorry. I've been—distracted."

"I can see that. You've been walking around like a zombie all day."

Had he been watching me all day? And I didn't notice? That was an unsettling thought. The urge to deny it almost choked me, but he'd see it for the lie it was. "I've had something on my mind. It's nothing. I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention. Let's get back to your numbers."

But he wasn't going for it. "What's on what passes for your mind?"

f*ck you! Do you think you could get a college degree with the sh*t education Vought gave you? Their product doesn't need to know algebra or English lit because their product doesn't need any options other than the one path Vought wants. But the words stayed safe in my brain and what came out was, "It's nothing you need to concern yourself with. It's a personal matter."

He sat back in his chair and gave me the deadly smile that told me I would get away with nothing. "Since it's affecting your work performance, it clearly is something I need to concern myself with, so tell me about your personal matter."

Goddamn it, keep your nose out of my business! Air began to rasp in and out of my lungs, faster and faster. To distract myself, to keep from fainting, I said, "Fine. I got a job offer yesterday."

Whatever Homelander had been expecting, it wasn't that. He looked stunned. "A job offer?"

"Right." I scrubbed my hand across the tablet's face to wake it up and said, "Okay, so you're holding steady with rural white females 18 to 24—"

"No, we're not done talking about your new career opportunity." I chanced a look at him and he'd passed from stunned to pissed. Those really-f*cking-blue eyes of his that impressed Stormfront so much looked like stones and he regarded me with all the warmth and friendliness of a scientist who just watched an unknown species of insect crawl out from under a rock. "You've been looking for another job?"

"No, I haven't. This is just something that—happened, okay? I'm not taking it anyway, so we can just stop talking about it."

"How did you get a job offer if you weren't looking for a job?"

My breathing stayed at its current accelerated level, but I kept myself under control, barely. Be careful, he can and will kill you if you cross him in any way. Remember what he did to Blindspot, and the birthday girl suicide that he didn't save, for whatever reason. "It came from someone I know on a personal basis. He doesn't know about my situation here at Vought. He thinks it's a normal job, and so he thinks I can quit to take the job he's offering." I reached for the pitcher of ice water on the coffee table and poured a glass for myself. It was something to do with my hands and my throat was getting dry.

He tapped the other glass on the tray. "One for me too, Ashley."

Did I hear a please out of you, f*cker? But I gritted my teeth and poured him a glass. Don't get angry. Anger makes your IQ drop. It makes you stupid and reckless. But the voice wasn't as loud as it had been and that was a bad sign I didn't heed.

"So who is this friend of yours who goes sprinkling jobs around like Johnny Appleseed? Do I know him?"

I gulped at my water to give myself a few seconds to think. Adam might be in danger from this. I didn't think Homelander would kill him as he might still have a use for him if Dawn of the Seven's sequel got out of pre-production anytime soon, and it wasn't like I was anything but a talking lamp around here. As long as I didn't inconvenience him, I thought we both might be all right. "Yes."

"So who is he? Don't keep me in suspense." He smirked at me and it was the last straw.

I slammed the glass down onto the table. "For f*ck's sake! I got an offer to be a full-time, live-in domme! Now will you let us get back to work?"

Homelander hadn't expected the job offer information, but this was a real shock. He tilted his head and looked at me for several seconds—wow, the insect belched fire—before saying, "Pardon me. A what?"

"A domme." He still wore that quizzical look. "A dominatrix. I got an offer to be a dominatrix as a job."

"You?"

Well, that was just insulting. "He finds me attractive. What about it? Some men do. He could have better-looking women if he wanted."

He ignored that. "So who is this guy who wants you to dress up in leather and stiletto heels and beat his ass bloody with a whip? I have to say, I never would have pictured you doing that. You're too-"

"Plain? Unsexy?" And f*ck you yet again.

"Cute."

Just a euphemism for unsexy, as far as I was concerned. "I've already told you I'm not taking the offer, so we don't need to discuss this anymore. It's just morbid curiosity on your part now and I don't intend to satisfy it."

"Not like Mr. Let Me Lick Your Boots, huh? How much was he going to pay you for this, anyway?"

"More than I'm making in this job. He's rich."

"I believe it since he can afford to hire a live-in spanker. Where did you meet him?"

I gave him a mocking smile, not caring about the leashed anger in his eyes. It wasn't the heat vision, and I was too angry myself to give a sh*t otherwise. "You sort of introduced us."

That got a reaction. He stood up, making sure to tower over me, and said, "You are going to stop this right now and tell me what I want to know."

I stood up, which didn't do much good since he was still six inches taller than I am and I'd worn flats to work. "Or what?" Black dots began swimming in front of my eyes but I paid them no attention.

"Or you won't like the consequences."

"Homelander, you may have forced me to be your pseudo-sub at work, but what I do on my downtime is none of your business. If there is one thing in my life that helps me control the fear of you enough so I don't put a gun in my mouth and make you break someone else in this f*cking job, you should be grateful." His face took on the usual hard, hateful aspect and he opened his mouth to spew some more threats, but I didn't hear any of them because I dove headfirst straight into the huge black void that had just opened up in the floor.

When I regained consciousness, Homelander was speaking to someone else and I kept my eyes closed. "Her breathing was really fast," he told the other person.

"Hyperventilating?" And it was Dr. Ives, the on-call physician at Vought Tower. I couldn't swear to it without opening my eyes, but I thought I was lying on Homelander's couch. And was that a cool, damp washcloth on my forehead? God knows what the doctor thought had gone on. God knows what kind of gossip would be running through the halls of Vought Tower by this time tomorrow.

"Yeah. Her heart rate and blood pressure were up too."

"She might have had an anxiety attack. Sometimes people can hyperventilate until they pass out." Got it in one, doc, I thought. "What were you talking about when this happened?"

Homelander took a few seconds before replying. "She was telling me about a job offer she's gotten."

"She must have been worried about how you'd react. Is she going to leave?"

"No, she isn't going anywhere. What should I do if this happens again?"

"Not much to do. Make sure she doesn't hit her head when she falls, keep her from breaking bones, and she'll come to in a few minutes. It's like a reset button if a situation's too intense or frightening. Or she might be pregnant. Is there any chance she's pregnant?"

"Not by me," said Homelander.

The doctor took a pause before saying, "I'll wake her up."

"No need," he said. "She's been awake for the past minute or so. Isn't that right, Ashley?"

I opened my eyes. "How long was I out?"

"About five minutes or so," said Dr. Ives. "I just happened to be walking past when Homelander called me."

"How lucky," I replied. "It was just an anxiety attack, nothing to be worried about. I am not pregnant, by the way. By anybody."

"Has this ever happened before?"

I hated divulging this information in front of Homelander, but there seemed to be nothing else to do. "Yes, twice in the past few months."

"Well, if you need an Ativan prescription, just let me know."

"Thank you." If there was one thing Dr. Ives was good for, it was writing prescriptions. If I was a doctor-shopper looking for Vicodin or Oxy, he would be my dream doc.

Homelander spoke at the same time. "Just call her prescription in to her usual pharmacy and she'll pick it up tomorrow."

Dr. Ives looked back and forth between us, nodded, and left us alone.

"I might already be on Ativan, you know," I told him as I sat up and removed the washcloth from my forehead.

"You're not. If you were, you wouldn't have fainted from sheer terror just now."

"I did not faint from sheer terror!"

"Really. Then what did you do?"

"I… blacked out because I didn't have anything for lunch." Why hadn't I thought of that when Dr. Ives was here?

"That's a lie. What did you have for lunch?"

No way could I tell him that I hadn't had time for a real lunch because of the session with Dr. Winterbourne. But as long as he didn't ask any questions about whether I had a psychiatrist, I should be golden. "A can of Coca-Cola and a Hershey bar with almonds."

"So just the sugar food group, then." Homelander stood there looking at me for an uncomfortably long time. "Take the rest of the day off and come back here at seven o'clock. We're going to have more discussion of your marvelous new career path and you are not going to faint from sheer terror every time I ask you a question. And just so you can't claim you fainted because you were hungry, I'll even provide some dinner for you."

"I don't think—"

"No, you don't. Somehow you seem to think you have options other than to do what I say in this situation, which you don't. So go get some rest and be back here in time for dinner and our conversation."

It didn't seem worth it to object, so I just sighed and turned to leave. "Ashley?"

"Yes, sir?" Belatedly I realized I hadn't addressed him as sir since before he'd called me out for not listening to him. But he hadn't said anything about it. I'd have to think about what that could mean.

"You—wouldn't do what you said, right?"

My brow furrowed. "What did I say I'd do? I don't remember."

"Put a gun in your mouth because you're so scared of me."

"Oh." I looked at him for a few moments. "No. I don't think you'll drive me so mad with fear that death is the only way out." I'd just quit this job first and take my chances with running away.

"Promise me you won't."

What the hell? Why would you think I wouldn't just break my word if things got that bad? But, again, it wasn't worth making a fuss over. "I promise I won't put a gun in my mouth because I'm afraid of you." Anyway, that still left a lot of wiggle room.

"Thank you, Ashley." He handed me my tablet and turned his back. "You're free to go." And I did, feeling like I'd just managed to talk a cop out of killing me. But I'd kicked the can of the job discussion down the road a few hours, so it wasn't a total loss. I just hoped the dinner he promised wouldn't be the same kind of dinner he fed the Deep.

Chapter 3: Dinner and Surprises

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 3 – Dinner and Surprises

I stepped out of the Uber in front of Vought Tower and tried to control my breathing. After I'd gotten back to my apartment earlier, I'd thrown up bile—my meager lunch already digested—at how close I'd come to him killing me. I would have to be sharp, fast on my feet, and in control of myself to have any hope of coming out of this dinner unharmed.

Homelander hadn't said what to wear, which was unusual for him. After I came back to Vought as Senior Vice President of Hero Management, I got an e-mail from him the day after he deafened Blindspot with the subject line "Your clothes."

Your clothes are ugly. You need new clothes for your new job.

I actually typed "f*ck you" before sanity returned and I erased it. Tapping my fingernail against my teeth, I finally came up with a message that I thought wouldn't get me killed.

I'm too busy to buy a new work wardrobe. Madelyn left a lot of things hanging fire that I have to deal with ASAP. If you would have someone send over clothes that are acceptable to you, I'll be happy to wear them.

It must have worked, because three days later I received two big packing boxes filled with clothes. None of them were my style—too many bold prints and low-cut blouses, and I liked the boho hippie look—but they hadn't cost me a nickel and Homelander was out of my hair. I kept the work clothes in the left-hand section of my closet and my own clothes on the right, with a tall shoe rack jammed in between. It never occurred to me to wonder how he knew my sizes.

Tonight I'd decided to wear one of the few dresses on the right-hand side, a long-sleeved, V-necked velvet number with a short skirt and an abstract flower pattern of cobalt and teal on a black background. In deference to the February slush, I'd worn a trenchcoat over it and black knee-high boots. Their stiletto heels rang on the lobby floor as I headed for the elevator, wishing I'd had some direction from him about what to wear. Maybe this dress was too tight? I didn't want him getting any ideas, even if he did only see me as a talking lamp.

My pace slowed the closer I got to Homelander's apartment until I was standing outside his closed door, wishing I'd just paid attention to my job earlier and avoided the entire situation. If it wouldn't cause more trouble, I'd just turn around and go home.

The door opened. "Are you coming in, Ashley?" asked Homelander.

I put on a pleasant expression and said, "Of course."

"You were sure taking your sweet time."

I ignored that and walked down the front hallway into the living room. A table with a white linen cloth was set up near the windows and my heart sank at the reminder of Timothy. What equivalent he could have found for me I didn't know, but he had something in mind, something unpleasant. I could smell it.

His hands came down on my shoulders and I flinched. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Take it easy, Ashley. I'm not going to eat you. Not unless you ask, anyway." I chose to ignore that as well. "I was going to take your coat."

"Okay, I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. I don't want you fainting again." I let him ease the trenchcoat off me and stepped away to create some distance between us. I didn't like having my back to him. When I turned around, Homelander was standing there, my coat dangling from his hands, a half-smile on his face. "I do like you better in skirts than pants. I don't recognize that dress, though. Did Vought get that for you?"

I shook my head, relieved that I'd guessed right about his wardrobe preferences. "It's mine. I haven't worn it since college."

"The clothes from Vought are yours too. They aren't like a McDonald's uniform you have to turn in when you quit."

"They're not really what I would wear. But they're lovely," I hastened to assure him.

"I thought they'd look good on you when I picked them out."

Well, that was a shock—I thought he'd just assigned someone to pick out the clothes. In fact, it was enough of a shock to keep me quiet as he held the chair for me when I sat down at the table. He had beautiful manners, when he bothered to use them. And why was he bothering? Was this one of those situations Dr. Winterbourne mentioned that he might be misinterpreting? Oh God, was this a date?

Everything looked expensive: the china, the gold-rimmed tulip glass for champagne and the matching water tumbler, the silverware. Homelander was a rich man, though; he'd hardly play it cheap with anything. A bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket to his right. "Are you drinking?" That boded poorly for the evening. As far as I knew, he was a teetotaler, and if what he did when he was sober was any indication, I never wanted any alcohol to touch his lips.

"Oh, no, but I remembered that you like champagne." He popped the cork and poured some into my glass.

I took a healthy swig because I knew I needed to get this in as soon as I could. "Before you ask, I want you to know that I'm not going to tell you who it is that offered me the domme job. I don't think it's fair to him for you to know that much about him."

"That's okay," he said easily. "I already figured out it's Adam Bourke."

My eyes opened wide and I spluttered, "How did you…come to that conclusion?"

Homelander grinned. "You were about to say, 'How did you know,' weren't you?"

"Not necessarily. But tell me how you decided that." There was no way he could have deduced that based on what I'd told him.

"Sure." His smile lingered as he refilled my glass. "You've only f*cked two men in the last two years, Adam Bourke and Cameron Coleman. From what I've seen, you don't like Cameron very much, and I don't think he has the kind of money to buy a live-in dominatrix. He also lives here in New York, so you wouldn't need to quit your job. That just leaves Adam."

"What makes you think those are the only men I've been involved with?"

He sighed. "Ashley, how many times do I have to tell you that you have no secrets from me before you believe it?"

"There's a difference between secrecy and privacy."

"Did you expect much privacy when you f*cked your director in the men's room at the Dawn of the Seven premiere?"

That struck me dumb long enough for him to put Waldorf salad on my plate. "You cannot be serious. I'm not going to deny it, but you have no way of knowing about that. Unless Hughie Campbell told you about it."

"Hughie was silent as the grave. I heard you." He returned to his chair and raised a glass of milk to his mouth. I had a very brief flash of what happened before he deafened Blindspot before I repressed the memory. Nothing but death lived down that road.

"I don't believe that. You were in a theater, which was soundproofed. Not only was the theater soundproofed, you were listening to a movie in Dolby sound that was exceptionally heavy on screaming, gunshots, and explosions." Did he really have hearing that keen? I knew he could hear for a long way, but filtering out the movie noise and the crowd noise to focus only on two voices several hundred feet away—it seemed a little much.

"But I still did it." I didn't say anything, just took a small sip of champagne to try to gather my thoughts, and he waited until I was drinking to ask, "Still think Tony Gilroy's a better director than your Adam?"

I choked, as he intended, and had to blink tears out of my eyes to focus on him across the table, looking at me with a little smile. "Were you watching too?" Despite my promises to myself that I wouldn't get angry, that I'd stay calm and quiet, the fury began bubbling up at the idea of the encounter with Adam being entertainment for Homelander. I am not your amusem*nt. "I admit it would have been more entertaining than Dawn of the Seven, but it isn't like you bought a ticket to watch me f*ck anybody."

Something changed in his face, but too quickly for me to determine what it was before the mask returned. "I wasn't watching you. For what it's worth, I was paying attention to the movie that I was the star of. Which is more than the director did."

It also explained how he knew I was pulling my hair. I'd thought that might get me off, but it did nothing except cut the stress of the situation, and Adam thought I'd had an org*sm so he wouldn't try to stretch things out. I'd just wanted to go to the ladies' room, clean up, and go watch the damn movie. "Yeah, Tony Gilroy's a better director. Duplicity is one of my favorite movies."

"I haven't seen that one myself. You'll have to come over sometime so we can watch it." I made a noncommittal sound and he said, "Eat your salad."

The main course was chicken paprika, and I wondered which restaurant he'd ordered this from. I'd never had a tour of the apartment, but I didn't even know if it had a kitchen, plus I doubted if he'd cook for himself, much less anyone else. We were about halfway through when he asked, "Tell me about what you do as a dominatrix."

"How much do you know about BDSM?"

Homelander snorted. "I saw Fifty Shades of Grey once?"

That was a lie—I'd seen Stormfront's apartment after they got through f*cking—but decided not to bring up the subject of his dead Nazi girlfriend. "Please, that's not real BDSM. The watchwords for real BDSM are safe, sane, and consensual. If Christian Grey hadn't been hot and rich, she would have slapped him with a restraining order pretty quickly."

"Well, how would you do it differently?"

"I wouldn't push people into things they don't want to do, that's for sure." I took another sip of champagne. "You have to be sure of what the other person wants, so it's always a good idea to sit down and talk about it in a nonsexual setting. There's more planning involved than you might think. There's always a chance that unhandled trauma can come up without clear communication."

"What's unhandled trauma?"

"Just as an example—and this is nothing that ever happened to me—let's say I'd been raped a few years ago and there was one thing the rapist did that I absolutely cannot deal with experiencing again, even in a safe environment. If you were domming for me and I didn't tell you about this one thing in advance—let's say the rapist put his hand around my throat—and you did that during a scene, that would probably trigger a flashback for me, which is why we have to be very clear on what's wanted and what isn't."

"So I'd need to ask about things like that."

"Yeah, if you were domming." Nothing bad had happened during the evening, so I felt myself relaxing. Maybe I'd been too anxious. Maybe he didn't want to kill me after all; at least, not at the moment. "It's a good idea to do at least a few scenes as a sub before you start domming, if only to understand what it's like from the other side."

He watched me eat chicken paprika for a few moments. "You said before that I'd forced you to be my sub at work."

I had to swallow before saying, "That isn't actually fair. Really, the sub's in charge in the relationship. If a dom gets a reputation for not doing what the sub wants, pretty soon that dom won't find any subs that are willing to play with them. A work relationship doesn't translate in those terms." I thought it was a good reply off the cuff. The way he treated me at work wasn't anything I would ever have tolerated when I was trying out the submissive role—humiliation doesn't get me off—but I wasn't about to tell him that.

"So you only like domming, then."

I didn't like where the conversation was going, but somehow I couldn't summon up too much concern about it. "I've done both, and I can do either. I don't really have a preference."

"Sooo…you wouldn't be opposed to being a sub for Adam?"

"No, I wouldn't do that with him." The refusal was instinctive. I tried to cover by saying, "That's not what he likes."

"Well, what do you like?"

"Really, I don't have any preferences as far as BDSM goes."

That surprised him. "If you aren't really into it, why are you even thinking about moving to California and being Adam Bourke's dominatrix? I didn't think you were so in love with him you'd make a sacrifice like that."

"I'm not in love with Adam." I drained half the champagne in my glass and Homelander refilled it before I could continue. "I haven't even done any scenes with him yet."

"That is crazy," he said. "At least go for a test drive before you decide to blow up your life."

"You and my psychiatrist agree on that." Too late I realized what I'd said.

He leaned back in his chair and gave me a hard look. "So you're seeing a shrink about this, or life in general?"

"It's for my anxiety—you remember, that thing that made me faint in front of you? And the hair-pulling that you saw fit to make public knowledge in front of A-Train and the Deep." The fury, which had gone away as the meal went on, returned full strength at the memory of my humiliation. "I hope you thought I was properly submissive then, because you will have to kill me before I ever let you humiliate me like that again. I am not your toy."

His hand came down on the tabletop, but he controlled his strength well enough to only rattle the dinnerware. "Maybe I wanted you to stop hurting yourself!" I flinched at the shout. "I knew it was a compulsion, so you wouldn't stop just because I told you to, no matter how afraid of me you are. I thought maybe if people knew about it, you might stop."

Now it was my turn to look at him. "Is that the truth?"

Homelander looked irritated as hell, but the fear wasn't taking hold of me the way it normally did. "Yes, that's the truth, for what it's worth."

"Huh." That took the heat out of my anger. "My psychiatrist thinks it will go away when I get the anxiety under control since it's an attempt to de-stress."

"Why don't you try sex for that?"

"I already did—it's what the Dawn of the Seven bathroom scene was about. I don't have org*sms, so it doesn't work." I almost laughed as Homelander's jaw dropped.

He seemed to be at a loss for words. "I…don't understand why you would think about going to live with him when you won't even enjoy the sex part of it."

"Women can enjoy sex without having org*sms. You know, the kissing, the touching, the intimacy. There are other things besides the org*sm."

"Spoken like a woman who never came in her life." He gave me one of those deadly smiles, but somehow I wasn't scared. "I bet I could make you come."

I started laughing. "I wish you knew how many men have said that to me in my life."

"I'm not just any man."

"True enough." Okay, time to put the brakes on this. "Look, I'm sure you're really good at it, but I don't think that would work out, even if we didn't work together. I just feel like anything you like to do would hurt, and I don't like stuff that hurts. Plus, if I don't have an org*sm with you, there are only two ways I could handle that. One, I fake it and pretend to, which would make you mad as I would be lying to you, or two, I don't fake it and then you get mad at me for not having an org*sm. No matter what I do, there's not a way to handle it where you don't get mad at me, so I'd just as soon not even try it. I think that's the best thing for everyone involved."

He didn't answer me, just kept looking at me with speculation, and it occurred to me that something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong here, because there was no way, no way in all the world that I would be talking to Homelander about my inability to climax, unless…I glanced at the champagne glass sitting on the table. It was full. But he had never let it get empty, so I couldn't keep track.

With a sudden movement that made my head swim, I lunged for the champagne bottle and pulled it out of the bucket. Most of its contents were gone—maybe a third of the bottle was left. "You got me drunk," I whispered. Why did I want to cry? It was just one more betrayal, one more mockery. What he would do with what I'd told him—I cringed away from thinking about it. Then something much more imminent occurred to me. "Please don't rape me."

Something in his face—hurt? Could I have hurt his feelings? He was fragile as a china cup emotionally, so it wasn't out of the question. "I'm not going to rape you. I just wanted you to be relaxed so I could talk to you without you freezing up with fear or turning into a fainting goat."

"Promise me. Promise me you're not going to rape me. Please?" I hated the pleading in my own voice but he might take it better this way, might bestow a promise on me like a king gifting a vassal with a title.

Homelander sighed. "Ashley, I promise you I will not rape you. In fact, the only way I'll ever f*ck you is if you come up to me and say, 'Homelander, I want you to f*ck me.' Just so there's no confusion here."

"Okay. Thank you." Whether he'd keep his word was something else, but he'd wanted to keep me calm for now.

"Do you want dessert?"

Since I'd realized I was drunk, the dizziness had become a lot more obvious. Maybe eating something else would help. "Sure. That would be fine."

It was brandied peaches, and all I could do was laugh. He smiled as he put some on my plate and took some for himself. "The alcohol's cooked out of it, so it should be fine. It won't make you any drunker."

The dessert was good, but I had the feeling it was too sugary to counteract the alcohol in the champagne. "What time is it?"

"I don't know. Probably around midnight."

I sighed. Figures. I'd have to call for an Uber and hope the driver was a woman and I wouldn't have to worry about getting raped by someone other than Homelander. "I should go home, then."

"Did you drive?"

That got a laugh out of me. "I don't have a car in the city. It would cost more than my apartment to keep it in a garage. I was going to call an Uber to get home."

"I can take you."

That was a surprise. "I didn't know you knew how to drive."

"I don't. We're going to go flying."

That seemed like a hellish bad idea. "It's going to be pretty cold if you're going fast. I heard there might be snow tonight."

Homelander's mouth set in the tight-lipped mulish look I'd gotten quite familiar with. "Then the sooner I get you home, the more likely it'll be that we beat the snow."

There was no arguing with him, so I let him help me on with my trenchcoat and take the elevator up to the roof. The world kept swimming around me and I reminded myself to put a nice big glass of water on the nightstand so I wouldn't have the super-hangover I sensed was in the offing.

Wind whipped across the rooftop and hit me in the face, clearing my head a little. "Homelander, I don't think-"

"No, you don't," he said. "Put your arms around my neck."

I obeyed, and he put an arm around my waist before taking off like a missile. The G-force almost peeled my face off, and I had to dig my teeth into my lips to hold back a scream. My stomach lurched and I started repeating to myself, do not throw up on Homelander. Do not throw up on Homelander. What would he do? Probably something that involved me plunging to my death from thousands of feet in the air. It might have been cool to fly with him if I'd been sober and it wasn't freezing, but I wasn't and it was, so I buried my face against his shoulder to pretend we were just standing still.

Time works differently when combined with alcohol, so I had no idea how long it was before I felt something solid under my feet. "You can look now. You're home."

We were standing on the balcony of my apartment, and I was too drunk to ask myself how he knew which apartment was mine from the outside. "Thank you," I murmured. "Thank you for getting me home."

And I don't know why what happened next happened, what demon from hell possessed me, and it wasn't just demon rum, but it did and there was no changing anything afterward and that was that.

I kissed Homelander.

The first shock—his lips were soft. I hadn't thought they would be, with the tight set of them most of the time, and I hadn't really thought about kissing him before, not really. He didn't respond, either by kissing back or pushing me away, so I kept kissing him and ran the tip of my tongue over the outline of his mouth. As I traced where his lips met each other, he shuddered and opened his mouth, sucking my tongue inside and pulling me tight against him. One of his hands slid over my back and I moaned as he cupped my ass.

Homelander pulled back from me but didn't let go. "Ashley, you're drunk."

"Whose fault is that?" I stood on tiptoe and ran my tongue up the side of his neck and into his ear. He shivered and a wave of sensation hit me. My hand was on the back of his neck and his skin was soft, and I ran my hand into his hair and it was silky and it amazed me that he felt so good when he'd never caused me anything but pain and fear. I put my hand against his face to turn him back toward me and kissed him again. Dimly I noticed no stubble on his jawline, not even what I would have expected from a man who'd shaved that morning. Had he shaved before we had dinner? I didn't have time to think on that before he pulled away again and kept talking.

"It's my fault, you're right about that, but you really don't want to do this right now. In the morning you'll thank me for—"

I wasn't really interested in this speech, so I slid one hand down his chest, over his stomach, to his groin, and started rubbing him. The way he jolted with the feeling made me smile and I made a soft little pleasure noise to match the groan he let out. "Let me get you off, Homelander."

"Are you the same woman who made me promise I wouldn't rape her?"

That wasn't worth answering, so I continued to minister to the fast-growing hardness. "Come on, you're into it. Let me get you off."

His breathing was a lot heavier when he said, "Ashley, I promise the next time we have dinner, I'll let you get me off, but you need to stop this now."

I took my hand away immediately and looked up at him. He looked dazed, as well as surprised that I'd paid attention to what he said. "You need to know that I'll listen when you tell me to stop. You can trust me to hear you say no."

"That's good to know." He took a shaky breath. "If you were sober, you and I would be in your bed f*cking each other's brains out, but you're not. You have a right not to be taken advantage of, and I won't do that."

"I know. I'd need to say the magic spell you gave me at dinner in order to unlock the sex power-up."

A laugh escaped him. "Woman, you are drunk off your ass."

I stood on tiptoe again to put my mouth near his ear. "Sure I couldn't interest you in a blowj*b?"

In the time it took me to blink he was gone. I knew he must have flown back to Vought Tower, but I had no idea which way he'd gone—up, down, left, right, he was just missing. I supposed I should be glad he hadn't taken off fast enough for a sonic boom to shatter my balcony doors, along with every bit of glass on this side of the building. After I fumbled my keys out of my purse and got the sliding doors open, I stumbled around, pulling off clothes randomly before I collapsed on my bed, unaware of the little voice in the back of my head, almost silent but it would get louder and louder until I woke in the morning to hear it screeching at tornado-warning-siren decibels, "What the HELL have you done?"

Chapter 4: Dr. Winterbourne Session 10

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 4 – Dr. Winterbourne Session 10

"I sexually harassed him!"

Dr. Winterbourne rose from her chair and came over to lead me to the one opposite her as I'd barely closed the door behind me before I started talking. I'd been mulling over getting an emergency appointment on Thursday but decided it could wait until my regular Friday session. "Wait a minute, Lily, just try to calm down. I don't know what you're talking about. Who did you sexually harass?"

"John!" I collapsed into the chair and buried my face in my hands. "I can't believe it ever happened! This is a catastrophe!"

That struck the doctor mute for a good thirty seconds. "Could you just take this from the beginning? When you came in on Wednesday, you were worried that he was going to get violent if he found out about Zach's job offer. Can you tell me what changed? If anything did?"

"Okay. Okay." I tried to get myself under control. Dr. Winterbourne offered me a glass of water and I took it. "When I went back to work after our session, I was pretty distracted and he called me out on it. We had sort of an argument and I got anxious enough that I fainted in front of him. He started pushing me and I told him about the job offer. All about it. He was pretty surprised to hear about the domme thing because I'm a talking lamp and all."

"Was he violent with you? Verbally or physically?"

"No, he was a little snippy at first but I think the fainting took the wind out of his sails. He gave me the rest of the day off and insisted I come back to have dinner with him because he wanted to ask me some questions about the whole thing. I don't know if he thought that was a date or not."

Dr. Winterbourne nodded. "What do you think?"

I sighed. "I think he probably did."

"What happened next?"

"I'd gotten up the nerve to tell him I wasn't going to say who offered me the job but he'd already figured it out. I don't think I told you that he and Zach had worked together closely on the project for Weyland-Yutani, so they know each other."

"Do they like each other?"

That made me pause. "I don't know whether Zach likes him. That hasn't come up in conversation, but I don't think there's any animosity. John behaved himself when they were working together. Mostly. And I think John sees Zach as too far beneath him to warrant any attention."

"Do you think John may become violent with Zach?"

"Only if he doesn't see potential for Zach being useful to him in the future."

"All right. So tell me what happened at dinner."

I took a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. "Everything seemed okay at first. He was pretty polite, considering how he is under normal circ*mstances. He wanted me to tell him about BDSM and said he didn't know much about it, but I'm positive he's done things in that sphere with his previous girlfriend."

"What happened with this girlfriend?"

"They broke up." I didn't want to talk about Stormfront dying. It was too big a clue as to who I really am. "Klara—I think she was using him and he figured it out. That's just from gossip, though. I don't know specifics. But I think he'd take her back if it was possible."

"Why isn't it possible?"

"She moved on to somebody else and is getting married. At least that's what I heard. She and I weren't friends."

"How long ago was this?"

"Months. Over a year." I hoped that wasn't enough information to figure out the connection with Stormfront.

"Okay. So he's asking you about BDSM. What did you say?"

"He wanted to know how I did things, not just BDSM in general. Oh sh*t, I just realized that." I put a hand over my eyes.

"Take it easy, Lily. If he asked you about a sexual subject and you answered him, I don't think that would qualify as sexual harassment on your part. Did he ask you to stop once you started talking about it?"

"No, he was pretty interested in it. We were talking like normal people and I wasn't afraid of him for once."

She looked confused. "Okay."

"He told me why he made me take my wig off in front of Kevin and Reggie. He said he wanted me to stop hurting myself and thought if people knew what I was doing that might make me stop it."

"Interesting."

"Then I realized he'd gotten me drunk and he admitted to doing it on purpose so I would be relaxed enough to talk to him without being scared."

Dr. Winterbourne was silent for a few moments. "That's-a little troubling."

"You aren't kidding. I thought he was going to rape me and made him promise he wouldn't. He's pretty scrupulous about keeping his word."

"And he didn't rape you, correct?"

I shook my head. "After that he insisted on taking me back to my apartment. We were outside saying goodbye and I don't know how it happened." I took a gulp of water, buying myself a few seconds before I had to admit to this. "I…kissed him. I kissed John. I wish I had died when I was born."

"Let's try to stay calm, Lily. How did he respond to that?"

I sighed. "He was into it until he remembered I was drunk and tried to beg off. That's when I started feeling him up."

Dr. Winterbourne was silent. "Did the two of you have sex?"

"No. He said he wouldn't because I was drunk and wouldn't make the same decision if I were sober. He did let me know that he'd be fully on board if I wanted that when I was sober."

"Okay. It seems like he has some understanding of consent." After another pause, she asked, "What do you feel about him showing interest in sex with you?"

"I'm afraid for my life! What do you think, with what I've told you about him? This is something he'll hold over my head and use as a weapon against me. It's my own fault, though. I should have known better than to drink anything." I put my hand over my eyes to hide the brimming tears.

"And that was Wednesday night?"

"Yes."

"How did he behave when you saw him the next day?"

"I didn't. He never came by my office and I sure didn't go looking for him. I didn't see him this morning, either. I spent all of yesterday and today waiting for Gus—he's the CEO—to call me up to his office and fire me."

"Do you think John's trying to avoid you now?"

"I couldn't get that lucky." I took another sip of water. "I think he's probably doing some thinking, figuring out the best way to manipulate me with what happened, and as soon as he figures that out he'll let me know."

Dr. Winterbourne said, "I know this is a sensitive subject for you, but are you attracted to John physically? Let's set aside his personality and any possible mental issues he may have."

"You mean put a paper bag over his personality?" I giggled. It was the first time I'd laughed since the Wednesday night disaster.

She smiled. "Exactly. If he didn't have those negatives attached to him, would you be open to having a relationship with him, sexual or otherwise?"

"He's a very good-looking man. I—well, I had some physical responses when I was coming onto him." That was the most shaming thing of all, and I felt sure Homelander knew I'd been aroused by him. What would he do with that knowledge?

"Last time you told me you didn't enjoy sex. Is having physical responses a new thing for you?"

"Uh—I've had them very occasionally. The vast majority of the time it doesn't happen."

"Could you tell me about the people you responded to in the past?"

"There was my first boyfriend, Rob. I'd gotten together with him a few months before my mother died. We never went all the way, but I did get some physical enjoyment out of making out with him in the back of his car."

"How old were you?"

"Seventeen."

"How did your mother die?"

"Lung cancer. My father—well, he was a very fragile man psychologically. She was the foundation of his world. He wasn't there at all for me after she died and we don't really talk anymore."

"Did you get along with him before your mother died?"

I nodded. "He was always remote—you know, the 1950s kind of father, but before that he was there. I knew he loved me."

"What happened with Rob?"

"Just the usual. I went away to college here in New York, and he went to school in Texas on a football scholarship. We were too young to make a long-distance relationship work. Or maybe we just weren't motivated."

"Were there any other people you responded to?"

"A guy in one of my marketing classes when I was a sophom*ore. His name was Jared, and he was the first man I had sex with. It only lasted for a semester—I found out later he was a serial cheater, but he was the first guy since Rob that I felt close to. Then there was a guy I met at a club a few years ago in Barcelona and had a one-nighter with. I don't remember his name, but we had an immediate connection."

"So no women?"

"Nope, so I'm pretty sure I'm straight. Maybe I just have a low sex drive or something."

"You may be asexual. Or demisexual. I'm not sure we have enough information right now to decide. And you don't have any physical attraction to Zach?"

Oh sh*t. That reminded me. "I also let it slip to John that I have a psychiatrist. Not you in particular, but that I was seeing someone for the anxiety and hair-pulling."

"How did he react?"

"He didn't like it but we got off the subject pretty quickly. He agrees with you about the wisdom of having some scenes with Zach before I make any decisions about whether to take the job."

"All right. Do you have any sexual attraction at all to Zach?"

I laughed. "I wasn't trying to dodge the question, doctor. I just remembered about John. And no, not much of one."

"Has anything happened with regard to him and the job situation?"

Finally, something that wasn't completely humiliating to discuss. "I talked to him after our last session and I'm flying to Los Angeles this afternoon to explain the situation with John to him. He thinks I'm putting him off about the job."

"Were you?"

I raised one shoulder in a shrug. "I don't know. Maybe a little. I'm not comfortable with change."

"Do you trust Zach?"

What came out of my mouth surprised me. "No."

"Why not?"

I tried to gather my thoughts. "You remember I told you we got together when we were working on that company project and I put it down as a fling?" She nodded. "Well, I didn't mention the fact that I had to put it down as a fling because he ghosted me as soon as he was through with the project. He didn't answer phone calls or texts, and I got the picture quickly enough so as not to embarrass myself too much. When we had to do additional work on the project, he was very intent on getting back together, and I let myself get talked into it because it was easier to say yes than keep saying no. We have things in common and we get along, but I would have been fine if I never saw him again."

"Sometimes unavailability makes women more attractive to men. Do you think that might be what happened?"

"I think he felt more comfortable resuming an old relationship than starting a new one. Either way, it didn't have much to do with me except that he likes how I humiliate him."

"Do you like Zach?"

I shrugged again. "I thought I did. If I put aside what he did before, I still like him, but he's going to have to do some serious work to make up for the ghosting."

After the session, I called an Uber and went by my apartment to pick up my weekend bag on the way to LaGuardia to catch my flight. After I checked in and was shown to the VIP Lounge of Oceanic Airlines, I sent Adam a text.

At airport, waiting for my plane. I should be there around three-thirty your time.

He replied within five minutes. Anticipating. What do you feel like for dinner?

I thought about it and texted back. Sushi.

Adam fired back immediately. Great, I'll have my secretary make a reservation at Nobu.

We'd been there before a couple of times and I liked it. I sent him a smiley-face emoji and put the phone on airplane mode before settling down to enjoy the complimentary champagne before they called my flight. My stress level had dropped as soon as I left Vought Tower and I thought it would be rock-bottom by the time the plane landed at LAX. Maybe taking the job Adam was offering would be the best thing, despite all the issues. Showing up for work at Vought had been purgatory for a long, long time. Maybe I was ready to take a chance on Homelander's anger to get out from underneath his control.

I'd been in the air for about fifteen minutes when my phone made its text sound. It was Homelander. Where are you? I'm standing in your office and you aren't here.

My stress level shot straight up and I stared at the screen for at least a minute before typing a reply. I'm on a plane for Los Angeles.

Are you going to see Adam? was his reply.

Yes I am. Not that it's any of your business, I added mentally. Is there something immediate that I need to handle at Vought while I'm on the plane?

No, he sent back. But we need to have a talk on Monday when you get back.

Was he deliberately trying to ruin my weekend? But that was a stupid question—of course he was. I just hoped he wouldn't decide to fly to Los Angeles and insist on a meeting with Adam and/or me on some silly pretext. That sounds menacing, I typed and sent before I could second-guess myself.

He sent back a laughing with tears emoji and nothing else. I gave the screen an upraised middle finger and turned the phone off, shoving it into my purse. The last thing I needed was to spend the weekend worrying about what Homelander wanted to discuss with me on Monday, as if there was any real question. It seemed as if he'd figured out how to use the situation to his benefit.

When I landed at LAX the temperature was seventy degrees Fahrenheit, and I had my trenchcoat draped over one arm as I walked through the airport. I didn't have to hit Baggage Claim, as I hadn't checked my weekend bag, and it was only a few minutes before I spotted the driver with the signboard reading "Ashley Barrett." Adam hadn't sent his usual driver but had hired a limousine for me, and it felt like a real touch of luxury to be in the back alone, rather than trying to convince Homelander to do something he wasn't inclined toward before it stopped and disgorged him in front of a crowd, resentful and unpredictable, and me with my blood pressure spiking. No thinking about Homelander this weekend, I scolded myself. Just concentrate on Adam and figuring out what you want.

"Mr. Bourke is still at the studio, so he's requested that I drop you off at his home in Malibu and he'll pick you up for dinner there," the chauffeur told me.

"That's fine," I told him, although I felt a little sinking inside at going to his empty house. But it would give me time to unpack and get ready for dinner, so I put the foreboding away. I could use a nice relaxing hot shower after the texting with Homelander.

Adam had a housekeeper who came in three times a week, but today wasn't one of those days, so I had to text Adam to open the front door remotely for me. I'll be about two hours, he texted back. Editing's a bitch. Will be on time for Nobu.

I texted another smiley-face emoji and went in. His house was standard California redwood, glass, and chrome, directly on the beach, and reminded me a lot of the house in The Sure Thing. Was it just a New York thing that I felt so exposed in a house with this much glass? If I took the job, would we have to stay in this house or would he maybe consider getting a new one? I didn't especially care for the beach. Adam had enough money to look into getting a house in Beverly Hills or Bel Air or Calabasas, if it came to that. Did he want me enough to make concessions?

