"You know I'm sixteen, right?"

"You're not driving, are you?"

"No," she said and took the beer from him. She'd had alcohol before but never in front of either of her parents. Communion wine didn't count. She took a sip and found it equal parts disgusting and wonderful.

"So how's community service treating you?" her dad asked, and she heard a note of bitterness in his voice.

"It's not bad. I do a lot of office work for charities. I hang out at the homeless shelter and help out. Did a day-camp thing this summer. That was fun."

"Nice work if you can get it. Sounds better than prison."

She winced. "I'm sorry, Dad. I wish ..."

"What? What do you wish?"

"I wish you didn't have to go."

"Yeah, well, that makes two of us."

He drank his beer hard and fast. The man had an unnatural tolerance for alcohol, something he called "the Catholic effect."

"Still trying to figure out how you got off so easy. I mean, thrilled you did. Don't want my baby girl in juvie or anything, but still. Community service for five felony counts?"

"I had a nice judge. A good lawyer."

"Where'd the lawyer come from?"

"The church paid for her. I do some work at the church to pay them back."

"That's good for you, then. Real good for you."

"So ... you said you wanted to go to dinner?" She desperately wanted to change the subject. She could tell talk of her light sentence didn't sit with her father.

"Yeah, sure. But let me ask you something first."

"Sure. What?"

"I have a new lawyer, too. Smart guy. Tough guy. Not a shark you want to meet in the ocean. Anyway, he's thinking he can maybe get me a new trial."

"New trial? Why?"

"Some f.u.c.kup with the evidence. Some dumb cop mislabeled a file or something, I don't know. But if he can swing it and I get a new trial, there's a chance I won't have to go to prison."

"You don't think there's enough evidence against you?"

"If I had a witness who'd maybe recant some of her statements she made to the police, then there's a chance."

Eleanor could only stare at her father in silence. He opened another beer. She'd barely made a dent in hers.

"You want me to lie on a witness stand for you? I gave an allocution. I'd go to juvie in a heartbeat if I start telling people I lied to the police. I'm on probation and I think I've seen enough TV to know perjury is a crime. A big one."

"Baby, you're sixteen. Even if you did end up in juvie, you'll be out by the time you're eighteen. That's a year and a half. I'm looking at ten or more years, Elle."

"I'm not going to lie for you."

"Ten years. Fifteen years. You don't care about that? You don't care about your own father?"

"And it's not just a year and a half for me. This could f.u.c.k up my whole life. Am I supposed to send in college applications with a juvenile detention facility as my current address? I don't think NYU lets in criminals."

"NYU?" He laughed. "You seriously think you're going to get into a school like that?"

"I'm smart, Dad, if you haven't noticed. I'm in college-prep cla.s.ses. I get good grades. I score crazy high on those stupid IQ tests they make us take."

"How are you planning on paying for it? Turning tricks?"

"Ever hear of scholarships?"

"Don't kid yourself. You go to a Podunk high school and no preppy school is ever going to let you in."

"I don't believe that. My priest says I'm smart, and he's the smartest person I've ever met."

"If he's so smart why's he a f.u.c.king priest?"

"You're an a.s.shole."

"I'm not the one who rolled on her father to save her own a.s.s."

"That's your own f.u.c.king fault," she shot back. "n.o.body asked you to be a criminal. Mom's got two real jobs. Why couldn't you get a real job?"

"You want me to work two jobs like your mom and be a frigid miserable b.i.t.c.h like her?"

"Better than being a piece-of-s.h.i.t lowlife who let his own daughter take the heat for him, right?"

Her father's hand whipped out and slapped her with such speed she flinched far more from the shock than the pain.

She stared at him, wide-eyed and dazed.

"I hope you rot in jail," she said. Her father raised his hand to slap her again. She ducked and tried to push past him. He grabbed her and shoved her bodily against the refrigerator. She pushed him back with all her strength and managed to get around him, even as he tried to grab her.

She raced to the door and ran down the four flights of steps as fast as she could and even then she heard her father's footsteps chasing right behind her. She hit the street and started running again. She turned a corner and found a subway entrance. When she went for her money she realized the horrible fact that she'd left her coat in her dad's apartment. And it had all her money in it.

"f.u.c.k ..." she breathed. She had nothing. Nothing but that stupid list of questions for S0ren. No money. No keys. No train ticket. Everything that mattered was in her coat.

In desperation she studied the subway map of the city, hoping she'd think of someone-anyone-she knew in the city who could help her. One street name jumped out at her. Riverside Drive wasn't that far away from the looks of it. Three miles maybe? She could get there in forty-five minutes if she booked it. S0ren had given her that card, that f.u.c.king card that was trapped in her coat, for his friend who lived on Riverside Drive. He said to go there in case of emergency. Getting stuck in the city without any money sounded like an emergency to her.

