Obedience Lessons

Chapter Forty-two

Dylan's POV

Louisa guided me into the dark tinted vehicle I knew my father was waiting in. Her hands patted my waist in what I interpreted as encouragement and I got into the black SUV. My father's face looked like it was made of stone when I sat next to him.

"What's this about?" I asked, dreading the answer.

He waited half a minute before finally speaking. "Drive. The hotel." The man behind the wheel nodded while wearing a straight face. I could tell that my father could probably do whatever he wanted to and this man would not even blink. He asked no questions, doing as he was told. "You tell me Dylan. Did you at least have a good show? Enjoyed a small taste of revenge?"

"I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about," I didn't get to go further when the side of my face exploded in pain, drawing a surprised and wounded yell from me.

"I'll be needing back the pictures by the way. You thought a few pictures of your own would give you leverage, Dylan? Disappointing. Hand them over and let's get this over with. And I'll be needing that recording from earlier." My father stopped making sense the second he spoke. When I tried to protest again he punched me again, then slapped me for good measure. "Where are they?"

He wasn't listening, and I was tired of being hit. I caught his hand the next time his tried to hit me and ended up being slammed in the face by his other fist. Breathing heavily and feeling the blood begin to trickle from my nose I said, "Alyssa's house."

He narrowed his eyes, and the pale orbs looked menacing. He didn't trust me one bit, and no doubt he sensed the waves of rebellion practically seeping from my pores right now. I would make sure that this fucking bastard never lay a hand on me again.

"I'll have them in the morning then. And the recording?" My father held out his hand. When I looked at him blankly he shook his head, "You're pathetic. It doesn't have any worthwhile information anyway. Just hand it over."

"I... I don't have it with me..." I tried. What recording? What the hell was going on? God, just don't hit me again, my face hurt like a motherfucker.

My father's hands fumbled through my pockets and I tried pulling back, wondering what the fuck he was doing. His hands grasped wildly until he pulled out something, giving a derisive 'tsk' while shaking his head. He withdrew a small chip, something as small as a memory card. The shock on my face probably was priceless, then I recalled Louisa, hands on my waist right around my pocket. She was in on this. "Lies. Lies and more lies to your father who gives you everything. You have no idea who you or your... your-"

"Boyfriend? Lover?" I suggested with a hand up to my nose so it came out sounding nasal. If Andy was working with my father, why did he try to bust him? I had fucking told him not to go after my dad.

"Andy," he hissed, "Is messing with."

"You could have just left well enough alone. Instead you bought him, you wasted hundreds of thousands just so you can have someone to toy with me and lie to me. You're... you're fucking sick, I bet Liam's glad he's dead so he doesn't have to put up with you!" Even I thought I deserved the next punch that connected to my face. Well, that ought to be quite the statement for tomorrow's photo shoot with the Clarkes. I wondered what spin my father would put to the marks on my face to make it seem like something positive. The world would not have enough cover up for these bruises and cuts. Would I be defending my fiancée's honor? Oh, I was sure he'd think of something.

"My son is dead because of You. You fucking queer tried to turn him. It took everything he had to protect you from me. You never deserved him, you're a fucking degenerate. A faggot I wished had never been born. And now I'm stuck with you because he's gone.... He's gone." Was he... was my father... crying? No tears fell from his eyes but his voice was so very raw.

I didn't know how to react. It almost made me feel... kind of bad for him. Then he looked up and said, "I wish it were you instead of him. I wished you were the one that was dead."

It didn't even hurt. Because it was a truth I had known, since standing over Liam's silver coffin as it was lowered into the ground. I had seen the look on my father's face and in his washed out blue eyes. A face full of guilt and remorse. It was the face of a man who was thinking of a million alternative outcomes to the one that he was faced with. And the face of the man who realised that, however painful, this was the reality, and he would have to face it. That is, he was stuck with me.

The SUV stopped. "Get out," He snapped at me. "You're staying here tonight. With your mother and I. And you're not going to breathe a word to her about what happened and about Burrie if you know what the fuck's good for you and him. Compreendo?"

I nodded, dripping blood onto my shirt. He handed me his handkerchief and I patted around my nose to capture the blood. This was fine. I hadn't planned on going back to Andy tonight anyway. I didn't know what I would do if I faced him right now. Whatever the case, he had lied to me. He was playing some game, both he and my father. And I wanted nothing to do with it. I'd told him that I didn't want him messing around with my dad, or in anything with my family, and he lied to me as he did it anyway. And now I paid the price for it. I wished I were surprised deep down, but I knew he'd disappoint me.

My mother was asleep in the couch opposite the door, with a full ash tray on the elegant glass coffee table, an ugly contrast to the beautiful fresh roses set in an ornate vase.

"Get yourself cleaned up. And get to one of the rooms. Tomorrow it's rise and shine 7AM at the Clarke's. We get the pictures and you complete the shoot. After that we're going to discuss your living arrangements." My father talked as if I were his secretary and ought to be writing down notes. Then he sighed, crossing the room and removing a cigarette butt from between my mother's slim fingers. I watched as he found a small coverlet and rested it over her sleeping body.

He looked back at me as if he'd forgotten I was there. "Didn't you hear me? I told you to get cleaned up. NOW."

I cleared out after that. I found the guest room adjoined to their suite and went right into the bathroom. My face was bloodied, and I had a few small cuts on my cheek bones and my lip. Slowly I cleaned around them with a washcloth and watched my reflection in the mirror, as the tears welled up in my eyes. I wasn't even crying because of the pain. Or because of my father or because of Liam and that my life was shit. I was crying over a man that had hurt me.

That fact, more than anything, pissed me off in that moment.

I was done. I would need him for whatever pictures that my father wanted so badly. Then it was over. Our relationship, a dominant to submissive depended even more than the usual on trust. The trust that he would always work in my best interests and never push too far. I trusted in him to know me well enough to always respect my limits and to tell me the truth. I thought Andy of all persons could have appreciated that. Apparently not.

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A/N: Am I not merciful?! (Tell me if you got this reference)