It had been my habit, in the months since we'd resumed our relationship, to sleep in the bedroom that connected to his. He preferred this because he had early studio calls and didn't want to wake me up, which was considerate of him. It had a four-poster bed that was convenient for tying a person up and sliding glass doors leading onto a balcony with a gorgeous ocean view, and a chrome-and-marble bathroom that had a tub that would fit four people easily. I could almost swim in it, and secretly I was happy that I'd never had to share it with him, as he didn't like bathing with anyone else.

Until I got inside the shelter of the bathroom, I didn't feel comfortable enough to remove my wig. Underneath it, my hair had grown out from when I'd shaved it, after Homelander revealed my secret to the Deep and A-Train, until it was about two inches long and had the texture of feathers. Adam had never seen my shaved head, and I wondered if now was the time. If he had trouble accepting what I would tell him about the leader of the Seven, I'd have to show him. I stared at myself in the mirror, seeing the dark circles under my eyes through this morning's makeup, and turned the shower on, setting the water for the hottest temperature I could take before stepping in.

True to his word, Adam arrived two hours later, after I'd showered and applied fresh makeup and my wig was safely back in place. In his hand when he came through the door was a bouquet of deep red roses. "It's great to see you again, Ashley. You look terrific!"

I'd packed one of the fancier evening dresses from what Vought had sent after Homelander's email, a champagne-colored semi-see-through dress encrusted with lacy floral embroidery and thin straps crossing across the otherwise bare back. A mid-thigh slit exposed most of my left leg. It fit like my own skin. Since Vought hadn't had any fancy functions I'd need an evening dress for since Soldier Boy's attack, I figured I might as well get some use out of it here.

He handed me the roses and I buried my face in them. It had been years since a man gave me flowers. "If I'd known I had this waiting for me, I would have blown off the editing and come straight home."

So I was nothing to rush home for in regular clothes? I brushed off the remark and gave him a smile. "Well, it looks like editing's done for the evening. What time is the reservation?"

"Seven-thirty, so I need to get a move on and change clothes, then we can go. You can put those in a vase in the kitchen if you want." He gave me a peck on the cheek and went upstairs. I gazed at the stairs for a few moments before moving off toward the kitchen. I hadn't expected any grand romantic reunions, but he was unusually offhand. Was he taking it for granted that I was going to accept the job tonight? Sorry to disappoint you, I said to him in my mind.

Nobu was crowded, even for a Friday night. Adam's celebrity, along with a discreet bribe, got us a booth and a minimal level of privacy. My appetite had diminished considerably, even though I'd skipped lunch, and I looked over the menu with no enthusiasm. "What would you like?" asked Adam.

I shrugged. "The California roll, I guess, and miso soup. I'm not very hungry."

He looked worried. "Do you feel all right?"

"Well, I'm nervous about what I'm going to tell you. I'm dead serious-you cannot repeat what I say to anyone. Ever."

"Sure," he said, and I detected an undertone of condescension, of humoring the silly woman, and it put me on edge.

"I mean it, Adam. What I'm going to tell you could put both of us in danger." I had to stop talking when the waiter came to the table and Adam ordered for both of us, the California roll and miso soup for me and the pepper bass for him. That irritated me a little too.

"I've already said I won't say anything. Just tell me what's going on with you."

I sat back and regarded him with a level gaze. "Just as long as you know that if you tell anybody anything I'm about to say, Stan Edgar will end your life." Adam hadn't expected that, and his mouth dropped open. "And when I say he will end your life, he won't make your life difficult or get you blacklisted in Hollywood. One day you'll be driving on a steep road and your brakes will go. One day you'll have an electrical fire at your house. One day you'll be leaving a restaurant and someone will shoot you, or knife you, and take your wallet to make sure the police think it was only a robbery and you were unlucky. But it will be because you couldn't keep your mouth shut and Vought won't abide that. And no one will ever connect Mr. Edgar to any of it."

Adam stared at me in amazement as the waiter returned with our drinks, a glass of Prosecco for me and a Nobu Old Fashioned for him. He took a healthy gulp. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"As a heart attack. Can you abide by what I'm asking? If you run your mouth, Mr. Edgar might decide to kill me too."

A sigh escaped him. "Yes. I need to know what's going on with you."

"Vought—there's a lot of illegal activity going on behind the scenes. The PR people do their jobs and the public thinks the supes are all Dudley Do-Rights, but they can't see the truth. It's like Hollywood in the Forties. The studios controlled the publicity, so the movie stars could drink and drug and f*ck to their heart's content, could commit vehicular manslaughter and rape and incest and every other sin you could name, but as long as they made money, they were golden."

"And the supes are the movie stars."

"Got it in one. And Homelander's the most movie-starry of them all. He's the reason I've been putting you off as far as whether I'm accepting your offer."

He leaned forward, and something dangerous stirred in his expression. "Are you with him? Is that it?"

"Don't be stupid," I hissed at him. "I'm scared to death of him. The first day I came back after I got fired, I'd gotten this supe named Blindspot to audition for the Seven and Homelander deafened him right in front of me. He wasted no time letting me know that worse would happen to me if I didn't do exactly what he said and spy on the higher-ups for him."

"Did you?"

"I went to Stan Edgar and told him what was going on, and he gave me the okay to report back to Homelander."

"What happened to the supe?"

"Compound V fixes any number of things. His eardrums grew back in a week and we bought him off with a settlement package. He owns a dojo up in Oakland now, under a different name. And that's the kind of thing Homelander does on the regular. He has a terrible temper and not much in the way of self-control. And, for whatever reason, he wants me in the job I currently have. That's the reason I've been stalling about your offer. I'm afraid of what he'll do. I'm afraid he'll get violent, with one or both of us."

Adam didn't know what to say, and we sat there in silence until the waiter brought our food and we had an excuse not to talk to each other. The unburdening made me feel lighter. Maybe now he could understand what I was up against.

The next thing he said to me was, "So you won't take the job."

"I didn't say that." His eyes whipped back to me. "It's just going to take longer than you want. I have to get an excellent exit strategy set up, one that will make Homelander think he's better off without me, and I'm still working on that."

He reached across the table to take my hand and kiss it. "As long as I've got hope, I'll give you as much time as you need."

"And I want to do some scenes with you first, just to make sure our styles mesh."

Adam grinned. "As many as you want, Ashley."

"I'm thinking a minimum of half a dozen. And you might decide I'm not to your taste after I domme for you a few times."

"Never happen." But I wished I was as sure as he seemed to be.

Adam seemed just as sure of what he wanted when we made out in the back of his car for the entire drive home, with the driver keeping a discreet eye on the road. Unlike with Rob, who'd confined our making out to parked cars on dark deserted roads, I got an intuition that Adam liked the semi-public nature of it, which I did not, but I didn't say anything. I'd given him a lot to think about, and maybe he wanted to distract himself.

My internal thermostat never went higher than lukewarm during the backseat make-out session, the string of kisses inside the front door, across the foyer, up the stairs to his bedroom, his bed, as his hands scrabbled at my dress and I heard the delicate fabric tear as he shoved it over my shoulders and past my hips to pool on the carpeted floor. I hadn't worn a bra, so I was naked except for a pale pink lace thong that almost matched the dress.

"Beautiful," he murmured as his hands covered my breasts, caressing the skin, stimulating the nipples, and I closed my eyes so he wouldn't see the disinterest in my eyes or expression. "You are so beautiful, Ashley."

Hey, I'm already f*cking you. You don't have to lie anymore. But those words stayed safe in my brain even though I knew Adam would never hurt me for a sharp word. It just bothered me that he felt the need to reassure me about my looks in a town where every woman my age had double-digit cosmetic surgeries to their credit. I didn't even feel like bringing up the question of whether he intended to be faithful to me if I did become his full-time live-in domme. Somehow I suspected not.

More touching, more kissing, and I did what I usually did during sex: I faked it. He never had a clue that the convulsive movements, the moans erupting out of my mouth, my hands clutching at him, came from a place of pragmatism—my need to finish this.

But he still needed his little fillip of humiliation. "Ashley? Please tell me what I am."

That was my cue. "You're the worst director who ever f*cking lived. You make Ed Wood look like Orson f*cking Welles."

"Oh, yes," he moaned. "More, Ashley, don't stop."

"Cherry Bomb was the worst f*cking movie I've ever seen." He grabbed my hips and buried himself deeper, thrusting hard and fast. I pressed my forehead against his shoulder so he couldn't see my expression and held back a noise of pain—I was nowhere near ready for it. How could he not notice I wasn't into this? But I gathered myself together, tried to regulate my breathing to help me relax, and continued. "I want you to tell me how the hell you got the idea that anybody, especially paying audiences, wanted to see a movie about teenage girls getting raped by rich old pedos while they're pretending to be superheroes in their minds. I'm surprised everybody who got conned into paying money to see that abortion didn't burn down the damn theaters in revenge."

"Oh, yes, Ashley. I know. I know!"

"You are a talentless f*cking hack, Adam. Do you lie awake at night, sweating, terrified that Hollywood's going to figure out that you got lucky with your TV show about teenage demon hunters and the VCU movies were a fluke? If you do, you're a damn sight smarter than I gave you credit for."

"Ashley!" he screamed and pulled me ever harder against him as he climaxed. I rolled my hips a bit, let out some convincing cries of pleasure, and pretended to come myself. It seemed the polite thing to do.

After we'd disengaged physically, he put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me against him. "You're wonderful," he whispered. "I want you with me all the time."

I gave him a sweet smile to mitigate against the cruel, yet truthful, things I'd said to him in the heat of the occasion. "I have to figure out a way to get clear of Homelander without him deciding he needs to kill the both of us. Trust me."

"I do. I just wish he was actually the Boy Scout Vought makes him look like. He'd send you off with a healthy bonus and a reference if he were."

"Unfortunately…" I let my voice trail off. "But I'll handle it."

"You always do. I can't believe I actually liked that bastard." Adam rubbed a finger across my lips and removed his arm from my shoulders. "I'm going to have a shower. If you get hungry during the night, the fridge is full. Just eat whatever you want."

"Sure. Thanks, Adam." I knew a dismissal when I heard one and had been expecting it. Despite him having couched it as being for my benefit, the connecting bedroom was also a good place to send me when he didn't want anyone sharing his bed.

"I may have to go into the studio early tomorrow, so don't worry if I'm not here. We're having trouble with the editing—disputes with the numbskull executives." I made sympathetic noises and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth before gathering up my dress, underwear, and shoes and hurrying off to my own room.

Another woman might have been angry, or hurt, especially because I was sure he was lying about the editing trouble, but it was a relief to close and lock the door behind me. Behind a locked door, I could remove the wig and put it on its faceless Styrofoam head, wash off the heavy evening makeup and everything else in another steaming shower, then slide into the oversize T-shirt I'd brought to use as a nightshirt, a white one with the Plimsouls band logo on the front. Despite the joyless sex and the earlier irritation when I thought he was humoring me, I felt a lot better now that Adam knew the truth about my job. Maybe now he would ease the pressure and let me try to find a way through the whole situation.

My phone woke me with its chirpy text sound early the next morning. I expected something from Adam, more excuses about work, but it was Homelander. Did you have a good time at Nobu last night? I recognize this dress.

That brought me wide awake and I mashed letters, frightened and furious. Are you in Los Angeles hovering and watching? Like an evil spirit, I thought but didn't say.

His reply was quick. No, I have TMZ to do that for me. Check the site.

Sure enough, there was a picture of Adam and me leaving Nobu. The brief story accompanying the picture was exactly the kind of thing to inspire a response from the supe. "Adam Bourke, director of Dawn of the Seven and the upcoming Tiaras and Cocaine, seen dining at Nobu with Ashley Barrett, Senior Vice-President of Hero Management at Vought International. The two seemed very cozy. A secret romance?"

Was Homelander mad about this? He knew I was going to spend the weekend with Adam and Hollywood is full of photographers looking to make a buck. Are you mad I wore a Vought dress to dinner?

I'm not mad. The dress is gorgeous on you. And it's still yours.

Thank you.

What are you doing right now?

Nothing. Adam went to the studio to work and I haven't gotten up yet.

RU naked?

I started laughing. With a grin, I typed back, Nope. Flannel granny nightgown, hair in curlers, green mud mask on face.

He sent back Yikes! with two emojis, a shocked face next to a laughing face.

But I bet you're naked.

The grin lingered as I answered him. Bet all you want—I'll never tell, followed by a wink emoji.

He texted back the laughing with tears emoji and that was the end of it. I got a few more hours of sleep and woke up to the realization that Homelander had done some light flirting with me via text, and I'd actually flirted back. Monday morning loomed even more ominous as I understood I'd just given him more ammunition against me. I didn't think he was tech-savvy enough to fake screenshots and text conversations, but with what we'd just exchanged, he wouldn't need to. Maybe Stan Edgar would just send me a text telling me to clean out my office and I'd send one back telling him to throw everything in the garbage. But I didn't really believe he was trying to nail me for sexual harassment. What in the world did he want? "You'll find out soon enough," I told myself out loud as I got out of bed and padded to the rainfall shower to wash away my troubles.

Chapter 5: Confrontations and Arrangements

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 5 – Confrontation and Arrangements

I'd arrived at Vought at six-thirty Monday morning and had been behind my desk for an hour when the door opened and Homelander walked in. Before I could control myself, I felt my expression change into sheer horror as my mind shot back to the balcony of my apartment and the feel of his erection under my hand. He saw it and his careful polite mask turned into an evil grin. "I see you weren't having an alcoholic blackout on Wednesday night, Ashley. That's good to know."

I wanted to ask him if he had an appointment but restrained myself. "No, I was just drunk."

"Drunk off your ass," he added helpfully.

I tried to keep the acid out of my voice. "Yes, I think we established that, sir."

Ostentatiously, he turned around and locked my office door. Fear blasted through me in a blood-freezing burst and I wanted to run, to jump out the window, but I was paralyzed. He must be so angry—he was always angry. He could murder me right here; Stan Edgar would cover for him, even as janitors scrubbed my blood off the floors and walls and ceiling. I couldn't move fast enough to get past him, I couldn't convince him with words not to kill me, so there was nothing to do but die. My hands tightened convulsively on the edge of my desk.

He'd taken a couple of steps toward me but halted suddenly, looking confused. Maybe there was a hint of sadness in his expression? Then he cut left and jumped onto my sofa, stretching out full-length on it, watching me. "Ashley, take off your panties and sit on my face. I want to make you come so hard you squirt."

"Christ, that's crude!" But his actions were so off the wall that surprise forced some of the fear away.

"I suppose Adam isn't?" He hadn't moved from the couch, his cape trailing over the side to brush the floor. "Or did he resolve your little sexual malfunction this weekend?"

Anger welled up at the jab, driving out the rest of the fear. "I don't have any malfunctions, and I would thank you never to bring that up again."

"That means he didn't. I didn't really think he would—he doesn't strike me as anybody who could show a woman a good time—but sometimes people get lucky. In the nonsexual sense, of course."

"Did you have something you wanted to discuss, sir?" Other than my panties and my sexual malfunction.

"Yes, I do. Thanks for reminding me." He straightened into a sitting position and patted the couch next to him. "Come here, Ashley. I don't want to scream across the room at you."

My knees wobbled a little as I obeyed him. I wanted to check my pulse but it would be easier just to ask him. Homelander smiled at me and took my hand, and a new icicle of fear pierced me. His smile faltered. "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" I squeaked.

"Don't be afraid. Do I need to get you drunk again to have a reasonable conversation? I thought we were past that."

That was crazy. All I could do was stare at him in shock. "You've spent every moment I've been with you for years trying to make me afraid of you. Hell, the first thing you did after I came back to Vought was cripple someone in front of me! And now you want to undo all that. Why?"

Homelander ignored the question. "While you were in LA, did you take the train up to San Francisco and say hello to Blindspot? I hear his dojo in Oakland's doing great."

I froze. "What…I don't…"

"Again, Ashley, you don't have secrets from me."

My voice squeaked again as I said, "Please don't hurt him. He hasn't done anything, he doesn't want to be in the Seven, he hasn't said a word—"

"Oh, please," he scoffed. "I don't care about him. I never did."

"Then why did you hurt him?"

"To show you that I'm in charge, you were not the second coming of Madelyn, and you had no say about the Seven."

"I never wanted to be Madelyn!" I cried. "I only wanted to show you that you were right to bring me back and that I could be an asset to you. I hadn't even offered him anything yet. I'd just asked him to train in our gym and let him know that a position in the Seven might—might—be in the offing if you were on board with it. Which you obviously weren't."

He gave me a questioning look as I tried to pull my hand out of his and he refused to allow it. "Why didn't you just tell me that?"

"When was I supposed to do that? While you were conning me into thinking everything was fine when I told you about him? When Blindspot was bleeding on the floor? While you were threatening me to get information about the executive suite? After that I wouldn't have said sh*t to you if I had a mouthful of it."

"I didn't threaten you."

"Not in words. I could see what happened to Blindspot just fine." I gave up trying to pull my hand away and sat there, staring at the floor.

Homelander was quiet for a few seconds, then said, "I should have gotten you out of those ugly pants and gone down on you for a couple of hours that day."

What was with the sudden obsession with oral sex? "I'm sure Blindspot would have preferred that."

Homelander smiled. "A little bit of sarcasm there. That must mean you're not as afraid of me as you have been."

"I'm all sarcasm and jokes. You just don't tolerate any of that, so you don't get to see my real personality. Nobody at work does."

Without warning Homelander wrapped an arm around my shoulders and stretched out on the couch again, bringing me down to lie next to him, pinned between his body and the couch's back. "What—what—" I spluttered.

"Relax. I just want you to lie down with me. No sex involved, unless you ask." I heard the smile in his voice and decided to ignore it. He'd moved his arm from my shoulders to my waist, and I didn't think he'd let me get up.

"Why do you want me to do that?" If he hadn't been Homelander, I'd think he was having a nervous breakdown.

"Like I said. I don't want you to be so afraid of me. You seem to think I'm some kind of hellbeast that's going to spring on you and rip your throat out." That wasn't far off, but I didn't share that thought with him. "So I think if we just lie here together and I don't kill you or anything, you might learn how to relax a little around me."

I expected him to follow that up with another crude sexual remark, but he was silent. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that sounds like you want me to trust you."

"I wouldn't go that far, but—maybe. More than you do now, anyway. It'll make things easier for both of us later on."

"We don't have a basis for trust between us. And what do you mean, later on?"

But he shushed me and pulled me closer to him. "Let's just lie here for a while."

Well, if he didn't intend to talk to me, I knew I couldn't force him. My head rested on his shoulder and I tried to make myself loosen my tense muscles. His hand rubbed my back as he murmured, "Just relax, Ashley. Nothing bad will happen to you."

Says you, I wanted to tell him, but continued trying to relax. Were we cuddling? Cuddling? I didn't think Homelander knew how to cuddle, much less felt any desire to do that. But I couldn't deny it had been a long time since I'd been this close to anyone without demands made of me and I missed the physical comfort of it. I wondered what it would feel like if he'd been naked-

STOP THAT STOP THAT RIGHT THE f*ck NOW!

He took hold of the hand that rested on his chest. "You jolted just then. Is anything wrong?"

"Just thinking."

He laughed a little. "What wrong things were you thinking about?"

No way was I going to mention anything about him being naked, despite a little twinge in my lower abdomen at the idea. "I'm trying to figure out how you think this will benefit you."

"Isn't it obvious? I'm a man. I like sex. I would like sex with you. Pretty simple, really."

"With my malfunction and all?"

He had the nerve to smile. "It got your mind off how scared you were, didn't it? Besides, I'm not sure that's the truth."

"The walking lie detector thinks I'm lying but isn't sure? Don't tell Stan Edgar that—he'd have you on the lifts at the garage in no time."

Homelander chuckled. "I'm liking that sarcasm, which is weird because usually it just pisses me off."

"Then maybe you should call this a loss and take up with somebody like Queen Maeve or Stormfront." I felt him flinch at her name and tried to take the opportunity to roll over him and off the couch, but he caught me before I could and then I was lying full-length on top of him. If I'd wondered what he felt like, I was getting my answer. A shiver went through me.

"Well, well," he murmured. "Now this is an interesting position, Ashley. Thanks for thinking of it."

"Can you just let go of me? I'm sorry I tried to get away."

"You'll never get away, and I'm not going to let go. You feel too good." One of his hands, the one that wasn't around my waist, pulled my blouse out of the waistband of my skirt and slid over the bare skin of my back. Even though he still wore his glove, I couldn't hold back a shudder and cursed my body for reacting to him. "See, that's what I'm not understanding, Ashley. You liked what you were doing to me on the balcony and you like what I'm doing to you now." I opened my mouth and he cut me off. "That's not my ego talking. You forget who I am. I can hear your heart, fast or slow, your blood pressure, your breathing. I can sense other things you'd be more comfortable not knowing about. So it's not worth it to lie to me about whether you like touching me and being touched because I already know the truth. Can we make a bargain not to lie about that?"

"Sure, fine," I muttered.

"Does it embarrass you that you enjoy it?"

"We—don't have a relationship where I'm comfortable feeling this. I've spent too much time being petrified of you."

His eyes went distant, then focused on me again. "While you were away this weekend, I had time to think and came up with an idea about a way you might learn not to be afraid of me, if you still were. I like lying here with you, though, so I think we may do this every morning from now on. Just so you can get used to me physically."

I didn't know what to say to that. "I don't understand why you're pursuing this. We had dinner and I got drunk and made a pass. We're not friendly and have never had anything other than a professional relationship. You've never given me any reason to think you wanted anything else. Ever. I would have expected you to let it go."

"That last part was a lie," he said. "What did you expect me to do with our little after-dinner encounter?"

I sighed and tried to squirm away from him. He responded to that by bringing one leg up between mine so I was straddling his thigh. I let out a surprised gasp and stopped wriggling before saying, "I wish you would let a lie go occasionally, just for sh*ts and giggles."

"Not today," he told me. "What did you expect?"

"Fine. I expected you to use it against me. I expected you to mock me for it and humiliate me, the way you do with everything else. Maybe make it public information just to shame me more. Or maybe tell Stan Edgar I'd sexually harassed you so he would fire me."

"Why would I want you fired? I'm the one who brought you back to Vought in the first place after Madelyn fired you. I wanted you here."

"I don't know why you do anything. Your plans are–opaque at the best of times."

"Why don't you believe I might just want to f*ck you? That can't be such a new and unusual thing."

"Because you don't. I'm a talking lamp to you. I've seen your type and I am not that. I'm not a supe and I'm not beautiful. I could maybe believe you'd decide I'd do if you'd been…let's say deprived. But you can get pretty much any woman you want, so I doubt if you've been living like a monk."

"You might be surprised. I haven't had any…attachments since Stormfront."

I wasn't sure I believed that. He definitely could plow as many groupies as he wanted. Maybe he was grieving? I asked myself. Homelander had loved her, I felt sure. Just the way I thought he'd loved Madelyn, the way he'd loved Queen Maeve. Something unsettling occurred to me then; unless he had some woman hanging around that I'd missed, I was the only woman in his life that he'd formed any connection with, even if the connection was nothing but shouting at me and name-calling. Convenience, thy name is Ashley.

Homelander went on. "And where did you get the idea that I only like to do things that hurt?"

I gave him a questioning look. "When did I say that?"

"When you were drunk off your ass and trying to let me down gently."

"Which clearly didn't work." He opened his mouth again and I said, "Yes, I remember. If you must know, I'm the one who let the contractor in to do the repairs on Stormfront's apartment after you and she—let's say 'became one flesh.' I had a good look around. That kind of damage doesn't come from soft words and candlelight, that's for sure."

"Oh." He was quiet for a while and I wondered what time it was. My first appointment was at eight-thirty and I didn't think it would look appropriate to the head of Marketing for the SVP of Hero Management to be lying on top of a supe on her office couch when he got there. "You have to know I wouldn't do…I wouldn't use that amount of strength with you." I let out a snort. "Do you think I've never touched a non-supe woman before? I can control my strength." When I rolled my eyes, he put a hand under my chin and forced me to look at him directly. "Did you ever see Madelyn with injuries? Even little ones like hickeys?"

"Uh—no."

"Did you ever know Becca Butcher?"

"No, I didn't start working here until a couple of months after she quit."

"Okay. Well, nothing happened to her from the sex except that she got pregnant. So I can manage being with a non-supe." I didn't say anything, but he made me keep looking at him. "Ashley, I promise you that when we do this you're absolutely safe. I will never hurt you during sex, unless you want me to do something like spank you, or that kind of thing."

"Spanking's not something I go for."

"But it does remind me of why I was in your office to begin with. I told you that I'd come up with an idea about how you could be more comfortable with me."

"It wasn't this?" I indicated our position on the couch with a sweep of my hand.

"No, that was spur-of-the-moment after you almost fainted from fear when I locked the door. My plan—and actually think about it before you say no—is to have a few scenes with you, like you're planning with Adam."

"You think subbing for you is going to make me less afraid? That's—"

"Ashley, can you let me finish? I'm not going to dominate you. You're going to dominate me."

The breath left me in an instant as I had a mental flash of Homelander tied to a bed, naked, with me kneeling over him, caressing him as he arched against the bonds and made a deep noise of pleasure, and a wave of tingling warmth passed through me. "Uh—I don't know."

But he was grinning. "The hell you don't. Oh, you liked that idea. You liked it a lot, so why don't we just pretend you've already let me talk you into it and get down to the important parts—where and when?"

Even considering this was a mistake. A big, big mistake. Getting any more entangled with Homelander than my job at Vought required was begging for disaster. I knew he'd been telling the truth about not hurting Madelyn, from the time I'd spent as her assistant, and I couldn't speak to Becca's experience as I had no first-hand knowledge. But I knew there had been groupies by the truckload and, as far as I knew, Vought had never had to cover anything up in that area. And, to be fair to him, although he'd been threatening and insulting toward me, he'd never been physically violent. When he wanted to make me hurt, he restricted himself to inflicting emotional damage, like with the wig incident, where he'd forced me to be worse than naked in front of A-Train and the Deep. I suspected he'd thought of that before suggesting his plan. Did he think the idea of punishing him would sweeten the pot for me? But, judging by my physical response to the suggestion, he might have guessed right.

"Do you know what I did after I left you on the balcony Wednesday night?" he asked.

"Went back to the Tower, I guess."

"Any guesses as to what I did when I got back to my apartment?"

"Uh—went to sleep?"

"Eventually, but not before I jerked off thinking about you."

Why was this a surprise to me? He was a grown man and I knew I'd left him aroused. Maybe it was that he thought about me instead of Queen Maeve or Stormfront or Madelyn. "You…did?"

He laughed. "All I had to do was think about that blowj*b you offered me, and that rose-petal mouth of yours wrapping around my dick, and that was it. Like, less than a minute. Good thing you weren't there or I would have embarrassed myself." I didn't say anything until he ran a finger over my lips. "I'm obsessed with your mouth. Have been for a long time."

All I could say was, "Why am I just now finding out about all of this?"

Homelander shrugged. "The time wasn't right."

That triggered a light-bulb moment, if he was telling the truth. He had never had any competition, so there was no hurry. But now that Adam had shown a real interest, a desire to take me away from Vought, away from him, he needed to do something to keep me here for his own convenience, even if he had to make the sacrifice of sleeping with me. He was nothing if not pragmatic. It was a depressing line of thought, but most likely true. "Why is the time right now?" I just wanted to know what lie he'd tell me.

"Because I'm tired of denying myself. I want you and if I need to submit to you sexually to get you to stop being afraid of me, I'll do it." He flashed a grin at me. "And I have to say that I'm curious. I want to know what you'll do to me."

The image of him, bound and writhing in pleasure, returned, along with a new image of me kneeling at Homelander's feet, his hands on my shoulders, as I used my mouth on him. None of this was bringing down my temperature, especially with his thigh between mine and the feel of his body under me. "Nothing you didn't agree to in advance."

"Come on, Ashley. You know you want to. Doesn't it make you all tingly to think about me doing whatever you say? And I'll be naked when I do."

I hated myself for it, but I wanted this. The physical responses he evoked—I hadn't felt that way in years, and it made me ashamed that I needed to feel it again. "Oh my God, I can't believe this."

"Just say yes. Let's be honest about wanting to play with each other."

Dammit! And I gave up. "We can do it once. If that goes well, we can maybe do it again."

"That's my girl," he said, and pulled me up his body enough to bring his mouth to mine. Since I'd already lost the fight, I buried my fingers in his hair and kissed him back with as much passion as I could manage. He might have been surprised by my response, but he took advantage as soon as he felt it to let his hands move all over me and I began squirming against him again. How well could he feel me through the material of the suit and its built-in muscles? The thought floated away on a tide of sensation as I gave myself up to the moment.

Which ended abruptly when my secretary knocked on the door. "Ms. Barrett? Your eight-thirty is here?"

I tore my mouth away from his to call out, "Give me five minutes, Gina. I'm finishing up an emergency meeting with Homelander."

"Yes, Ms. Barrett," she replied.

His breathing was heavy and I was almost panting. I put the embarrassment away for the moment and said, "Can we get together for lunch? We need to arrange this."

"Absolutely. I look forward to it. Come by my apartment when you're ready." He let me go and got off the couch himself, straightening his cape and running a gloved hand through his hair.

"You have my lipstick on," I told him.

He gave me a smile and swiped at his mouth with the back of his glove. "Better?"

"Much." I checked my wig to make sure it was on straight.

"Wait a minute," said Homelander. He came over to me and put a hand on the back of my neck, moving the thumb of his right hand over my lips. My lipstick went with it, a dark red smear on the leather. I was surprised I had any left after the past few minutes. "Was it messed up?"

"Yes, but I don't like it when you wear dark lipstick. It hides your mouth from me. I like that rose-colored lipstick you used to wear, the one that looked like you weren't wearing any."

Goodbye Chanel Vamp, I guess. "Duly noted."

My schedule was solid meetings until twelve-thirty, but I couldn't give them more than partial attention. The impending lunch with Homelander squatted in the center of my mind, defeating any efforts to pay attention to my work. You f*cked up, I told myself as I locked the office door behind me and told Gina, "I'm going to lunch now."

"Remember, you have the meeting with Maureen at two o'clock."

"Thanks," I told her, work already receding into the distance as I walked toward Homelander's apartment. My heart rate was up—I could feel that myself. I wondered what he would make of it. I also wondered if I'd need to get something out of the snack machines because I'd invited myself over on short notice and didn't know if he'd have food.

It turned out he'd ordered pizza for us, but I was nervous enough for it to taste like cardboard, even though he'd somehow figured out that I liked veggie pizza without black olives. "So how do we do this?" he asked. We sat on his couch with the pizza on the coffee table and I was trying to separate two pieces where it hadn't been sliced completely.

"Well, the first thing I want to do is get a safeword for you."

"A safeword's like a super-no, right?"

I laughed. "Some people like to say no and stop as part of their fantasy, but they don't really mean it. It's confusing if they haven't made that clear. The safeword makes it clear you want to stop whatever's happening. It can be just a time-out for a few minutes or it can be an utter stop, but you need to have one."

"I don't think you're going to do anything that I'll need to stop."

"Regardless…" If I was any judge, Homelander had unhandled trauma by the truckload and I wanted to know when we'd stumbled into an unsafe area.

"What's yours?"

"Bioluminescence. It helps if it isn't a common word."

He sat back and looked at me for a minute before saying, "Redhead. How's that?"

Wow. What were the chances of Adam and Homelander coming up with the same safeword? "Could you pick something else? Adam already picked out that one."

"I'd say great minds think alike, but we both know he's not that. How about Roosevelt?"

"It's fine. Don't feel bad about using it if you need to."

"I'm sure I won't. What else?"

"Well, normally a domme calls herself something else if she's working professionally, but it might be a good idea to have something else to call me, to separate everyday Ashley from your domme."

He grinned. "I like that. My domme."

"Usually it's just Mistress Whatever."

"Okay, so you're Mistress when we're doing this. It brings up something I'd wanted to talk to you about." I nodded to let him know I was listening. "When we're doing this, I want you to call me John."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "May I ask why?"

"When you say Homelander, it makes you anxious. You don't have the same baggage with John. And I want you to be more relaxed with me."

"Fair enough. It's a good idea." He seemed happy I'd complimented him. "When and where is good for you?"

"Here. In the bedroom, of course. It'll have to be lunch tomorrow because Ryan eats lunch at school, so it's the only time he isn't here when we're both free."

Wednesday night I'd been so sunk in my own fears that I hadn't given a thought to Ryan. After he came to live with his father on a permanent basis, I'd gotten him enrolled in a Montessori school that Homelander insisted on referring to as 'the hippie school,' but Ryan had never been in a structured school environment. Once he got the knack of making friends and was more comfortable with people, we could see about transferring him to a more structured school. He seemed to be settling in nicely, though. "Where was he when we were having dinner?"

"Upstairs in his room. I told him we had a date and he should put his headphones on and listen to music. Or play video games. His choice."

Dr. Winterbourne and I had been right. Dinner had been a date. "Okay, so lunch tomorrow. Is there anything in particular that you want me to wear?"

He snorted. "You mean like leather and stiletto heels?"

"If you want that. If you want something else, tell me and I'll make it happen."

"Okay." He thought about it for a minute. "Wear that dress you wore to Nobu on Friday night. Whatever shoes you want. No underwear."

It surprised a grin out of me. "Do you want to be restrained in any way?" He rolled his eyes. "I know it won't do any good as far as keeping you from doing what you want because you're so strong, but it—"

"Do you want me to be restrained? It might help with you being afraid, even if I can pop anything you put on me like tissue paper."

Why did I feel like he knew that would turn me on? "Okay, we can do that."

"You're not answering the question. Do you want to tie me up?"

Oh yeah, he knew that would turn me on. I sighed. "Yes, I want to tie you up. That was the first thing I thought of when you mentioned subbing for me."

He grinned and took a big bite of his pizza slice. "I like it when you're honest, Ashley. So what do you have in mind—handcuffs, zip ties, silk scarves?"

"Not zip ties. They can give you scars and they're hard to cut a person out of if there's an emergency. Handcuffs are fine, but they don't feel good. So I'll probably go with silk scarves, if that's okay with you."

"It's fine with me. Anything that makes you more comfortable."

"Is there anything in particular that you want to do, that would excite you? Any little preferences you have. Any kinks." Was it safe to poke around the edges of what I'd seen the day he deafened Blindspot?

He opened his mouth but didn't say anything for a bit. "Sort of." I made an uncertain noise. "Is it all right if I sort of suckle you? Your breasts, I mean."

"Uh—sure. Whatever you want." So he didn't trust me enough to come out with the whole thing. I'd expected as much. "If something occurs to you during the scene, just let me know. And remember, don't be hesitant about using your safeword if I do something that you don't like."

Homelander grinned at me. "You're so protective, Ashley. I love it."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Not at all. I do enjoy you being protective of me."

I didn't know what to do with that. "So what do you want to do sexually, other than suckle me? What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to finish up that hand job you started Wednesday. Since this is our first time, I'm willing to take it a little more slowly that I would otherwise."

"I can do that."

"More important, what do you want me to do for you? Sexually, I mean."

I took a minute to choose my words. "At this point, you don't need to do anything. You already know that I don't have org*sms, so it would be beside the point."

"And you already know I think I can make you come, so what does that do to the situation?"

"Nothing. For now I want to see whether you can let me have control over the scene. It's not just about the domme respecting the sub's wishes, you know. It goes both ways."

"And ripping through those silk scarves to go down on you until you're begging me for more would be against your wishes?"

"At this time, yes. I don't want to have to worry about you losing control of yourself while we're doing a scene. Is that something I should be concerned with?"

Homelander waved a dismissive hand. "I'm as controlled as I need to be. You don't have to concern yourself with unrequested org*sms."

The way he put that…"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I've never been surer of anything. Do you want to back out, Ashley?"

"No."

He smiled at me. "Then it's settled. Lunch tomorrow."

I pushed down my worry and said, "Lunch tomorrow." I hoped I hadn't just made the biggest mistake of my life, bigger than coming back to Vought when Homelander asked. No sense in raking myself over the coals for giving in to wanting him—if he wanted me too, the outcome was almost predetermined.

"Are you going to tell Adam about this?"

"f*ck, no! He was angry enough when he thought we might be together. If he knew it for sure—well, it's just best that he not be in the know."

"So I'm your side piece, huh?"

"I guess you could say that. Does that make you mad?"

He gave me a look I couldn't read. "No. You have reasons for being with him, but your reason for being with me is pure desire. I think I'm better off than he is."

That was unexpected. "I'm glad you think that." I wondered if he'd still think that after we had our scene. Against my wishes, I found myself hoping that he would.

Chapter 6: Silks and Reactions

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 6 – Silks and Reactions

Homelander showed up in my office the next morning to lock the door and flop onto my couch again, patting the space next to him. "Come here, Ashley."

"You were serious about the lying down thing?" I asked.

"When have you known me not to be serious? Every morning from now on, like I said."

I'd been between e-mails when he came in, so I locked the screen and went over to lie next to him. "We're making progress," he told me. "This time you didn't even get close to fainting when I locked the door."

"I do better when I know what to expect."

"I'll make a note of that." I rested my head on his shoulder and tried to relax. "You're not wearing the dark lipstick today."

"You said you didn't like it. Seeing as we're having our scene at lunch…" I let my voice trail off.

"You could have wiped it off before we started."

I shrugged. "It's just as easy to wear lipstick you like."

Homelander changed the subject. "How come you didn't want me to use the same safeword as Adam? I mean, I doubt I'll use it at all, but I don't get that."

"Three's a crowd."

"Still don't get it."

"If you had to use the safeword, you'd remind me of Adam. That would bring him into our space, and it needs to be just you and me there. It's the same reason I wouldn't let him use your safeword if you'd gotten to pick first, because that would bring you into the space I have with him."

He didn't like that, but whether that was because I'd reminded him Adam and I had a relationship or because he hadn't gotten his own way I couldn't tell. "Are you going to see him this weekend?"

"No." We'd set things up for next weekend, but I didn't want to get into that with Homelander, not before we had our scene.

"Why don't you come over on Saturday, then? We can have dinner and watch that movie you mentioned, Duplicity."

How did he even remember I liked that movie? And this sounded like a date, an official date where he asked and I could say no if I wanted, not one he had to lie by omission to get me to show up for, or order me to appear. All this went through my head in a second before I said, "Okay." It seemed silly to refuse to eat a meal and watch a movie with him when we were going to have a scene in a few hours. Maybe he just wanted to get one up on Adam.

The knowledge of what would happen over lunch had me a little edgy, which he noticed. "You're tense."

"Sorry. I'm…a little nervous about lunch."

"What's making you nervous?"

Did I want to tell him before it happened? "Well, it's just that…I've only dommed a few times before this. I'm not somebody with tons and tons of experience, so that worries me a little."

"You'll be fine." His arm tightened around my shoulders. "I'll be happy with whatever you do."

"But I don't think you have that much experience in this area either."

"Are you going to make me come?"

It took me a second to recover before I said, "I was planning on it."

"Then I'll be happy with it."

"I forgot to ask earlier—if you don't want to do something I want you to do and it's not a safeword situation, did you want me to use any physical discipline with you? I know I can't hurt you—"

"No." The refusal was instant and I wondered what had happened to him to get that kind of knee-jerk response.

"Okay, I won't do anything like that. This is the kind of thing I need to know about in advance."

"Appreciated." We lay there without speaking for a few minutes before he asked, "Where's your outfit?"

I gestured toward my desk. "I brought it in a duffel bag, with the scarves."

"The ones you'll use to tie me up."

His breath tickled my ear and I shivered. "Yes." My voice wasn't exactly steady.

"Looking forward to it, I think." His voice had a warm, lazy edge to it.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Desperate for a distraction, I asked, "You know, I never really understood why your outfit is textured the way it is. I would think if you're trying to keep someone from grabbing you, it should be glassy-smooth so their hands just slide off."

Homelander's lips twitched and I thought he was trying to suppress a smile. "Madelyn thought it would feel good against her skin when we f*cked."

My mouth dropped open. "Is that what she told the design team?"

He laughed, surprised, and I thought it was the first unguarded laughter I'd ever heard from him. "Doubt it. But she did enjoy the sensations." His eyes shifted to my face. "Do you want to try it?"

"Uh—" I had no idea what to say. The thorny question hovered in my mind: how long had Homelander and Madelyn Stillwell been f*cking? Had she been his first lover? Probably—it would be an excellent way to keep him under control, after all.

"It's easy, Ashley. We still have time before your secretary gets here. Just unbutton your blouse, lean over, and rub yourself against my chest. I know you aren't wearing a bra."

"Have you been looking through my clothes?" I hissed, a little scandalized.

