Author: Tiffany Reisz

After a long silence, Sutherlin looked back at Suzanne.

“Since the day we met.”

Suzanne nodded and said nothing. Those five words told Suzanne everything she needed to know. Father Stearns and Nora Sutherlin had something, a connection, an intimacy…something deep and unexplainable, something untouchable, unreachable. The night that Suzanne had begged him to make love to her, he’d said that he did not belong to himself. She thought he’d meant he belonged to God or the Church. Now she knew he meant Nora Sutherlin.

“I’m leaving now,” Sutherlin said. “And you should too.”

“I’d like to at least tell him goodbye. Or am I not allowed?” Suzanne asked. The question held no sarcasm. Whatever Nora Sutherlin told her to do, she would do.

“I’ll allow it. He does like you. I don’t, but I’m a little biased.”

“I can see that.”

Sutherlin raised her chin at Suzanne’s words and somehow knew she’d misspoken. Slowly Sutherlin walked toward her, her hips swaying with each step forward. She’d never been in the presence of a more immediately, viscerally sexual being in her life.

“No, you can’t see that,” Sutherlin said, coming to stand in front of her. “You can’t see anything. Not me. Not him. Not us. We do not exist, remember? Do you know what I am?”

Suzanne shrugged her shoulders in confusion.

“You’re…a writer.”

“I am. I’m also one of the most famous dominatrixes in the entire world. I used to be Kingsley’s number one. Did you know that?”

Suzanne swallowed again.

“I might have heard some rumors.”

“Believe them,” Sutherlin said. “And know they are only the tip of the iceberg. I once had a Texas cattle baron pay me fifty thousand dollars to brand him with his own branding iron. I had a Silicon Valley CEO pay me sixty thousand dollars to piss on his face. I have put the rich and the famous in the hospital. And they paid through the teeth for the privilege of it. I have a police file as thick as Kingsley’s cock, and yet I’ve never been convicted of any crime as an adult. Why? The cops and the lawyers and the judges live in Kingsley’s pocket. And one or two of them lived in mine. In the city, I can get away with murder.”

Suzanne straightened her shoulders and looked Sutherlin directly in the eyes, something that took all of her courage.

“Are you threatening me, Ms. Sutherlin?”

Sutherlin only smiled.

“No. Of course not. All I’m saying is that I’ll do anything to protect him. Anything at all. But there’s no need to worry. I’ve hurt people. I’ve hurt them badly. I’ve left permanent scars on some clients. Some outer scars. Some inner. But all that pain I’ve inflicted…it was all consensual. I’ve never hurt anyone without their permission. All I’m saying, Ms. Kanter, is…” Sutherlin leaned forward and pressed the lightest, softest, most terrifying kiss onto Suzanne’s lips before pulling back an inch and whispering, “There’s a first time for everything.”

And with that, Sutherlin took one step back. And another. Then she turned on her heel and walked out of the church.

Suzanne took a deep breath. She raised her hand and found it shaking. War zones, she reminded herself. She’d been in war zones. This woman shouldn’t terrify her.

Determined to get a shred of her dignity back, Suzanne ran from the sanctuary and saw Nora Sutherlin heading toward a Porsche that had pulled up to the curb.

“Wait!” Suzanne called out and Sutherlin turned around.

“Yes?”

“Just one more question…please.”

Sutherlin smirked.

“One more. But make it a good one.”

Suzanne nodded.

“What’s he like…you know, in bed? I have to know. I’ve never been so attracted to someone in my life. And I’ll never get to be with him. Can you just tell me that?”

Sutherlin looked positively shocked by the question.

“In bed? Me and Søren? We aren’t sleeping together,” Sutherlin said.

“But…but I asked you if you were. And you said not to ask questions I already knew the answer to.”

Sutherlin nodded.

“Exactly. Of course we aren’t lovers.” Sutherlin slid on a pair of chic black sunglasses. “He’s a priest. That’s gross.”

Once more Sutherlin turned on her heel and walked away. This time Suzanne let her go.

She watched as Sutherlin reached the Porsche. Two men got out of the car. No, not two men. One man and one teenage boy. The man was Griffin Fiske. And the teenage boy was… Suzanne narrowed her eyes at him. A beautiful young man, whoever he was. Almost angelic in appearance. Shoulder-length black hair, eyes so brightly silver she could see them shining from ten feet away, pale skin, thin but only in that teenage boy way…even his wrists still had that teenage boy delicateness to them. Suzanne looked more closely at his wrists and saw they bore gauze bandages. Bandages? She made the connection finally. Michael Dimir—the boy who’d slit his wrists in the sanctuary—he would be seventeen now. Griffin Fiske and Nora Sutherlin gave each other a quick kiss as the boy, Michael, unwrapped the gauze from his wrists. Sutherlin gave his wrists a thumbs-up before she kissed him quickly on the lips. The boy leaned back against Griffin Fiske’s chest as Fiske wrapped an arm possessively around him.

Michael Dimir…with Griffin Fiske? What the hell…

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

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

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

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

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

“Every day of my life.”

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

“For me?” she teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy water.

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

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

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

“I’ll never see you again, will I?”

Father Stearns didn’t smile.

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

Suzanne took the hint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His fingers grazed her lips like the softest kiss.

“I know you can.”

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

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

Father Stearns kept walking.

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

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

Just…like…that…

And Suzanne realized she’d been had.

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

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

Suzanne turned back to Adam’s grave and smiled.

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

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

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

“Hey, you okay?” Patrick asked.

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

“Good. Done with that?”

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

She tensed when Patrick didn’t answer immediately.

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

Suzanne returned the pause with a pause before answering.

“It’s a date.”

* * *

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

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

Nora grinned.

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

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

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

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

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