She got her bearings and emerged streetside again, glancing around to make sure her father wasn't anywhere watching or following her. It seemed safe, so she started out, walking as fast as she could in her boots. She shoved her hands into her jeans' pockets for warmth and tried not to cry. In her heart, she'd always known her father was exactly what she'd called him-a piece-of-s.h.i.t lowlife criminal. But she'd wanted to believe so badly that he cared about her, that he'd missed her, that he loved her. She berated herself block after block for believing all that s.h.i.t he'd shoveled on her. All he wanted was to suck up to her, get her in a good mood, make her think he gave a d.a.m.n about her, and then get her to lie for him.

The temperature dropped and the air burned her lungs and nose. Tears streamed from her eyes as she walked. She prayed hard that this friend of S0ren's would take pity on her and help her get home. If not, she'd grab a paper cup from a store and beg for change like the homeless people she pa.s.sed huddled under the dingy blankets.

Finally she reached the address she remembered from the business card. The house-white stone with black iron trim-shone like the sun under the streetlamps.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n ..." she breathed. House? This was no house. This was a New York palace. She studied it for a good five minutes trying to memorize all the details. Three stories tall or maybe more. From where she stood she thought she spied gla.s.s on the roof-maybe one of those fancy greenhouses or conservatories or whatever they were called. The front of the house was white, but all the trim on the arched windows was black. The second story had a black iron balcony and people in party clothes-dresses and suits-came in and out of the door. She moved in closer as she worked up the courage to knock on the door. Then she saw it. In the shadows at the side of the house she spotted a black Ducati motorcycle.

S0ren? She couldn't believe he was here. Diane had said he was with family for Thanksgiving and wouldn't be back until Sunday. What was he doing here at a party on Riverside Drive? She didn't know, but she sure as h.e.l.l intended to find out. A limousine pulled up and a group of girls in short stylish coats and stiletto heels emerged and headed straight for the front door. Eleanor followed them and when the person at the door let them in en ma.s.se, she slipped in behind them.

For five solid minutes Eleanor did nothing but stand in the luxurious marble foyer and stare. To her left in the front room of the house, she saw a woman in a silver dress standing in front of a man wearing a suit. He threw a wad of cash onto a low coffee table. A dozen people around them threw down money, as well. The woman slipped the dress off her shoulders, and it cascaded to the floor. She wore nothing underneath. The man in the suit pulled her down into his lap and dug his fingers between her legs as he bit her neck and shoulders. Eleanor tried not to watch but she couldn't turn away from the scene. He pushed her onto her hands and knees, opened his pants and started stroking himself. Something started to tighten up in her stomach as he thrust into the naked woman from behind.

No one noticed her watching from the entryway. Why would they? The people f.u.c.king were rather occupied with the f.u.c.king. And the dozen people in the room with them did nothing but cheer them on and throw more cash on the table. People checked their watches, but not out of boredom. There seemed to be some kind of bet going on about how long the guy could last. Eleanor watched the girl. Her face was pa.s.sive, as though she couldn't care less that she was completely naked in the middle of a room full of people getting pounded from behind. Eleanor had never seen anyone having s.e.x before. She'd read about it in her books, saw pictures of it in magazines. But never had she seen it like this-live and in living color and so close she could see the woman had blue eyes.

The man grunted and pulled out of her. The woman laughed as she swept the money off the table. Still naked and wearing only her black high heels, she stood up and grabbed a gla.s.s of something-wine probably-and drank it while she casually wiped the wetness out of her with a linen napkin. She seemed in no hurry to put her dress back on.

Another woman in a red dress yelled that it was her turn. She lay back on the coffee table, hiked her skirt to her waist and lifted her knees to her chest. Another man opened his pants and mounted her right on the table. Once again, all bets were on.

Eleanor heard footsteps behind her and spun around. A couple-two men this time-came laughing and kissing into the foyer, tumblers of something in their hands. They paid her no attention as they headed down the hallway past the grand main staircase. She followed behind them, staying out of their line of sight as they entered the kitchen. While shadowing the men, she peeked into the cavernous dining room. A naked man lay facedown on a huge ornate table. A woman dressed head to toe in leather stalked around the table periodically whacking the man on his back with some kind of long thin cane. He winced and she laughed. He cried out in pain and she laughed louder. She ordered him onto his back and when he turned over, he had already come all over himself. The woman in leather climbed onto the table between his thighs and began to lick the s.e.m.e.n off his stomach and thighs with the prissy precision of a cat lapping at a saucer of milk.

"Oh, holy f.u.c.k," she whispered to herself. "Toto, we are not in Kansas anymore...."

15.

Eleanor ELEANOR CREPT BACK DOWN THE HALL TOWARD THE main staircase. In another room, one that held a piano, a woman stood with one leg over the back of a leather chair. A man knelt between her legs and pressed his face into her v.u.l.v.a while another man, standing behind her, played with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and nipples. All the while she carried on a conversation with another equally well-dressed woman sitting on an elegant black-and-white striped couch. In every single room of this house, someone was having s.e.x with someone else. Eleanor could hardly breathe. Heat pooled in her stomach and dripped down her legs. Even as aroused as she was by the sights and sounds and smells, Eleanor didn't forget her mission. She'd come here to find S0ren. She'd seen his motorcycle, but where was he? And what the h.e.l.l was a Catholic priest doing at a party like this? And why didn't she get invited?