He scoffed. "Oh, please. You don't have double-D knockers, but I can still tell without X-ray vision. Most men can." I hesitated, although the idea had some…interest, and he knew it, just like he always did. "Consider it a little warm-up for the lunch scene. See if you like it, and we can do it again if you do." I still hesitated, and he said, "I'm going to see them at lunch anyway when I suckle them."

"Good point," I said, and raised myself on one elbow to unfasten the first button on my flowered silk blouse. He put one hand behind his head and watched, smiling a little. My nipples already stuck out against the material, tingling from his gaze and the knowledge of what I was about to do. I pulled the blouse out of the waistband of my skirt and removed it completely.

I started to lean forward when he said, "I changed my mind." I flinched—what did he mean? Had he cooled on the whole idea of a scene or just me trying out what Madelyn had enjoyed? He might be protective of her memory, of things he associated with her. Before I could ask, he went on. "I want you to straddle me while you're doing it."

The wave of relief I felt at his words troubled me. It shouldn't matter whether he wanted to do this with me or not. He was the one who'd introduced the idea, after all, so if he decided it was a bad idea it shouldn't bother me. But it did, and I didn't like that.

I hiked my skirt up to mid-thigh and slung one leg across him. His hands came forward to grip my hips as I settled on top of him. Once he was sure of my balance, his hands slid upward to my waist and rested there. The feel of his leather gloves against my skin sent a ripple of arousal through me. I put my hands on his chest, sliding them across the nubby fabric, then I leaned forward and let my breasts brush against him, the material teasing the sensitive nipples. And Madelyn was right—it was very stimulating. A little noise of pleasure escaped me, and he said, "Told you."

"Yeah, we'll be doing this again." My voice was breathless, but for once he didn't gloat about it.

Homelander was gone by the time Gina got to her desk, but gone didn't mean forgotten; far from it. None of the pre-lunch meetings held more than a sliver of my attention because all I could think about was what would happen over lunch. I tried denying it to myself, but I spent the entire morning feeling physically aroused. The scene wasn't for me, though, and I had to keep my own feelings under control to insure a satisfactory experience for him. When he'd first suggested this, I hadn't thought my own responses would prove an issue.

My breathing was quick and my heart rate up when I locked my office door at noon. "Gina, I may be a little late getting back from lunch today. If so, just push all my appointments back. If I'm really late, reschedule anybody who's important and cancel anybody who isn't."

"Yes, Ms. Barrett," she said.

Homelander had taken the duffel bag with him when he left this morning so nobody would see me taking it into his apartment and start wondering. I'd stowed my own soap and a makeup kit in the bag, so I could shower after and not smell like Homelander's soap if anyone else had as sharp a nose as he did. There was no real way to hide this long-term, but I doubted it would get that far. He would satisfy his curiosity and that would be that, and then he might be willing to let me go. Most men don't like having to work with an ex, and he wouldn't have any desire to get back together the way he had with Queen Maeve.

The door opened before I could knock. Homelander looked—nervous? Eager? "Come on in," he told me. As I moved past him, he ran his hand down the length of my back and I shivered. "I got a pizza so we can have lunch. Before or after, whichever you want."

"I think after. We'll both be more relaxed then." He gave me a knowing smile and my lips twitched. "Do you have a bathroom attached to your bedroom?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll get changed and then we can get started. Okay?"

"Sure. The bathroom's upstairs."

I started toward the spiral staircase toward the upper level, but he said, "Wait." I felt his arms wrap around me and my feet left the ground as he rose into the air toward the second floor. I started laughing as we followed the path of the stairs in our ascent. "You don't laugh much," he observed.

"Not much reason," I replied as we emerged onto the second floor. There was a hallway with five doors, one of them having a printed sign reading "Ryan's Room" in shades of red and blue. "What's up here?"

"Ryan's bedroom. My bedroom. Two empty bedrooms and a bathroom. I have an ensuite bathroom, but this is one you don't have to go through my bedroom to get to."

"Why do you have four bedrooms?"

"I thought I'd have more children." His expression darkened and I cast around for a way to lighten his mood and found nothing. I'd never been able to take his mind off anything.

"Well, you're not dead yet," was all I managed to say.

Somehow that made him laugh. Why? But it had served to get his mind off his nonexistent pure supe children and back to the moment. "True. And who knows? I might have more children later on."

"You never know."

Homelander rested one hand on the small of my back and inclined his head toward the door at the end of the hall. "My bedroom's that one."

I tried to keep my breathing steady and walked down the hall, acutely aware of his presence behind me. At this point I couldn't tell whether it was nerves or arousal that had me so jittery. He reached around me to open the door and his arm brushed against me, the nubbiness of the sleeve of his costume bringing back memories of the couch in my office, which I tried to suppress.

The bedroom itself was spartan, looking mostly the way I imagined it would have looked the day he moved in. His bed was a California king with a navy-blue comforter, which matched the two armchairs in the room. The dresser was dark cherrywood, and the carpet medium blue pile. The only non-generic thing in the room was a painting on the wall, about four feet wide and three feet high. A woman with straight, flowing dark auburn hair and perfect creamy skin held a green-diapered baby against her breast while two men in Greek togas looked at her while holding the sides of the wooden chest she stood in. The background was a rocky beach, with choppy blue-green waves rolling in and grayish-brown stone outcroppings in the far distance. The woman wore an off-the-shoulder dark blue gown with white figuring. I could see why Homelander liked it. I moved across the room toward it to have a better look. "This is John William Waterhouse's Danae."

"It is." He wore a neutral expression as he watched me.

"It was stolen from a private collection in New York in 1947 and never recovered. The only way we even know what it looked like is from a black-and-white photograph. What's it doing in your bedroom?"

"From what I understand, Frederick Vought had a liking for art and a dislike of having an offer refused. That was the year Vought Corporation was founded, so he might have been giving himself a present. I didn't know you were interested in art."

"My father's into art and I got a decent art history background through osmosis." Danae's gown was strikingly similar to the gown from Circe Invidiosa, which was painted the same year, 1892, and the sea with its stone formations was similar to what Waterhouse had painted in Ulysses and the Sirens the year before, but it also reminded me of his Miranda – The Tempest from 1916. I wanted to take a picture of it with my cell phone but restrained myself. "I never thought I'd see it in color."

"If you're interested in art, why don't you have a look at my collection downstairs while we're having lunch?"

"Are there any other stolen paintings in it?"

He gave me a half-smile. "We'll see. Your duffel bag's in the bathroom."

Not very subtle, but lunch was a-wasting. I nodded. "Okay. Just be aware that when I come back out of the bathroom, you're John and I'm Mistress and you do what the f*ck I say."

"Game on, then. Good times."

"Do you remember your safeword?"

"Yes." I gave him a look. "Roosevelt. It's Roosevelt."

"Do you want my wig on or off?"

That seemed to catch him off-guard. "Whichever you want."

I turned and went into the bathroom, which was all black marble, with a bathtub as big as a Jacuzzi and a glass-walled rain shower. The duffel bag sat next to the sink, and I pulled the champagne-colored co*cktail dress out, along with the silk scarves. They were as blue-green as the ocean in the Waterhouse painting, which I chose to interpret as a good sign. The Louboutin stilettos with their red soles came out of the bag next, then a bottle of my soap and makeup kit.

When I opened the shower door to put my soap next to his, I gave in to an impulse and sniffed at the soap he used. Very masculine, leather and amber and spice, and I liked it. The makeup kit I left on the bathroom counter as I started undressing. I folded my blouse and skirt and put them on the counter near my makeup kit, and tucked my panties and pantyhose underneath the pile. I hadn't thought to ask him if there was any jewelry he wanted me to wear, any particular perfume; I'd have to remember that after the scene. When I shook the champagne-colored dress out, I noticed the long tear in the bodice seam that Adam had left and rebuked myself for forgetting about it. But what were the chances that Homelander would notice the rip? He should have other things on his mind. I gave myself an impish smile in the mirror and pulled the dress on over my nakedness. Sliding my feet into the Louboutins, I stood there staring at myself for a minute. Wig on or off? With Adam, that wasn't even a question—he didn't know I wore one as I'd never taken it off in front of him, never even mentioned it. But Homelander—he knew more about me than Adam did, and as a result I could be freer, if I wanted. Did I want that?

On impulse, I removed my wig and set it atop my clothes. Maybe he would see it as a jab at him, maybe he wouldn't. If he didn't want to see, he should have told me to keep it on.

Homelander stood at the foot of the bed when I emerged from the bathroom, the silk scarves in one hand, wigless. The stilettos I'd chosen to wear evened up our height difference; I wasn't eye-to-eye with him but it was closer than when I wore flats. I'd put on the Mistress persona and my stride was slow, predatory, like a tiger. I made sure to keep my face serene, with a hint of a knowing smile around my lips. "John, why haven't you undressed? We don't have all day."

He looked uncertain. "You didn't tell me to."

"I didn't tell you to what?" My expression sharpened.

"Uh—mistress. You didn't tell me to, mistress."

I smiled at him, the previous sharpness dimming a few degrees. "That's right, John. I thought you might be able to figure out that you'd need to undress for what we're doing, but apparently I was wrong. In the future—if there is a future—when I come out of the bathroom you will be naked and waiting for me. Do you understand?"

"Yes." When I opened my mouth, he added, "mistress."

"Good." Moving past him toward the bed, I was careful to let the fingers of one hand graze his groin. He already had a respectable hard-on, and I had to suppress a smile. The headboard of the bed had places where the scarves could be secured, but the footboard didn't, so I would have to tie his feet to the legs of the bed. I flicked my skirt to one side, baring my leg to the thigh, as I knelt on the bed and tied the scarves to the headboard and around the legs at the foot. I didn't check to see if he was looking. If I was any judge, he was.

Once the scarves were fastened, I slid backward off the bed, letting the skirt ride up. Homelander still stood where he had, his expression a little dazed. "You haven't started undressing, John. I hope you don't expect me to do it for you yet. You haven't earned it."

"But I will be able to earn that…mistress?"

I smiled. "Yes. All you need to do is be a good boy." His expression changed, but he masked it quickly. I had the sense that something in him had responded powerfully to what I just said. I could work with it. "Now take your clothes off, John."

He swallowed and his hands went up to his neck and unfastened his cape, letting it drop to the floor. "Please, a little neatness," I told him. "Fold your clothes neatly and put them on the chair. There's no reason for them to get wrinkled."

He picked up the cape and did what I said. I was curious as to how the top part of his costume came off, as I'd never been able to see any zippers. Homelander put his hands to the neck of his suit and ripped. The front part came away and I realized it fastened with Velcro. He started to pull his arms out of it, but then stopped. "I…have a concern, mistress."

"Go ahead," I said. "Anything you say in this room is just between us. I'll never repeat anything."

"Uh—I was thinking maybe you'd want me to keep the shirt of the costume on. Madelyn didn't like me to take it off. She didn't like me to take off the pants much either."

I decided to ignore the fact that he hadn't called me mistress. "Did she tell you why not?"

He kept his gaze directed at the floor. "You've seen me naked before. I'm thin. I don't have the kind of muscles women find attractive because I'm too strong to build up the mass. That's why they're built into the suit. She didn't find me physically attractive naked."

"What about Queen Maeve and Stormfront?"

"I never took the shirt of it off in front of them. Not with any of the groupies, either. They all liked the way the texture felt, so it was never a problem."

Goddamn Madelyn Stillwell. I'd bet money she'd f*cked him when he was well underage, and she also saw fit to make him feel ugly when he was nothing of the sort. At least I knew why he'd suggested I rub my breasts against his costume earlier. "Did you know that I wasn't physically attracted to you until I saw you naked that day, when I came in without knocking to give you your numbers?"

"No…mistress. May I ask why not?"

Well, he was learning. "Yes, you may. Different women have different tastes, different things that appeal to them. I don't like health club muscles and dehydrated six-pack abs, no matter how popular they are right now. I like tall, lean men. I didn't realize the muscles were in the suit and that you actually fit my physical type to a T. The first thought I had, when I rushed into your apartment and saw you, was 'Damn, he's beautiful.' So you can be assured I don't share Madelyn's opinion, and in this room only my opinion counts. I want to see and touch your beautiful body, and Madelyn can go to hell."

He looked stunned. If he'd been a cartoon his jaw would have been on the floor. "If I've handled the concern, go back to undressing."

It took him a moment to recover, to pull his arms out of the top part of his costume and fold it as I'd instructed him. I could still see his nerves at being naked in front of me, but I felt sure I could cure that pretty quickly. He kept shooting little glances at me, and I let my eyes roam all over him and thought again that Madelyn was a f*cking fool. "Why weren't you concerned about me seeing you naked when I walked in on you that day? You didn't seem uncomfortable at all."

Homelander shrugged. "It wasn't a situation like this one. And you were so agitated I thought it was an emergency. I've never had much privacy, so I'm more comfortable with being naked when it isn't about sex than most people. Mistress."

Vought must have had his cell wired for sight and sound twenty-four seven. It sounded like hell. Every decision about him that they made had been the worst possible one, unless they wanted to create a sociopath who could destroy the world. It was an amazement that men who were as intelligent as they were could be so dumb.

He'd unfastened his belt when I said, "Boots first. You always want to take your boots off before you try to get your pants off." With a sideways look at me, he sat down on the bed and pulled his boots off. "You can put them by the chair where your clothes are." He didn't reply, but did what I said, and removed his belt, coiling it up and placing it with his cape and costume shirt. Without any hesitation he removed his pants and folded them as well. A slow, shuddering breath left me. He was as hard and ready as he'd been that day in his living room, riding the high of his elevated numbers.

"Very good, John," I told him, hoping my voice was steady. "Now lie down on the bed, face-up."

"Yes, mistress." When I wrapped the scarves around his wrists and tied them, I left the one on his right wrist loose enough for him to slip it if he needed. It was possible that he might panic over something and forget his safeword, and Homelander panicking was nothing I wanted to deal with, now or ever. I kept the bindings around his ankles tight.

Now that he was restrained—or as restrained as Homelander could ever be—I climbed onto the bed and straddled him, the way I had this morning, but now nothing separated us except the flimsy material of my dress. I leaned forward until my body was pressed against him and ran my hands up his arms as I kissed him. There was an instant of hesitation on his part, then he was kissing me back, his tongue in my mouth, and I shuddered. Along with the pleasure came a distinct sense of unreality—how was it even possible that I was in Homelander's bed with him? Two weeks ago the very notion would have been insane.

When I broke the kiss, my breathing was noticeably heavier, as was his. I shifted my mouth to his neck and kissed and nibbled and sucked. He groaned and let his head fall back to give me better access. I slid down his body, my hands moving over his shoulders, chest, stomach, but careful to avoid the hard thrusting erection between his legs which demanded attention.

I straightened into a sitting position and kept running my hands over his chest and stomach, sometimes using the pads of my fingers, sometimes teasing him with my fingernails. "Your body is perfect, John. I want to kiss every inch of it."

"You can start with my co*ck, mistress."

I almost laughed but gave him a severe expression. "Are you being sassy with me, John?"

He looked down. "No, mistress."

"Well, I think you were, and I think I need to deal with that right now." It didn't surprise me; I figured that when he got a little more comfortable he'd start sassing me. Since he didn't want any physical correction, I'd have to go the psychological route, carrot and stick.

I sat back on my heels and ran my fingers up and down the insides of his thighs, careful to avoid his co*ck and balls, teasing his inner thighs with my fingernails flicking over the sensitive skin, and it pleased me to notice he spread his legs a bit to give me more room to play. "Do you like this, John?"

"Yes." His voice was unsteady. "Yes, mistress."

"Do you want me to keep doing this? Because if you're going to be a sassy, disobedient little boy, I'll just get up, get dressed, and leave, and we'll never do this again. You'll never feel me touching you again, or kissing you, and you'll never, ever f*ck me. Are you going to be naughty and sassy to me, or do you want to be my good boy?"

"I want to be your good boy, mistress." He was getting into it more now, I saw, and I kicked off the Louboutins before standing up on the mattress.

"I don't know if you do, John." My feet sank into the mattress as I took a step forward, toward the head of the bed. "I know you're trying, but I don't know if you can restrain yourself from disobedience." He'd frozen as I kept walking up the mattress, slowly as I needed to maintain my balance. It wouldn't do for Mistress to fall off the mattress and do a faceplant straight into the floor. The hem of the co*cktail dress brushed over his aching co*ck and he moaned. In a few steps, my feet were on either side of Homelander's head, the hem of the dress veiling his face, and he was looking straight up my skirt. I widened my stance a bit as I put my arms out to brace myself against the wall. "Do you see that?"

He had to swallow before saying, "Yes, mistress."

"You aren't getting that. Sassy, naughty, disobedient boys don't get that. Only good boys get that. And I just don't know about you. I don't know if you can be my good boy. I don't know if you really want to."

"I do. I do want to be your good boy, mistress. Don't make us stop." His voice was as shaky as I'd ever heard it, so I decided to dial things down a little bit. I was sure I was already late getting back from lunch, so it wouldn't hurt to wrap things up now.

"I can't help but want to believe you. I still have some faith that you can be my good boy." I started backing up, the dress hem drifting over his face, and he was gasping for breath as the hem teased his chest and stomach and co*ck with my passage backwards. At his thighs, I seated myself again. I reached out and slid my fingers over his co*ck, which caused his hips to buck upward. "Because I think you may be able to be a good boy, I'm going to give you something that good boys get. Do you want that?"

Homelander nodded, still gasping, and I wrapped my hand around his co*ck and began sliding it up and down. He started bucking upward, but my weight on his thighs kept me from losing complete control. I did my best to keep my breathing under control, but the sight of him, lost in the pleasure of what I was doing to him, set me to throbbing with desire. "Like this, John?" I hoped I'd kept my voice steady.

"Yes. Yes." He was so deep into the experience that I didn't take him to task for not calling me mistress. Wetness was leaking out the head onto my hand, and I wanted to lean over and take him in my mouth and suck him dry, but this time was only the hand job. The blowj*b was for next time.

"You're my beautiful boy, John. You're my good boy, and no one else could ever be as good as you are. You're such a good, good boy—" and I didn't even get the chance to finish what I was saying before he cried out and arched up against my hand, coming in hard spurts, and I tried to make it last for him as long as I could. Eventually he sagged back onto the mattress, eyes closed.

I untied the scarves from his wrists and ankles and settled onto the bed next to him, shrugging out of the top of my dress. His eyes were still closed as I leaned over him and brushed my nipple against his lips. "Do you still want to suckle me?"

He moved like a striking rattlesnake, catching me in his arms and rolling me on top of him as he latched onto my breast and started sucking. I couldn't stop the moan that the sensation caused, and if I'd still been in the Mistress persona I would have scolded him for not asking permission before taking my nipple in his mouth, but the arousal I felt made everything hazy, and I just wanted him to keep doing what he was doing.

His hands still gripped me at the waist, so my hands were free to stroke his hair as he suckled me. I felt every pull on my breast between my legs, but I did my best to keep my urges under control. This was for him, to satisfy him, his curiosity about what it would be like to be dominated. "As much as you want," I whispered. "You can do this as much as you want." Belatedly I hoped he didn't think I meant he could do this for the rest of the day—what was Gina going to think if I didn't make it back for the rest of the day? What excuse would I make? But the gentle pulls on me gradually made me forget my concerns, and I barely noticed as he changed our positions so I was underneath him and he switched his mouth to my other breast. I didn't even know or care how long it took for him to release me and roll over to lie next to me.

As soon as I felt composed enough to speak, I told him, "If we had more time, I'd run a bath, but I think a shower will have to do."

"That's fine." Homelander's voice was lazy and satisfied, and he kept running his fingers over my arm. "We'll have a shower, then we'll have lunch."

I'd forgotten all about lunch. I hoped Gina had gone to the reschedule/cancel instruction I'd given her. "Good thinking."

I started to get up, head for the bathroom, but he caught my arm and pulled me back to him. "Do you think that went well?"

"Uh—yes. For your first time, I think it went quite well."

"Next time I want my co*ck in your mouth. Does that sound good to you?"

How had he guessed what was in my mind when I was jerking him off? But I didn't lie; I wanted that too. "Yes, next time I can suck you off."

He ran his thumb over my lips. "You're such a good mistress. And I didn't even know I needed a mistress.'"

I laughed. "I'm glad you're happy."

In the shower I made sure to be gentle with him as I washed him with his soap, and he was drained enough to let me without making any remarks. I started to scrub myself and he said, "No, let me do that."

"You don't have to," I said.

"But I want to take care of my mistress. You wouldn't stop me, would you?"

I laughed a little. "Okay, but we have to be quick. I have to be back in my office and you have to do—whatever you have to do."

Homelander put some of his shampoo in the palm of his hand and rubbed it over my scalp. A sharp stab of pleasure went straight into my groin at the contact, and he smiled. "Your hair feels nice."

"It's too short, it's spiky and sharp."

"I like it. I wish I'd rubbed my co*ck on your scalp while we were in bed."

That made me giggle. "I'd never have thought of that."

"I have good ideas too. Especially the one about you dominating me. That was the best idea I've had in a long, long time."

"Glad you think so." Then I closed my eyes and let him shampoo my hair, and let him soap a washcloth and begin scrubbing me. It felt good, and I lost myself in it until he handed the washcloth over.

"I know you said you didn't want me doing anything for you sexually, and if I put my hand between your legs I don't think I can keep enough control not to do any number of pleasurable things to you, so I think you should do that part yourself."

"That's sweet of you. I appreciate it." And I did—it was one of the first times he'd actually respected my boundaries. He seemed pleased by what I'd said. When we got downstairs and I could see a clock, it proved I was right—I would be forty-five minutes late for work if I left right now and an hour late if I stayed long enough for lunch, which I planned to do since he'd been considerate enough to get food for us.

I didn't see any stolen paintings in his art collection downstairs, at least none I was aware of, but I may have been distracted by Homelander not bothering to put on any clothes after the shower and walking around his apartment naked. Some other time, when he had clothes on, I'd recheck the collection for stolen art. Before I left, he wrapped me up in his arms and kissed me until my head was spinning. "We're still having our dinner and a movie on Saturday?"

"Yes," I told him. "If anything changes and you need to reschedule, just let me know."

He laughed. "That's not going to happen."

Homelander had been right about my lipstick; the last kissing session at his front door would have been much more obvious if I'd been wearing dark lipstick, but the rose lipstick kept my secrets. I was smiling as I approached Gina's desk. "Ms. Barrett? There was a call for you at lunch. The man said he was your father. I just took his number and said you'd call back. Was that all right?"

I did my best to seem casual as I recovered from the shock. "Yes, Gina. My father doesn't call very often so there's no reason you'd know his voice." Once I was inside the office, I unfolded the slip of paper that I'd crushed in my grip. Might as well get it over with, I told myself, and called the number.

Chapter 7: Dr. Winterbourne Session 11

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 7 - Dr. Winterbourne Session 11

“My father called me yesterday,” I told Dr. Winterbourne. I still couldn’t get over the surprise. The last time he’d called was directly after Soldier Boy’s attack on Vought Tower, to make sure I was all right. Once assured that I was, he’d had little to say and ended the call quickly. Yesterday hadn’t gone that smoothly.

“Ashtree!” I winced a little at his nickname for me. I didn’t want to remember being that young girl. She was soft and sweet and helpless, and I was no longer any of those.

“Hello, Roman. I’m returning your call.”

“And quickly too. How are you doing?”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. And yourself?”

“Can’t complain. The muse is still with me.”

“And now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, what do you want?”

He tsk-tsked at me. “Really, Ashtree, is that any way to speak to your father?”

“Maybe not, but it’s the way I speak to the man who left me to deal with my mother’s death all but alone. That’s not something I’ll forget.” A dull rush of anger tried to assert itself, but I couldn’t get a good temper going as I was still too much under the influence of the scene with Homelander. I’d discovered a secondary benefit of it—even if I hadn’t had an org*sm, a sense of well-being suffused me.

He sighed. I pictured him, sitting on the big leather sofa in his Houston Street loft, colorful canvases of all sizes and in various stages of completion littered around. “I’ve apologized to you a thousand times, told you why, but I understand. The reason I called was to invite you to a showing. The Rappard Gallery in SoHo is doing a retrospective of my work. Of course the series I’ve done with you and your mother will figure prominently.”

“Of course.” It was my turn to sigh. “When is the opening?”

“Saturday night. I’ll send you the address of the gallery.”

“Roman, I have a date on Saturday.”

There were a few long seconds of silence on the other end. “You’re dating someone? Oh, I remember now. You’re seeing that director, whatshisname, Boone?”

“Bourke. His name’s Adam Bourke, but he isn’t the one I would be bringing. If I go,” I hastened to add.

“Good. I’m glad to see you’re spreading your wings in the dating world. I always thought you kept too much to yourself.”.

I bit back a remark about it being a little late to sound like a father. “I’m not sure it would be a good idea to come to the showing with him. He might pull focus from you. He’s famous.”

Roman sighed. “There will be a lot of celebrities there. It’s my first retrospective. Who is this guy?”

“I don’t want to tell you unless he agrees to come to the showing.”

“You think I can’t keep a secret?”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not sure he wants us to be seen in public yet. It’s new.”

“Just ask him, Ashtree. It would mean a lot to me for you to be there.”

I had some uncharitable thoughts about him playing daddy years too late but kept them to myself. “Okay, I’ll ask him, but I don’t guarantee anything.”

“Yes, you’ve made that clear. It’s all I ask.”

Dr. Winterbourne brought me back to the present when she asked, “You said that you and your father rarely talk. Was there some kind of emergency?”

I shook my head. “He’s having a social event that he wants me to go to. It’s related to his career. I don’t want to go, but I feel obligated.”

“What kind of relationship do you have with your father?”

“Mostly nonexistent. He contacts me when he remembers I exist.”

“Has it always been that way?”

“My parents were never married and never lived together, so he acted like a divorced dad right from the start, flying in with presents and attention and then dropping me when some new shiny object presented itself. I know that he loves me, in his way, but it isn’t what most people would think of as a standard parental relationship.”

“Do you know why your parents didn’t get married?”

“They both spouted a bunch of nonsense about societal expectations and personal freedom and pieces of paper, but she would have married him if he’d wanted. I think, if they’d gotten married, that would have given her rights in his life, and claims on him, and he can’t stand that. He couldn’t just shrug her off whenever he wanted if she’d been his wife. He’s also in a creative occupation, and his peers might have thought less of him if he’d been in a conventional relationship.”

“You said once that she was the foundation of his world. That doesn’t really fit with what you’re telling me now.”

“Oh, she was. He always came back to her when he got tired of his other women. There were a lot of those. She helped handle the business side of his career and he depended on her a lot.”

“Like John depends on you?”

I stared at her in horror. “What?”

“He must depend on you very much, or he wouldn’t be resistant enough to your leaving to make you afraid he’ll become violent. If he didn’t, it wouldn’t make any difference to him whether it was you in that position at Weyland-Yutani or someone else.”

The idea made my head spin. I could not be recreating my parents’ relationship. I could see differences because I was privy to both of them, but I couldn’t discount what Dr. Winterbourne said. “I hadn’t thought about it that way,” was my weak response.

“Has anything new happened with John? The last time we talked, you said you hadn’t seen him since the incident after the dinner you had.”

I swallowed. “I just want you to know that I made a bad decision there. Since I know this was a bad decision, you don’t have to tell me it was a bad decision.”

That almost got her to smile. “All right.”

“I’m—I have a date with him on Saturday.” At the last minute I chickened out on telling her about the scene we’d had. I didn’t need to be told how stupid I’d been, under the influence of the physical response I had with him. “He—seems to want to try on a romantic relationship.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“He said that he’d been interested in me for a while but hadn’t thought the time was right. I’m sure that’s just because he knows there’s a chance of me taking the job with Zach and leaving.”

Mercifully, she decided to drop the subject of Homelander, at least for now. “Last time, you said you were going to tell Zach about the situation with John.”

My mood brightened. “I did, and he said he’d give me as much time as I need to separate myself from Weyland-Yutani. He also agreed to have some scenes with me to make sure we’re compatible.”

“That’s good.”

“I don’t know if he’s going to be faithful, though. In fact, I’m not even sure he was faithful to me this weekend. He made some excuses about work and wasn’t with me very much. It’s a crunch time at his job, but this was something planned in advance.”

“Do you know if he’s ever been unfaithful to you before this? Is this something that’s been a problem in the relationship?”

“No,” I was forced to admit. “I hear rumors, but he’s in an occupation where rumors run amok. We haven’t talked about whether we’ll be monogamous. And I know that’s something I should bring up, but I was too focused on the John situation this weekend for that.”

“Does he want you to be monogamous? Has he given you any indication?”

“I think he does. I’d started telling him about John and he had a reaction when he thought I might be with John that was—it was weird, like he wanted to beat up John. But he would never do anything like that. He’s always been very sweet with me.” Except when he ghosted me.

“So he would react badly to you going on a date with John?”

“He wouldn’t be happy, but there isn’t the same danger as there would be if John were in that position.”

“John knows you’re having sex with Zach, though, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. I don’t think he’s figured out yet how to put a stop to it. The date is probably his opening move to get Zach out of my life. He’s very Machiavellian.”

Even after yesterday’s scene, Homelander showed up in my office to lie on my couch with me in the morning. I didn’t want to admit it, but I’d started looking forward to it myself. Not this morning, though, because I had to address what my father wanted. I thought he could probably hear my pulse racing when I asked, “I know we were going to have dinner and a movie on Saturday, but is there any chance you’d want to go to an art showing instead?”

He frowned a little, but he didn’t seem angry. “Who’s the artist?”

“Roman Deranian. It’s his first retrospective.”

“I don’t have any of his works. Why do you want to go?”

“He asked me to. Since he doesn’t ask me for much, when he does ask for something I feel like I have to do it.”

I felt his muscles tense. “I have to credit you for being a good ex-girlfriend. Will you show up to all my movie premieres if I ask?”

“What?” I started laughing. “No, he’s not an old boyfriend. He’s my father.”

That seemed to surprise him. “Why isn’t your last name Deranian, then?”

“My parents weren’t married, and my mother’s last name was Barrett. It’s complicated. Can we not get into it right now?”

It was his turn to feel me tensing, so he dropped it. “Sure, we can go. I’d like to see some of his work, maybe buy a piece or two if it’s to my taste. Does he have any paintings of you?”

“A couple of series, one of me alone and one of me and my mother, and I think he has some individual pieces. Nothing like family members to serve as captive models. But he has some landscapes you might like. Maybe a still life or two.”

“Has Adam met your father?”

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned to him that Roman’s my father.” For the first time I realized that Adam and I didn’t have many conversations about our backgrounds, our personal relationships other than the one with each other. The discussion about Homelander was the most substantial talk we’d ever had. Mostly we talked about movies, our biggest common interest.

I heard the grin in his voice. “Then I’m flattered you’ve decided I get to meet your father first.” Too late I realized how that could look but decided to ignore it.

Dr. Winterbourne said, “Lily, I do have to advise you that I’m going to have to cancel our next two appointments. I’m having a personal situation that requires me to be out of town for a week.”

I almost didn’t react to my fake name. “That’s not a problem, Dr. Winterbourne. I hope your situation resolves itself well.”

“Thank you. I’m going to give you contact information for the psychiatrist who’s agreed to take my appointments for the week. Dr. Thomas Roth—he’s very experienced and sympathetic.”

“I think I can probably wait for an appointment until you get back. I’m handling what’s going on so far. If something happens after the date, I’ll get in touch with Dr. Roth. After that, nothing’s happening until next weekend, when I’m going out to Los Angeles to see Zach.”

The older woman gave me a mildly perturbed look. “I just don’t want you to feel abandoned. You try to be as independent as possible, and I don’t want you to think you have to handle bad situations with no help.”

That made me laugh. “I promise I won’t hesitate to set up an appointment with Dr. Roth if I need to.”

On the way back to Vought Tower I couldn’t help but beat myself up for not telling Dr. Winterbourne about the scene with Homelander. What was I paying for if I wasn’t going to give her enough information to help me deal with my problems? I just did not want her knowing how weak I was, weak enough to compromise myself to explore the physical responses I had to Homelander. Taking the job Adam offered would be the safest choice, where things could continue as they had and I wouldn’t have to deal with my own vulnerability.

Homelander was waiting for me inside my office. “Can you take care of Ryan this afternoon? I have to make a trip to Washington.”

“No problem,” I told him. “Anything I need to know about?”

“No.” His face was cold, colder than I’d seen it since we started our little—whatever it was, and I suppressed a shudder. The return of the usual Homelander—who was the man who lay with me on my couch every morning and wanted me to dominate him so I’d stop being afraid? Not this one, that was for sure.

I nodded, tilting my face toward the floor. “Should I get dinner for Ryan or will you be back in time for that?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. You can get dinner for him. The driver should have him here about three-thirty.”

“Yes, sir.” I was careful not to reveal any emotion in front of him. What could have caused this sudden shift in personality? Had I been stupid to think things might be changing between us? Of course I had; if Homelander was anything, he was duplicitous. He was probably deep into some plot with Victoria Neuman—I’d bet money he thought I didn’t know about her and their dealings—or against her, maybe. Maybe he was f*cking her. He probably didn’t consider our scenes infidelity. Even if he did, I’d heard rumors for years that he’d banged other women like a screen door in a hurricane when he was with Queen Maeve, and she was more beautiful than I ever had a chance of being. In fact, I didn’t know of any woman in his life who wasn’t stunning.

Homelander turned around and left without another word, and I went back to work after leaving a message for the driver that he should bring Ryan to my office when he got back to the Tower. I’d gotten friendlier with Ryan since I'd become his de facto official babysitter, which I didn’t mind at all as he was a sweet little boy. I hoped that would survive him living with his father and being exposed to his views about non-supes. The Jesuits said, “Give me a child until he is seven and I will show you the man,” but neither Aristotle nor Ignatius Loyola ever met Homelander.

Ryan entered my office in a whirl of energy, dropping his backpack onto the sofa and heading straight for the bookcase where I kept the laptop with Minecraft loaded on it for him. “Hi, Ashley! Where’s Dad?”

“He had to go to Washington DC this afternoon and didn’t know when he’d be back, so it’s just you and me for dinner. What do you feel like?”

“Not pizza. Can we have Chinese?”

“Sure, if you want. I’ll call Joe’s Shanghai and have some delivered.”

“Crab and pork meat soup dumplings and beef with broccoli,” he declared as he powered up the laptop.

I laughed. “Just like always.”

“And the fried mini buns too.”

“I wouldn’t forget those.” For myself I got sesame chicken with an appetizer of cold noodles with peanut and sesame sauce and an extra order of fried mini buns. I expected Ryan to lose himself completely in the game, the way he usually did, but today he pushed the laptop aside after I’d ordered our dinner.

“Are you and Dad dating?”

Be careful, I thought. Homelander had already told him we’d had a date the night I got drunk. “Sort of, I guess.”

“Are you going to get married?”

Sweet tap-dancing Jesus. “We haven’t even started talking about anything like that. We’re taking things slow right now, getting to know each other. That would be in the far future, if it happens.”

“But you’ve known each other for years. Why do you need to get to know each other any better?”

I knew Ryan could hear my heart, my pulse, my breathing, just like his father could. What he’d make of my elevated vitals I didn’t know, but I couldn’t lie to him directly. He’d sense it—a chip off the old block. “We didn’t know each other in a man-woman kind of way. We were employer and employee, and that isn’t a solid basis for an emotional relationship.”

Ryan shrugged. “Are you in love with him?”

I took a few moments to answer. “I don’t know yet. We don’t know each other well enough for that yet.”

“Does he love you?”

This kid just would not let go. “You’d need to ask him that. I don’t know how he feels.” If he feels. But that was unfair because I knew he did have feelings, but, other than his son, I didn’t think he loved anyone on the face of the earth, definitely not a nondescript human like me.

Ryan seemed to accept this and went back to playing Minecraft until a security guard brought up the food. I took him back to Homelander’s apartment and we were in the middle of dinner when he showed up. He seemed nonplussed to see me. “What’s the occasion? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you having dinner with Ryan here.”

A coldness settled into my bones. “You asked me to get dinner for him since you had the trip to Washington and didn’t know if you’d be back in time for that, sir.”

Homelander knew he’d made a mistake. “I just thought you’d get dinner later, so I’m surprised you’re already eating.” But he was only trying to cover, and a thought occurred to me. He doesn’t remember seeing me in my office, telling me about the trip and to get dinner for Ryan. He can’t remember that at all. Why shouldn’t he be able to remember? What might cause that? It was something I needed to do some deep thinking about when I was back at my apartment, alone.

“Since you’re home, I guess I can leave you guys alone.” I started to get up, but he gestured at me to stop.

“Ryan, Ashley and I are going to a gallery to look at paintings on Saturday. Do you want to come along?” That was a stroke of genius on his part; Ryan would act as a buffer between us, plus he’d get to see first-hand how I interacted with his son. A stepmother audition? If nothing else, I was convenient.

“My father’s the artist,” I told Ryan. “It’s a big deal for him. But it might be a little late for you.”

Homelander scoffed. “Ryan will be fine. If he gets tired, we’ll just come home.”

He thought about it for a minute, then said, “Sure. I like paintings.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said. “We’ll all go to Ashley’s dad’s showing.” I nodded in agreement and managed to pry myself away, anxiety chewing at my insides. Why had Homelander done this? Maybe he couldn’t find a babysitter other than me? Maybe he actually did want to see if Ryan and I got along. But this issue paled next to my suspicions about him, about why he didn’t remember seeing me, about the sudden personality shift. I hoped I was wrong, but there was only one person who could either confirm or deny my fears.

Stan Edgar.

Chapter 8: Pigments and Shocks

Chapter Text

Going to California

Chapter 8 – Pigments and Shocks

After I spent a couple of days pondering the situation, running all the scenarios and outcomes, I decided against going to Stan Edgar with my suspicions. If he already knew about what I suspected was wrong with Homelander, he would never divulge that information to me. Within Vought, information was power, not something to be shared unless it could magnify your own power. If he didn’t know about the condition I suspected, something Homelander had no doubt gone to a lot of trouble to conceal from him would be betrayed, and I didn’t want to betray him, despite everything that had happened between us before we’d come to our current arrangement of semi-trust.

Was it possible for me to figure out whether Homelander actually did have a split personality without asking him? That was the only reason I didn’t cancel the Wednesday session that Dr. Roth was covering next week. It might be easier to talk to someone who didn’t already know me, a stranger. Maybe I could talk about the fact that I had done a scene with Homelander. And, at that point, I would have done a second scene with him.

Friday morning he turned up at my office, right on time for lying on the sofa with me. I felt a little spurt of fear, but it was obviously the friendly Homelander who wanted me to dominate him, so the unease dissipated quickly. When we curled up together, my head on his chest as had become our usual, he asked, “When can we get around to planning our next scene?”

I laughed a little. “Right now, if you want. I was thinking Tuesday, since that’s when we had our last scene.”

“That works. Same time, too.”

“Okay. And this time you want me to give you a blowj*b.”

“Yes.” He said that with absolute certainty.

I couldn’t help but grin. “Do you want the bed again or did you want a change of scenery?”

“Like what?” He was smiling as I looked up at him.

“Well, since we have the whole apartment to play in, I thought you might want to try a different room. If you don’t, that’s fine.”

Homelander started to say something, then had a thought that stopped him. “Now that you mention it, I’ve had some fantasies about you that could work with a change of scenery, like you said.”

“You have, huh? I’m flattered.”

His hand slid along my back and sent a shiver through me. “For this one, maybe handcuffs would do. I was sort of thinking we could maybe use the rainshower, and you could handcuff me before you blow me?”

I noticed he seemed a little unsure of himself. “Sounds like fun,” I told him, and he relaxed. “Is there anything else you want me to do for you?”

“I still want to suckle you. You can do whatever you want to me.”

“With the exception of physical discipline, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Is there anything specific you want me to wear? I forgot to ask last time, but if there’s any jewelry or perfume you want, just let me know.”

“You can wear whatever perfume you want. I may buy you something in the way of jewelry because I think you might look really sexy wearing some heavy, elaborate necklace and bracelets. And nothing else.”

I nodded. “Okay. Just let me know before we start the scene and I’ll wear it. Any preferences for clothes?”

Homelander thought about that for a while. “Something really buttoned-down and repressed-looking. Do you still have that outfit you wore the day we met Blindspot?”

“Yes. I didn’t think you liked that outfit since you made me get an entire new work wardrobe after that.”

“I don’t, but it works for this occasion.”

“Okay.” I didn’t let him know that I’d bought a bunch of clothes for work that I knew were unattractive because I’d gotten the sense from Madelyn that Homelander’s sexual interest in her last assistant was the reason that assistant didn’t work for her anymore. And the way I’d dressed did seem to work; he hadn’t shown any interest in me until after Madelyn’s death, sexual or otherwise. I wondered why he’d decided I was the best replacement for her. I didn’t ask because I was concerned about the usual Homelander returning, and the unlikeliness of getting a truthful answer.

Roman’s upcoming gallery showing occupied a large portion of my attention for the rest of the day and I had nothing else on the agenda when I woke up Saturday. Homelander had decided we’d have dinner at the Times Square Planet Vought before going to the showing. Since I expected Ryan to be pretty bored, I didn’t want him being hungry on top of that.

The sky was iron-gray and a steady stream of sleet fell. Even though it was a summer dress, I pulled one of my favorites out from the right side of my closet. It was short-sleeved with a V-neck, made of chiffon, floaty, all different shades of blue and thin streams of gold that resembled lightning. When I’d bought it in college, it reminded me of a summer sky with a thunderstorm moving in. I wore a pair of Manolo Blahnik gold satin pumps with square crystal buckles over the toes and my usual black trenchcoat. The dress was a little casual for the setting, but I wasn’t busting out a Vought dress for my father.

Homelander had requisitioned a company limousine to take us to the gallery, which might impress Roman if he saw it. I really didn’t care whether he was impressed, though. Dinner at Planet Vought was fine, even if I didn’t really care for the atmosphere, and the conversation stayed casual. I felt myself getting more keyed up as the limousine approached the Rappard Gallery, and Homelander squeezed my hand. “Everything’s going to be fine,” he said. “Ryan and I are here.”

I smiled at him. “My two Sir Knights.” He smiled and kept hold of my hand.

The gallery was three-quarters full of the art world movers and shakers, along with a fair share of New York glitterati. Homelander still beat out all of them in terms of fame, and I saw a number of women giving him the eye as we came in. He didn’t seem to notice, although I felt sure he did. He noticed everything.

Roman came across the gallery. “Ashtree! I’m so glad you were able to make it.” He took my wrists and placed a kiss on my cheek. “Will you introduce me to your two men?”

I laughed. “Of course. Roman, this is the Homelander and his son Ryan.” I’d had a qualm or two over introducing him as Ryan Butcher, as that might cause questions, and decided to avoid the problem altogether. “Homelander, Ryan, this is my father, Roman Deranian.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Homelander said as they shook hands.

“And you as well. Of course I’m familiar with your career—native New Yorker and whatnot.” He also shook hands with Ryan. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

A woman moved up behind Roman, a girl really, and my face froze in shock. I knew my father, how he was, and I didn’t want to acknowledge the obvious conclusion that was this girl who couldn’t be as old as twenty-five.

She was much taller than me, tall enough to be a model if she’d had a face the camera loved and a clotheshanger body, but the huge pregnant belly preceding her would ruin the line of any haute couture garment, including the expensive designer maternity evening gown she wore. She’d crapped out on the photogenic face too; I wouldn’t call her homely as a mud fence, but she was no beauty, not even really pretty. Maybe, if she had the right personality, she could be cute. Her hair was cut in a Dutch-boy bob and dyed metallic platinum, and she wore heavy cat’s-eye makeup and the dark lipstick that Homelander didn’t like when I wore it.

Roman noticed her, put an arm around her waist and pulled her in, close to his side. “There you are, darling. I wanted to introduce you to my daughter and her beau. Ashley, this is Casey Pringle, my fiancée. Casey, this is my daughter Ashley Barrett, and the Homelander and his son Ryan.”

With how numb my face felt, I didn’t even try to fake a duch*enne smile, just lifted the corners of my mouth while the skin around my eyes remained smooth. “Very nice to meet you. Have you known Roman long?” I guessed six months at the very least, judging from the size of her belly.

She gave me what was probably her best smile. Never hurts to get on the good side of the current sole heir. Jesus, when this baby turned twenty-one, Roman would be ninety-six years old, if he even managed to hang on that long. “We met back in September, when Mr. Rappard put me in charge of Roman’s retrospective.”

So a little over six months, then. He didn’t let the grass grow, that was for sure. “How nice. It’s a big responsibility for someone your age.” Roman looked uneasy, but it had been his call to break the news of his impending blessed event like this, so he had nobody but himself to blame for any fallout.

Casey chose to take this as a compliment, ignoring my plastered-on smile. Homelander had a slight frown, as he’d probably heard my vitals change. Ryan just looked confused. “Thank you. It’s my first big showing.”

Judging by your state of pregnancy, I’d call it your second, said a bitchy part of my mind. “Do you plan to keep working after the baby’s born?”

“I thought I’d take at least a year off so Roman Junior doesn’t get any attachment issues. I think it’s best that way.”

My face felt number than ever. “So it’s a boy, then?”

Roman answered for her, his arm still protectively around her. I wondered if he’d ever displayed such tender concern toward my mother when she was pregnant with me. “Yes, we’re thrilled about it.”

“I’m sure.” I almost asked him if he was deliberately trying to slap me in the face with this but controlled myself, the way I always did. “I’m very happy for the two of you. When’s the wedding?”

“June, after the baby’s born,” my future stepmother who was probably ten years younger than me said. “Of course you’ll be invited.”

Good job letting me know that there’d been some question about that. “Naturally.” Roman Junior—what a bourgeois name, putting the lie to all the free-spirited nonsense my parents had preached, but it fit Roman Senior’s narcissism to a T.

Homelander touched my arm and I couldn’t control a flinch. I’d forgotten he was there, and at the same time he touched me a flash went off in my face. Stupid—I’d known photographers would be present and any of them who had half an eye knew something had just gone down. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Deranian, there are some paintings I’d like to view. I don’t know if you’re aware that I’m an art collector?”

He smiled, now that the conversation had made its way through the war zone of his child fiancee’s bulging belly. I hadn’t made a scene, which he must have counted on, and I wanted to punch him in the face for this entire episode. “You do have a reputation for an excellent eye where art is concerned. Are there any particular paintings you were interested in?”

Roman got Homelander’s publicity-photo smile. He could even fake the duch*enne crinkles around the eyes. “Not at the moment. I thought I’d just take a stroll around, since I’m not current on your work. Do you have any paintings of Ashley?”

“Well, the Ashtree series, of course, but I can’t sell any of those. Her mother insisted I lock those up so Ashley will inherit them. But there are some individual pieces you might like.”

“I think he might be interested in the Greenwich series. That’s one with my mother and me,” I told Homelander in an aside. Greenwich 3 was the one I had in mind, as it involved my mother breastfeeding me. Roman had been in his Dali stage at the time, so his combined surrealism and photorealism made for unsettling pictures. I wondered what Homelander would make of it.

“Excellent taste, Ashtree,” said Roman. “I’ll be glad to give you a tour.” Since the expected knock-down-drag-out fight hadn’t materialized and the prospect of a sale loomed, he was in a much more expansive mood.

Casey spoke up. “I’ll go speak to the gallery director. He has some paintings that haven’t been put on display. If the Homelander doesn’t like anything on the walls, that is.”

“Wonderful idea, darling,” he said before kissing her on her carmine-lipsticked mouth. I pushed down the anger simmering inside me and took Ryan’s hand as we trailed along behind the two men.

“Are you okay, Ashley?” Ryan kept his voice down so my father wouldn’t hear. It was a foregone conclusion that Homelander was listening, even as he seemed to pay rapt attention to Roman’s monologue.

“I’m fine, sweetie,” I told him.

“No, you aren’t. Your blood pressure’s gone up since we got here and you smell angry.”

“What does anger smell like?” Homelander had never told me that he could smell emotions.

“Hot, and sharp, kind of like it stings.”

I lagged even further behind Roman and Homelander, who were now having an animated conversation about Dali’s use of color. “Okay, Ryan, I am angry but it doesn’t have anything to do with you. My father and I don’t get along sometimes, but I have to be polite.”

“Mom says we should always be polite.”

“She’s right. Don’t worry about it. My father makes me mad every so often. It’s normal.” He didn’t seem convinced, but he dropped the subject before we caught up to them.

“Kathryn, Ashley’s mother, and I were living separately when I did the Greenwich series,” Roman was explaining to Homelander when we joined them. “She lived in Greenwich, Connecticut, as the title indicates, and I lived here in New York. I didn’t find her home artistically inspiring, so she took the train to the city every day for three months with the baby so I could finish Greenwich 3. It’s the most important piece in the series.” I’d heard the story before, but Roman seemed to be babbling a little. Was he nervous? Was he, possibly, even starstruck by the presence of the leader of the Seven? That gave me an inner chuckle.

We arrived in front of Greenwich 3 and Homelander let out a whistle. The picture was quite striking. Despite the title, its background was a baking desert vista in all shades of red and orange and gold, with two giant saguaro cacti in the foreground. My mother hung suspended from the cactus on the right, pierced through by multiple spines, her bare toes dangling above the golden sand, her face a mask of pain as her hand rested on me while I nursed, streams of creamy milk flowing over my face. I always liked the barely noticeable horns he’d put on my head. No ambivalence about fatherhood there, no sirree. He only seemed to have gotten over that with his little pregnant chickie. Multiple spines from the second saguaro pierced me as well.

“It’s not for sale. I couldn’t break up the series, but I wanted you to see it since Ashtree thought you’d be interested.”

Homelander stared at the painting. Someone who didn’t know him might think him deep in artistic contemplation, but I had knowledge of his kink and saw the darkening of his eyes and the way his mouth had opened slightly. Was he picturing himself as the baby? I didn’t look down to see if his codpiece betrayed any…lower body enthusiasm. It gave me an idea for our upcoming scene that made me bite back a grin. His kink had to be dealt with, one way or another, and what I had in mind might get him past his reluctance to discuss it.

Before his attention became awkward, he turned away to face Roman. “It’s a compelling piece. I would like to see some of your work that’s for sale, though.”

That was music to my father’s ears, and Ryan and I tagged along as Homelander became the owner of three original Roman Deranians: one early still life featuring copper pennies, silver screws, and an old black Bakelite rotary phone, all the objects shining with their own inner light, a famous seascape of Puget Sound that was featured on the movie poster of an H.P. Lovecraft adaptation, and the last painting of me that I ever modeled for. It was titled Spiderwebbed, Ballet Shoes and depicted me at the age of sixteen, plastered to a gray cliff wall over a sheer drop into a pale blue spring sky. A mess of silver strands held me in place. I wore a black leotard and tights, while the tips of my pink ballet slippers peeked out beneath the edge of the cocoon.

Since Homelander had put so much cash in his pocket, Roman had started suggesting pieces that the supe might like. “Have you seen Ashtree 17? It’s in the series that her mother locked up so I can’t sell it, but it’s arguably my best work.” He’d painted it after I wasn’t speaking to him.

Homelander grinned. “Lead the way!” He seemed to be enjoying himself quite a bit. The fact that everyone inside the gallery was looking at him and no doubt talking about him was sure to buoy him up. Only the fact that the attendees were blasé New Yorkers saved him from having to sign autographs.

Ryan’s eyelids were drooping, so I whispered, only loud enough for his father to hear, “Ryan’s tired. Can we call it a night?” He nodded the slightest bit, and then we were in front of Ashtree 17.

The painting always made me feel sick, as Roman had distilled every iota of my grief and rage in the wake of my mother’s death and his essential abandonment of any duty he had to his only child in favor of his art. He’d painted me as a dryad, an ash tree spirit with bark for skin and long red leaves brushing the cracked concrete sidewalk where I grew. Fragments of shattered glass hurtled toward me from the Escher-style collapsing building in the background. I bent backward as though blown by a hurricane-force wind. My hands were gnarled branches, a ragged bloom of flame erupting from my mouth to meet the falling glass. My eyes were the only humanity in the piece. I turned my gaze away as subtly as I could. I didn’t want to remember my life falling apart, the role he had played in that. I’d survived, I didn’t need him anymore, and that was the important thing.

“This is the one they used for the retrospective poster, right?” Homelander smiled a little as he studied it. I hoped he didn’t think it revealed anything about me.

Roman nodded. “My best-known work. Casey told me it was a no-brainer.”

I had an impulse to make a most unkind remark about the fact that he was old enough to be his fiancee’s grandfather but stifled it. I wanted to at least look like a polite person. I would be three decades older than my half-brother. Future Widow had better make damned sure he set up a trust for the baby or she’d wind up like my mother, with an uncertain job future dependent on his goodwill and a child clinging to her, needing to be fed. But I didn’t expect this chickie to be any smarter than Mom.

“I appreciate the guided tour, along with the paintings I now own, but it looks like it’s getting too late for my son and we need to get him home.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Homelander. I believe you’re the first of Ashtree’s boyfriends that I’ve been allowed to meet.” That obviously puffed up his ego, and I didn’t mention that this was only because I hadn’t been popular in high school and could count the number of dates I’d had then on the fingers of one hand. “I’ll make your excuses to Casey.”

“Thank you, Roman.” I leaned forward for the obligatory cheek peck and then we were outside, into the limousine, and driving away. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Ryan cuddled up to my side and was asleep in seconds. I put an arm around him as Homelander asked, “Why does your father call you Ashtree?”

I shrugged. “Childhood nickname. When I was born, he wanted to name me Rowan. You know, Roman, Rowan, no junior since I was a girl. Mom had just finished reading the Mayfair Witches series and said no. I heard her exact words were, ‘You’ll bury me in the cold cold ground before you name my daughter after Anne Rice’s Mary Sue.’ Another name for a rowan tree is American mountain ash, so they compromised and I was Ashley. He got into the habit of using that nickname because it pissed her off.”

“Why were you angry tonight?”

“Heard Ryan asking, huh?” He didn’t even bother to nod. “I thought the invite maybe had to do with wanting to repair our relationship, get on a better father-daughter footing, but it was just to drop the pregnancy-slash-wedding news on me in a setting where he didn’t think I’d make a scene by saying, for example, that he’s nothing but a randy old goat who knocked up a girl who’s young enough to be his f*cking granddaughter and probably will die before his son is even old enough to have any memories of him.”

“Ouch,” he said. “Is it just that she’s so young?”

“Nope. He just proved to me that Mom was right about something she used to throw in my face that I always told her she was wrong about. Turns out she knew him better than I did.”

He didn’t react to that. “What did she say to you?”

“That he would have married her if I’d been a boy.” The memory of her face, twisted in fury as she blamed me for crushing all her hopes and dreams, intruded on my mind’s-eye and I pushed it aside with an effort.

“Your father’s an asshole if he puts more value on the baby than on you just because it’s male.”

I wanted to ask him if he would have been so hellbent on tracking down Becca Butcher if she’d given birth to a girl but restrained myself. I was irritated with Roman, not Homelander, and I didn’t want to take my anger out on him. “Well, maybe. Did you actually like those paintings you bought or were you just buttering him up?”

“I like them. The one of you is my favorite, though.”

“Good taste,” I told him, and he grinned. “That was the last picture I modeled for.”

“What about the tree picture?”

“He had photographs of me and painted from them. I didn’t speak to him for years after Mom died.”

Homelander must have picked up on my tone of voice because he changed the subject. “I didn’t know you’d danced when you were younger.”

“Prima ballerina with the New York City Ballet, that was my dream for years. But I injured my knee and Mom’s insurance wouldn’t cover the surgery, so here I am.”

That troubled him. “But your father’s rich. Why didn’t he pay for it?”

I shrugged. “No clue. I don’t even know if Mom asked. They may have been on one of their cold swings then.”

‘Do you still like ballet or is it too painful?”

I heard the uncertainly in his voice. “I get box seats for the ballet every season. It doesn’t make me sad anymore.”

“Then we’ll go to the ballet sometime. What’s your favorite ballet?”

“Coppelia, but not the modernized versions that they’ve done. Usually they turn Coppelia into an android or a robot. I prefer the original dancing doll.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it.”

When the limousine pulled up to my building, I eased Ryan away from me onto the seat without waking him and Homelander walked me into the building, got into the elevator with me, and accompanied me to my front door. “I had fun tonight, when my father wasn’t blindsiding me with pregnant girlfriends.”

“It’ll put a damper on any evening,” he agreed. “I’m glad you let me meet your father.”

“You’re welcome. You know you’re totally in his cool book now since you dropped hella money on his paintings.”

“That was the idea.” He drew me toward him, into his arms. “Do I deserve a goodnight kiss?”

I pretended to consider it. “Well, I suppose,” and started laughing when he didn’t even let me finish before he was kissing me, his tongue in my mouth, and my arms had wrapped around him without me even noticing it.

“I’m looking forward to Tuesday.”

“So am I.” And he could tell by my vitals that I was telling the truth. I went to bed happy, despite the sneaky pregnant fiancée reveal.

Only to be awakened early on Sunday morning by my phone playing “Sex and Candy.” I fumbled for it and managed to answer on the fourth ring. “Adam?”

“You bitch. You f*cking bitch.”

“Adam? What the hell is going on?” I tried to shake off sleep to deal with this new crisis.

“You said you weren’t with him. You’re a f*cking liar.”

I took the commanding tone with him that I used during our humiliation sessions. “Shut the f*ck up and tell me what you’re talking about.”

He drew in a breath. “There’s a picture of you with him at some gallery opening in the New York Times.”

“Is that all?” I needed to do some fast, convincing lying. “He wanted to buy some of that artist’s work but didn’t want to go there alone. People might think he couln't get a date. He also needed an unpaid sitter for his son, so I got drafted.”

“Bullsh*t.”

“No.” I remembered the flash going off in my face and had an inspiration. “Do I look happy in that picture?”

“Well, no,” he was forced to admit.

“That’s because I wasn’t. Watching Homelander and that puffed-up artist haggle over dabs of pigment on canvas is the most boring thing you could ever imagine. And all his son did was whine because he had to look at dumb old pictures and couldn’t play his video games. I’d rather have a tooth drilled than repeat that evening.”

A long silence stretched out as Adam considered my words. “Okay, yeah, that’s reasonable.”

Lucky that Adam wasn’t a walking lie detector like last night’s date. “Are you going to apologize for calling me a liar and a bitch?”

“Will you punish me if I don’t?” I heard the note in his voice and knew I was in the clear.

“You bet your stupid ass. You could use a heaping helping of discipline.”

Adam laughed. “Are you still coming out this weekend?”

“Just like we planned, as usual.”

“Okay.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I accused you, Ashley. I know how frightened you are of him. I should have known without asking that he was forcing you. I don’t want to be that kind of boyfriend who controls your every move.”

“You’re not. You were just surprised. I should have called you last night to warn you, but I was so tired when I got back that I just fell into bed. Alone.”

Adam spent a few more minutes apologizing before we ended the call. I pulled up the website for the New York Times and found the picture in the Style section. I looked horrified while Homelander was touching me, like every nightmare I'd ever had in my life was coming true at once, so there was no reason for Adam to suspect me of lying. I felt more than a little guilt that I’d manipulated him as readily as I had, knowing that everything he’d accused me of was basically true, except that I was not with Homelander. We’d had scenes, but I still clung to the idea of convincing him that having someone else in my job would be better for him. How having those scenes with him would convince him of that was something I didn’t want to examine. And all the stuff that had come up about my parents unsettled me.

Well, it was one more thing to discuss at the Wednesday session with Dr. Roth.

Chapter 9: Rain and Revelations

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 9 – Rain and Revelations

When Homelander turned up at my office on Tuesday morning for our usual lie-down, I asked him, “Do you have any objections to having another scene on Thursday?”

He grinned. “Well, let me think—no.”

I smiled back. “Then I’ll have something overnighted to you. I want you to put it on your bed Thursday, before I get there. No sheets or pillows, just what I’ve sent you.”

“Okay. Do you want to tell me what this is about?”

“Not this time. Thursday is going to be a surprise.”

“That sounds menacing.”

That made me laugh. “Good memory, but I think you’ll be extremely pleased with what I have planned for you.”

“I’m in your hands.”

“Not yet but soon.” This time I’d brought my outfit the day before and left it in the closet of his bedroom for greater convenience. My ripped champagne-colored Vought dress also hung in his closet. I hadn’t remembered leaving it, so he must have hung it up himself. There had been room in his closet before this, since all that was in there were duplicate Homelander costumes, but seeing my clothes nestled against his…it disturbed me, especially because I had the feeling I could get comfortable with the present situation. I really enjoyed dominating him, enjoyed my physical responses to him, and that was a trap I had to guard against. I couldn’t forget the existence of the usual Homelander, a side of him that would never want anything or anyone to dominate him, especially me. It was time to ask some hard questions and see if John would give me answers.

“I’m not coming back to the office after lunch, Gina. I’ll be working from home,” I told my secretary as I left.

“Yes, Ms. Barrett,” she said. Was that a flicker of knowing amusem*nt in her eyes? I turned away from her without changing expression, but my stomach had fallen. I knew I couldn’t keep this quiet forever, but I’d hoped it would take the rumor mill a little longer to creak into full swing. When I’d first come back to Vought after Madelyn fired me, I knew a lot of rumors had swirled about me getting her job by f*cking Homelander, and now the rumors seemed to have a more solid foundation. But maybe I shouldn’t feel bad about it. Madelyn had f*cked Homelander’s brains out when he was probably underage and nobody had ever thrown it up in her face. That was most likely because they would have been fired and blacklisted, but at least fear of her had kept them quiet. I didn’t have what it took to make people afraid of me.

I was in a low mood when I got to Homelander’s apartment but tried to hide that for his sake. Better to think about what was going to happen, forget about everything but the scene. I would have his co*ck in my mouth very soon, and I wanted to enjoy myself and satisfy him. There was nothing wrong with that, regardless of whether we worked together. At least he wasn’t underage the way he’d been with Madelyn.

He'd gotten Chinese food from Joe’s Shanghai for lunch. “I don’t have to hurry off today. I told Gina I was working from home after lunch.”

Homelander smiled. “More time for us. I like that.”

Should I tell him I thought word was getting around that he and I might be—well, I doubted anyone had figured out the truth of the matter, but at least that we were having some kind of sex? Nobody would have the nerve to mention any rumors to him, but that hearing of his made secret-keeping practically impossible. I didn’t have enough time to decide because he’d already noticed something off. “What’s wrong?”

I sighed and dropped my purse onto his couch. “It’s really nothing. It would have happened anyway. I think people know that we’re—”

“f*cking? Dating?”

“I’d assume they think f*cking.”

When I looked at him he was smiling. “Did you expect people not to notice when there was a picture of us in a major daily newspaper on a date?”

“Oh God, you’re right. I’m such an idiot. I forgot all about that. Of course talk would get around.” How in the world had I forgotten that even after Adam had chewed my ass for it?

“Don’t worry about it until Stan Edgar says something to you. Which he won’t because I’m okay with the situation.”

“All right.” I did my best to let go of the discomfort over people knowing—or suspecting—something about what he and I were to each other and concentrate on the upcoming scene. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ve been thinking about this all week.”

Homelander’s smile broadened. “I’m flattered, Ashley.”

I stood on tiptoe and kissed him briefly. “I’m glad. Do you still remember your safe word?”

“Roosevelt. Yes, I do.”

“Then we should be all set.” I pushed down my misgivings about what I intended after our scene, when he was relaxed, but reminded myself it had to be done.

He wrapped his arms around me and flew us both up the stairs to the second floor, the way he had the first time, and again I couldn’t help laughing. “I like to hear you laugh,” he murmured. I didn’t say anything but brushed my lips against his temple, near his hairline. The display of affection was so unconscious I didn’t realize what I’d done until it was too late. But this wasn’t the usual Homelander who terrorized me, so there was no harm in it. I tried to believe that.

I retrieved my outfit and shoes from his closet and took it into the bathroom. “Remember, when I open this door I’m Mistress and you obey.”

“And I’m John.”

“I remember.” I gave him a little smile. “I’m going to have to leave the wig off because we’ll be in the shower.”

He waved a hand. “That’s fine.”

“We’re using this bathroom, correct?”

“Yes. We’ll both be more comfortable there.”

“All right. I think Thursday would be a good day for the jewelry that you mentioned. If that’s something you’re still interested in.”

“It is.” His interest sharpened. “So you’re planning on being completely naked on Thursday?”

“It’s still a surprise, but yes.” I didn’t see any harm in letting him know that.

“I’m glad. There’s nothing wrong with your body, Ashley. You have nothing to be insecure about.”

Mentally I rolled my eyes. He’d never seen me naked and didn’t know the scars I concealed. I hoped he could at least pretend that he still found me attractive after he saw them. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” Then I closed the bathroom door in his face.

I wasted some time staring at my own eyes in the mirror. What I planned was dangerous—I knew that. But I had to find out the truth of it, no matter what. I couldn’t live with the threat of the usual Homelander appearing without warning in the bedroom while I was being his domme. With a sigh, I pulled off my wig and set it on the granite countertop, then began undressing. He hadn’t said anything about no underwear this time, but I decided to dispense with it anyway. I slid on the gray slacks and buttoned the pale zebra-print blouse up to my throat, then pulled on the gray blazer. I’d always found the outfit unattractive, what I was sure Homelander had had in mind when he sent me the e-mail about my ugly clothes, although maybe the blouse could be attractive with a different skirt or pair of slacks, if I didn’t button it up all the way.

Had Homelander taken into account that wearing this outfit might awaken bad memories of the deafening of Blindspot for me, or had he dismissed it, the way I imagined the usual Homelander would? If it did anything, it made me aware that I could not count on John remaining with me during a scene. After all, that day he had seemed like John, friendly and charming and approachable, until the instant when he turned on a dime and attacked Blindspot. How was any trust possible when I’d seen this kind of behavior from him? But it wasn’t an immediate concern; after our scene, when we were eating lunch, relaxed and comfortable, then I should be on guard. Slipping on the yellow Ferragamo pumps I’d worn that day and checking the blazer pocket to make sure the handcuffs and key were still there and stumbling across a ballpoint pen I’d forgotten about, I stepped over to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.

Even in these clothes, I still could manifest the Mistress persona, and when I emerged I found Homelander naked and waiting for me, the way I’d specified he should be at our last scene. I let a smile appear and said, “Very good, John. You remembered what I wanted. It’s a promising sign for the future.”

“Thank you, mistress,” he said.

I reached out and wrapped my hand around his wrist. “Come along.” He did, and I led him to the glass-walled rainshower stall. “Wait here,” I told him as I went back and locked the bathroom door.

“You don’t need to do that. No one’s going to disturb us. Mistress.”

I gave him what might pass for a dark, intimidating glare. “It’s not to keep people out, John. It’s to show you that you must stay in here because you’ve been a bad boy and you must be punished.”

That got a surprised look out of him. “How? How have I been…bad, mistress?”

“You can ask that?” I reached around him to open the glass door to the shower. “You know perfectly well what you did. Step inside.”

At least he did that without question, although he still looked surprised. I entered the shower stall right behind him, using my body to press him face-first against the wall. “You frightened your mistress, John. You shouted at her, you said bad things about her, you hurt someone in front of her, and you threatened her. Implicitly, not with words,” I hurried on when I saw him open his mouth to protest the last part. “That was bad behavior on your part.” My hand ran over his stomach and teased his half-hard co*ck. “You have to prove to me that I can trust you to be my good boy. Do you think you can do that?” His body tensed with the feel of my hand on him and I let my tongue trail up his spine, to the nape of his neck. “Can you be my good boy, John? The good boy I know will never hurt me or make me afraid.” I let my hand move up and down on his co*ck.

He had to swallow before he could say, “Yes, mistress, I‘ll be your good boy. I don’t ever want to hurt you. Or make you afraid of me.” I believed him, since he’d been the one to suggest me dominating him so I’d stop being scared of him.

“I’m glad. Turn around now.” He did and I produced the handcuffs from my jacket pocket. “Put your hands together behind you.” I intended to cuff him to the water pipe leading to the shower head above us. Homelander obeyed and I fastened the steel bracelets around his wrists, the chain between them catching on the other side of the pipe. I retrieved the key from my blazer pocket and put it in his right hand, closing his fingers around it. He could rip free of the cuffs whenever he wanted, but I didn’t want to take a chance on him panicking, or the usual Homelander making an appearance.

Once he was restrained, I took a step backward and admired him. “It always surprises me how beautiful you are naked. Somehow I must forget it, although I can’t see how that’s possible.”

“Thank you, mistress.” His co*ck jutted up, hard and ready, and I let my fingers trail over it, smiling when his eyes half-closed and his hips arched forward.

I reached over and turned on the water. It blasted at both of us from the showerhead directly above, plastering his hair to his skull and running in rivulets over his skin, and soaking my clothes until they felt like they weighed fifty pounds. It made me wish I’d worn something other than a suit that day we met Blindspot. I didn’t think I could be comfortable in this outfit, at least with the blazer on, so I took off the dripping blazer and dropped it to the shower floor. Homelander’s eyes widened because I wasn’t wearing a bra and the water from the shower turned the zebra-print blouse nearly transparent. My nipples stiffened under his gaze and he licked his lips.

His bar of soap rested in its dish and I retrieved it, lathering up my hands. His chest moved up and down more rapidly than it would under normal circ*mstances, and he jerked when my hands came down on his neck. “Relax,” I murmured. “I’m just washing away everything that happened that’s bad. After I’m done, we’ll both be clean of it.” He sighed and let his head fall back as I moved my soapy hands over his skin. The masculine scent of leather and amber and spice filled the shower and I held back a shiver of pleasure. “I really like this soap.”

“Thank you, mistress. I thought you might.”

That made me wonder if he watched me through the door while I was changing in his bathroom. If so, he’d already seen my scars, but I couldn’t prove he’d done it and he’d never admit it, so I let it go. Much more fun to run my hands over his chest and arms and back and ass, let them glide over him with the layer of lather on them, touch him as much as I wanted to. A little groan escaped him as my fingers brushed his co*ck. I didn’t linger, though, sinking to my knees to run my hands over his thighs, his calves, and then I applied myself to his feet. “Your skin is perfect,” I told him. “I can’t find a single scar.”

“I can’t scar, mistress. The amount of force needed to do that isn’t—well, it won’t happen.”

Not physically, I added mentally. “That’s good to know, John. I don’t want anything to hurt you. I care about you a lot.” Why the hell had I said that?

John seemed as surprised as I was at that. “I care about you too, mistress.” And I believed that John might, but Homelander was a different story. I couldn’t imagine him letting me restrain him, as much as I could, or doing what I wanted just because I wanted it.

I gulped. “Let’s get you clean.” I moved him as far forward as the cuffs would allow and the water from the rainshower rinsed off the lather. I raked the wet hair back from his face and kissed him, wrapped my arms around his neck, needing the feel of his mouth as the scent of his soap made me dizzy. I heard the handcuffs rattle as he tried to raise his arms, reminding him of what we were doing here, and the metal jangling subsided. I lifted my mouth from his long enough to say, “You’re such a good boy, John. You’re my good boy. You make me so happy.”

“Please. Please suck me off, mistress.”

I held my hands up and let the water rinse the soap off my hands, then slid them down his chest and grasped his co*ck firmly. “Such a nice, polite boy,” I murmured before I knelt and took him into my mouth. John groaned with the sensation and his hips bucked forward. Warmth rushed through my veins as I let my tongue swirl around his co*ck—oh, he was so hard—and ran my hands over his thighs. The muscles stood out under my touch, tense, and I knew he was aching for the release I would give him. My excitement rose with his every shudder, every uncontrolled movement that let me know he was enraptured by the experience. I wished I could get rid of the fear that the usual Homelander would appear unexpectedly, and God knew what he would do if that happened.

“I want to touch you, mistress. I want to suck your tit*.”

I let his co*ck slide out of my mouth and he whimpered. “We’ll get there, John. Don’t you want me to make you come, shoot down my throat and have me swallow every drop?”

“Yes. Yes, mistress.”

“Then don’t interrupt me again. Every time you interrupt me, you put off that wonderful org*sm I’m going to give you. You don’t want to do that, do you?”

“No, mistress.” He was gasping now, his eyes closed against the water from the showerhead. “I want you to make me come more than anything.”

“I know. I was going to make you wait for it longer, but I think you’re suffering, and I don’t want to make you suffer. You’ve been such a good boy I think you deserve to go off hard.”

“Thank—thank you, mistress.” And then he stopped talking as I took his co*ck into my mouth again and began to suck and lick and his hips began to move rhythmically. I was barely aware of the water pounding me from above, the clammy touch of my slacks and blouse, and my Ferragamo pumps were ruined but I didn’t give much of a sh*t. My whole body was throbbing by now, and I thought what I’d decided on for Thursday was the absolute right thing.

It took another few minutes of sucking and licking and teasing before he lost control of himself and cried out as he shot his hot come down my throat and I swallowed desperately, my nails digging into his ass as I sucked him dry. Both of us were gasping and shaking at the end, and Homelander unlocked his cuffs to pick me up. “I still want to suck your tit*, mistress.”

I giggled a little. “You have my permission.” Almost before I’d finished speaking, he ripped my blouse to shreds and bent his head to my breasts, swallowing up one of my nipples, and teased it with his tongue. “You’re so good at this, John. I love it when you suckle me. It makes me feel so good.”

He made a noise that sent a shiver through me, and I gave myself up to the sensations, winding my fingers into his wet hair as he devoted himself to suckling my breasts. I didn’t even know how long it took for him to raise his head and say, “You’ve shivering. I think we should get you dried off and into some dry clothes.”

“It is a little cold in the shower,” I admitted, and let him dry me with the fluffy towels, his hands moving slowly over me and the tingling returning. He dried himself off hastily, and I made a rebuking sound before I took the towel out of his hands and massaged him gently, watching his face until his eyes closed in enjoyment. “I’ll get dressed, and we’ll go downstairs for lunch.”

When we went downstairs and divided the Joe’s Shanghai he’d ordered, I was so warm and relaxed that I didn’t want to disturb the feeling with the question I had, but I nerved myself up. I had to know, and now was the best chance I’d ever have to ask without fearing that he’d hurt me physically for it. For about five minutes we sat at the table in his kitchen and ate in silence. “Homelander?”

“Hmmm?” His mouth was full and he glanced up at me.

Okay, here goes…”Are you the only one there?”

He chewed, swallowed, then gave me his full attention. “What do you mean?”

My heart rate bumped up as I tapped my index finger against my temple. “Are you the only one in there?”

That got his attention. He set down his glass of milk and leaned back in his chair. “Are you asking me if I have a split personality?”

“Nowadays they call it Dissociative Identity Disorder, but that’s the idea.” He didn’t say anything. “I mean, I’ve read the files. I know how they tortured you for years when you were young. Those are the kind of conditions where DID would be expected to develop as a coping mechanism. A child can’t handle suffering like that. Really, a grown man couldn’t. Soldier Boy couldn’t, and they didn’t do half the things to him that were done to you. You handled your situation much better than he did his own.” I stopped speaking abruptly, aware that I was rambling.

“What makes you think I have that?” His expression didn’t reveal anything, but I took hope from the fact that he hadn’t exploded yet, hadn’t shouted or tried to hurt me.

“There was an occasion where I think you had missing time, and your personality undergoes some pretty rapid changes.”

“Maybe I’m just mercurial. Moody. And maybe this thing you think is missing time is something I didn’t think was important enough to remember.”

“That last part isn’t true. It was about Ryan.”

Homelander was perfectly still. “You’re right. I would remember everything about Ryan.”

“So…?” He could just deny it, even if it were true, and I’d be none the wiser. But I didn’t see any other option except to try to find out.

He sighed, then smiled. “You’re smart, Ashley. None of the scientists even came close to figuring things out. Not even Stan Edgar, and he was the sharpest person here. He may have suspected, but since he couldn’t prove anything he dismissed it. Yeah, there is someone else in my head.”

“Do you…what’s his name? If it’s a man.” Success left me scrambling for questions. Why hadn’t I written down questions to ask in case he told me the truth?

“Homelander. He is a man. He used to have another name, but when Vought named us Homelander he took that one.”

“I’ve met him, right?”

He laughed. “On multiple occasions. The first time you were really introduced to him was in the training room when we saw Blindspot.”

That made sense. I’d never been afraid of Homelander before then. “So he was the one who deafened Blindspot?” He nodded. “Why did he choose that moment to…appear?”

For a moment his eyes dropped. “I…was feeling threatened. He tends to come out when I feel threatened, when I can’t cope with something.”

Okay, so that sounded like the one with me now was the core personality, and Homelander was the alter personality who’d been created to handle the pain and abuse. “What about Blindspot was threatening? If you want to tell me.”

“You…were really enthusiastic about him. You made it sound like you thought he would be better for the team than I am. That I wasn’t important.”

I reached across the table and rested my hand on his. “I did not mean to come across that way. I thought you’d take it for granted that you were the most important part of the Seven. You’re the leader. It wouldn’t be the Seven without you. I’m sorry I said something that upset you that much. If this happens again, just tell me you’re not happy with what I’m saying or doing and I’ll stop.”

He turned his hand so mine was in his palm and squeezed it gently. “I will.”

Something occurred to me. “If his name is Homelander, what’s your name?”

“John.”

I burst out laughing. “That’s why you wanted me to call you John during our scenes! Not because I’d be more comfortable without the Homelander baggage, but because it’s your name!”

He grinned back at me. “Come on, what man wants a woman calling him by another man’s name when they’re…engaged in f*ck-related activity?”

Homelander—no, John—seemed a lot freer now that I’d figured out his secret. “Is it okay that I know this now?”

“It’s fine. I don’t think you’re going to tell anyone, are you?”

I shook my head. “I don’t tell anybody anything about you.”

“I know. That’s one of the things I like about you.” John began rubbing the inside of my wrist with his thumb. It sent a jolt of pleasure through me. “What else do you want to know?”

“Uh—” It was hard to think when he was touching me. “It’s—I understand it’s unusual for the core personality to know about an alter. Can you communicate with Homelander?”

“Under certain circ*mstances.” He took a sip of milk. “It’s clearest in mirrors. He can talk to me in my head, though. I’m not sure if he hears me the same way when he’s in charge.”

“Can you tell me more about him?”

“He enjoys hurting people. He liked what he did to Blindspot and he really enjoyed putting Maeve’s eye out during the fight with Soldier Boy.”

“Do you know why?”

“I told you about Blindspot already. He liked hurting Maeve because she lied. She said she loved us and she lied about that, about her sexuality, about every goddamned thing that she could have lied about, and then she left us. And she didn’t care that Ryan could have been killed during the fight. Maybe he could have swallowed the lies—she was very, very beautiful and a powerful supe—but for her not to care about Ryan, for her to f*cking endanger him—” The red of his laser vision began glowing.

Was Homelander about to take over? What would he do to me now that I knew about him? John didn’t mind, but I couldn’t assume Homelander would share his opinion. “She’s gone, John. She doesn’t matter anymore. Ryan is fine and happy and well-cared-for. There’s nothing she can do to hurt him now.”

The red slowly drained from his eyes. “Yes, he has you. You’ll protect him if I need you to. If I can’t be there.”

“You know I’d do anything for Ryan. You don’t have to worry about that. Ever.”

John gave me one of his genuine smiles, not the shark smile that Homelander used. “I don’t worry about it now that we’re closer. Does this change anything for you?”

That surprised me, although it shouldn’t have. “It makes me feel better that I know what’s going on. I don’t like it when things happen and I don’t understand why.”

“Do you…still want to do the scenes?”

I gave him a smile and leaned across the table to kiss him. “Of course I do. I think we’re both having fun with them, right?”

“Right.”

Something else occurred to me. “What’s Homelander’s opinion of our scenes?”

John thought about it. “I’m not sure he knows.”

“So if you’re in charge things can happen that he doesn’t remember, the same way as when he’s in charge and you can’t remember?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know how likely he is to hurt me?”

That got his attention. “I won’t let him hurt you, Ashley. You’re too important to me.”

But I wondered if Homelander would give him the option.

Chapter 10: Dr. Roth Session 1

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 10 – Dr. Roth Session 1

I settled down in my seat and started sizing up Dr. Winterbourne’s temporary replacement. He was in his late fifties, thin, a sharp dresser, with longish dark hair and dark-framed glasses. He reminded me of a young Harlan Ellison. “Could you advise how much information you have about me?”

“Dr. Winterbourne and I are in the same group practice, but I don’t have access to her session notes.”

Interesting. “And she won’t have access to yours, correct?”

“That’s right. Not unless you request it.”

“But you know about my anxiety and trichotillomania, correct?” Did I have to advise him of my requirements for treatment regarding Vought and Homelander? With the new…understanding between John and me, maybe it wouldn’t be necessary. Maybe I could talk about what was going on with him, get some insight, and not betray his trust.

“Dr. Winterbourne gave me the bare bones. The anxiety is related to your work situation?”

It was my turn to nod. “What’s going on at work is…stable, at the moment. I’m not having any difficulties there right now. Family—that’s a different matter. There have been some developments on that front. My father’s an artist and has just put on his first retrospective. I was invited to it. It—didn’t go very well from my point of view.”

“What happened?”