She marched up the stairs trying to act like she knew where she was going. No one questioned her presence in the house. No one stopped her or asked to see her ID or an invitation. At the top of the first flight of stairs, Eleanor found even more people in various stages of undress engaged in various acts of debauchery. A woman sitting in a leather chair with one leg draped over each arm was allowing a man at least twenty years older than her to slowly work his entire hand into her body. The woman giggled and wiggled and lifted her hips to help him with the whole process. Two men wearing nothing but pants around their ankles engaged in some kind of mutual d.i.c.k-sucking that required both of them to lie on the floor on their sides. They blocked the entire hallway, so Eleanor had to step over them. They didn't seem to notice or care.

Finally, Eleanor found an empty bedroom. Ducking inside, she pressed her hand into her stomach, closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. She'd been in the house almost twenty minutes according to her watch, and she'd yet to see S0ren. Her heart pounded so hard it threatened to burst out of her chest. She'd never been so aroused and so scared in her life. She couldn't tell the difference between the two anymore. Was it fear that made her heart beat like this or desire? She wanted to shut the door, lock it, lie in bed and give herself the o.r.g.a.s.m her body demanded.

A door inside the bedroom opened. A man emerged from the en suite bathroom wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist and water on his skin.

"h.e.l.lo there," he said, a wide smile crossing his face. He spoke with an accent, Australian maybe, and didn't seem the least bothered to find a strange, panting girl standing in his room.

"Sorry. I didn't mean-"

"It's all right, love. What's your name?" He shut the door and locked it.

"Um. Elle."

"Elle. Pretty name. Pretty girl. I'm Lachlan. Everyone calls me Lockie. Everyone but you. You call me sir." He winked at her and Eleanor nearly hit her knees from the erotic power of that wink.

"Sure. I mean, yes, sir."

"Did King send you?"

She didn't know the right answer to that so she lied and said, "Yes."

"G.o.d, I love that man. What are you into, gorgeous?"

Eleanor had no idea what that question meant.

"Everything?" she answered. Seemed a safe bet.

He laughed and the rich, warm sound sent something like hunger pains rolling through her stomach. He had a rugged handsomeness to him and nothing but muscle on his nearly naked body. He looked about twenty-eight years old. Her mouth had gone dry talking to him, so she licked her lips in nervousness.

"Very good answer."

He put his hands against the wall on either side of her and brought his mouth down on hers. Eleanor froze as he kissed her. The potency of the kiss soon overpowered her fear and she found herself kissing him back. She'd had a boyfriend in the eighth grade for all of two weeks. They'd done nothing but make out every chance they got at school. Nothing like this. A grown man kissed her now. A man old enough he could have dated her mom without raising anybody's eyebrows. He slid his hand under her sweater and cupped her breast. He rubbed her nipple with his thumb, and Eleanor nearly climaxed from that touch alone. She melted against his hard, warm body as the kiss deepened further.

With one hand he cupped her bottom while his other hand unhooked her bra in the back. He pinched her right nipple hard enough that she gasped. Unthinkingly, she rubbed her hips into his, seeking something more from him.

"I'm going to beat you until midnight and f.u.c.k you until dawn," he whispered against her lips.

"Beat me?" she asked and his only response was to laugh again.

He took both her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his hands and squeezed them almost to the point of pain. She closed her eyes tight, loving the pain as much as the pleasure. His thumbs flicked across her nipples as his erection twitched against her stomach. In her mind she saw him stripping her naked and nailing her to the wall with that thing. Jesus, where had that thought come from?

"You have perfect t.i.ts," he said, pinching and rolling her nipples. "Perfect size."

"Really?"

"Absolutely." He growled the word into her ear. "And a perfect a.s.s, perfect curves. I like little things like you. Bite-size."

He punctuated the words by biting hard at her neck, hard enough she knew she'd have a real bruise tomorrow. When he unb.u.t.toned her jeans and eased her zipper down, she inhaled and forgot to exhale.

Stop. That was what she needed to say. Stop. She could do that. One little word.

Stop.

She didn't say it.

He slipped his hand into her panties and pressed the tip of his finger against her c.l.i.toris.

"That's a good girl," Lockie breathed in her ear. Good girl? They'd met one minute ago, and she'd let him stick his hand down her pants, and he was calling her a good girl? She liked his definition of good so much better than the dictionary's. "I want you to come for me. You'll be nice and relaxed when I flog you then. Can you do that, bite-size?"

"Standing up?"

"I got you." He spoke in a low voice, his words soft and heated. And he did feel so good to her. She wanted this for so long, being touched this intimately by an older man. It wasn't the older man she wanted, but she'd take what she could get.

Lockie's finger gently worked her c.l.i.toris, teasing it, ma.s.saging it, stroking it until she went limp his arms. But she didn't fall. He held her safe and secure between the wall and his own muscular body.

"That's it, bite-size. Almost there ..."

He coaxed her with kisses and whispered encouragements. Any second now she would tell him to stop, tell him to let her go. Any second now ...