“It may have been unrealistic expectations on my side, to be honest. I had the idea that maybe he wanted to have a better relationship, maybe mend some fences, but no. He’d invited me there so I wouldn’t be able to throw a scene when he introduced me to his pregnant girlfriend, pardon me, fiancée, who’s several years younger than I am.”

“Did he tell you this?”

“What, about not wanting me to make a scene? No, that’s way too direct for him.”

“Why do you think he expected you to be angry?”

“He’s willing to marry this girl, who is a good fifty years younger than he is, because she’s pregnant with his son. I don’t know when the engagement started, but I’m reasonably confident it was after the ultrasound that proved it was a boy. My mother always swore he would have married her if I’d been a boy, and now I don’t have any choice except to admit she was right.”

“Did your father treat you as less important because you were a girl?”

I shrugged. “I don’t have anything to compare it to, so I couldn’t say. He was…I guess you could say around, but he wasn’t really present. My mother was my primary caretaker until she died.”

“How old were you when she died?”

“Seventeen.”

“Did you move in with your father after this?”

“No, he didn’t make any attempt at parenting. His art always came first. This was a couple of months after I’d graduated high school. I’d already been accepted to college and had a dorm assignment for freshman year, so I wasn’t homeless. I just wound up going to college and trying to forget about both of them, Mom and Dad.”

“Tell me about your mother.”

A harsh, bitter laugh escaped me. “She liked to take advantage of feminism, present herself as one, but she was one of those who’d pull up the ladder behind her. You know, the ‘I got mine, f*ck you’ type. She was the first female to hold important positions at a few of the galleries she worked for, but once she and my father got together, she switched over almost completely to managing his career. So she was dependent on him in that respect. But he wouldn’t have half the reputation that he has if it hadn’t been for her.”

“Did he take advantage of her dependency?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. A lot of their relationship was out of my sight, and I was a child. They never lived together, so I didn’t get a sense of them as a couple.”

“You didn’t even go to spend weekends and holidays with him?”

“It wasn’t like they were divorced. Since they never got married, he—I think—felt like he didn’t have any responsibility to either of us, and he liked it that way.”

“But you said he’s engaged to the woman who’s pregnant by him.”

“Because the baby’s a boy.” A mild headache began throbbing in my temples. “The baby who will be a Junior. Little Chickie told me that when I met her. At least he’ll be happy with her and she won’t take it out on the bouncing baby son.”

“What did your mother take out on you?”

sh*t. “I…I don’t really like to talk about it. I don’t even think you could actually call it abuse or anything like that. She never hit me or kicked me.”

He hesitated. “There are other kinds of abuse. What did she do?”

“Well…” How had we even gotten onto this? “I told you that she always told me that he would have married her if I’d been a boy. She…made it very clear to me that I’d ruined her life by being a girl. I’d destroyed her hopes for a suitable life with my father, which included marriage. Both of them did a lot of bohemian-adjacent posturing about how artistic and unconventional they were, but they were both middle-class bourgeois. She had a quick temper and a sense for where to drive in that verbal dagger.”

“Psychological abuse is a thing. Where did she think your vulnerable spots were?”

“This didn’t happen day in day out, though. A lot of the time she was happy, loving, but I just couldn’t tell when Bright Mom would leave and Dark Mom would show up.”

“That’s what you called it? Her change of personality,” he clarified.

“She didn’t have DID or anything. It was just how I saw it when she stopped being nice and started attacking. My main vulnerability was my looks. She couldn’t do anything with my intelligence because I was honor roll all through junior high and high school and I wouldn’t have believed a word she said about me being stupid.” That was also why Homelander's jabs in that area hadn't bothered me much.

Dr. Roth made a note. “She didn’t think you’re attractive?”

“I don’t know what she thought about it, but she knew I didn’t think much of how I look. When Dark Mom was around, I had a few nicknames. Snaggletooth, even though I just have a gap between my front teeth and they’re all straight. She knew I was sensitive about it. Froggy because my eyes are shallow-set and large. Sometimes she called me Ferret Face. She used to say I was homely as a mud fence. I don’t know where she got the expression because she was suburban and that sounds a little more down-home than she was.”

“Did she think that, if you’d been conventionally beautiful, it would have made a difference in your father marrying her?”

I took the time to consider it. “If she did, she never said anything about it. I think if he’d wanted to marry her he would have, daughter or no daughter. Maybe he saw things in her that he didn’t like. He and I aren’t close enough for him to talk about her, though.”

“Did she have any nicknames for you when she was in her Bright Mom phase?”

“She used to call me Sunshine because she said I lit up her day.”

He nodded. “Did he know that she spoke to you abusively, said these things?”

I shook my head. “I never told him about it and I’m sure she never did. He didn’t do well with unpleasantness. Said it might interfere with his creativity, and she guarded that like Fort Knox.”

“Was she an attractive woman herself?”

“Oh, yes, she was beautiful. There was this actress from the Seventies named Barbi Benton who was almost a double for her.”

“It seems like she could have broken off a romantic relationship with him, found someone else who wanted to marry her if he wouldn’t. She was beautiful, intelligent enough to manage someone’s career. Is it possible she thought your father would replace her in her professional capacity if she found someone else?”

“She could have, but I don’t think that was a rational fear. He liked having money—still does—and she was a big help with that. I think she could have broken up with him, but she didn’t want to. He was the whole world to her. She would never have left him.”

“Was talk the extent of what she did?” When I looked at him blankly, he said, “You said she never hit you or kicked you. What did she do, other than talk? If anything.” Something struck me then, something that was blindingly obvious once I realized it, and he leaned forward, concerned. “Lily? Are you all right?”

“I just had a realization. I tried to forget about Mom after she died, but it’s all pretty clear once I applied myself to thinking about it. She used to pull my hair. Whenever she did that, it meant she was winding down and the Dark Mom episode was almost over. She’d wrap a strand of my hair around her finger while she was saying vicious things, then she’d yank and rip it out of my head. After that, she’d calm down and go into her room, and I could relax. So I think that’s why it was trichotillomania, instead of cutting myself with a sharp edge.”

Dr. Roth leaned back into his chair. “That seems likely. And your father also didn’t know about this?”

“No.”

“Was there anything else your mother used against you, other than your physical appearance?”

“No. I barely dated in high school, so she didn’t have much opportunity to tell me that whatever boy had asked me out was only interested in sex and could never love anyone as ugly as me.”

“That sounds like she told you that at least once.”

“Rob. He was my first serious boyfriend. He was on the football team and we sort of drifted apart after we both went to college. Not the same one, of course.”

“How do you think her attitude affected your romantic relationships?”

“It’s…made me more realistic, I think. Less trusting. I had a very bad relationship while I was college that I probably could have avoided if I hadn’t believed I was lucky to be in a relationship with someone as handsome and successful as he was.” This memory, this relationship, was nothing I intended to explore, with him or with Dr. Winterbourne. To divert him, I said, “It may be why I’m in the situation I’m in now with John and Zach.”

“I’m not familiar with them. I don’t have your previous session notes.”

“I’m sorry.” But I already knew he didn’t, and I could avoid talking about Master. I never wanted to talk about Master. “I’m seeing two men right now. One of them offered me a job as a full-time, live-in dominatrix. The other one—well, he and I have had some interpersonal difficulties in the past.” John would laugh his ass off if he heard me describe it that way. “He wants me to turn down the job and suggested that I have scenes with him where I dominate him so I’d get more comfortable with him. I’ve done that twice so far.”

“Being in the dominant position makes you comfortable?”

“Yes. I don’t much like being submissive. And I don’t like sex much. It’s too physically painful to suit me, so scenes work better.”

“Physical intercourse is painful?” I nodded. “That can be a sign of some underlying illness. Have you seen a doctor for this?”

“Yes. I read WebMD and saw that could be a sign of cancer, but the doctor said I was good to go. I think it’s just that I don’t get physically aroused enough to get wet. This has been consistent in my relationship with Zach and in my past relationships.”

“Have you discussed this with him, that you don’t find the physical side of the relationship satisfying?”

“No. I noticed not too long ago, or maybe I realized, that he and I don’t have many in-depth conversations. Mostly we talk about common interests. I don’t know anything about his family and upbringing, and he doesn’t know anything about mine.”

“Do you think this indicates communication problems in the relationship?”

That made me laugh. “Well, when you put it that way…”

He didn’t laugh back. “Do you have the same physical issue with John?”

“Well, he and I haven’t had…intercourse yet. I don’t think I will have, though, since I feel more physically aroused with John than with Zach.”

“What’s the quality of your communication with John?”

“Since we started having scenes, it’s been a lot better, even outside the scene itself. I actually haven’t had any real scenes with Zach yet, just some verbal humiliating—which he likes—but I’m going to see him this weekend so it should happen then.”

“But he’s offered you a job doing that nevertheless?”

“Yes, based on the verbal humiliation, I guess.” Was that weird, that he hadn’t even wanted to wait to see what I was like as a dominatrix before giving me a job doing it? Like hiring a carpenter before you know whether they can build something that will last a week. I didn’t fool myself about being so desirable that he’d lost his head over me.

“And taking the job with him entails quitting your current job and ending your current relationship with John? It’s my understanding that a dom/sub relationship doesn’t have to include sex.”

“Zach lives on the West Coast, so it wouldn’t be very convenient to commute every day. And I don’t think John would like me being in even a sex-adjacent relationship with another man.”

Dr. Roth steepled his fingers and looked at me for a bit. “I know this is the only session I’ve had with you, but you seem much more relaxed talking about John than you are when you speak about Zach. What are your actual feelings about each of them?”

“Zach…there’s no power imbalance in our relationship, so I feel like we’re more equals. We have more interests in common, and I don’t feel anxious with him the way I did with John. I’m not in love with him, but it could become love if I allowed it. With John, it’s an employer/employee relationship so there’s that power imbalance I mentioned. I’m much more physically attracted to John and we’ve developed better communication. I haven’t had a real anxiety attack in the past couple of weeks, since we started talking. I’ve started feeling more comfortable with him, and we’ve actually been on a date, which would have been unthinkable for me a month ago. With him it’s not just a matter of me, though. He has a child.”

“Do you get along with the child?”

“Oh, yes. He was asking me all kind of questions about us, like whether John and I were getting married, whether we loved each other. He’s a good kid.”

“So being in a relationship with a man who has a child isn’t a problem for you.”

I shook my head. “It is a complicating factor, though. We both have to think about what’s best for his son. With Zach it’s just the two of us.”

“Are you interested in a conventional long-term relationship with either of them?”

“You mean like marriage? Neither of them has offered, and I think it’s still way too early in either relationship for me to make any decisions like that which would have lasting consequences.”

“Are you in love with John?”

The question felt like a punch in the chest, although I should have known it was coming. I’d volunteered that I didn’t love Zach, so it was an obvious question. “I—don’t know. It’s new. I haven’t had time to figure out my emotions yet.”

At the end of the session he said, “Dr. Winterbourne will be back on Monday, but I do want to advise that, when you see Zach this weekend, please try to have some open, clear communication with him. No good relationship can last without lines of communication being open.”

I nodded. “I’ll try. Thank you, Dr. Roth.”

Before calling the Uber to take me back to Vought Tower, I got out my cell phone in the lobby and called Adam. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be coming out on a later flight Friday. My usual flight was booked solid.”

“Will you fly back later on Sunday to make up the difference?” His voice was teasing.

I let my amusem*nt show in my own voice. “I think it could be arranged.”

“Anyway, I’ve got some good news for you. This morning I turned in the final cut of Tiaras and Cocaine to the studio, so this weekend I’m all yours.”

“Wonderful. I want to have our first scene on Saturday, so it helps if I have your undivided attention.”

Adam laughed. “Now that’s a fine reward for finishing the movie!"

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Something else that might be good news. When you take the job—”

“If.” Even though it annoyed me that he still took it for granted that I would, I didn’t put any sting into my words.

“Okay, if.” He chuckled, and I got another sense of humoring the silly woman but let it pass. “If you take the job, I plan to take a year off from filmmaking. I don’t have any jobs set up right now, and I was thinking we could travel. You haven’t done a lot of that outside business trips.”

It took a second for me to answer. “No, I haven’t. I’ve always wanted to, though. It’s sweet of you to do that for me, but aren’t you worried about what this could do to your career?”

“Nope,” he said. “I’ve got a solid reputation in the industry: Dawn of the Seven, one of the top five moneymakers in history, then Tiaras and Cocaine, a smaller, indie-type movie to burnish my reputation with the critics. I think I can coast on those for a year. And I have enough money that I can afford to take the time off. I think we need it, too, to get to know each other better.”

“Yeah, I think that would be a good idea. We’re not quite as intimate with each other as we could be.” And I’d like to be able to stop lying to you about John.

“A year together will fix that right up. What time are you arriving on Friday?”

“Seven PM your time. I’ll call you if there are delays.”

“And this time I’ll pick you up from the airport myself. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Same here.”

“Do you want to arrange our scene now?”

“No, I want to do that in person on Friday. Maybe when we’re having dinner?” I preferred to plan scenes face-to-face to read the other person’s reactions, suss out things they might not want to tell me outright. Like John with his kink...

“If you come in at seven it’ll be late for going out. Do you want to have something delivered from Nobu?”

“That would be great.” For the first time I wondered if he cooked. I didn’t know, as he’d never mentioned it. Did he know that I could cook? I doubted it.

“Well, then, dinner will be waiting for us on Friday, and we’ll get our ducks in a row for the scene. Sound good to you?”

“Perfect. See you then,” I told him before the call disconnected, but I couldn’t deny the ball of anxiety in my stomach. Dr. Roth had made some good points about my relationships with Adam and John, and now I couldn’t deny how much Adam and I didn’t talk, how I ignored problems when I was with him. It wasn’t healthy, and I vowed I’d take the doctor’s advice and try to open some communication with him.

Chapter 11: Kinks and Confessions

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 11 – Kinks and Confessions

The next day, after I told my secretary I was leaving for lunch and would be working from home, and got the now-usual knowing look, Homelander had his front door open before I could even lift my hand to knock. He seemed nervous, maybe because I’d kept what we were doing today a surprise. That had been a good idea on my part, because after the session with Dr. Roth yesterday, I’d decided I needed to get over my reluctance to f*ck him. Despite what I’d told the doctor, I didn’t have any confidence that having him inside me wouldn’t hurt. But I knew I could handle it, the same way I’d done with Adam and Jared and Master and the other men I’d had one-night stands with. I could tough it out, the way I’d done with everything else in my life.

“I…ordered lunch for us. Pizza again.”

He must be really nervous, if he couldn’t keep it out of his voice. “Thanks, John. I should have time to eat. I told Gina I was going to work from home after lunch again.”

He smiled. “I like having more time with you.”

That touched me, and I smiled back. “I like having time with you too.” Pushing down the nerves over what I planned, I adjusted the tote bag I’d decided to start carrying for our scenes, feeling the weight of one of the things I needed for what I’d originally planned as I removed the other. “I have something I’d like you to wear.”

John turned it over in his hands and gave me a dubious look. “A blindfold?”

“Put it up to your eyes.”

When he did, he pulled it away quickly, startled. “I can’t see through it.”

“Nope. The material is impregnated with zinc. I ordered it specially for you.” That seemed to make him anxious, and I put my hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh—nothing.” I gave him a look. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m a little unsettled because I don’t know what we’ll be doing. Because it isn’t something I’ve told you I want.”

“Do you think I’d do something that would hurt you?” If he did, I’d ask him how he thought I could hurt him physically with all his powers.

“No. You said you wouldn’t and I trust you not to.”

“Okay. What’s your safe word?”

“Roosevelt.”

“If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, or that you just don’t like for any reason, use your safe word and I’ll stop.” I reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

He sighed. “I know. I’m not being rational here.”

That made me laugh. “It’ll be fine. Afterward you’ll be asking yourself what you were worried about in the first place.” We flew up to the second floor and I tried to relax into his arms. No matter what I said to him, I felt anxious about what I intended, which he might have picked up on. I had a decent acquaintance with his co*ck at this point, and he was big, bigger than Adam and Master. It was going to hurt, but I had to manage how much. He wanted this, wanted to be inside me, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

Once we were inside his apartment, I told him, “You don’t have to have the blindfold on when I come out of the bathroom. Just put it on the nightstand. I will be restraining you, though, as usual.”

“Yes, mistress.”

I gave him a little smile for that. Once I was inside the bathroom, I took off my wig and stripped to the skin. A full-length mirror was set into the wall near the sink. I stared at myself for a while. My body was fine, even though my ass was on the flat side and my breasts were on the small side, but they weren’t what I was concerned with. My gaze dropped to my groin and the six pink circular scars beneath my pubic hair, the marks that Master’s cigarette had left. On a good day I fooled myself that they weren’t really visible, but now they stood out like spotlights. What would I say to him, how could I explain them without disgusting him?

It took me quite a while to notice the jewelry cases on the bathroom counter and remember that I’d told him today would be a good day for it. When I opened them, the breath left me in a gasp. He had not played it cheap. The necklace was heavy, lavish, diamonds and rubies and gold that dripped down my upper chest to settle between my breasts when I fastened it around my neck. The bracelets were also diamonds and rubies and gold, but they fastened around my wrists like cuffs, and a loop designed to go around my middle finger held a plate over the back of each hand, gold with a huge ruby in the center, surrounded by diamonds. Hadn’t he said something about the jewelry being barbaric? It fit that description to a T. Maybe the jewels would even distract him from my scars. I swallowed the anxiety and stepped into the bedroom.

John stood outside the door, naked, and if he was still worried he wanted to hide it from me. I found that sweet. When I glanced over at the bed, I saw he’d done what I’d requested at our last scene and stripped the bed, although the blue silk scarves were still tied to the frame. It was covered only by a black rubber sheet now. This wasn’t necessary since I’d decided only to f*ck him, but I didn’t bother having him remove it. I doubted it would be very comfortable, but then I wouldn’t be either, so what did it matter? “Very good, John. You remembered what I asked.”

“Yes, mistress.” He took in what I wore around wrists and throat and smiled. “May I say the jewelry looks more beautiful on you than I thought it would?”

“Yes, John, you may.” Was he being tactful in ignoring the scars? Maybe he didn’t see them? How could he not see them? Then his eyes dipped, his gaze running over my body, and I noticed a slight stutter as it passed over my groin, then swept on to catalogue my legs. He said nothing. “Lie down on the bed, on your back.”

He did, settling himself, and I took a moment to admire him. The black rubber sheet set off his body like a jeweler’s velvet cloth. I couldn’t help but let a hand trail over him, from shoulder to chest to belly to groin, and his co*ck twitched, growing under my touch. “You’re so beautiful, John. I could stand here for hours, just looking at you.”

“Thank you, mistress. I’m glad.”

I leaned down to kiss him before taking his right hand and binding him to the headboard. “Comfortable?” I asked.

“Yes, mistress.” I hadn’t expected him to say no, with his invulnerable skin, but we were in uncharted waters for him. I repeated the action on his left wrist, then his ankles, until he was secured. My heart rate jumped up a bit. I’d much rather have done what I originally intended, dealt with the kink he had that I knew about, but too late now.

I picked up the blindfold from the bedside table. “Lift your head a little so I can put this on you.” He obeyed, swallowing, and I told him, “Remember, you have your safe word. If you get really nervous or uncomfortable, you can use that and we’ll stop. Okay?” It seemed crazy to say that to him, but I went with my instincts.

“Okay. Mistress.”

I slid the blindfold over his eyes and moved it into position, caressing his cheek and placing a light kiss on his mouth. Too late I wished I’d had him leave on the top part of his costume so I could rub myself against it, feel the stimulation from its nubby texture, but I wouldn’t have done that anyway because he had too much self-doubt about his body and I didn’t want to add to it.

Interestingly, he wasn’t hard yet, only enough blood collected in his co*ck to bring it to half-mast. I trailed my fingers over it, tickling a little with my nails, and was rewarded by it firming up fully. “That’s my good boy,” I murmured. His co*ck twitched.

Climbing onto the bed, I leaned over and took it into my mouth. John moaned as I laved him with my tongue and I felt a wave of warmth go through me. Since I wasn’t going to do what I’d originally planned, this was a good lead-in to f*cking him. I hadn’t brought any lube, so he’d be wet from my mouth, and I hoped that would do.

Long minutes passed while I licked and sucked him and he let me know how much he was enjoying it. You’re putting it off, said an unwelcome voice in my mind. If you’re going to f*ck him, then f*ck him. Deal with the pain. All he wanted was to f*ck you anyway. He said that was the objective of all these games he let you play with him. So you might as well get it over with.

Reluctantly I let his co*ck slide out of my mouth and straightened up. Time to put on my big-girl panties and do this. With a quick movement I straightened up and moved to straddle him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“It’ll be fine, baby,” I told him. “We’re just going to f*ck now. There’s nothing to worry about.”

John shook his head. “No. You aren’t ready. I haven’t even touched you.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll be okay.” Best that he couldn’t see me now, all my muscles clenched despite my efforts to relax, make it easier on myself, as I positioned one knee on either side of his hips.

“Ashley, no. Stop it. I’m not letting you do this when you aren’t even wet. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I sighed but didn’t answer him, didn’t even notice he’d called me by name instead of Mistress, taking his co*ck into my hand and maneuvering it as I brought it to the opening of my puss*. And then John said the one thing I never believed I’d hear him say.

“Roosevelt.”

It worked like ice water in the face. I released him and jumped off the bed, pulling the blindfold away from his face. “Do you just want a break or do you want to stop altogether?”

“A break is fine.” His voice was tight and he sounded angry. Oh God, was Homelander going to take over? What would he do to me if he became ascendant?

I busied myself untying his hands and feet, touching him when I thought he would allow it, murmuring what I thought was nonsense until I heard myself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” was a river from my mouth. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Ashley. You’re the one who isn’t fine here.”

“What—I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me. You told me once that I could count on you to hear me say no. I want to know what was going on with you that you didn’t hear me.”

Tears started to burn my eyes and I kept my face down. “I thought I could do it. I know you want that, and I’ve gotten through it before. I figured I could get through it with you.”

He took hold of my chin and lifted my face. “I don’t want anything that we do to be something you have to endure. I’ve never pushed you on this at all, even in teasing you. This did not come from me.”

Just like that, my control failed and I was sobbing, babbling, “I never wanted to be like him. I didn’t want to be mean like him. I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to like it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I’d never felt so ashamed in my life. Master’s voice came back to me. You’re frigid, you’re a failure. I don’t know why I waste my time with someone like you. You’re not even pretty. You’re lucky you have me in your life. You should want to please me.

“Okay. It’s all right, sweetheart. Don’t cry.” John got up, leaving me curled up and shivering on the black rubber sheet, to retrieve the navy comforter from the closet. When he came back, he spread the comforter over me and got into the bed again. He sat with his back against the headboard and I pressed myself against his side, my face against his chest, the tears still waterfalling. “Tell me about this guy you don’t want to be like.”

I tried to get my breathing under control, tried to compose myself. “I’m not going to tell you his name. After a certain point, all I was allowed to call him was Master. He wasn’t a proper dom. If I’d had connections in the BDSM community back then, I would have known about him because he had a reputation there, but I didn’t. That was part of the reason he picked me out. He liked young women, not jailbait but the barely legal kind, no way of finding out about his reputation, no family to speak of, and vulnerable, the kind who will let him push boundaries a lot further than they’re comfortable with. Further than he should.”

“How old were you?”

“Nineteen. I’d just broken up with my first lover two weeks before I met Master. I was still grieving. He must have smelled the blood in the water. Master gave a presentation at NYU that a professor for a class I was taking would give extra credit for attending and writing up, so I attended. There was an informal meet-and-greet afterward, and that’s where he saw me. He started e-mailing me, then calling. I was flattered. Who wouldn’t be? He was handsome, rich, famous, successful even if his career was in a slump at the time. He was older, an expert at pulling in potential subs. You know, fancy dinners, glittery social get-togethers, moving way too fast, talking about children on the first date, lots of red flags if you knew what to look for, but I didn’t.”

“It’s not your fault,” John assured me.

It would be nice if I believed that. “He was only the second person I ever had sex with. He wanted me to move in with him—we’d known each other for about a week at that point—but I had enough sense to say no and plead my classes. We worked out an arrangement where I’d spend every weekend with him. He’d send his driver to pick me up after my last class and take me to his country house upstate. It was at the end of this dirt road, about five miles from the nearest town. I’d told him I could rent a car but he wouldn’t have it. The town even had a train station so I could have taken the train and the driver could have picked me up there, but I didn’t figure out then that it was because that would give me a way to leave when I wanted, rather than depending on him. I’d be his from about 5 PM Friday night until noon Sunday. He wanted me until 5 PM then too but I told him I needed time to do classwork and he agreed. That was the only argument I ever won with him.”

He didn’t say anything, just cradled me against his chest. I closed my eyes to feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the rhythm of his heart. How could I tell him any of this? Once he heard, he’d think even less of me than he had after I came back to Vought. How could he ever have any feelings for me after he knew this?

I gathered myself together. “Like I said, Master had a country house upstate that he used for his activities. No close neighbors, of course. He never had the heat turned on while I was there and it was winter. He also never let me wear any clothes inside the house. I got so many colds that semester. By finals I had acute bronchitis.”

“Okay,” said John. His voice was neutral, but I felt the tension in his muscles. If I’d given him Master’s real name, I could count on him being dead by dawn, but I didn’t want to cover up any more murders.

“His main thing, his main kink, was degrading me, inflicting humiliation.” I went silent for a few moments.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I understand.”

“No, I have to get over this. I haven’t talked about it with anyone except this woman I know in the community, Mistress Krista. She was the one who gave me the information about Master. I haven’t even told my psychiatrist about him. It just makes me feel…bad…that I put up with it for as long as I did.”

“How long were you with him?”

“Three months. What he did—well, I told you he didn’t let me wear clothes in the house. I had to strip on the porch and put my clothes in a garbage bag. I got them back when I left on Sunday. He said I didn’t deserve to have my own room, my own bed, and had to sleep on the floor of his room. When it got cold enough, like below zero, he bought a dog bed, the kind for a really big dog, and I had to curl up and sleep in that. It was better than the bare floor. I also didn’t deserve to eat at the table with him, so he put a water bowl and food bowl on the floor and I ate from them. All I was allowed to eat was canned dog food.” I cringed, expecting his disgust, but if he felt that he didn’t show it. “In fact, I think if we’d been together longer I could have developed a nice case of bulimia. I got into the habit of stuffing myself on Thursday and Friday so I could try to get through the weekend without eating and I’d binge on Sunday night when I got back to my dorm room. It disgusted me, and he enjoyed making me do disgusting things.”

He chose his words with care. “Did you ever talk to him about this? Didn’t you have a safe word?”

I nodded. “I couldn’t talk to him about anything, but he gave me a safe word the first night we spent together.”

“Bioluminescence?”

It surprised me that he remembered that. “No, that was the one I picked for myself afterward. He didn’t even let me choose my own safe word because I wasn’t to have any power at all, just be his little sex toy.”

“What was your safe word with him?”

“Vinegar. It really suited the situation, I have to say. But when he gave me the safe word, he told me that if I ever used it, even once, our relationship was over and I would have to leave immediately because he wasn’t going to waste his valuable time with some inhibited little prude.”

“Is that normal, to end things over using a safe word?”

“No, not at all, but since I didn’t have any experience with it, I just accepted it. Proper doms, like I tried to be, encourage you to use it if you don’t feel safe, if there’s something making you feel threatened or uncomfortable, but, again, I didn’t know that then.“

“And that’s why you were so insistent I have my safe word and use it.”

I nodded. “He expected me to cook all his meals, if we weren’t going to some social function—I’d agreed to be his date if he had a social or business engagement during the weekend—and back then I wasn’t much of a cook. So I got punished for that on the regular. He had a…playroom, he called it. There was this bench with restraints that he’d put me on and then he’d beat me with a belt. Not just the ass—my thighs, my back, I was all-over welts at the end of most weekends. There was one time I remember that, right after he’d released me from the bonds, he gave me a Vera Wang dress on a hanger and a diamond necklace and told me to get dressed for a dinner he was attending. Sitting down was agony. That was one of the times he’d decided to stripe my back in addition to my ass. I must have moved like I had arthritis. There was another time when he made me shave my pubic hair and put out cigarettes on my mound. That’s why I never really wanted you to see me naked. I didn’t want to explain the scars.”

“Did you enjoy it? The pain?”

“No. And that was how he wanted it. Making me do things I didn’t enjoy, knowing I didn’t enjoy any of it—that was what got him off, the power. At first, I liked kissing him, but after the sex started I shut down completely. I was dry as the Mojave Desert every time. At least he was considerate enough to use lube.” John didn’t say anything, but his arms tightened around me. “Master had me thinking that everything I did or said or thought, the sum of my being, was wrong, and I was lucky to have someone like him who loved me enough to try to make me better, help me improve, be acceptable. I tell myself I wouldn’t have believed him if I hadn’t just broken up with Jared, if I’d had more experience with men, but who knows.”

The words kept flowing out like lava. “My grades crashed that semester. I told you I was sick all the time because he never would turn the heat on at his country house and I had to go naked, and I’d started developing disordered eating patterns because of what he made me eat, but I could barely focus on my coursework. I’d burst out crying at odd moments. I didn’t sleep well and was always tired. My roommate was worried sick, but I wouldn’t tell her what was going on. I didn’t want to be disloyal to him. He was paranoid about TMZ or one of the other tabloids finding out about his tastes, even though in the industry it was pretty much an open secret. I guess them finding proof of it was what worried him. I had nightmares about the weekends, dreaded Friday and that black car to take me away, and somehow I didn’t realize I could just tell the driver to leave, just break up with Master. He seemed like a force of nature to me, and he’d done a good job of taking my power away. I think I was just about broken by that last weekend. He did too, or he wouldn’t have done what he did. Do you know what a hard limit is?”

“No.” His voice and face were calm, but I could almost feel the rage circulating through his blood. I didn’t check his eyes to see if they were red.

“I didn’t think we talked about those. Remember when I gave you that example of unhandled trauma, someone who’d been raped not being able to handle a certain action even when they’re with someone safe? If you dommed for that person and asked for a hard limit, they should tell you never to put your hand around their throat under any circ*mstances. When you told me you didn’t want me to use any physical discipline, I treated that like a hard limit for you. A soft limit is something you don’t want to do now but might be open to in the future. A hard limit is something you don’t want to do, ever, under any circ*mstances. Anal sex was mine because if I didn’t like vagin*l sex, why on earth would I enjoy something that hurts a f*ckton more?” I felt him tense up, then force himself to relax. “Do you want to hear the rest of it?”

“No, but I need to. I need to know what you went through so I can make sure nothing like that ever happens again. So I can keep you safe.”

“Okay. Well, he never told me what he intended to do before a session. He didn’t call them scenes. I was always going in blind. It was Friday night and I’d just gotten there. Master made me strip on the porch as usual, but he seemed different, more excited. I thought he’d been drinking. By now I knew him well enough to understand this meant trouble, but I couldn’t figure out how. I couldn’t have done anything bad yet.” The memory of early April air, full of unseasonable chill, sweeping over my bare flesh on the front porch that he always called a verandah made me shiver. Front porch, motherf*cker, I thought.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” I didn’t know if I was lying or not. What did his super-hearing make of my vital signs? But I shrugged that off. “Master wanted to celebrate. He told me that he’d gotten a job that would take him out of the country for a few months. He was in a good mood, had dinner waiting and didn’t make me cook. He even let me eat people food at the table with him and have a glass of champagne. I’d just started to relax by the end of dinner, when he took me to the playroom and told me to get on the bench. I didn’t want to, I knew what was coming, or thought I did, but I didn’t fight. That would only make it worse.” Anxiety rose in my throat at the memory. “He didn’t secure the restraints as well as he normally did. Maybe he was too worked up, or just drunk. He asked me if I wanted to come to Europe with him for the job. I told him I couldn’t because of school. He said he hadn’t asked me if I could but if I wanted to. Of course I didn’t but I knew better than to say that. He figured it out anyway and told me I needed to be punished for not loving him enough. And he decided f*cking me up the ass was the appropriate punishment, as that was the only hard limit I’d ever given him.”

John said, “We can stop if you want, if you need a break.”

I shook my head. “I only want to tell this to you once. If I stop now, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk about it again. So we hadn’t done any preparation for this, no toys, no oral, not even fingers, just boom straight in, all the time telling me what a stupid willful bitch I am because I don’t like doing what I’m told and how any other woman would be grateful to be in my place. When I felt it happening I started using my safe word. I was screaming ‘Vinegar, vinegar, vinegar,’ at him but he didn’t pay any attention at all. I guess he figured that, if I was ending the relationship, he might as well do what he wanted because this was his last chance. Just so you know, one of the worst things any dom can do is ignore a safe word. It just—well, it isn’t done, not by any real dom. You don’t ignore the super-no.

“Anyway, he must have been drinking a lot more than I’d thought because normally, when he put me in restraints, he cut off the circulation to my hands and feet. He thought it was funny to watch me limp around on pins-and-needles feet and try to shake feeling back into my hands. But this time I could feel my hands, and the cuffs seemed loose. I have small hands, so I managed to pull my right hand out of the cuff, then I undid the left cuff, twisted around, and cracked him across the bridge of the nose with my elbow. He fell—must have been off-balance—and hit the floor. Then I got my feet out of the restraints and stood up. He was bleeding from the head and not moving at all.”

“Did you kill him?” John kept his voice neutral.

I shook my head. “I’ve been forced to meet him since then, and if he’s a corpse he won’t stop talking. I thought about it, though. There were any number of things in his playroom I could have used to kill him, a leg-spreader in particular. But I settled for locking him in—the door locked from both sides—getting my clothes and coat and purse and hiking into town. I bought a ticket for New York at the train station and I didn’t see him again for years.” I left out the part about having to get a maxipad in the women’s bathroom because I was bleeding, not gushing but slow and steady. Even though he hadn’t gotten it all the way in, I still bled for a week afterward. “I won’t say where I saw him again later because that would tell you who he is and I don’t want to deal with him anymore.”

“All right.” If he thought he’d fooled me into thinking he wasn’t going to try to figure out who Master is, it hadn’t worked.

“I had a few weeks left to get my grades back up and I did my best, but they still weren’t where they should have been. He’s the reason I graduated magna cum laude instead of summa. So I spent months thinking I was a failure, a freak, because I hadn’t been able to be a good sub, give him what he wanted, hadn’t enjoyed any of it even a little. Then I met this girl in one of my classes—Mistress Krista—and we started hanging out. Eventually I found out she dommed and told her what had happened. She guessed who Master was instantly. I was stunned and she gave me all the details on him. She said none of this had been my fault, dozens of girls had had the same experience with him, and he wasn’t a real dom, just a garden-variety abuser who used the trappings of BDSM and his fame to draw in girls who didn’t have enough experience to know he was someone to avoid. We were sitting at a table in the student union, getting something to eat before class. and I broke down crying. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear that. I’d felt so guilty all this time for what happened and she told me it wasn’t my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You’re not a failure or a freak. You just tried to please, the way you did with me, and it doesn’t always work. This guy—Master—” I heard the loathing in his voice “—couldn’t have been pleased by anyone. He just wanted to make you feel bad.”

“I guess.” I sniffled a little.

He repositioned me against him and tightened his embrace. “Do you feel better now?”

I took the time to consider it. “Yes. I think I feel lighter. I’m sorry about what happened before.”

“No need. You weren’t like him. When I used my safe word you paid attention. You wanted me to be safe and happy. I could never think you’re like him in any way.”

“Thank you.” Wriggling a little, I reached up and kissed John lightly. He put his hand on the back of my neck and prolonged the contact, his tongue brushing over my lips.

When he broke the kiss, he leaned back against the headboard and rested his chin on top of my head. “Was that all you had planned for this evening, seeing how much pain you could take from me f*cking you?”

“Oh, no,” I told him. “The…intercourse was a last-minute thing. I hadn’t planned on that at all.”

“What did you plan on?”

“Just something I thought you needed. I didn’t want to argue about it with you, since if you knew what I’d planned you’d put up a fight. But in the end I know you’d be very happy with it. This is something you need to get through, but there wouldn’t be any pain in it, I promise. For either of us. You’d enjoy yourself a lot.”

John sighed a little. “We can still do that, if you want to. If you feel up to it.”

“And you’d trust me enough for that? After what happened?” I couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“Now that I understand why you felt you had to. I don’t think we’ll have any more misunderstandings like that.” His hand caressed my back and I felt myself starting to relax.

“I’d still want you to wear the blindfold, but I wasn’t going to restrain you.”

“Interesting. I wonder what you had planned.”

“Only one way to find out.” I tried to sound breezy and confident but failed miserably and only sounded forlorn.

“We can have the scene. I don’t want you to leave without something pleasant happening.”

John had a way of surprising me sometimes. “Okay, if we’re going to do this, you need to put the comforter away. The sheet’s the only thing that should be on the bed.”

“Yes, mistress.”

That got a laugh out of me. When he’d finished stowing the comforter in the closet and returned to the bed, I said, “Lie down, and I’ll put the blindfold back on you.”

“Promise me you won’t feel bad about this anymore.”

I gave him a smile and kissed him as I slipped the blindfold back over his head. “I promise. And I won’t even scold you for not calling me mistress. Lie back on the bed now.” He obeyed me, and I climbed off the mattress. “I have to get something for our scene. I’ll be back in a second.”

Since I’d thought my original plan for the scene was off the table, I’d left my tote bag in the bathroom, but I’d still slipped in the main prop before I came over. I broke the seal on the bottle but didn’t open it. Little flashes of anxiety shot along my nerve endings, as I still felt a bit fragile from revealing so much of myself to John. That he hadn’t seemed disgusted was inconceivable, but I put that aside for later.

John was lying on his back on the bed, his hands folded on his stomach, the blindfold in place. The fact that he could hear my heart, the blood in my veins—the intimacy of it sent a thrill through me. Taking care to get my breathing under control, I set the bottle down on the nightstand. I didn’t think he could smell what was inside it through the plastic; if he could, he would have protested, cut the scene short, but he did neither, his expression serene as he lay there, waiting for me.

If he expected a frontal assault, he was doomed to disappointment. I lay down next to him, molding myself against his side. “Did you know I had the most massive crush on you when I was Madelyn’s assistant?”

He smiled. “Yes. But most of her assistants did after a while. I knew the look.”

That didn’t surprise me. I ran my fingers over his chest lightly, grazing his nipple and watching it stiffen. “I was so jealous of Queen Maeve. She had you, everyone loved her, and she was so much more beautiful than I could ever be.”

“And much drunker than you could ever be. Mistress,” he added quickly.

I wanted to laugh but controlled myself. “But I tried to be sensible. I knew if she couldn’t keep you faithful, with that face and that body, the best I could ever hope for was a slot in your regular schedule. Maybe every-other-Thursday girl.”

“Madelyn would have fired you if I’d touched you. That’s what she did with every assistant I took an interest in. But I f*cked around on Maeve because Madelyn told me that I could have a child.”

I lifted my head from his shoulder to look at him. “Explain.”

“It wasn’t just me being horny. Madelyn had a project with Dr. Vogelbaum to see if I could have a child with a non-supe woman. They juiced up my sperm to see what would happen, and that didn’t do the trick, so they got the idea to juice up the woman’s eggs too. And that did the trick.”

Something in his voice…”Becca Butcher?”

“Yes. That’s how I got Ryan. And it was worth losing Maeve a thousand times over to have him in my life.”

Well, Ryan was much less bitchy, so I counted that as a net positive too. “He’s a wonderful boy. I would have traded Maeve for him too.”

John laughed. “We agree on that. But you had no reason to be jealous of her. In a different way you’re just as beautiful.”

Discomfort flared, and I wanted to get us off this topic. I didn’t want to hear him lying about my mythical beauty while thinking of his dead love. I lifted myself up and kissed him, parting his lips and exploring his mouth with my tongue, feeling myself relax as he returned the kiss. “I want you on top of me. I want to feel your weight." He obliged, pressing the length of his naked body on mine, and I felt a surge of pleasure at the contact. My hands caressed his back, his ass, and he made a noise of enjoyment that sparked more response in me. “Okay, I need you to lie next to me. Prop yourself up on your elbow for now.” When he did, I reached over to the nightstand and picked up the bottle, twisting the cap off. I had just enough time to see his nostrils flare, recognize what was in the bottle, before I poured the milk over my breasts.

“Ashley—” he managed to say.

“Mistress,” I snapped. “You need to get every drop, John. Clean me up with your tongue. Suckle me.”

He remained frozen, mouth open to drag in the scent of the milk better, his co*ck huge and throbbing. I ran my finger over my breast and slid it between his lips. “Suck, John. Be my good boy.” He began licking the milk off my skin, making little whimpers all the while. When I thought he’d gotten as much off my finger as he could, I removed it, put my hand on the back of his head and guided him to my nipple. He didn’t need any more encouragement then, latching on and sucking, and my body warmed from the stimulation. “Such a good boy. You’re always my good boy.”

Once he’d finished with my nipple, he switched to long strokes of his tongue over my breast, whining with excitement at the taste of the milk, before switching to my other breast and rooting for the nipple. I couldn’t see his eyes, but everything about his expression spelled out his eagerness, his happiness. My lower body was all heat now, aching with need, a state I’d never reached before this. I wanted to stay in charge of the situation, but my body forced me to let go, let him do what he wanted.

My skin tingled where his tongue swept at the milk, moved down from my breasts to follow the trail where the liquid had run across my belly, pooled around me on the black rubber sheet. John’s tongue dipped briefly into my navel before continuing, and I realized with a shock that the milk had run between my legs. He stopped when he realized, took a few moments before asking, “Mistress, may I?”

I hung suspended between my excitement and my fear, but he had forgiven me for what I’d done earlier, so why shouldn’t I trust him in this? The worst that would happen was that I wouldn’t come, and that was run-of-the-mill for me. It would be disappointing, more for him than me, but I could get through it. I didn’t know if he could. My voice wobbled as I said, “Every drop, John.” His hands went to my hips, grasping them as he settled between my thighs and I felt his breath on the flesh there.

When I’d had this done to me in the past, by Jared and Master and Adam (very occasionally) and the nameless one-night stands I’d had while I was in Europe, they’d been too rough or perfunctory because they wanted to get past the foreplay to the main event, shoving in the dick. But John wasn’t too rough—his tongue was like satin as it stroked my cl*t, he didn’t bite me the way Master had, and my body bucked under the stimulation—and he wasn’t interested in hurrying past this so that he could satisfy himself. The heat in my lower body had escalated to lava flowing through me and I dug my nails into the mattress, trying to stop myself from squirming out of his reach, even though I knew it was impossible. His hands were gentle but his grip unbreakable. When I’d been with Master that would have been sickening, terrifying, but with John, inexplicably, it excited me. I couldn’t get away from him, couldn’t escape the pleasure he was giving me, and I liked it.

Why had I never wondered how John would be if he were allowed to please me, rather than me doing all the pleasing? He’d never hurt Madelyn that I knew of, and even though he didn’t love me, he needed me in place at Vought, so I could probably consider myself safe. I surfaced from the haze of sensation long enough to realize that my legs were over his shoulders now and my hands fisted in his hair, holding him in place the way he held me. I never wanted him to stop.

My teeth gritted against the sounds I wanted to make, the building sensation so intense that it had started to frighten me, but a sudden firm strumming of his tongue against my cl*t wrenched a wail out of me as the sensation burst, sending sweet hot delight through every inch of me that made me stiffen and my toes curl. Was that an org*sm? Holy sh*t, that had to have been an org*sm, were my first dazed thoughts as I came back to myself. I had an org*sm.

I gasped for breath as John raised himself and settled down beside me again. “You all right?” he asked.

“Perfect,” I managed to say. “Did I come?”

That made him laugh. “Yes, you did. Not so hard you squirted, but you definitely did. You tried to turn your thighs into a vise around my head.”

“Good thing you’re a supe, then. What do I need to do for you? Do you want me to blow you, give you a hand job?”

John shook his head. “I—kind of embarrassing, but I came when you did. I’d been rubbing myself against the sheet without realizing it, and you just…sent me over the edge. Eating your puss* and the milk thing. How did you know about that?”

“I’ve known about it since that day I caught you in Madelyn’s office, before the training room. I saw enough to know what you’d done, but I pretended I didn’t because I didn’t know how you’d react to me knowing. But since we’re doing our scenes, I had to get you past keeping it a secret from me. It’s harmless, legal, hurts no one, and there’s no reason for you to be ashamed of it. Did Madelyn know?”

He took a bit to think about it. “I think she did, but I never said anything about it to her. She never let me do that with her, even when she was breast-feeding Teddy and could have. But she never loved me, so that makes sense.” I wasn’t as sure as he was that Madelyn had never had any tender feelings for him, but let it go for now. “I’m going to get the comforter. You’re getting chilly.”

“Don’t do that,” I told him. “The milk will get the comforter dirty.”

“I have a washer and dryer. Don’t worry about it.” And I had to say I was grateful for its warmth as it settled over me and John got back into the bed. “Are you going to take the job with Adam?’

“No.” The communication I had with John, what trust we had, had shown me that what Adam and I had was surface-level at best, nothing I should pin any relationship hopes on. That John had waited until now to ask me, after he’d satisfied me physically in a way Adam never had, though—I found that kind of bothersome but didn't feel like thinking about it, with the glow of org*sm still suffusing my body.

“When are you going to tell him?” His arm went around my shoulders and I curled against his side.

“I’m flying out to Los Angeles tomorrow. I’ll do it then. I think he deserves to be told in person.”

“Good. I’m tired of worrying about him.”

“You never had a thing to worry about. I didn’t love him.”

“Do you love me?”

The question shouldn’t have taken me surprise, but it did. “I…yes, I do. I love you, John.”

He bestowed a co*cky grin on me. “Well, that works out beautifully because I love you too, Ashley.” Without waiting for a reaction, he leaned over and kissed me, and I gave in to the happiness. I wasn’t sure I believed it—he might just be reacting to the intense scene that we’d had—but I put aside that worry for later, after I’d gone to Los Angeles and let Adam know that the domme job was off the table. After that, everything would be smooth sailing.

Chapter 12: Evidence and Decisions

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 12 – Evidence and Decisions

The next morning, for the first time since we’d started our…whatever we had, John did not show up to lie with me on the couch in my office before Gina arrived. That set off a throb of anxiety in my chest. I didn’t understand what was going on. Had it been a mistake to tell him I loved him? Had he felt pressured into saying the same thing to me, when he didn’t actually feel that way? Maybe I’d been right in what I originally suspected, that this had all been a ploy to convince me to stay at Vought and get rid of Adam as a threat. And now I’d promised him that I’d tell Adam I didn’t want the job, so he didn’t need to maintain the façade anymore. I stared at the computer screen in front of me, seeing nothing, and tried to suppress my worry.

Regardless of whether the entire situation with John—Homelander—had been a tactic to get me to rid myself of Adam, I figured he’d want to continue with the sex. I was convenient and he already knew that he could make me come. Or maybe he would drop the entire thing, go back to the way he’d been before we started this. I wasn’t beautiful like Maeve or Stormfront or Madelyn, so maybe he’d been willing to lower himself to f*ck a normal-looking woman as a means to an end. I hated where this line of thought had led me, but I did have to admit it fit everything I knew about Homelander. Hell, it rang with reality.

Plus, he knew about what I’d done with Master now. He had to be completely disgusted with me for what I’d allowed him to do. I was disgusted with me for that. But, still, I couldn’t bring myself to regret telling him. Master was a boil that I’d needed to lance, and no matter what Homelander thought of me for it, letting go of the secret had been the best thing for me. I could see myself healing from it now, if he didn’t take it into his head to spread this all over Vought to shame me, humiliate me. But he’d only do that if I made him angry and he saw some benefit in it for himself. I didn’t see any benefit to him at the moment.

By the time Gina arrived, along with my first appointment of the day, I’d resolved to stop worrying about what he thought, what he would do. There was nothing I could do about it anyway, so it was counterproductive. The fact that my schedule today was wall-to-wall, since I was only working a half-day before the flight to Los Angeles, helped with that resolve.

Just before lunch I noticed Adam had texted me. What are you in the mood for re dinner?

Hadn’t he said he’d have something delivered from Nobu since my flight was getting in too late for us to go out? But I didn’t want sushi now; Nobu reminded me of my last trip to the Coast, Homelander flirting with me by text and me flirting back, lying in my temporary bed. Italian, I texted back, even though I didn’t really care for Italian food.

Great! I’ll have my secretary order something from La Dolce Vita. You’ll love it.

I doubted it but sent back a smiley-face emoji. Dinner would be the best time to break the bad news to him if I wanted to avoid an outburst. But would he get upset, though? He’d ghosted me easily enough after our first fling, so why should this one be any different? It will be you doing the leaving, I thought before putting aside the little niggle of unease it spawned.

Dr. Winterbourne wouldn’t be back until Monday, so I’d cancelled my appointment for today to get work done before going to California. I’d kept my usual Wednesday appointment in place so I could discuss what was happening with John and Adam. An outsider’s POV might be useful. I didn’t look forward to admitting I’d had scenes with John, but I couldn’t hold back information from my psychiatrist and expect her to help me to the fullest extent. I’d just have to bite that bullet.

Roman called just after lunch. “Are you and Homelander free this weekend? I’m working on some new paintings and thought you might like to get a preview of them.”

It was new, him calling to get together with me, and something in my chest warmed at it. “Not this weekend. I’m flying to California to see Adam. I’m…breaking up with him.” Even if it was just a ploy of Homelander’s, ending things with Adam did seem to be for the best. With my suspicions of his cheating when I was last there and my actual activities with John, our relationship was foundering. Best to end things while we were still friendly. That would mitigate any discomfort at premieres that we both had to attend.

“That’s good. I haven’t seen you and the director together, but you have something with Homelander. He’s obviously crazy about you, and, if I’m not mistaken, you feel the same way about him.”

Exchanging confidences with my father wasn’t on my bingo card for today, but I bit back a response about it being late in life to play daddy. “I—have feelings for him. I don’t know how he feels about me. I think it’s probably just a passing thing.”

“I think you’re wrong there, Ashtree, but it’s for the two of you to work out. How are you planning to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Break up with the director. Are you going to go to a restaurant and then catch a flight back?”

“Uh—I’m taking a flight that gets in later than usual, so we won’t be able to eat out. He’s having his secretary order something to be delivered to his home.” Roman made a disapproving noise. “What?”

He sighed. “I’m worried he might get…unpleasant. You never can tell how a man’s going to react when a woman tells him she’s done with him.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Adam isn’t someone who’s going to react badly. He’s not that attached to me.” And ghosting me after our first little fling proved it.

“I’d still feel better if you were out in public when you did this.”

“Fine. We’re probably going out to eat on Saturday night, so I’ll let it ride Friday and do it then. Sound good?”

“Yes. I worry about you, no matter what you think.”

I tried for a conciliatory note. “I appreciate it, Roman. I’ll call you when I get back from California.”

“Check with Homelander to see if he wants to come over and look at my paintings. I probably have a couple more he could buy, if that so appeals to him.”

That made me laugh. “I’ll ask him. How’s your fiancée?”

Now he sounded a little uncomfortable. “Fine. Everything’s progressing.”

“It wasn’t nice of you to spring it on me that way, Roman. What would have been wrong with that restaurant scenario you proposed for Adam?”

He took a while to respond. “I just wasn’t sure of how you’d take it. Because I never married your mother.”

“But this one’s a boy, and that makes all the difference. I get it.”

“What are you talking about?”

The surprise in his voice sounded genuine. “There’s no need to hide anything from me. Mom let me know multiple times that you would have married her if I’d been a boy. I know all about it.”

“That’s—” Roman seemed at a loss for words. “That’s not true, Ashtree. I’d decided after the first few months we were together that I wasn’t going to marry Kathryn, far before you came along.”

I scoffed. “Why was that? Because you knew she wasn’t going to leave you no matter what you did? That she’d still handle your business issues?”

“No. I wasn’t going to marry her because she had a vicious temper and I can’t deal with people who fly off the handle that unpredictably. I can’t even tell you how many times she took a swing at me for nothing in particular. Once I’d smiled at a girl while we were entering a theater. I didn’t know the girl and wasn’t even aware I’d done it. After the show I got a three-hour harangue about how I must be f*cking that random girl and she wasn’t going to put up with it and she’d make sure I never saw you again if I didn’t break things off. Then I got a black eye when I tried telling her I’d never even met that girl and she didn’t let me see you for months.”

Mom had been about my size and Roman was taller than Homelander. “And you took that?”

“What else was I supposed to do? If I hit back, tried to get her off me, I’d be the bad guy, the abuser, and it would be all over the news. Maybe it was cowardly of me, but I didn’t want the bad publicity. And I didn’t have the ability to take care of a child at that point in my life if I sued for custody of you. I just hoped that she was being motherly to you. I didn’t know she was pouring poison into your ear.”

I felt oddly reluctant to accept what Roman was telling me, despite what I knew about my mother’s temperament. Why? It made sense that this behavior wouldn’t have been restricted to me. “Well, it’s all over with now. No reason to bring it back up.”

Roman continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “I never want you to believe that you don’t mean as much to me as the baby I’m having with Casey because you aren’t my son. You’re my only daughter. I love you very much.”

I had to swallow before I replied. “Thank you, Roman. I appreciate you telling me this. I’ll ask Homelander about coming over to your loft.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Thank you, Ashtree. I’ll look forward to it.”

I didn’t have time to do much thinking about the conversation we’d had after I disconnected the call because Gina announced my last appointment of the day. The idea that Mom had lied to me, told me it was my fault that Roman hadn’t married her when it was something inside her that was at fault, crouched in the back of my mind as I approved the ad campaign for Vought scuba gear and set up a personal appearance for the Deep. It was something to discuss with Dr. Winterbourne at our Wednesday session. Maybe that would help resolve some of the unsettled feelings about my mother and father.

After the meeting, I grabbed my weekend bag and started to head out. But I’d promised Roman I’d ask Homelander whether he wanted to see the works in progress, so I asked Gina. “Do you know where Homelander is?”

“In the conference room, I think.”

“I’m leaving for the airport now. If there are any emergencies, just text or call. I’ll do what I can.” As I headed down the corridor, my anxiety made a comeback as I envisioned his reaction to the invitation. Would he laugh? Would he sneer? Why was I even worrying about this? He still had a brain, so since I hadn’t pulled the trigger on my relationship with Adam yet, he’d say yes because he hadn’t gotten what he wanted. Whether he’d flake on it once I returned from the West Coast was something else.

When I opened the conference room door, it was empty. Maybe Homelander had gone to his apartment to get something. Maybe Gina had been wrong about where he was. Maybe I should just text him from the airport about Roman’s invitation. But then I noticed the opened manila folders on the conference table and moved over to take a look.

At first I couldn’t understand what I was looking at. There were at least half a dozen manila folders on the table, but only two of them were opened. A chair had been shoved back, so I had to imagine that Homelander had been looking at these files before being interrupted and leaving. Police files, if the tags for “Metro Police DC” and “Savannah Police Department” were any indication. I saw official reports, dull black type against white office paper, but it was the photographs that caught my eye, made it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

In lurid color, they recorded the placement of the dead body that belonged to one of the subjects of the investigation, all women. For Washington DC it was an olive-skinned woman with a lot of facial damage. For Savannah it was a freckled woman with matching injuries. Both women were built lean, with small breasts, but that wasn’t what stood out. Both women’s heads were denuded of hair, except maybe a strand or two, their scalps red and swollen and bloody. The words “hair pulled out antemortem” swam at me from one of the reports. “Not recovered at scene. Possible sexual assault.”

The breath rasped shallow between my lips. Fear made every cell of my body tingle. Homelander had been to Washington DC not long ago, the day I’d had to take care of Ryan and fielded a bunch of questions about our relationship. The day of Joe’s Shanghai and my realization about the possibility that Homelander wasn’t alone in his head. Had he killed this woman? I knew what he was like, the unpredictable rages, the loss of control. And he knew that I’d pulled my own hair until I was all but bald. Was it possible that Homelander—not John, Homelander—was killing women as a means of stress relief, a way of taking out his annoyance at me in a way that wouldn’t cause him any inconvenience? I assumed he already knew that killing me would mean a protracted search for a new SVP of Hero Management that he didn’t want to undertake. But he wanted his victims—oh Christ—to look more like me, so he pulled their hair out before he did the rest? Both of the women in the crime scene photos had the same build as I did, too. I wouldn’t put it past him to start killing, or at least killing outside his duties for Vought. He had such contempt for humans, seeing us as insects, that I doubted the act of killing one meant more to him than crushing an ant underfoot.

Let’s not get hasty here, a frightened part of my mind insisted. These files don’t necessarily mean Homelander’s turned into a sexually motivated serial killer. They could be part of an investigation that he’s doing. He could be helping out the police.

A good argument, except that I hadn’t assigned him anything involving serial killing. The Seven didn’t get cases like that because Stan Edgar didn’t consider them cinematic enough, too cerebral to suit him. Throwing purse snatchers at moving vehicles was camera-ready and got the blood pumping in the veins of the general public in a way that pure deduction did not. I often suspected that was the reason why no member of the Seven had mental powers like Mindstorm had. For my money he’d been more frightening than Homelander in his ordinariness. No one would ever notice him, and all he had to do to trap you in your own nightmares until you died was lock eyes with you, no muss no fuss. Being lasered, or ripped apart, was merciful compared to that. Plus, all assignments for the Seven came through me. Mr. Edgar would never bypass me and go straight to them; it was beneath him, and it would undercut me with them, if that were possible. So what was Homelander doing with these files? The unwelcome thought occurred to me: serial killers take trophies. Maybe he’d stolen the files from the police to peruse at his leisure, enjoy the memories of his bloody work? Relive their murders? He was certainly capable of it.

I moved in closer, lifting the photographs to see more angles, close-ups, of the victims, and picked those up to look at the reports beneath. Metro DC’s detective was named Kandinsky and Savannah’s detective was named Wilder, and I had just enough time to begin running my gaze over the page before I heard the conference room door open and close. I turned, already knowing as my heart sank who would be there.

Homelander leaned against the door, looking at me. Definitely Homelander, no John to be found, as his frozen blue eyes regarded me without a drop of humanity in them. “So, what are you looking at?”

The photographs slipped out of my numb fingers to flutter to rest on top of the files. “I didn’t…I wasn’t...”

“Oh, you did and you were. Being a bit nosy for my taste today, Ashley.” He straightened up from the door and walked toward me. Everything in me wanted to run, dodge past him, open the door and flee down the corridor, but I knew I had no chance of success.

“I didn’t mean to be nosy, sir. I just came in and saw the files and—”

“And couldn’t help but take a gander?”

My throat went dry and I had to swallow. “I’m sorry, sir. I—”

“So what do you make of them? The files, I mean.” He smiled, but it was the shark smile he used most of the time that I’d learned to fear.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“You don’t know?” His smile got broader and his voice took on a mocking edge. “That’s the first true thing you’ve said since I walked in here. You don’t have a scrap of knowledge in your empty little head and never have.”

Anger flared in my chest but I tamped it down. It had never benefited me in any exchange with him to get mad. “It’s none of my business, sir.”

“That’s right, Ashley, and you should remember that. The last thing you need to do is get ideas above your station.”

“Yes, sir.” I tried to sweep past him, but his hand locked onto my upper arm. “Could you let go? I have somewhere to be.”

“Not just yet. I want to make sure you’re going to keep quiet about this without ripping the tongue out of your head. Do you think you can manage not to babble like a magpie?”

“Yes, sir.” I couldn’t keep the loathing out of my voice and his grip tightened just before he slammed me against the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of me and left me gasping. How could we have been close enough to the wall for him to do that? We’d been standing in the middle of the room and, other than when I’d tried to walk past him, neither of us had moved. Had he moved both of us without me perceiving it? Did he have speed too, like A-Train?

“What did I see in your eyes just then, Ashley? Do you want to tell me?” All I could do was shake my head no, still trying to drag air into my lungs. “It looked like you didn’t like what I said very much. It looked like you didn’t like me very much. Am I correct there?”

I couldn’t answer—if I tried to lie, he’d know it, and I couldn’t say truthfully that he was wrong. So I settled for keeping my eyes down, staring at the place where his neck met the shirt of his costume, and remaining silent.

“I can’t hear you, Ashley!” he sang. I tried to move and his hand released my arm to encircle my throat. Panic electrified my body, but there was no escape from him. The leather chafed against my skin, but my mind was too busy trying to find a way out to notice that the pressure wasn’t unbearable and I could even breathe comfortably.

“You don’t have to rip my tongue out, sir. I won’t tell anyone about this.” My gaze tried to return to the pictures of the dead women who may have died instead of me. Would this incident doom another woman? Please don't let him kill another woman because of me.

His voice softened. “That’s a good girl, so obedient. Tell me what you saw on the table.”

“Nothing, sir. I didn’t see anything.”

Homelander snapped a fist into the wall near my head. Chips of wood and plaster nicked my cheek and I cried out. “That’s right, Ashley. You didn’t see anything and you won’t say anything. And I know you’re telling the truth, so I don’t have to deal with you the way I dealt with Madelyn.”

The floor seemed to fall out from under me. “Ms. Stillwell?”

His teeth flashed at me. “Don’t tell me you believed the official story. Oh, that’s right!” He snapped the fingers of the hand he’d just punched a hole in the wall with. “You weren’t working for Vought anymore, so you had no way of knowing anything other than that.”

“Billy Butcher…” My voice trailed off.

“Oh, I admit he strapped the explosives to her. That was all him. He thought he could threaten her and use that to control me, force me to do what he wanted, and in the past it might even have worked. But I’d found out she lied to me, Ashley, lied about something after she’d promised me that she’d never lie to me again. I forgave her once, but not a second time. Just to show him, so he would understand, I killed her myself. I burned the eyes straight out of her head, incinerated her brain inside her skull, and let her fall out of my hands like a dead bird. No one forces me to do anything. I do whatever the f*ck I want, and if what I want includes looking at police case files of dead women, then I’ll do that. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” I realized I was hyperventilating, gasping for breath even though he wasn’t exerting enough force to cut off my oxygen.

“And just in case you think that weak little cuck John can save you from me, you should wipe that idea out of your head. Oh yes, I know that you know about him. He’s helpless before me. If he tries to grow a set of balls and interfere, I’ll destroy him. Or I’ll trap him in our very own subconscious. I haven’t decided which of those would be most satisfying for me. What will John do to help you?”

“Nothing, sir.” If I’d thought the panic was bad before, it slalomed through my blood now like a drunken skier on an ice trail. John wasn’t safe. Homelander could hurt John, kill John. And now I couldn’t count on his ignorance to keep both of us safe from harm. “I won’t do anything to make you hurt him. I won’t make you do anything.”

“I’m still not sure you understand me. Tell me what will happen if you try to keep me from doing what I want. What will happen if you don’t do what I want.”

“You’ll kill me, sir. You’ll kill John.” I put up a hand and grasped his wrist, but I didn’t have enough strength to do anything but that. Black spots danced in my vision. “You’ll rip my tongue out.”

“Excellent, Ashley!” Homelander beamed at me. “You’re teacher’s pet today. But maybe I should give you something to remember this by. I’m not sure how good your memory is. Maybe a little second-degree burn on your arm, where you can see it? What do you think?” But I couldn’t answer him as I was too busy letting myself fall into darkness.

When I came back to consciousness I found myself lying with my cheek pressed against the conference room floor, my limbs in an untidy sprawl. How much time had passed? Maybe five minutes max? What happened? An anxiety attack? I couldn’t feel any damage and I was still alive, so Homelander couldn’t have attacked me. Oh God, Homelander. He knew everything, he knew what I knew, and John…he’d said he would hurt John, kill John. I didn’t even understand if such a thing were possible, but if it were he would do it. Fear turned my blood into molasses. I’d always thought John wouldn’t be able to protect me if his other side made an appearance, decided to hurt me, and I had just been proved right. There was no safety, no protection, no matter how much he might love me. Not from Homelander.

When I levered myself up on one arm and looked toward the table, the files and photos were gone. But I’d seen them, seen the evidence of what he’d done. Their hair pulled out, oh Christ—was it true, had he been killing me over and over by proxy, not hurting the original because I was too useful to him alive, where I was? Could I count on that continuing now that I knew what he’d done? And Madelyn. She’d been a bad boss and a bad person, but she hadn’t deserved what he did to her. And he’d done that to a woman he loved, the first woman he ever loved. Should I tell Stan Edgar what he’d said? I knew the CEO would believe me over Homelander ten times out of ten, but whether he’d do anything about it, whether he could do anything about it, that was the question. Could anyone make the supe do what he didn’t want to do? And what about John? A possibility occurred to me. Maybe Homelander wouldn’t hurt him if…

I reached into the pocket of my blazer for my cell phone and stabbed myself on a pen I didn’t remember leaving in it. All I could do was look at the injury, the tiny ruby of blood welling up from the side of my hand, with the detachment of deep shock before I unlocked the screen and found the most recent text Adam had sent me. Italian food. La Dolce Vita. The sweet life. I couldn’t call him, hear his voice. I didn’t trust my voice, and I didn’t trust Homelander’s ears. My fingers jittered, nerveless with shock, and I had to wait until the adrenalin had subsided before I touched the keyboard on the screen.

I’ll take the job.

Chapter 13: Journeys and Vanishing

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 13 – Journeys and Vanishing

Escaping had proved easier than I thought, at least the physical part of it. My mind ran in circles on the flight from Manhattan, chewing on my helplessness to save John, my knowledge of Homelander’s murder of Madelyn. But what else could I have done? If he could kill the woman who’d been his first love, what could he do to me, someone he had never loved? Hadn’t he been killing women who reminded him of me to blow off stress? No, it was useless to keep going over it. I’d done the right thing, the safe thing for me, by taking Adam’s job offer. It was all I could do to stay alive, to try to keep John alive by disappearing.

Adam had been waiting for me at LAX when I arrived on the 7 PM flight, but we never went to his Malibu beach house. Instead, I texted him on my burner phone. Sending resignation letter. Will meet you outside. He sent back a thumbs-up emoji and I concealed myself in a stall in the ladies’ room before I powered on the laptop and connected to the airport WiFi. I pulled up Outlook and selected Compose, with “Senior Vice-President of Hero Management” in the Subject line.

To whom it may concern:

Effective immediately, I hereby resign from my position as Senior Vice-President of Hero Management to pursue other opportunities. My time at Vought has been both challenging and joyful, and I will treasure the memories of everyone there.

The corporate mealymouthing suddenly sickened me, so I ended it then with, “Sincerely, Ashley J. Barrett,” and selected All in the To: address bar. As I hit the Send button, I wondered how often Homelander checked his e-mail.

I changed out of my usual sleek corporate attire and pulled my new outfit from my carry-on bag. The woman who emerged from the LAX ladies’ room wore a California Angels baseball cap with my wig pinned up underneath, a tight black low-cut T-shirt over olive-drab cargo pants, an old Army field jacket, and Nikes. My carry-on duffel bag was reversible, so I turned it inside-out and replaced the items inside, which included my suit and blouse and Louboutins. My Ashley Barrett cell phone (minus its sim card, which had gone down the toilet) went into a trashcan further down the concourse, and my laptop went into another trashcan outside the terminal, where Adam was waiting for me in an unobtrusive (for Hollywood) black Mercedes to leave the airport. “I guess our vacation year’s going to start a little bit early.”

I felt glad he wasn’t angry at me for all the disruption I’d created in his life. “I’m still sorry for it.”

He reached over from the steering wheel to pat my hand. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re free of him.” I wished I was as sure of that as he was, but Adam paid no attention to my gloom. “I’ve got a plan all set up. We can stay at my place in Montana for now. It’s fifty miles north of Kalispell and it can’t be connected back to me since it’s under my birth name.”

“What’s your birth name?” So Adam had kept secrets from me too. I guess that made us a little bit even.

“Avery Berkowitz. I changed it before I came to Hollywood because I didn’t think it would be a career asset to have the same last name as Son of Sam.”

“Good call.” I smiled a little and he seemed to perk up. “How are we going to get there?”

“We’re going to drive straight through to Kalispell. If we took any planes, that would leave a record of us, even with fake ID. With Homelander involved, I don’t want to take any chances.”

“But we don’t have any fake ID.”

He gave me a grin that reminded me a little of Homelander’s co*ckiness. “I have talents you don’t know about, my dear. When I was making American Thieves before Vought saw fit to hire me for the VCU, I did a lot of research and made connections in the criminal world. I know where to get top-drawer gold-standard fake ID and took the liberty as soon as you told me about the situation with Homelander, what he’s really like. I thought it might become a necessity. Check the glove compartment.”

I hit the button and the drawer fell forward. A manila envelope held what I recognized as an American passport, along with a driver’s license, a birth certificate, a Social Security card, and two credit cards. The identification was under the name of Rose Elizabeth Cooper, with my picture on the passport and driver’s license. “You do have dimensions I didn’t appreciate properly.”

“Contingency plan on top of contingency plan. It’s the only way to go. My new ID’s under the name of Andrew Bering. As long as we’re not dressed like Hollywood and New York, we should be fine on the trip. I keep a Jeep in storage at Boise for when I want to go to the lodge, so we’re just abandoning this car at the airport there.”

“Won’t they still be able to trace us when they find the car?”

Adan laughed. “They probably would if I hadn’t taken the liberty of switching license plates with another black Mercedes before I came to the airport. The owner of that car probably won’t even notice that the plates have been switched for weeks. The VIN won't match what's in the computer system, but by the time the cops figure everything out we’ll be in Montana.”

“Contingency plan on top of contingency plan,” I said. “Neat.” I didn’t like that his new identity kept the same initials as both his birth name and his Hollywood name but dismissed the concern and removed my old ID from my wallet, replacing it with the new. Goodbye Ashley Barrett, I said to myself, and tucked the pieces of plastic in the pocket of my jacket. Hello Rose Cooper.

Goodbye John.

We went through the drive-thru of an In-N-Out on West Sepulveda to get something to eat before heading for Kalispell. My appetite had returned with a vengeance, as my two animal-style hamburgers, double order of fries, Cherry co*ke, and strawberry shake attested. Adam seemed amused as he took a bite out of his double-double. We ate in silence, no conversation until he turned the Mercedes onto the ramp for I-15 North. “We’ll stay on this road until we get to Montana. The trip should take about nineteen hours, so we can drive straight through without stopping at a motel.”

“Okay.” I sipped from my strawberry shake.

“You want to tell me what he did?”

“Who?” I slanted a glance at him, but his eyes were on the interstate in front of us, the cars and semis weaving from lane to lane, blithely ignoring speed limits.

Adam huffed out a little laugh. “Homelander. He must have done something to scare you and scare you badly. The last thing you told me was that you were looking to ease out of Vought, and you want to have some scenes with me before you make any decisions, take everything slow, and all of a sudden you’re texting me that you’re taking the job. The only thing that could have made you hit the gas like that is him. So what did he do?”

I put the shake back into the cup holder and looked for inspiration in the darkness outside but found nothing. “He killed Madelyn Stillwell.”

“What? I thought it was that Billy Butcher guy who did that.”

“Not according to Homelander. Butcher was there and he was the one who’d booby-trapped her with explosives, but he wasn’t the one who killed her. Madelyn had…lied to Homelander about something after she’d promised him no more lies, and he apparently lost his sh*t big-time over it. He said he burned her eyes out of her head with his laser vision, burned up her brain. He didn’t say so, but I’m guessing he triggered the explosives to cover the damage he’d done to her. There wouldn’t have been enough of a body left for an autopsy, and any burn damage to her skull they’d put down to the explosives. No idea how Butcher made it out alive. Stan Edgar must have had some idea what went on, but he didn’t like her very much so I’m sure he didn’t press it.”

“Why did he tell you all this?”

I didn’t want to tell him about the police files Homelander had stolen, the trophies marking him as a multiple murderer. What if Adam got scared and decided to put me out on the side of the road? I had no plan to escape other than him. It wasn’t nice or loving, but if I had to lie and hide the truth in order to survive, I’d do it. “I was being nosy about something and he wanted to let me know what was in store for me if I continued with that. He grabbed me by the throat and was talking about burning me so I’d remember our little talk.”

“Jesus,” said Adam. “What happened?”

“I must have gotten so scared that I passed out. For him, it must not be fun to hurt people if they’re unconscious, so he just left me there on the floor. As soon as I recovered, I sent you the text and got on the way to LaGuardia. It’s just good luck this happened before I was supposed to leave.”

“Yeah.” He took a hand off the steering wheel to pat mine. “Well, that’s over now. We’ll be up at my lodge by tomorrow and we can just relax and forget about him. He won’t find you there.”

“Thank you, Adam. I know I’ve brought all kinds of trouble to you and I’m sorry for it.”

He looked toward me enough for me to see him smile. “I’m glad you felt like you could trust me to help you. It’s a good sign for us.”

“I’m glad you’re glad. I just wish I’d been able to pull off the original plan and get out clean.”

“Life is what happens when you’ve made other plans.” I chuckled a little. “Now try to get some sleep. I think I can do the whole drive myself, but just in case I start feeling sleepy you can spell me at the wheel. Okay?”

“Okay.” I squirmed around in the front seat and tried to get comfortable. What was Homelander doing right now? Was John still alive, free of the subconscious prison? If he were, what would he think of what I’d done? I doubted he’d have access to his alter’s memories, so all he could think was that I’d told him I loved him, trusted him with my most traumatic memories, my body, and then I’d just left him, like every other woman in his life, one way or another. He probably hated me as much as Homelander did now. I wished the idea didn’t hurt so much.

The sign at the Nevada state line was the last thing I remembered seeing before I gave in to the exhaustion. Adam woke me up briefly when we changed cars in Boise, and I found his Jeep Renegade a lot more comfortable before I drifted off again. By the time I woke up, we were in Montana and the shock of the past twenty-four hours had worn off. I had done this. I had taken the irrevocable action of freeing myself from Homelander. Everything was real now.

We hit the drive-thru of a McDonald’s in Missoula for breakfast and I tried to relax. Homelander definitely knew that I’d quit my job by now and was almost certainly looking for me. No matter what he’d done in our last encounter, I knew that he hadn’t wanted me to resign, as that would create a job search and he might not have any candidates in mind that he could sell to Mr. Edgar and might have to put up with a stranger. He wouldn’t like that. He must be so angry with me—but I put the thought aside. He wouldn’t be able to find me here, and at the end of the year with Adam when I was willing to resurface, a new SVP of Hero Management would be in place and Homelander would have forgotten about me, calmed down about the whole thing. Or so I hoped.

“We should be at my place by three o’clock at the earliest,” Adam told me as I finished my Egg McMuffin and stuffed the wrapper back into the bag. “There won’t be enough time to take you for a tour of the property today, though.”

“We can do that tomorrow,” I told him. “We’ve got a whole year to ourselves. We don’t need to rush anything.”

“And you’re tired anyway. Sleeping in the car doesn’t make for a good rest. Tell you what—we’ll have dinner once we get to my lodge and you can just sleep around the clock if you want. I doubt if you were getting much rest at Vought as it was.”

“Thanks, Adam. I appreciate it.” Should I underline to him that Homelander would be looking for me? Even if he didn’t know about the scenes I’d had with John, with what I’d told him about Homelander the last time I’d visited, he must know that we were in danger, even in the middle of East Jesus Nowhere. But he seemed casual, even somewhat energized by the situation. Maybe he was just happy to be with me, to have won me away from Vought. Who knew, anyway?

Just before 5 PM, the Jeep finished jolting down the gravel road that led to Adam’s lodge. I’d been a city girl all my life, so I couldn’t judge the quality of the structure. It looked solid enough, with very few windows, a front porch that didn’t sag, and what looked like a new metal roof. “Do you stay here a lot?”

He shrugged. “Not as much as I’d like, but sometimes when the Hollywood grind gets to be too much, I make the time. It’s a big stress reliever for me, being here. Nobody to impress, no image to maintain.”

“I get that,” I said. “You’ll never know how tired I got of being the iron-plated bitch of Vought. I was so angry all the time that it just splashed over onto everyone else in my general vicinity. I was a sh*t boss, I can tell you.”

He turned off the ignition and put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in for a brief kiss on my temple. “That’s all behind you now. We’ll stay here long enough for Homelander to get bored with looking for you, and once you’re off his radar, we can go traveling like I planned. Have you ever been to Spain?”

“A long time ago.” No way was I getting into a discussion about my past sexual history. Adam had reacted badly enough at Nobu when he thought that Homelander and I might be together that I didn’t want to kick that particular hornet’s nest again, especially when he’d endangered himself to help me. I just hoped we wouldn’t run into any of my old Tinder hookups while we were there.

“Well, get ready to be reacquainted with it. I’m thinking Western Europe: Spain, France, Portugal, Italy, Switzerland. I want to stay away from countries where English is the first language. Do you speak any other languages?”

“Trilingual, actually. French and Spanish.” I’d never had cause to use either one at Vought, and Homelander was touchy about people not speaking English as he didn’t speak anything else and not understanding triggered his paranoia. Then I gave myself a mental rebuke for thinking of him. That part of my life was dead. “I’m rusty, though.”

“Nothing to worry about. I’m still current on my German, and English is pretty widely understood even if it isn’t the local language. Ready to go in and look the place over?”

“Sure.” I got out of the Jeep and winced at the iciness of the air. “Colder than Malibu,” I managed to say.

Adam laughed. “You’ll get used to it. The cabin has an excellent HVAC system, so you’ll never notice when you’re inside.”

“Is this about average for this time of year?” I grabbed my duffel bag out of the backseat and noticed he didn’t have any luggage. He must stay here frequently if he kept an entire wardrobe at his disposal.

He glanced at the big thermometer outside the front door, which read around thirty degrees Fahrenheit. “Pretty average for March. I think the record for the month is negative twenty-six degrees, but I’m sure it won’t get anywhere near that.”

“Good to know. I may have to go into town to buy a heavier coat. I wasn’t thinking about northern cold.” The temperature wasn’t too bad yet, and spring wasn’t far off, but the wind still penetrated the Army jacket’s insulated lining.

“Not much in the way of towns around here, but we can go back to Kalispell for shopping if we need to. You can wear one of my jackets in the meantime. I think you’d look cute in them.” Without warning he swept me up in a bridal carry, my feet dangling and my duffel bag scraping the floorboards of the porch. He showed no signs of staggering under my weight, and I changed my mental evaluation of his strength. Homelander would—but I cut off my line of thought. “Let me carry you over the threshold, my dear.”

I allowed myself to laugh and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Carry on!” It was a side of him I hadn’t seen before. Before the vacation year was over, though, we’d both see different sides of the other one.

The inside of the cabin didn’t match the outside. Adam had cultivated the rustic Santa Fe look that had been fashionable in Hollywood at one time, with warm golden walls, sand-colored throw rugs over a blond hardwood floor, and heavy dark wooden beams overhead. The furniture was minimal as the room itself was small: off-white sofa and armchairs covered with bright, red-and-black Navajo throws, blond wood coffee table and sideboards, a big stone fireplace, and a curved-screen TV dominating the wall. “Don’t tell me you have cable way out here.”

Adam kissed the tip of my nose before setting me down. “Nope. Satellite, but it’s iffy at the best of times. Plenty of entertainment on physical media if you want to watch movies or TV shows.”

“Cool.”

“What do you feel like for dinner?”

“Not La Dolce Vita. I doubt if you could get them to deliver this far out, anyway. Whatever you want is fine.”

“How about just hamburgers? I don’t really feel like anything elaborate tonight.”

“That’s fine.” Really, I was tired of burgers, but it wouldn’t kill me to choke down another one.

We ate a mostly silent dinner around the butcher-block table in his kitchen, the same Santa Fe décor as the rest of the cabin, red tiles underfoot that didn’t match the modern chrome appliances. My eyelids were drooping by the time we finished. “If you don’t mind, Ashley, I think you should sleep in the second bedroom tonight. You’ve been through a lot with Homelander, and I think we can put a hold on the physical side of things until you’re back on an even keel.”

That touched me. On the trip here, when I hadn’t been sleeping, I’d been wondering how to decline a scene gracefully. Before that last scene with John and the debacle with Homelander, I’d been planning to hammer out the details of my first scene with Adam tonight, before going live with it on Saturday night. “I think…you’re right. It would be nice to have some time to decompress from all this.”

The spare bedroom had the same Southwestern décor as the rest of the house, but it was clearly just for guests, without individual touches to make it homey. It had the luxury of its own bathroom, but I was too tired for a shower, too tired to even take off my wig before crawling into the bed and passing into a dreamless sleep.

Adam woke me the next morning with a knock on the door. “I’m going to walk the property, make sure no trees have fallen and no meth labs have sprung up. You up for it?”

I groaned and buried my head under the covers. “I’m asleep. Tomorrow?”

He laughed. “Sure, Sleeping Beauty. The land won’t run away.”

When I woke up again it was just before noon and the cabin was empty. If he was still walking his property, he must own huge tracts of land out here. Sighing, I got dressed in the cargo pants and black T-shirt from yesterday and went to the kitchen in search of breakfast. The refrigerator was well-stocked with staples, and I made myself bacon and eggs. Unwelcome thoughts began to occur to me: what was I going to do about my apartment? It was paid up until the end of the month, but what happened then? I didn’t want to lose it; if things wound up not working out with Adam, I wanted someplace to return to where I could take up my life again. By then Homelander would have forgotten all about me, so going back to Manhattan would be safe. I could get resumes out and get another corporate position, nothing like the heights I’d scaled at Vought, but a solid VP job in marketing or public relations or the like. I’d have to call the landlord and set up an autopay for the rent. I got out my burner phone, but it showed no signal bars. Figures—we were far enough into the boonies that cell phone towers were few and far between. Adam hadn’t set up an automatic deposit to my checking account yet, as I hadn’t given him the information. If I intended to go to work as his live-in domme, he was going to pay me as much as he’d promised. When he got back, I’d bring up the subject with him.

After breakfast—or really lunch, considering what time it was—Adam still hadn’t come back, so I decided to watch some movies. The satellite wasn’t working, so I started going through his DVDs. Just the usual Hollywood fare until I found a stash of what looked like bootlegs in plain white jewel cases, labeled simply with dates. They were the most interesting offerings so far, so I popped the disc out of the case marked 1/1/23 and slid it into the DVD player. The DVDs were probably work footage from Tiaras and Cocaine or location scouting for past or upcoming movies, maybe screen tests. They still struck me as more interesting than the latest spectacle from Vought Studios.

I curled up on the sofa and clicked the remote. The movie had no titles, no credits, just went straight into a scene of a young woman inside what seemed like—a pipe? A crawlspace?—sobbing and screaming. Weird. Had Adam been thinking about doing a found-footage horror movie? What I was watching had those vibes, but he’d always poured such scorn on found-footage. Maybe he’d tried it a long time ago and hadn’t been able to pull anything together, but the date was recent. The actress was nobody I recognized, but she did sell the terror of the nameless character, and the footage had a nice claustrophobic feel to it. It was shot with a stationary camera somewhat above the actress. She didn’t seem able to see the camera, and I wondered whether the story had her in total darkness. The footage went on for about twenty minutes before I got bored and ejected the DVD.

The next DVD I chose was marked 11/19/18. It had the same claustrophobic setting but another actress filled the lead role, but this woman projected more rage and resolve than the previous one. I thought I recognized her; she had kind of a resemblance to Salma Hayek in From Dark Till Dawn, but I couldn’t come up with any movies where I might have seen her. Had Adam shown me any head shots for her? Then it clicked in my mind. I didn’t recognize her from a movie. She looked a lot like the woman in the police file from Washington DC—the detective was Kandinsky but I hadn’t read far enough to find the victim’s name before Homelander interrupted me. This wasn't the same woman but the resemblance was close, too close to be a coincidence. And why did Adam have footage of someone who looked like a murdered woman in a space where she couldn’t escape? Willowy build. Small breasts. Words and phrases occurred to me: victimology. Preferred victim type. Victims of choice. I'd been so f*cking stupid.

Homelander hadn’t been killing women to blow off steam and stealing the police files of his crimes. He—or maybe John—had gotten hold of these files as ammunition to influence my decision about the job offer, because if I even suspected Adam was a serial killer there was no way I’d ever go near him again.

That must have been John who got the files, because Homelander wouldn’t care about me other than as his obedient proxy at Vought. But why would Homelander have taken control when I was looking at the files? That couldn’t have stressed John to the point where he stopped being able to cope. Did he think I’d decide he’d fabricated the evidence, that the evidence wasn’t as strong as he thought? One of the files had been from Savannah, and that was where Adam had shot Tiaras and Cocaine. Washington DC was where he’d shot American Thieves, if I remembered right. Had Adam been killing women during his movie shoots? But these women had their hair pulled out, and at least the Washington DC victim had predated my meeting Adam. Could that be why he’d been so insistent on getting back together, that he remembered the Dawn of the Seven premiere and me telling him to pull out my hair? If so, why hadn’t he killed me yet? Was that why he’d offered me the job, so no one would miss me? If so, I’d played right into his hands.

I had to get away, had to run. Panic made me clumsy, my fingers trembling as I ejected the DVD from the player and shoved it back into its dated jewel case. He hadn’t even given them names on his trophy videos, just dates. Were there other videos of the actual murders? Thank God I hadn’t watched any of them; some things can’t be unseen. Trying to control my breathing, I replaced the DVDs where I had found them, sank back onto the sofa, and checked my burner phone. Still no signal bars. Why hadn’t I sprung for a satellite phone, where this wouldn’t have been an issue? I couldn’t imagine that Adam would have a landline this far out, but surely he’d have a shortwave radio for emergencies, like if his appendix burst. Last night he hadn’t given me a tour of the house, so I’d have to search now. The plan was to find the radio and call for help, get in touch with either the authorities or someone who could contact the state police or somebody who could rescue me and arrest his ass. Maybe I should just look for the keys to the Jeep, though? He probably had them on his person and it wouldn’t help me if he did. But maybe he had a spare set? I’d just stood up to begin the search when I heard the front door open.

Adam sauntered into the living room and smiled at me. “Feeling better after your sleep?”

“Yes, much better.” I hoped my voice was steady and I was hiding my terror. How in the hell had I misread him this badly? How could he be more of a direct threat to me than Homelander was when he seemed so normal? What was the saying, out of the frying pan and into the fire? A slight stiffening in his posture told me he’d noticed something wrong and I rushed on. “I noticed I don’t have any cell signal and I do need to talk to my landlord to set up an autopay for my rent. When do you think we can go into Kalispell?”

“Maybe next week. I think you should keep your head down for a while so Homelander doesn’t find you. It wouldn’t be a good thing for either of us if that happened.”

I didn’t like the look in his eyes. “Well, I guess you’re right. I’m paid up until the end of the month so there’s no rush. I’m just not used to being without my phone. No WiFi out here either, right?”

“Right.” In his black Carhartt work jacket and jeans and boots, he looked like a different man. “So what were you doing while I was gone?”

“Oh, nothing, just watching some movies.” I wanted to cut out my tongue as soon as I said that, but there wasn’t anything else to do here, so what else could I have said?

Adam smiled, not the people-pleasing customer-service smile he normally affected. “Did you watch any of the special movies?”

My heart froze. I couldn’t hide the reaction and his smile widened. “What…movies are those?”

“The ones in the plain cases with dates. The ones of my girls.” He moved across the room to the wall of movies and retrieved one. “Don’t bother lying. It’s all over your face.”

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know what they were. I thought they were work footage from Tiaras and Cocaine.” Shades of my conversation with Homelander. I had no expectation of this talk turning out any better.

“In a way, one of them was.” Before my panic could take stronger hold, he said, “It’s a relief that you know. I don’t have to hide anything from you now. I was planning to take longer to ease you into it, but now it isn’t needed.”

“What…who are your girls?” My pulse hammered like a heavy-metal drum but I tried to seem as calm as I could. It was good that he hadn’t killed me as soon as he figured out I’d watched his trophy DVDs. How could I stay alive long enough to get into Kalispell or at least find a way of getting the police here?

“Their names aren’t important. If they had been, I would have put them in their cases. In themselves, they aren’t important. I have needs, Ashley, and most women can’t meet them. I thought you were like the others when we first dated, but you’re the only one who’s come close to giving me what I need. I knew at the Dawn of the Seven premiere that you understood me. Somehow you’d sensed what I wanted and gave it to me. I’ve never come harder in my life than when I pulled your hair out in that toilet stall. If I’d known that earlier I never would have left you. I’m sorry for that, by the way.”

“I appreciate that.” My voice sounded distant to me.

“I didn’t feel that I could explain it to you then. The only way I thought I might be able to have you, keep you, was with the job offer. Once we were together, had traveled for a while, I’d be able to explain myself to you.”

“Explain about…your girls.”

“Yes!” His face lit up, and I’d never seen him so animated. “When you told me to pull your hair out, I knew you were like me. I never thought I could have someone with me in my life that I could share everything with, who could know me the way you do, and I am so happy that you accepted my offer, no matter what reasons you had. I will never make you sorry for it.”

“Thank you, Adam. Could you explain about your girls?” I felt paralyzed, but my mind felt like it was on amphetamine. Keep him talking at all costs.

He laughed a little. “Yeah, I went right past that, didn’t I? Well, I have to pull women’s hair out in order to come. A lot of the time, I have to pull it all out. You can’t even pay most whor*s to let you do that, and I offered a lot of money, so I had to take measures to satisfy myself. And I couldn’t have them going to the police, telling about what I needed. I had to get rid of them to keep them from being a threat.”

“I understand. It’s logical.” What could I do to get away from him? I shifted my stance to keep him in the center of my sight line but also see what was available in the room as a weapon. Fire pokers in a stand near the fireplace, an iron statue on a sideboard across the room that looked like an elongated woman’s head and gave me African vibes rather than Native American, various pieces of pottery—and that was it. Not much to choose from and nothing close at hand.

Palpable relief came off him. “I never really thought you’d understand. You’re so perfect, Ashley. You’re a treasure. Homelander was a fool to make you afraid of him.” John. The pain lanced through me and something must have changed in my face. He caught it, and sudden anger swept through him in a wave. “But you were with him, weren’t you, while you were with me? You lied to me about that, about that date you had with him. You were f*cking him, weren’t you?”

I looked at him with all the calm I could manage. “Adam, may God strike me dead if I ever f*cked Homelander. I’m terrified of him. He would kill me if he ever f*cked me.” And that was the truth—I’d never f*cked either him or John, and I doubted if Homelander would be careful enough to leave me alive.

But that was too little too late, and now I was getting a view of him that only his victims had seen. “Oh, Ashley, you disappoint me.” Then he launched a punch that hit me in the face. I heard the cartilage of my nose crack and didn’t even have time for a cry of pain before he was on me. I fought, of course I did, it was that or die, but I wasn’t a badass, not some kickass female who lived for physical battle, and so I lost the fight, Adam smashing me in the face over and over until I was almost unconscious. Through the haze of pain I felt him get up and move away, then the sound of something opening. “I had so many hopes for you. Maybe a few days of solitude will get your mind right.” Cool Hand Luke, I thought as he dragged me across the floor. Strother Martin said that, I think. My head rolled to the side and I saw a gaping hole in the floor, a trapdoor lifted, then he shoved me into that opening and I fell. “Think about your situation, Ashley. You’re smart. You’ll figure out what to do.”

The trapdoor closed, leaving me in complete darkness. I think I must have lost consciousness for a while, but I was never sure. The next thing I remembered was a desire to sit up, but when I tried to straighten I hit my head on the top of—wherever I was. Oh my God, I was somewhere tiny, somewhere that I might not be able to breathe, and I lost control of myself, hammering on the trapdoor and screaming until my throat was raw. I didn’t know how long I indulged myself in the luxury of panic, but eventually it ebbed and I had my first rational thought: to find out whatever I could about the place where Adam had imprisoned me. I decided to call it a crawlspace for now, until I found a better name. How about prison? My mind taunted me. How about grave? I did my best to ignore it.

The air inside the crawlspace was warm and musty and still. Someone had pissed themselves down here, but it smelled old. My face ached and blood trickled into my mouth from my nose. Broken? Fractured? Who knew? More importantly, how was this even possible? Again, how had I misjudged Adam in such a profound way? But beating myself up for it would get me nowhere now. I had to figure out a way to escape. Even if you escape, that mocking little voice in my mind asked, how are you going to survive? It’s Montana, it’s late winter, you’re miles from any town. Maybe you can just wander around in the forest until a bear eats you, or you die of exposure.

Shut up, you bitch, I told it. Think. Think. Think. What do I have on me that could make a difference? Make an inventory. Check the pockets. Breath hissed in and out of my mouth as I fumbled at my cargo pants. Why hadn’t I put on my f*cking jacket? I’d had a penknife in the pocket. Short-bladed, but it could pierce the brain if jammed through an eye, or so it looked in the movies. Could I do that? Could I kill a man that I’d had sex with? Well, if the alternative was death, I thought I could manage.

Then my hand brushed against something in my cargo pants. I unbuttoned the pocket on the left thigh and found what seemed like two pens, in the darkness, but then I found a switch on one and laughed. “I remember now,” I murmured, and flicked the switch. A tiny beam shone from the end of the penlight. The other item I’d found turned out to be a green Sharpie. Not as good as a penknife, but if I got a chance I could see if jamming it through his eyeball would do the trick.

The light revealed the crawlspace where I was trapped was made of concrete, the walls covered with writing. I put that aside for now and shone it around my prison. The first thing of note was a camera bolted to the roof of the concrete coffin, protected by a cage of wire and what I assumed was shatterproof plexiglass. Infrared capability too, I figured, since Adam would want to savor the terror of his captive. I thought about trying to pry some of the wire loose to make a weapon, but he’d see that and stop me. Keep looking.

I lay on a tangle of blankets that proved the source of the urine smell I’d noticed earlier. How nice of him, to give his victim blankets so they wouldn’t freeze before he was ready to murder them. I felt moving air and managed to track it to a vent in the ceiling, which was too small for me to use for escape. A plastic gallon jug of water sat underneath the camera. The crawlspace had no other features besides the writing on the walls. Was I ready to see it? What choice did I have? I took a moment to brace myself and raked the beam of light over the inscriptions.

Layla Mott, b 4/18/03, I love you Mom & Dad

Nevaeh Broussard, taken from Walmart parking lot Great Falls 1/5/19

Joan Harding, Coeur d’Alene ID, Mommy loves you Raelyn

Maggie Kingbird, Blackfeet Tribe, please call Eddie Thunder on the rez tell him I didn’t mean it

Sara Deleon, b 11/22/91, Spokane WA, MOTHERf*ckER YOU COULDN’T DIRECT TRAFFIC

Crystal Pearse, taken from Gallatin High School Bozeman 8/12, I’m sorry

Janet Etcitty, Siksika Tribe, love you mom

Heather Fernandez, taken Portland OR 2/21/22, God have mercy

They were bad enough, but not as bad as the brown smears, right on the edge of legibility, so many of them. The ones who didn’t have any other means of writing—did they bite their flesh open and use their own blood as ink? Blacklight and luminol would show their last words. They would not be lost. I would make sure they were not. Tears threatened, but I held them back. Adam must be watching on his infrared camera, filming me, and he would drink my tears, be nourished by them. I refused to give him that. He will not win. I will kill him. I have to kill him. But he wouldn’t let me out of this concrete coffin until he thought I was good and frightened, broken. What could I do to help him along with that delusion?

Simple. I took the green Sharpie, found a clean spot on one of the walls, directly in view of the camera, and wrote Ashley Jessica Barrett. I added my Social Security number beneath it. Then I was stuck. What should I write for my epitaph? I love you John? That might f*ck Adam up a little, but it seemed obscene to bring the name of the only man I’d ever loved into this place. Then I had an inspiration, snake-mean and sharp enough to draw blood. Take that, you piece of sh*t. Adam would even get the reference.

I chose poorly.

Chapter 14: Fire and Darkness

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 14 – Fire and Darkness

When Adam raised the trapdoor and took hold of my ankle to pull me out, I had no idea how long I’d been trapped in the concrete coffin with the last words of an army of dead women. I suspected not longer than a week. I’d gone in here on Sunday afternoon, so I’d missed my Wednesday appointment with Dr. Winterbourne, whom I would never see again. She would never know what happened to Lily Roberts, but she’d probably just shake her head and dismiss me. People discontinue therapy without warning every day. It wouldn’t be a surprise to her.

In the past days, Adam had opened the trapdoor on occasion to drop food down to me. Once a day, I thought. I’d planned to determine if he had a routine and wait by the trapdoor to attack, but he switched up the food delivery too much and there was no space for me to crouch, get leverage for an attack. Plus, he could see me with the camera and wait me out. But this time was different; he was touching me, pulling me out of the crawlspace. Why?

The swelling from what I assumed were two black eyes had gone down enough for me to see again, but I still couldn’t breathe correctly through my nose. And I’d pissed myself because the crawlspace didn’t allow enough movement to at least squat in a corner. Intellectually I knew this was a psychological breaking technique he was using, designed to sap my will to resist, make me ashamed of myself, and I hoped he thought I was broken enough to suit his needs. Then I could find a way to escape.

“Ashley.” Adam looked bothered and brushed my cheekbone with one of his fingers. “I didn’t mean to lose control of myself that way. I’m sorry.” I didn’t answer him, keeping my eyes on the floor. “Let’s go into the kitchen. I have a present for you.”

That sounded bad, and I braced myself for what would be there, trying to ignore his hand gripping my upper arm. “May I change my clothes?”

“Later. I want to see you open your present first.” He pushed open the door and gestured for me to go first. I swallowed and stepped into the kitchen.

I didn’t know what I expected, but what greeted me fit my new knowledge of him perfectly. A woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, bound hand and foot and gagged, lay on the floor between the table and the island with the stovetop. She reminded me of the woman from the DVD, the woman in the Washington DC case file: long black hair, dark skin, dark eyes, built lean. She wore a blue plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots, and all her clothing was intact. From the floor she stared up at me, eyes wide, and I thought I must look even worse than I thought.

Adam stepped past me and removed the woman’s gag. Without that I saw she was younger than I’d thought, maybe only nineteen or twenty, and she had a coughing fit when he pulled the gag free. “This is my newest girl,” he told me. “I found her in a parking lot in Kalispell. Normally I’d never take anyone this close to home, but I didn’t want to be away from you too long.”

What could I say to that? I settled for nothing, trying to keep my eyes still while searching the room for weapons visually. It was a kitchen, so there must be knives, but I had doubts about my ability to kill him with one. I hadn’t suspected how strong he was, so it wasn’t impossible that he was hiding fighting skills from me. No, I’d have to be careful, plan, choose my moment. I knew I wouldn’t get another chance.

Winding a hand into the woman’s hair, he pulled her head up. “Isn’t she pretty, Ashley?”

“Prettier than me.” My voice sounded rusty from disuse, and I cleared my throat.

He shrugged. “That should make it easier for you. Just picture those bitches in the Seven that thought they were better than you, looked down on you because they had powers, they were beautiful, talked down to you, and Vought kissed their asses every hour on the hour.”

“Make what easier?”

“Proving yourself to me. Proving that you deserve to be with me after your little hesitation on Sunday. I’m willing to forgive you for it because it was quite a surprise, and things can go on just the way I planned. But you have to show me that you want it. That you deserve it.”

I swallowed. “And how do I do that?”

“Well, I don’t want you pulling her hair out. That’s all for me. But I do need you to kill her for me. If you truly want to be with me, you can do it.”

Not a shock—it was the worst thing I could have expected him to say. But it did support him being delusional, to think that I could or would do something so heinous to a perfect stranger, an innocent person. But he’d seen Vought, been privy to some of its inner workings, so of course he could have expected me to be corrupted by that environment. I wouldn’t say that I hadn’t been—what I’d done for the company would corrupt anyone—but I still had a little piece of my soul that Vought hadn’t laid claim to, and I wouldn’t give it up for anyone, not Homelander and certainly not Adam f*cking Bourke. “So you don’t need her to be alive for the sex?” The woman’s eyes were big as saucers, but I couldn’t say or do anything to calm her. I had to manipulate Adam, maneuver him into a position where I could take charge, neutralize him as a threat.

He smiled. “Normally, yes. That’s part of the pleasure, watching them scream and cry as I rip their hair out while I’m f*cking them. But this is for you, my dear. This is you proving yourself as a worthy mate for me. I know you can do it.”

I stared at the floor. “How do you want it done? I’m not strong enough to use my hands.”

When I shot a quick glance at him out of the corner of my eye, I saw surprise flare briefly before he composed his face. Was he hoping I’d refuse so he could kill me, then kill this young woman, have himself a twofer? Dream on, motherf*cker, I thought. “That desk job you had took a physical toll on you. We’ll have to start training you, build up that muscle tone, make a badass fighter out of you.”

Shame I didn’t do that myself before I met you. “So…?” I let my gaze inventory the kitchen for weapons. He didn’t have a knife rack on the counter, and, aside from some canisters for sugar and salt and coffee, as well as an old-fashioned wooden chopping block, I didn’t see anything promising. That iron sculpture in the living room had more killing potential. Couldn’t just one thing go my way?

Adam took a couple of steps to one side, opened a drawer, and pulled out what looked like a meat tenderizer. “Use this.” He slapped it into my hand.

I turn it over and over, looking at it. A plan occurred to me, and I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it before this. It was so obvious. But I had to get a little further away from him, nearer the kitchen island, then make him charge me. I stepped toward the bound woman on the floor until I was about a foot away. The counter and kitchen island were within arm’s reach now. “Adam, now that I’ve thought about it, I don’t want to be your murder buddy. I don’t want to be your live-in domme, and I really don’t ever want to see you again. You should have stayed ghosted.”

It hit but not as hard as I wanted. “Ashley, I don’t like hearing you talk like that.”

“Well, you’d better get used to it. And, unpleasant truth, I wanted you to know you were right. I was with Homelander while we were together. I was f*cking him. And I loved it. He was so much better than you it was like comparing a candle flame to the sun.”

He smiled. It wasn’t a good smile. “But you’re here with me now.”

“A stupid mistake on my part, but one that I can fix pretty easily. All I have to do is go to him and cry some pretty tears and tell him how wrong I was, and suck his dick exactly the way he likes, and this will all be water under the bridge.”

“How stupid is he? He told you—“

I cut him off before he could reveal the murder of Madelyn in front of this girl. That might be something I couldn’t dismiss to her as a lie later. If there was a later for us both. “That he loved me. And I told him I loved him. That’s why he’ll never stop looking for me. I know somebody like you could never understand what love is like, so you’ll just have to trust me on this. And on the fact that you can’t f*ck to save your immortal soul. And his dick is bigger than yours.”

The last part I second-guessed as too obvious, going too far, but that must have been exactly the right note to hit because his face twisted in rage and he charged me. I let my breath out and launched a kick at his right knee as he put that foot down. Never piss off a dancer, they say, because they will f*ck up your knees. But as soon as it landed I could tell I’d thrown it too soon, my leg had extended fully too early, and I didn’t shatter his kneecap the way I’d planned. He lurched forward, grabbing my hair, and his expression of shock as my wig tore loose and he stumbled backward was darkly funny. He tried to keep his balance, but I grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward me as I grabbed the wooden chopping block off the counter, finding with pleasure it was a solid block of wood weighing at least three pounds, and with a fullarm swing smashed it into the side of his head. He went down, limp, motionless, but I couldn’t celebrate yet.

With a couple of quick steps toward the counter, I threw the chopping block aside and began pulling out drawers until one of them rewarded me with the wild rattle of cutlery as I jerked it open. I grabbed a carving knife and knelt beside the bound woman. She began to struggle, but quieted as I cut the nylon cord around her ankles and wrists. “He has a crawlspace in the living room that locks. We’ve got to get him into it before he comes to, or he’ll kill the both of us. You’ve got to help me. Help me!” She scrambled to her feet, grabbed his left leg, I grabbed his right, and we dragged him through the swinging door to the kitchen. The crawlspace gaped open—I’d remembered right, he hadn’t closed it again after getting me out—and Adam hadn’t moved, hadn’t made any sounds. Was he dead? I hadn’t stopped to check his pulse. There hadn’t been time. Together the woman and I maneuvered him into position and dropped him into the crawlspace, exactly the way he’d dropped me in days ago. She stood back as I grabbed the trapdoor and let it slam back into place. It had a lock set into the wood and a silver-colored key on a plain beaded keychain in the lock itself. I turned the key and drew my first free breath in days.

Both of us were panting. “Are you all right?” I asked her.

“Better than I was five minutes ago. Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem.”

“Can we take his Jeep? Do you know where the keys are?”

All business, this girl. “In his f*cking pocket, I assume. That’s what I’d started looking for when he caught me and threw me in the hole. And we don’t want to try getting them if there’s a chance he’ll regain consciousness while we’re fishing around in his pants pocket.”

That got a little snicker from her. “So, we hiking out?”

“It looks like that’s the only option, unless you’ve got a cell phone and can get a call through.”

She nodded and moved toward the mudroom at the back of the kitchen and retrieved a backpack. Her cellphone had a shiny case with glitter flowing inside liquid. “No signal bars.”

“Mine either, when I still had it. No surprise since we’re so far out.”

But she was shaking her head. “There’s a cell phone tower about six miles southeast. We should be getting good signal.”

“Well, our main problem right now is getting out of here…” My voice trailed off as I realized I didn’t know her name.

She figured out what I was thinking and stuck out one hand. “Monica Twocrow.”

I put my hand out and we shook. “Ashley Barrett.”

Recognition flared in her eyes. “You’re that executive lady who got kidnapped from the superhero company!”

Kidnapped? Was that what Vought had given out? Why had they done that? Stan Edgar had gotten the resignation e-mail, same as everyone else with a Vought e-mail, so how did that translate into a kidnapping? Stalling for time, I nodded. “But we’ve got to get out of here. If we can make it to the cell phone tower, if we damage it, they’ll have to send someone out to fix it and then we’re all set.”

“Okay.” Monica moved back toward the kitchen. “I’m going to get some supplies together, just in case, and then we can get going. See if he has some boots that will fit you. A warm coat would be good too.”

I was suddenly, sickly aware of the wetness at the crotch of my pants where I’d pissed myself. Monica either hadn’t mentioned it or hadn’t noticed it, and I headed for the spare bedroom once the kitchen door swung behind her. My duffel bag was stashed in the closet and its contents were still inside, so I grabbed a fresh pair of panties and clean jeans and rushed into the bathroom to have a very quick wash before getting dressed again. Wetting the washcloth at the bathroom sink, I got a look at myself. I did indeed have two black eyes, my nose had a brand-new twist to it, and yellow and green bruises covered my cheeks all the way to my jawline. What had it looked like when it was fresh? After I washed and put on clean clothes, I found my Army jacket and pulled the penknife out of the pocket. It joined the penlight from my soiled cargo pants in the pocket of my jeans

When I emerged into the living room again, fresh from liberating a pair of winter boots from Adam’s closet, Monica had just come back with her backpack and a sack in her hands and wearing a beige hooded jacket. “I’ve got some food, some water, and some tools in case we have to be in the wilderness longer than a few hours. Never hurts to be safe,” she added.

“Right,” I said.

She handed me the black Carhartt work jacket that Adam had worn on Sunday. “It’s rated for extreme warmth. Put it on.” I shrugged into it. A little big, but it would do. “He had a compass and a topographical map of the area, so I tossed them into the sack too.”

“Never hurts to be safe,” I repeated. Monica smiled, but it vanished and her eyes widened at the sound of a click and something creaking. “What is it?” She gestured behind me before turning to run out the back door, and I turned just in time to witness the trapdoor open and Adam’s head and shoulders emerge, along with the barrel of a shotgun. A f*cking shotgun? What the hell? Where had that been when I was down there? The blast from the first shot tore into the wall inches from my head and I found myself running after Monica, my back prickling in anticipation of the next shot.

I could barely keep her in sight as she plunged into the treeline and I followed, afraid to even hazard a glance over my shoulder to see how close Adam was, whether his gun was leveled at me. All I could hear was my own panicked breath rasping in my throat, the sound of my pounding heartbeat, the brush crunching beneath my boots. But the important thing was that no additional shots followed, and after a few minutes of running, we both came to a stop in the forest. No one else was in sight.

“What happened?” She was gasping too, but the sudden physical effort seemed to bother her less than it did me. I needed more cardio, no doubt about it. “How the f*ck did he get a shotgun?”

“Contingency plan on top of contingency plan. It’s what he’s all about. Most modern cars have a release lever inside the trunk in case you get locked in. He must have made a plan in case he got locked in the crawlspace and had some hidden compartments built in. I was down there for three or four days and I never found either of them.” I looked around at the trees nearby and spotted something unsettling tucked into a cradle of roots, and a camera attached to a tree. “sh*t!”

Monica looked alarmed. “What is it?”

I ventured over and picked up the device. “It’s a cell phone jammer. Military grade. Effective range of one quarter-mile. If he’s done what I think he has, and he is all about contingency plans, he’s set up a network of cell phone jammers so nobody on his property can get a 911 call out. That’s why jammers are illegal in the United States, by the way. He also has a trail camera on that tree over there.” Turning the jammer over in my hands, I found the Vought logo on it, and a sudden burst of rage wrenched a scream from me and I hurled the jammer at the trail cam. The camera splintered and fell to the forest floor.

“So what do we do about them?” She didn’t seem bothered by my sudden show of anger.

“We destroy all of them that we can find. He won’t have enough on hand to replace all of them, and if we can get rid of enough of them, we may be able to open up a window where a signal can get out. Then we send for the cavalry and they put Adam under the goddamn jail.”

“Good plan,” she said. “We need to keep an eye out for other trail cams, too. He’ll try to track us with them.”

I nodded, moving over to the broken jammer. After I inspected it for a few moments, I found the battery compartment and removed it. “Every time we run across one of those, we pull the batteries and break the device. Like I said, we might be able to open a window of signal.”

Monica gestured to our right. “The cell phone tower’s that way.”

I didn’t move. “What are our other options? Adam’s lived here for years. He’ll know about the tower and figure we’ll head there.”

“There’s a ranger station about ten miles north of here, and there’s a wide spot in the road called Windfall with three houses and a gas station/convenience store about thirty-five miles west. Those are the only places we could expect to get help.”

“I think he’d put them in that order, with Windfall as the least appealing one. So I think that should be our goal. Have we got enough supplies to make it?”

“Yeah, but not tonight. We’ll have to sleep out here in the woods. After that we just travel parallel to the road and keep it to our left. That will take us right there.”

“Did you jam a tent into your backpack?” I was only half-joking.

She shook her head. “But I know how to make shelter without tools. I’m used to hunting, and a friend of mine teaches a wilderness survival course.”

“I’m glad one of us is fit to survive.”

Shaking her head at me, she started walking and I fell in behind her, keeping an eye out for the trail cams and jammers. Before we stopped for the night, we’d found and destroyed six of the jammers and two trail cams. “How does this sh*thead have all this military gear?”

“He’s rich,” I told her.

“Figures.” The sun was pretty low in the sky before we stopped in front of a fallen tree. “We’re going to build a temporary survival shelter here out of debris.”

“So we won’t freeze.” In Manhattan I’d gotten used to being insulated from nature, being cold only when going from my apartment to a vehicle or from a vehicle into Vought Tower. The flight with Homelander to my apartment after our dinner was the most nature I’d encountered in years.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t we need tools to build something? I’m a city girl so I don’t know these things.”

“I stole a hatchet from that f*cker, along with a pot, a belt knife, and some food. I would have taken more if he hadn’t popped up like a horror movie monster out of the floor.” She moved around the area, inspecting, while I wrapped my arms around myself. “We don’t have to worry about rain for the next couple of days, just the cold and wind. The first thing we need to do is start a fire. I’m going to start building our shelter, so I need you to start collecting firewood. Get little branches and medium-sized ones for later.” She walked away to inspect fallen branches and I started picking up what I could find for the fire. After a few minutes, I returned with my haul to the fallen tree, where she had positioned some branches in a triangular pattern around its roots. “Thanks,” she said briefly and took the firewood. I was interested in seeing how she planned to start a fire, some Girl Scout method I’d never seen, but she just produced a lighter from her backpack and held the flame to some pine needles she’d picked up from the forest floor. Monica saw me looking. “Pine needles are good for lighting fires. Pine cones too. Just make sure they’re dry, not green. You keep the fire going while I finish the shelter. Just feed it little branches until it’s well-established, then you can start adding the bigger pieces of wood.” A nice method of keeping me out of the way because I was useless as far as survival pursuits went, but I didn’t mind. The little fire was hypnotic and staring at it helped me to avoid thinking about the enormity of the mistake I’d made.

Monica returned with big hunks of bark from a fallen tree and started positioning them over the triangular arrangement of limbs. “We’re using the bark for insulation. When we get the fire high enough, the root bulb of this tree should absorb a lot of the heat and keep us comfortable for the night. The fire’s going to be bright, which isn’t good, but I’m taking the chance that if the f*cker spots it, he’s not going to take a chance on breaking an ankle to hike out here at night. Probably has a concussion anyway. You hit him a good one. He’ll probably head for us at dawn, which is why we’ve got to be moving about an hour before that.”

“Okay.” I fed twigs into the fire, which ate them greedily.

When she was finished with the structure itself, she left and came back with a big armful of pine branches with the needles attached and lined the bottom of the shelter with them. “That’s the mattress,” she told me. “We don’t want to lie on bare ground as that saps body heat and you get cold faster. You can start giving the fire bigger branches now. In fact, I think you can go collect some more, like a few armfuls, so we don’t run out of fuel in the middle of the night.” I did as I was told and when I came back the shelter was finished.

“That didn’t take as long as I thought.”

“Basic survival shelters are actually pretty easy to build, especially since we’ll only be here for the one night. We should get into Windfall tomorrow and we can call for help.”

I didn’t know if that was an attempt to comfort me—I thought I was maintaining a confident façade pretty well—but then she dug in her backpack and retrieved a pot. “We need to make some tea to warm us. Have you ever had pine needle tea?”

“Nope. They didn’t serve that in the Vought Tower commissary.”

“Good for you. Lots of vitamin C. And it will be hot.” She pulled some plastic bottles of water out and proceeded to pour them into the pot and add some green pine needles. “It’ll take a little while to brew.” I nodded and we fell into silence. She broke it. “So…you were with Homelander?”

Oh yeah, she’d heard everything I threw at Adam to enrage him. “Well…yeah. For a little while.”

“And you were with this f*cker too?”

I sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is. But we got nothing but time and no internet for entertainment, so spill.”

That made me laugh. “I didn’t know anything about what Adam was really like. I hadn’t seen it at the time, but we had a really surface-level relationship.”

“And he sucked in bed, but not in a good way.”

I snickered. “Yeah.”

“And Homelander didn’t.”

“No. No, he didn’t. Not at all.”

“So why aren’t you still with Homelander, sitting in a penthouse in New York City, rather than running away from this f*cker and sleeping rough in the forest?”

“Bad judgment, mostly. Homelander was…” How the hell to put this? No way was I telling her about his split personality and his murder of my old boss and his ex-lover. Just lie. “Well, he was…wonderful. He was so wonderful I didn’t think I deserved him. And I knew I couldn’t keep him. You’ve seen Queen Maeve and Stormfront and Starlight, right?” Monica nodded. “That’s the quality of beauty he saw on a regular basis, and I just look like a normal woman. Not ugly, not really plain, just…kind of normal. How could a man like that be happy with me for very long?”

“Is he shallow?”

I pretended to think about it. “He has his moments.”

“But he and Maeve broke up in spite of how hot she is, so that can’t be all he finds attractive.”

“I think that was more her wanting the breakup. He would have gotten back together with her if he could have, before she died.”

“Just look on the bright side. Once you get back to New York City, he’s going to feel so guilty and shower you with attention. And probably flowers and jewelry.”

I laughed. The only thing he’d shower me with at this point would be my own blood, but at least I didn’t have to do any more talking about him because after we warmed up with the tea she decided we needed to get some sleep before moving out in the morning. I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep, or at least I’d have nightmares, but I went straight to sleep and didn’t move until she woke me up when it was still dark, telling me to extinguish the fire and checking my work once I’d done it. Adam hadn’t shown up during the night, which I chose to take as a good omen.

Sometime that afternoon, as Monica and I were trudging through the forest toward Windfall, an explosion sounded behind us, distant. My heart fell at the sound. It was Adam’s lodge, there was nothing else in this area that could blow up, and the fact of the explosion meant that Homelander had found me. How he had done that I had no idea, but he had done it. What would he do when he actually came face-to-face with me? Madelyn had only lied to him; she’d never tried to run from him, rejected him in as pointed a way as I had. Having my eyes burned out of my head would be downright merciful compared to whatever revenge he had in mind for me.

Monica stopped and looked behind us. A column of black smoke was already rising into the sky above the treetops. “What was that?”

“Adam’s cabin. That’s all it could be.” I put a hand on her arm. “I want you to head back in that direction and wait for the firefighters. You’ll be safe once they arrive.”

“What? It could be a trap!”

I shook my head. “No. That cabin was his refuge, his safe killing place. Destroying it would only call attention to him, and he doesn’t want that.” Somehow I had to find a story about the cabin’s destruction that didn’t involve Homelander. She had no need to know. “It was probably the propane tank out back that blew. If he has any common sense, and he does, he grabbed whatever go-bag he had ready, hopped in his Jeep, and is tooling down the highway toward Canada right now. It should be safe enough to go back there.”

“Well, what are you going to be doing while I’m headed for the cabin?”

“I’m going to keep on toward Windfall. There are people in Vought who could say I died in the explosion and spread around enough money to make it stick. I’m not safe being discovered there. I still have some money—” and the Rose Elizabeth Cooper ID, although I didn’t mention that to her “—and I think I can make it across the border into Canada once I get to Windfall and can call someone.” Monica didn’t know I had no friends to help me. If I’d had anyone other than Adam, I might not be in this position.

She scoffed, her distress obvious. “And how do you even know how to get to Windfall? You’ve got no phone, no GPS, and no sense of where we are.”

“You said it’s on the road that we’re running parallel to. As long as I keep the road on my left, I’m fine. Please don’t argue with me about this, Monica. I have to keep you safe.” She tried to object but I rushed ahead. “When you get within sight of the cabin, just hang back in the woods until you see people arriving who are from the fire department, maybe EMTs. Then just go out and tell them what happened. Tell them about the crawlspace. There were messages in there that need to get to the women’s families. They have to preserve it if they can. There are messages in blood. Forensics people can read them. Have you ever heard of a guy named Eddie Thunder on the Blackfeet reservation?"

She shook her head. "I'm from the Flathead reservation."

"Well, just please find him, call him and tell him that Maggie Kingbird didn’t mean it.”

From the look on her face, I sounded like I’d gone insane. “Didn’t mean what?”

“I don’t know, but he will. It’s one of the messages,” I told her when I saw she wouldn’t leave it alone. “Please, Monica, I just need you to go back. It’s the safest thing for you.”

“What about the people at Vought who want you to vanish? Did you forget about them?” She scowled at me, not fooled.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I don’t want to argue with you anymore. It’ll take long enough for you to hike back to the cabin that Adam will have had a chance to run, if he isn’t already gone.” If Homelander hadn’t killed him already. “And there are firewatchers in the forest who have already seen the smoke and called this in. It will be fine.”

Monica sighed and appeared to give in. I could almost see what she was thinking. She’d humor me, go back to the cabin to wait for the firefighters, and, when they got there, she’d tell them about me and get them to send the police to Windfall to pick me up. It was a good plan, except that I didn’t intend to go to Windfall. I’d go north, toward Canada, on foot. Maybe I’d run across a ranger station or something on the way where I could beg or steal food. Once I was in Canada, I could stop to think, assess my options in the face of Homelander’s certain rage. “Okay, I’ll go back and tell them. You should get to Windfall before dark, so maybe you’ll be okay. But you have to promise me that you’ll rest there for a while. It’s safe there. No reason not to.”

“Okay.” But I didn’t promise, just like I never promised John I wouldn’t leave him. “Just hurry. Your family needs to know you’re all right.”

She reached out and caught me up in a quick hug, and tears came to my eyes. The two-day acquaintance we had was the closest friendship of my recent life. “Just be careful, okay? There are still bears in this area.”

I hugged her back. “I’ll be careful.” If only because winding up as a bear’s dinner wouldn’t fit my view of how I should die. Homelander had the starring role in that narrative.

She slipped away from me, through the forest, back toward Adam’s lodge. I had no idea how she held direction in her head, as it wasn’t an ability I shared. But I could have found Windfall if I’d wanted, kept the road to my left and I would have run across it sooner or later. But that wasn’t my plan.

When I was sure Monica was out of sight and not trying to follow me, I turned away from the road and ventured deeper into the montane forest. It was just barely possible that I’d be shot by hunters, but I thought this area was too remote for that. Maybe I’d run across a forest ranger and could tell a story about getting lost on a hike, but again I thought the area was too remote for it. No, I felt sure I was the only human being for miles, aside from Monica and maybe Adam if he hadn’t made it to the main road yet and was on the way to Canada, his Andrew Bering passport in his pocket. How far was his lodge from the Canadian border? How far was Kalispell from the border? Maybe if I had that information I’d have a more realistic idea of my chances of success. Brush crunched underfoot as I hiked through the wilderness and minutes turned into hours and my life turned into a series of actions: lift left foot, put it down, lift right foot, put it down, brush branches away from my face, repeat these actions.

I had no idea how much time had passed, but it was late afternoon of the same day when the trees before me thinned out, and I lurched forward, only to find myself on a bluff overlooking acres of forest. I couldn’t continue on, toward Canada, unless I wanted to climb down the cliff. I went forward enough to look over the edge and my head spun from the sheer drop before me. Maybe it was only that. Maybe it had nothing to do with the fact that I hadn’t eaten since…Wednesday, I thought, the last time Adam had thrown his table scraps into the crawlspace? What was today, Friday? That sounded about right. No, I’d had the pine needle tea and some of the jerky that Monica had thrown into the sack with her tools. But I hadn’t had a substantial meal since…Jesus, since the dinner with Adam the night I’d arrived. I’d kill for an animal-style burger from In-N-Out at the moment.

Since I couldn’t climb down the bluff due to a lack of equipment and the fact that I knew nothing about rock climbing, I decided to turn around, backtrack until I found a path down to the forest floor below, and I took a couple of steps but that was when my body decided it was done. Before I could understand what had happened, I was on my knees, the rest of my body wanting to follow straight to the ground, but I held on long enough to crawl to the foot of a mountain hemlock tree. The fissured bark felt rough through the layers of fabric, but the covering of needles at the base of the tree was a thin cushion over the hard earth. I would sit here for a while, rest, and then I would get back up and keep walking, trying to cross the border into Canada, escape Homelander and his anger. I let my head fall back against the trunk, my cap of hair snagging in the bark. It didn’t worry me, and I thought it should. I hadn’t been worried since Monica left and I wasn’t responsible for her anymore.

I sat there for hours, watching the sun travel across the sky. Shouldn’t I be moving, fleeing? But the thought had no urgency. I stretched my legs out, staring at my booted feet. Everything felt unreal, had felt unreal since I emerged from the crawlspace. Was it possible that all this was a dream, just some fragmented nightmare I’d had while I was lying on my couch in John’s arms and he’d let me go to sleep? It would be comforting to believe that.

The sun had turned red and begun dipping toward the horizon by the time I admitted to myself that I would never move from this spot. My strength was gone, and something in me had given up hope. Without shelter, I couldn’t survive the night, would die here of exposure, freeze to death. From what I’d read, freezing was one of the more comfortable deaths. You got very, very cold, then you got very, very sleepy, then you went to sleep and you froze. Probably better than I deserved, but any death at this point would be on my own terms, not Adam’s, not Homelander’s. Mine. The only thing I regretted was that Roman wouldn’t know what happened. He might hold out hope for me, false lying hope, and the thought made a few tears form in my eyes. “I love you, Mom and Dad,” I murmured. “I’m sorry. Please call Eddie Thunder, tell him I didn’t mean it. Mommy loves you, Raelyn. Motherf*cker, you couldn’t direct traffic. Love you mom. God have mercy.”

I closed my eyes and tried to relax into it. There was no way of escaping it now, even if I wanted to. Maybe there could be a freedom in surrendering to it. I was tired of fighting, being afraid; at least it would be done soon. I hoped Monica was all right.

There was no reason to open my eyes—I thought I’d actually gone to sleep for a while—but something outside me urged me to do it. The setting sun cast bloody light over the forest below the bluff, over the earth and my outstretched legs and the mountain hemlock at my back. Then something blocked it out.

Homelander descended from the sky, passing over the face of the sun, and I knew he’d seen me, knew I was here. I guess I’d never fooled him about anything. My exhausted body tried to send one last adrenalin burst through me, so I could get to my feet and run, try to survive, but it did nothing more than cause me to jolt. With the light at his back, I couldn’t see the expression on his face, just his outline, his cape flapping in the cold air, the light of sunset haloing his head. I could almost pretend he was John. Maybe I would, until the laser vision flashed out and cut me in two, or his hands ripped me apart, my blood splattering over the fallen needles of the hemlock tree. In a cracked whisper, I said, “Please don’t make me suffer.” I didn’t know if he’d heard me, didn’t even see him land because my eyes closed again and I let go of…life, hope, I didn’t know what, but it was a relief to know that whatever he did, I wouldn’t feel it.

Chapter 15: Hospitals and Resolutions

Chapter Text

Going to California?

Chapter 15 – Hospitals and Resolutions

After the unknown period of time I spent in the darkness, I opened my eyes in a sunny hospital room with A-Train sitting next to the bed. “Ashley, thank God you’re all right,” he said.

“Déjà vu but backwards,” I told him.

He ignored that, giving me a significant look. “You don’t need to worry about your job. We know that Adam Bourke kidnapped you and forced you to send that resignation letter. Mr. Edgar is fully aware.”

The airport security footage should have shown me walking out of the bathroom alone, in disguise, disposing of my cell phone and laptop. No way should Mr. Edgar think I’d been forced, but I had no intention of dealing with that now. “Where am I?” It was the obvious thing to ask.

“Kalispell Regional Medical Center. When you were brought in, you were suffering from exposure and dehydration, and the doctors were concerned about possible frostbite, but you’re out of the woods now. They fixed your broken nose, too.”

“Is the girl who was with me okay? Monica Twocrow.”

A-Train smiled. “She’s better than you are. She stuck close to the cabin when it burned and the EMTs and the firefighters found her as soon as they got there.” Unlike me, who’d been trying to make it to Canada or die trying.

I flashed back to my last moments in the forest. ”Was Homelander there? I thought I hallucinated him.”

His expression closed down. “Once Analytics started picking up your chip’s signal again, we could pin down your location to within ten feet. When we had that, he flew out to Montana to rescue you.”

“Adam had military-grade cell phone jammers all over his property. It created a solid field of dead signal. We couldn’t get any calls out on her phone and I don’t know what happened to mine.” Then my mind caught up with what he’d said. “Did you say chip? My chip?”

He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Did he forget to tell you that he’d had you chipped, just like the Deep and me?”

Like every member of the Seven, implanted with a GPS locator chip so they could never escape, could always be brought back. “Must have slipped his mind. Did he say when this happened?”

“Sometime after you came back. Was there any day you remember when you woke up with a splitting headache and couldn’t remember the day before?”

“Several. I was drinking with both hands for a while.” After the usual Homelander had spelled out the facts of life in the training room with Blindspot bleeding and deafened on the floor. Before I’d met John, fallen in love with him, lost him. Before I’d run from his other self.

“We lost your signal after LAX, and Analytics still doesn’t understand how that happened.”

I shrugged. “He had a lot of cell phone jammers. He may have had one in the car during the trip to Montana, although I don’t know why he’d do that, since he didn’t know I was chipped. But he was all about contingency plans.”

It was A-Train’s turn to shrug. “Who knows. Monica’s told us about how Adam kept you in that—” He searched for a word.

“Crawlspace,” I said.

“—crawlspace under the cabin for days. About how he tried to make you kill her and you attacked him, and the both of you got him into the crawlspace before he escaped with the gun and you had to hide in the woods.”

“Is he under arrest? He said he’d killed a lot of people.” I couldn’t bring myself to mention the writing on the walls of the concrete coffin, the faded blood messages from lost girls. And asking was just a formality. Homelander had certainly killed him and blown up the cabin as a cover.

A-Train shook his head. “It looks like he took off in his SUV after the cabin exploded. Guess he figured you and your friend would die out in the woods, so he could run with no pursuit. Little did he know.”

“Uh—what do you mean?”

He smiled. “Yeah, he’d already taken you before we found out this part. When Adam was making Tiaras and Cocaine in Savannah, there were some unusual murders.”

“Women with their hair pulled out.”

“Yes. One of the police detectives picked up on the signature. Wilder—that’s the detective—got the idea that the killer was a member of the film cast or crew, and since Adam used the crew from his production company on all his movies except the VCU films, this detective did some research and established that a similar pattern of murders had occurred in every city where he and his crew worked. He even unearthed some very early murders during the production of Demon Killers—Reasonable Rates for the CW, when Adam was just starting out. Wilder wants to talk to you at some point, but there’s no hurry. Adam’s already an international fugitive. They think he crossed into Canada using a fake passport. He could be anywhere now.”

“That’s…a lot to take in.” The only part I didn’t believe was that Adam had gotten away clean. No, I felt sure Homelander had killed him, but he’d been more subtle than his usual and disposed of the carcass somewhere in the thousands of acres of montane forest to be devoured by the local wildlife.

“You don’t have to worry about whether he’ll come after you,” he continued. “We have Vought security onsite and either the Deep or I have been inside the room since they brought you here.”

“Thanks,” I said. That must make it official; John was dead or permanently imprisoned in the subconscious by Homelander. The man I loved was gone. I felt the tears starting at the same time A-Train saw them.

“I’m sorry, Ashley. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have told you all of this until you felt stronger, not the moment you woke up.” He rummaged frantically through the bedside table until he found a Kleenex box and thrust it at me. “Don’t tell Homelander, okay? He’s been out of his mind since we all got the resignation letter. He’s the one who connected with Detective Wilder in the first place. He dragged a cot down to Analytics so he could be there the entire time you were gone until your chip began signaling again.”

I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue. “I don’t tell him jack sh*t.”

“Thank you. We brought you some newspapers and magazines from when you were missing in case you wanted to read about it. Or just got bored. We got a new phone for you, too. Same number, same everything.”

“I appreciate it. Did the doctors give you any idea of when they’ll release me?”

He looked uncertain. “I think they’ll want to keep you overnight for observation, and you might be out tomorrow.”

“Great! Thank you.” Then he and the Deep would escort me onto the corporate jet to New York and I would restart my life at Vought, same as it ever was, with a few exceptions. I had loved John. I had lost John. And now I would be the target of even more focused hatred and abuse from Homelander. The nightmare I’d endured that had driven me to Dr. Winterbourne would be nothing in comparison. Would he kill me like Black Noir, like Madelyn, like Adam? The only comfort I could find was that he’d passed up the perfect opportunity to do it, at the foot of the mountain hemlock that I thought would be my grave, even before he’d appeared from the sky.

To keep myself from dwelling on this, I called Roman in New York. “Ashtree. Ashtree.” He was crying. For the first time in my life I thought he sounded like an old man. “I thought you were dead. I thought I’d lost my baby girl.”

“I’m fine, Roman. A-Train tells me they’ll probably let me out of the hospital tomorrow.”

“That director—that piece of sh*t—”

“It’s over now.” I couldn’t share any thoughts with him about Adam’s almost certain death, but I did say, “I’m sure he’ll never bother me again.”

“You’ll probably see it later but I was on the news and offered a million-dollar reward for any leads on you.”

That was flattering. Roman had always been tight with his money. “Give it to Monica. The girl who was with me at the lodge. She saved my life. I wouldn’t have survived the first night after we escaped without her.”

“I’ll do it. So you’re coming back to New York tomorrow?”

“I think so. I’ve been told I still have my job with Vought.”

“Okay, I want to see you when you get back. Have Homelander bring you by as soon as possible.”

I flinched at the name. He couldn’t have any illusions about Adam kidnapping me. No, he knew I’d tried to run away from him, and what he would do to punish me didn’t bear thinking about. At least the detention cells under Vought Tower had room enough to sit up and walk around, as well as toilets and running water. They were the f*cking lap of luxury compared to Adam’s lodge. “Okay, Roman, I have to go.”

“I love you, Ashtree.”

“I love you too.” At least that hadn’t been my last message to him, written in blood on the wall of my tomb.

Out of curiosity I accessed the internet on my cell phone and keyed in “Roman Deranian.” Google Search autofilled “crazy” after his name. I raised an eyebrow at that and clicked on. A video appeared with Roman in a still shot in front of the Houston Street building housing his loft, hair wild and mouth open. I clicked Play. A rush of crowd noise erupted from my phone and Roman shouting straight into the lens, “You take my daughter, you piece of sh*t? You take my f*cking daughter? I’ll f*cking kill you!”

“Roman—sweetheart—” Casey, her expression disgruntled, put her hand on his arm and gestured at an older man in a jacket behind him, who produced a syringe and moved in. I assumed he was a doctor.

My father must have gotten a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, because he rounded a lot more swiftly than I would have believed a man his age could do and sent a big right hand into the doctor’s face, which spun him backward into the crowd of reporters, the syringe falling to the sidewalk and being crushed underfoot. “Keep him off me! A million dollars!” That quieted the crowd noise for a second. “I’ll pay a million dollars to the first person who can get my daughter home or give information leading to her rescue. No questions asked!” Casey looked horrified, but whether it was due to the fact that Roman had punched out a doctor in front of video cameras or the heir in her belly losing a million-dollar chunk of his inheritance I didn’t know. I gave the screen a smirk and the video ended.

A-Train had settled back in his chair and started playing on his phone as I picked up the newspaper on the top of the stack. No surprise—it was all blaring headlines about Adam’s secret murderous life. What drew my eye was the ass-covering statement from Stan Edgar that Vought Studios had ended its association with Adam Bourke after the release of Dawn of the Seven and had had no future plans for any film work involving him. He also mentioned that I was on indefinite medical leave. I wondered if I needed a lawyer, even with the fake story about me being kidnapped they were pushing. Then I saw a smaller story below the fold that knocked my current worries out of mind.

ACTOR DIES IN APARTMENT FIRE

AP – Chris Pappas, star of the top-grossing Futureverse films, was found dead in his Manhattan home yesterday as the result of a fire. He was 56.

Preliminary investigation indicates that Pappas may have gone to sleep with a lit cigarette, which set his bedding on fire. An autopsy and toxicology tests are pending.

Pappas was nominated for a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for the horror film Fresh Blood in 1997 and won two Emmys for the comedy Just the Way We Are in 2001 and 2003. His supporting role in Invisible Force 2 for the Vought Cinematic Universe revived his career. His final movie role was the upcoming comedy-drama Chicken with Its Head Cut Off.

The actor was married twice, to screenwriter Sarah Percival and actress Evangeline Carr. Both ended in divorce. He had no children.

Pappas had been appearing in the Broadway musical Knees Up at the time of his death.

I put the newspaper down so A-Train wouldn’t see my hands shaking. Sounded pretty prosaic, pretty believable, except for one thing.

Chris Pappas had been Master, my first and only dom, the abusive f*ck who’d preyed on me when I was nineteen, the man I’d told John about without naming him. Was there any way John could have used Analytics to figure out who this man had been? But Chris had died yesterday, well after John had been killed or imprisoned by his alter ego. Homelander wouldn’t give a sh*t about my suffering, my scars, so apparently Chris had died a stupid, preventable death, and I would never have to force another smile at him at a premiere, set my teeth against the knowing smirk he always gave me. So two of the men in my life who’d damaged me most were now dead, and Homelander would soon make me wish he’d left me to die under that mountain hemlock tree, or that Adam had simply killed me on any of the myriad of opportunities he’d had. I felt sure Adam regretted he hadn’t, wherever he was.

Just as promised, the doctors released me the next day, and I shared the Vought jet to New York with A-Train and the Deep. The fishman brought up another concerning issue. “Homelander wants you to stay in one of the empty apartments on ninety-nine until the police catch Adam Bourke. So you’ll be safer than at your own apartment.”

“And if they never do? Am I just supposed to give up my apartment and move into the Tower permanently?”

Deep looked surprised and hurt, and I rebuked myself for taking out my negative feelings on him instead of Homelander. “It’s okay, Deep. I’m sorry. I’m not really angry. I know you’re just the messenger.”

Relief washed over his face. "It is a good idea, though, at least for now. How do we know he won’t try to kill you again?”

“Because he’s probably being shat out the asshole of a grizzly bear right about now. Do either of you actually believe that Homelander could find me in the middle of a montane forest, with thousands of acres of ground cover, with or without a chip, but couldn’t find Adam in an SUV on a public road?” The two men gave each other an uneasy look, and I sighed. “Fine, I’ll shut up about the obvious truth because if Homelander wants me in the Tower, he gets me in the Tower.” I’d talk to Mr. Edgar later and try to get his approval to return home, doing a neat end run around the leader of the Seven. For the moment, it was my only option.

Queen Maeve’s old apartment was the one I found myself housed in. I had the unwelcome surprise of opening her closet and finding all my clothes. They were even set up the way I had them in my apartment: Vought work clothes on the left, my own clothes on the right, divided by a tall shoe rack. My toiletries were arranged in her bathroom, just as they had been in my apartment. The furniture was still what Maeve had had, but my books and DVDs (I wasn’t much into streaming) and what music I still had on CD had made the trip to the Tower. I didn’t even wonder if he would ever let me go home—of course he wouldn’t. Having me here was just too convenient for him, always at his beck and call, forever. Tears stung my eyes again, but since I was alone I didn’t bother holding them back. John deserved that much. After my tear ducts ran dry, I had a brief, sad dinner of salad, breadsticks, and bottled water before going to sleep in Maeve’s old bed where I’d interrupted her banging the two himbos that one time.

And woke up somewhere else. Somewhere new, and strange, and terrifying. The setting wasn’t the worst thing, though. The worst thing was being naked, tied spreadeagle to a big brass bed with blue-green silk scarves that reminded me of a Waterhouse ocean, and realizing where I was.

I was in Homelander’s cabin out in Dutchess County, the one I always called the sex cabin in my mind because whenever Madelyn had returned from one of her weekends there, she seemed completely relaxed in every muscle, with a little smile playing around her mouth that she never seemed aware of. In those days their relationship was satisfying for both of them, before he murdered her. He’d put out Maeve’s eye too. But he hadn’t hurt Stormfront, and she’d been the one to kill Becca Butcher. So I had maybe 50/50 odds of survival? I visualized a coin spinning in the air, but the bedroom door opened before it landed.

Homelander stood in the doorway, his cape settling, looking at me. “Ashley. How are you feeling?”

Now that I thought about it, my brain seemed kind of muzzy. “A little groggy, maybe. Did you drug me somehow?”

He bestowed his usual bright smile on me. “It was the only way to get you here without you doing a lot of kicking and screaming, and I didn’t want to put up with that.”

“How did you do it? All I ate in Maeve’s apartment was salad and breadsticks.”

“And you drank bottled water, too.” Satisfaction rolled off him in waves.

“How did you drug them all? You couldn’t just predict which one I’d take.” Surrealism wasn’t just for my father’s art anymore; I’d never felt more like I’d been shoved into an alternative universe than I did now, questioning Homelander about how he’d gotten me to his killing place so efficiently while I was tied hand and foot naked to his bed. Was this the same mattress he’d slept on with Madelyn or had he destroyed that one in a fit of rage, the exact way he’d destroyed the woman who’d been his first love?

“It was all the bottles. Syringe through the plastic above the water line, so no leaks,” he told me. “Even if the bottle did leak through the pinhole, chances were you’d never even notice.”

And I hadn’t. Why hadn’t I been more suspicious about his insistence on my move? Why had I been so stupidly confident he wanted to keep me alive as his fall guy, his whipping boy?

His eyes slid over me and I tried to seem calm. It was useless effort, though; Homelander heard my heart pounding, my pulse racing, my quickened breathing. I thought he could probably smell the adrenalin in my bloodstream. “Do you want to know why you’re here?”

“Well, there’s only one reason I could be here.”

He smiled. “Is there?”

“You’re—” I had to swallow to get enough saliva in my mouth to continue speaking. “You’re going to kill me like you killed Madelyn, although I don’t know why you didn’t just end me back in the forest.”

“You were unconscious then. That wouldn’t have been fair to either one of us.”

But mostly you, I wanted to say but didn’t. Antagonizing him would get me nothing but a quicker death, so I wanted to save that for a last resort. “I don’t remember you ever caring about being fair to me.”

“Sometimes you’re not very observant, Ashley. It’s a failing of yours.” I didn’t say anything, and his mouth tightened. “You have a lot of failings.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you admit it?”

“I’m not arguing with you. There’s no point.”

“You don’t want to convince me you’re too valuable for me to kill?” He sounded a little surprised.

I shook my head. “It wouldn’t work. I’ve always been worthless as far as you’re concerned, another insect human, just good enough to be your fall guy when the time comes. And you can find another one of those easily. Vought is full of corporate kiss-asses. Did you think I didn’t understand what you think of me?”

“Yes.” Homelander moved closer to the bed until he loomed over me. “I always thought you never had the faintest clue.”

I let a bitter little chuckle escape. “Well, there you are, then.”

He touched the base of my throat with the tip of his index finger, where I knew he could see the pulse beating, and drew it over my upper chest, between my breasts, and over the length of my belly to come to a stop at my pubic bone, just above the red hair at my groin that covered the shiny pink scars from Chris’s cigarettes. It lingered there for a few seconds before he lifted his hand. “No, here we are, Ashley. Not a word of thanks for saving you from certain death, a death that you walked straight into of your own free will, I might add.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

“Do you want to know what happened to Adam Bourke?”

“Not especially, sir.”

He laughed. “You were right. On the plane, I mean. Some bear has shat him out by now. I enjoy the fact that you can conjugate the verb ‘to sh*t’ correctly.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Want to know how he died?”

“I assume screaming, sir.”

Homelander gave me a grin. “Sometimes it’s like you can read my mind, Ashley. He’d just opened the door of his SUV to make his getaway when I grabbed him. I took him up to, oh, eight or ten thousand feet, and asked him where you were. He laughed in my face and refused to say, even when I told him what would happen if he didn’t give you back to me—I didn’t realize you’d escaped and I knew he was too insane to scare—so I let him go. Literally. His SUV’s in a remote section of the Flathead River, where it will never be found.”

I didn’t know if that was better or worse than being lasered in two or torn apart by his hands. And he’d just admitted he’d been close enough to the company jet to hear my conversation with the Deep. Had he kept me under his eye until I drank the drugged water and fell asleep? Probably.

“Nothing to say about that?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s cold, Ashley. Very cold. Maybe I should warm you up.” With only that instant of warning, he ran his gloved hands over my body roughly, rubbing back and forth, and I shuddered in combined fear and arousal at how good it felt. He kept it up for at least a minute, until my nipples were stiff and aching and I was throbbing between my legs. My teeth were sunk deep into my lower lip to hold back any betraying noises. Goddamn my stupid, stupid body that didn’t know the difference between John and Homelander and couldn’t sense the danger. “Is that better?”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, sir.”

He leaned over and put his mouth next to my ear. “You’re not here because I want to kill you, Ashley. It’s much simpler than that. John got everything from you. He got handies, he got blowj*bs, he got to suck your tit*, he got to make you come with his mouth. He even got a date. Where’s the love for Homelander?” He smiled his predator’s grin when I registered what his words meant. “Oh, yes, Ashley. You’re going to give me what I was denied. You’re going to submit to me, and you’re going to love doing it.”

Panic rose up in my throat and choked me. Oh God, he would be a thousand times worse than Chris had ever been. Was it worse than being murdered if I was going to be raped and brutalized until I was well and truly broken to his will, stripped of my last bit of humanity and turned into his Coppelia? Only this doll wouldn’t dance—she was for f*cking, for bleeding. How long would it take him to become bored enough with me to murder me after that? “I…don’t think you actually want to do that.”

“You don’t know what I want. But we were talking about the late, unlamented Adam Bourke, weren’t we? And his murdering habits. Why did he get the idea you’d be willing to help him?”

My throat was so dry I didn’t think I’d be able to answer him, but my body summoned up some saliva. “When I had sex with him at the Dawn of the Seven premiere, I told him to pull some of my hair out. I thought I might be able to come if he did that, but it just lessened the stress for me. I didn’t know that this was a major sexual trigger for his psychosis and I certainly didn’t know he needed that enough to kill women to get it.”

“So you thought he was harmless to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that I was the one who was a danger to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you quit the company and ran away with him to try to save yourself from me?”

“Yes, sir.” I felt tears threatening and managed to fight them back.

“Didn’t work, did it?” He grinned again.

“No, sir.”

“Well, at least you admit it all. You’re honest about it. I appreciate that.”

“Thank you, sir. May—may I ask you a question?”

He nodded. “That’s fine.”

“Will you allow me to get medical treatment when…you’re finished with me?” I did my best to keep holding back the tears but I felt my control starting to give.

Homelander looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“When you hurt me. I can bleed to death. Will you let me go to the ER to get stitches so I won’t bleed to death, sir? I won’t tell them who did it. I promise.” I pictured myself, staggering down the road toward whatever town was nearest, praying they’d have a hospital as blood rolled down my inner thighs, praying a passing car would pick me up and take me to someone who could help me. But that was my future now. I wished Adam had cut the ventilation in the crawlspace and suffocated me, but neither of my men possessed much in the way of mercy.

His expression changed too quickly for me to identify the new emotion. “If you need a doctor, I promise you’ll get one.”

“Thank you, sir.” He’d probably have Dr. Ives from the on-site clinic come out to stitch me up. Maybe, if he let me go back to the Tower—my new home, doubtless, unless he wanted to imprison me here at the sex cabin—I’d make regular visits to the good doctor for repairs. How long could I possibly survive this? I’d only been with Chris for three months’ worth of weekends and I’d nearly broken. How long would I be with Homelander before I went onto the roof of Vought Tower and tried to fly away?

“It’s not for you. I don’t want to lose you again. You’re too valuable in your current position. SVP of Hero Management, I mean, not spreadeagled on my bed.”

I closed my eyes. Whatever he would do, he would do. I had no control anymore, no more than I’d had in the crawlspace. “Of course, sir.”

“Not that I won’t enjoy you in that position, too.” I didn’t say anything. “Why do you think I’m going to do you enough damage to need a doctor?”

“I ran away. You’re angry. You want to punish me. You’re not—I don’t know if you can judge how much injury I can survive.” Especially not since my little sojourn in the Montana forest, when I’d accepted my own death before I’d seen him descend from the sky. Something had left me then. I didn’t know what. I let my mind return to the mountain hemlock tree, the dying red sun. “Sir.”

“You’d be surprised. I had extensive training in human physiology when Vought was turning me into the hero that I am. I’m sure I can keep you alive as long as I want.” I said nothing. There was no point. “But after we’re finished here, we can see about you going back to the Tower for now.”

“Yes, sir.” It frightened me how the old patterns with Chris had been imprinted on my nerves. Agree with everything and maybe he won’t hurt you too much.

“Would you like that?”

“It’s not for me to like, sir. It’s for you to decide.”

“And you’ll do what I decide, like a good little sub?”

What f*cking choice do I have, you goddamned maniac? I wanted to scream. I settled for saying, “Yes, sir.” Anger was a luxury I couldn’t allow myself. If I hadn’t allowed myself to get angry that day after my session with Dr. Winterbourne when I was going over his numbers, if I’d just kept Adam’s job offer secret, I wouldn’t be in this position. No, you’d be in a shallow grave in the Montana forest and YouTubers would make videos about your disappearance. If I’d just let him kill me on any of the multitude of occasions when he got mad at me, I’d have been much better off.

Homelander was talking again. “He must have trained you pretty well. Chris Pappas,” he clarified when I gave him a confused look. “As late and unlamented as Adam Bourke.”

“May I ask how you figured out he was the person I told John about?” A lightning bolt of pain went through me as I said his name.

He grinned. “Analytics, Ashley. I don’t know if you realized how much information you gave away with your little story. He was worried about TMZ, so that indicated he was in the entertainment industry, and you referred to ‘the industry.’ You got together with him during the spring semester of your sophom*ore year, when his career was in a slump and he got a job offer that would keep him in Europe for months. And he gave a presentation at NYU. I had Analytics run every man who’d given a presentation that semester and cross-reference with anyone who had rumors about unsafe BDSM practices going around about him, and he popped up. The picture of the two of you together just sealed the deal.”

“There were no pictures of us together. Sir.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. There was a photo of you and Pappas at a Kennedy Center function. He had his hand around your wrist and looked like he was dragging you. You looked like you were trapped in a nightmare.”

“Huh. I don’t remember that.” But he was right—I’d been trapped in a nightmare, just like this.

“It seems you have a habit of misjudging men. That’s a failing you should work on.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You haven’t asked about Ryan.”

The statement brought me up short. “Is he all right?”

“Yes, he’s fine. He’s staying with your father and your future stepmother until we settle our business. Roman said he was going to start teaching Ryan to draw.” I didn’t say anything. “He was also very worried about you.”

“I’m sorry for that, sir.”

He let his fingers drift over my shoulder and I couldn’t control the flinch. “Nervous, are you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You should be.” Homelander leaned over and took one of my nipples into his mouth.

Was he going to bite it off? Losing my nipple wouldn’t make me bleed out, so he might think that an acceptable punishment. “Please, sir, please don’t bite me. I’m sorry. I won’t try to run away again.”

Homelander didn’t respond to that, just kept sucking and licking my nipple, and the fear slowly drained out of me and I felt my body relaxing. At some point he’d removed one of his gloves, and his bare hand caressed my other breast. He pinched it and terror flooded me. “Please don’t!”

“Hush, Ashley. I’m not going to bite off your nipple or pinch it off or whatever the f*ck you think.” The irritation in his voice chased away the beginnings of enjoyment from his suckling of me and the fear returned full force.

“What are you going to do, sir?” But did I really want to know when there was no chance I could stop any of it?

“I already told you. You’re submitting to me and I’m dominating you.”

I wanted to tell him that I didn’t like subbing, which he should know since he apparently had access to John’s memories now and remembered the whole confession about Chris Pappas, what he’d done to me, but there was no point. What he wanted he would get. I closed my eyes and tried to relax a little, so when he decided to f*ck me I wouldn’t bleed, wouldn’t tear, from the lack of arousal, but the fear made that impossible. “Thank you for clarifying, sir.”

“You’re welcome, Ashley.” He bent his head to the nipple he’d pinched and began to lick and suck, soothing any discomfort. I tested the tension of the scarves I was tied with, but the ones around my wrists were secure. Shivers coursed through my body, and not just from fear as his mouth left my breast, trailed across my belly, and paused at my groin. I flinched when I felt his lips brush over the scars Chris had left, pressing a kiss to each one. My mind froze in denial. f*cking Homelander was kissing my scars? He was being gentle with me? No way. No way he could or would do that. What was he planning? To hurt me, of course, but how would he hurt me?

His ungloved hands slid over my spread thighs, his thumbs brushing across their inner surface, making me shudder again. His skin was so beautifully warm. “Sir, I—”

He didn’t answer me, unless moving his head lower and letting me feel his tongue swipe over my cl*t was an answer. My body jolted with the sensation and I had the horrified thought: what if he bites off my cl*t? Maybe that’s how he intends to hurt me, make sure I can’t have any sexual pleasure ever again. I moaned in horror, but he paid no attention. Was that the only pleasure I would ever have, that burst of ecstasy under John’s mouth the day before I fled? “Please don’t hurt me. Just…please don’t hurt me. Sir.”

Again Homelander didn’t reply to what I’d said, applying himself to an exploration of the flesh between my legs, stoking the unwelcome throbbing, the aching that demanded more of his attention, more stimulation from his mouth. I had the horrifying realization that my body trusted him. My dumbass body didn’t know there was a difference between John and Homelander because they both lived inside the same meat shell, so it was all the same to my meat shell. It was safe to let Homelander lick and suck and arouse me because there was no danger from John. I bit my lip until I tasted a faint tang of blood to stifle any noises I might make.

For all the attention he paid to it, my cl*t might as well be the center of Homelander’s universe. And now—oh God—he’d slipped two fingers up my puss* and begun thrusting with them. Because it took me by surprise, I couldn’t prevent myself from following his movement the first time. Breath flowed over my wet flesh and he whispered, “Good, Ashley. It doesn’t have to be like it was with Master. There doesn’t need to be any pain if you don’t want it. I wouldn’t do that unless you wanted it.”

“I don’t believe you. Stormfront—”

I felt him flinch a little. “What about her?”

“I saw her place after the first time you f*cked her. It smelled like a Hawaiian luau. Or maybe a barbecue. A lot of burned pork. I can’t be punished like that, I can’t take damage like that.”

“Hush, Ashley. I know that. The only reason I did that with her was because she insisted on it. Being burned reminded her she was alive. Or she was so jaded to sensation only pain gave her pleasure. I never really figured it out myself. But I won’t do that with you.”

“You said you’d burn me. A second degree burn where I could see it, so I’d remember.” It shamed me how much my voice sounded like a whimper.

Homelander sighed and began circling my cl*t with his thumb. Fresh waves of sensation radiated through me and I couldn’t help but thrust my hips up toward him. “That was a mistake. I didn’t want to get into the whole Adam situation with you, so I thought if I just threatened you that would keep you from pursuing it. I didn’t know that you and John had your whole Mistress Domme thing going and that you were flying out to California to see him immediately. I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

I was about to tell him again that I didn’t believe him when he took his thumb off my cl*t and replaced it with his mouth. My whole body convulsed with the fresh shock, but I tried to tell myself I wasn’t pushing myself against his face to intensify the sensations. I wasn't participating in this. I didn't like it. Fear snaked around the arousal, melding with it, turning it into a new creature with its edges unclear. Was the pleasure terrifying or was the fear delightful? I twisted, and he took my hips in his hands to keep me still while flicking my cl*t with his tongue rapid-fire. Everything started to gray out around the edges and all I could hear was the sound of my blood rushing in my ears when the climax hit me and I screamed with the force of it.

Gasping, when I could open my eyes, I looked down at him, still positioned between my legs, his eyes shining. I’d never seen Homelander that happy. “Oh Ashley, you came so hard you squirted.”

The fear was temporarily gone, and I asked, “What did it taste like?”

“Watered-down skim milk. And you know how much I love milk.” He straightened up until he was on his knees and unzipped, drawing out his hardened co*ck. Fear washed away the delicious warmth from the org*sm and I shook my head. He would hurt me now, I knew it, how could he not when I’d never had a man inside me without pain? And he knew it, if he had John’s memories.

“I don’t—I don’t—” but I was too scared to form complete thoughts as he leaned forward and I felt the tip of it pressing against me. Nothing would help, nothing would stop him, but maybe if there was anything of John left he would at least try to help me. “Bioluminescence. Bioluminescence.”

Suddenly my wrists and ankles were free and I was sitting up in the bed, supported by Homelander’s body. “Do you want to take a break or stop completely?”

“A break?” It wasn’t what I wanted; I was just parroting his words back at him because I did not understand what was happening in the least. “This is just a scene, then?”

He looked at me and seemed a little irritated. “Yes. Just like the ones you had with John, except you get to sub and I get to dom. You were never in any danger, but I knew you’d come harder if you thought you were.”

Without thought I burst into tears and began beating at him with clenched fists. A calm, untouched part of my mind was embarrassed by my breakdown, but I couldn’t help it. “Why did you have to kill John?" I screamed. "You didn’t need to hurt him! I went away so you wouldn’t hurt him! I loved him! You didn’t need to do it!”

Homelander took my wrists in one hand, confining them behind my back, and took my chin in his other hand to force me to look at him. His voice was calming, like the tone you’d use on a frightened cat. “Ashley. John is fine. Nothing’s happened to him.” I just stared at him, dripping tears and disbelief. “It’s true. Everything’s the same as it ever was. John is not dead. He’s not hurt. It’s like it always was.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s true. You’ll see him again before long.”

It proved difficult to maintain the emotional storm; with everything that had happened in the past few days, I didn’t really have the energy. “I don’t understand why you would want to do this with me. We both know you hate me.”

He sighed. I brought that out in him. “John was the one who got me to go after you when you left with Adam. Do you know what he told me to make that happen? He told me that you are our love, and he let me see what the two of you had between you, his memories. Have to say that I was quite surprised that all this had gone on without me realizing it, and that you knew about me and had still f*cked John. Brave of you.”

“Thank you.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“So I had to know whether you were willing to be with me too. I’m not allowing John to be with a woman who can’t handle taking me as part of the deal. None of his women knew about me, and that caused…confusion sometimes. Since you seem to be able to deal, it looks like you’re in a threesome with both of us.”

Well, this was moving like a bullet train. “Is that something you could do? Both of you being in charge at once?”

“Naughty girl. You do want to f*ck us both at the same time.” He sounded amused.

Cautiously, I reached up and put my fingertips against his face. He let me. Best to flow with it and figure everything else out later. “I…wouldn’t want either of you to feel left out. I mean, if we’re actually going to do this, there will be times it’s just John and me, or you and me, but I don’t want either of you to feel rejected.”

Homelander repositioned me against his side. “That’s something I think we can work on. John might enjoy that.”

“Why did you want to f*ck me when you knew I’d always had trouble with the…intercourse, since I’d told John about it?”

It took him a moment to answer. “I wanted to be first with something. He got everything else. You gave him everything else. I wanted to have that before he did.”

“You guys are competitive?”

He nodded. “At least I am.”

I took a deep breath. “Then I’m willing to let you do that. We can do that. I’m sure it’ll be all right.” He hadn’t hurt me yet, so maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe I could take a chance.

“Well, that’s a lie, but it will be.”

I moved away from him a little bit, stretched out on the bed again, and held out my wrists for the scarves. “I trust you.”

He picked up the end of a scarf and I jumped when the silk brushed my skin. “Trust seems a little shaky, but you don’t need to be afraid of me anymore,” he murmured. “You belong to us. You’re our love.” I had no faith at all that Homelander loved me just because John did, but I didn’t let myself dwell on it as he tied my ankles and wrists again. “Comfortable?” I nodded. “I meant it when I said it didn’t have to be like it was with that actor.”

“Do you want me to call you Master?” The idea turned my stomach, but I needed to ask.

“Absolutely not. That would make you remember him.” He leaned over so his mouth was next to my ear. “I want you to call me Sir. That way, when we’re in the office and you call me that, and you remember what we’ve done with each other and how good it all felt, you’ll get wet. And I’ll know it. And then I’ll have to clear the office so I can f*ck you on top of your desk. Would you like that?”

Imagining that made me breathe faster, and he smiled. “Yes,” I said. He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He let his fingers trail over my breasts, my belly, until they delved between my thighs and I made a helpless sound of pleasure. “What are the magic words?”

“What? What?” I shook my head, too entranced by what he was doing to really concentrate on what he was saying.

Homelander didn’t say anything else for a while, not until I was writhing and shuddering and cursing him as he took me right to the edge of org*sm and pulled me back every time. “I’ll f*ck you, Ashley, but you have to say the magic words.”

“I don’t know what you’re—” I started to say, but then I remembered: my balcony, a haze of drunkenness, his hard-on under my hand, the start of it all. “Homelander, I want you to f*ck me.”

“Somebody remembered the magic spell for the sex power-up,” he murmured.

Had it been him with me on my balcony that night or John? I still found it difficult to believe that Homelander could or would be gentle, but my thoughts evaporated as he took his co*ck into his hand and I felt the head of it push into me. My body tried to tense, but it already felt different, not the jagged sandpaper sensation of f*cking Adam but smooth and hot and satisfying as the full length of him slid in. A little noise escaped me, and he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Don’t stop. It’s good.” My voice sounded hoarse. He made his own little sound as he started to move. “I’m glad you got to do this first. Sir.”

“I enjoy it when you’re sweet,” he said, and then neither of us could talk anymore as he thrust inside me, again, again, and it was so different than anything I’d ever felt, not just painless but tantalizing, something I found with a shock that I needed, that I craved from him. I didn’t try to keep quiet, didn’t have to bite my lip to hold back sounds of pain the way I’d done with Adam, but all my sounds were of pleasure now, and I fought the scarves to try to touch him, wrap my arms and legs around him, but they held firm and it drove up my arousal, the suspicion that maybe I could submit to him like this, that maybe I could like it, enjoy myself without thinking of Master. Then the tide of sensation drove away any thoughts other than of him, and it was all beautiful and still a surprise when another climax hit me, and something in me loosened when he groaned with his own org*sm and clutched at me. Crazy as it seemed, I felt like I was safe.

I was in a haze of satisfaction, barely aware of him untying me and settling next to me in the bed, putting his arm out and drawing me against his side before I went to sleep. When I woke up, he was leaning over me, but it was John, undeniably John, and I clutched at him, sobbing, relieved. His arms went around me and he made little murmurs of comfort. “I thought you were dead. I thought he’d killed you.”

“He wouldn’t do that. I don’t even know if he could do that. But it’s all right. I’m fine. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” He placed a kiss on top of my head. I couldn’t let go of him; my mind couldn’t relax and accept that he was alive, he was all right, and I tried to get as close to him as I could.

“What’s going to happen now?”

John shrugged. “I think he wants to stay here for another day or two, then we’ll go back to the Tower. Stan’s not going to say anything to you about what happened. He’s spread around a lot of money to establish the kidnapping scenario.”

“Covering up for me.” Just like I’d done for most of the members of the Seven.

“Yes.”

“Am I going to have to stay there permanently?”

“He wants you to, but after the next couple of weeks you can probably go back to your apartment until we all get to know each other better. I can work on him. Is there a possibility that you might want to move in with us at some point—Ryan and me? And Homelander.” he amended when I raised an eyebrow.

“I think that could happen.” John smiled and rubbed his hand over my back, and I snuggled into him, relaxing for the first time in a long time. Bottom line, as far as I could tell, John was fine and we still loved each other. Homelander—well, I still didn’t believe he loved me, but he seemed to enjoy the sex and thought I belonged to him. For now, I guessed that would have to do.