Текст книги "Spin"

Автор книги: C. D. Reiss

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

thirty-six.

"Antonio,” I said.

He didn’t answer, just kept his wrist on the top of the steering wheel.

“Capo.”

“Don’t call me that.”

My face got hot, and my loins tingled as if I’d been dropped off the first hill of a roller coaster. I wanted to look at him, but I couldn’t. I wanted to check his hands for bruises and accuse him of worse violence than I’d wanted to commit. I wanted to make excuses and demands. I looked at my own hands, free of blood or bruise, but they were shaking.

“Antonio, what’s wrong?”

He got off the freeway downtown. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.”

“We’ll still protect you.”

“What? Wait. I don’t understand. What happened to everything?”

“It’s just done, Theresa. Over.” He shook his head, eyes on the road and avoiding my gaze.

I blinked, and a tear fell. What had I done? How could I have done differently? How could he shut me out? “This was Paulie’s plan? That you’d hate me?”

He didn’t answer. He’d turned to stone right in front of me.

“Brilliant,” I muttered. “He’s a fucking genius.”

“Nice mouth.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I hit him on the arm.

He yanked the car over, screeching to the curb a few blocks from the loft. He drew his finger like a rod, rigid and forceful, as if he could kill me with it. “Do not hit me again.”

“What happened?”

“This is not what I want. I’m in the life. I’m damned, I know this. I cannot come home to a woman I’ll share hell with.” He slapped the car in park and turned away from me again, as if seeking answers in the half distance.

“You would have done the same to protect someone you cared about,” I said.

“I would have beaten him to death with the empty gun. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

“I’m not understanding the point.”

“Please just go. I don’t want to see you again.”

His words tightened in my gut, twisting my insides to jelly. “Antonio, please. Let’s talk—”

He sped the car forward and around a turn, barely stopping to drop me in front of my house. “Get out.”

I waited for him to change his mind. Maybe if I reached out to touch him, he would relent, but he seemed so radioactive that I couldn’t. I took the phone he’d given me from my bag and handed it to him.

“I don’t want it,” he said, still not looking at me. “Give it to the poor. Just go.”

I was a coward. I couldn’t fight for him. I didn’t know how. I got out, and though I didn’t look back, I didn’t hear him pull away until I was safely inside.

* * *

My house was empty. Every surface gleamed. The dishes were put away. The broken swans were gone.

I stepped out of my shoes and looked around for any sign of Katrina. She’d left a few old-style bobby pins, but everything else was gone. She’d always kept most of her stuff at her parents’, I reminded myself. I had a family. I could call any of them. And what would I say? They’d walked me through Daniel. Would they walk me through another man? One I couldn’t talk about?

I put the phone he’d given me by the charger, and it blooped with an auto update to the music library. Tapping and scrolling, I found he’d left me music ages ago, before I’d squeezed a trigger. Puccini, Verdi, Rossini. Antonio liked opera, and it didn’t matter that I liked it too.

I put on Ave Maria and shuffled the rest. Went to the refrigerator, didn’t open it. The sink, empty. Back around the kitchen.

I made a third and fourth circuit around the island, as if spooling my pain around it. Antonio, my beautiful, brutal capo. He wanted me to be clean, and I’d sullied myself, debased myself, not with sex but violence. I was supposed to be his escape, and I’d walked into a trap where I was empowered to commit murder. For all intents and purposes, I had.

And there were witnesses. People who didn’t like or trust me. They’d pat him on the back and tell him to move on to a woman who knew her place. To get cunning and hard and live, or stay gentle and die. A woman who knew the rules. A woman from his world. He’d whisper amore mio in her cheek while he held her. He’d make her eggs and protect her innocence with his life.

All of his sweetness would go to her. All of his brutality would stay at the job.

thirty-seven.

My face hurt. I remembered the feeling from when I found Daniel’s texts. I iced my face, broke out a new toothbrush, and went the fuck to work. Shit, I’d done this before. I was an old hand. I wasn’t going to shake off Antonio that day, and maybe not that week. But I had to, didn’t I?

Despite my game face and strong words of self-reliance, Pam saw right through me.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you get me a meeting with Arnie?” I asked. “Fifteen minutes. Tell him it’s urgent.”

“Don’t forget your eleven thirty with Daniel Brower.”

I noticed she didn’t call him a dickhead, and I raised an eyebrow. Pam stared at me, and I looked over her shoulder. I recognized the faces on her computer screen.

Two mug shots. Bruno Uvoli and Vito from the valet service. I leaned in. Vito’s mug shot was for an arrest for the sexual assault of an eleven-year-old girl. Bruno’s DNA had been found at the scene of his cousin’s death, ten years earlier. No charges.

They’d been shot down assassination style in an abandoned suburban house in Palmdale. They’d just been found, but it was assumed they’d been killed the previous afternoon.

Antonio. All I could think about was Antonio assassinating two men and finding out I’d almost done the same.

“Miss Drazen?” Pam sounded concerned.

“Did you get me Arnie?”

“Ten fifteen. Are you all right? You turned white as a sheet.”

“I’m going to go catch up on my email. Hold my calls.”

I didn’t check my emails at all. I wrote Arnie a short, concise letter of resignation. I was done wasting my life with anything I didn’t love.

* * *

Arnie kept me far longer than fifteen minutes, trying to work out consultancies and flexible hours, more pay, a promotion, a new title. He asked me where I was going. When I said, “Nowhere,” he believed me and wished me luck in the most sincere voice I’d ever heard him use.

I saw Daniel’s team before I saw him: a handful of men in suits huddled by the window and a woman I recognized. Short, slim, with a professional dark bob, and sensible shoes. Clarice. From her outfit, no one would ever guess she liked being called a filthy whore while sucking a taken man’s cock.

I felt absolutely nothing about her presence, and that was a relief in itself.

“Hi, everyone,” I said as I approached. “I’m ready. Who’s joining me?”

“Just me,” Daniel said. “It’s my only chance to get rid of these guys.”

Clarice grimaced in a valiant attempt at a smile. I led Daniel into the glass conference room where Antonio had threatened to kiss me in front of everyone. We sat at a corner of the desk, me at the head and him at the side.

“You rang?” I said.

“How are you?” he asked. “Besides in no mood for small talk.”

“I’m fine. I see you hired Clarice back.”

“She was the best speechwriter I ever had. I figured if you weren’t coming back to me…”

“Makes sense.” It did. It made all the sense in the world. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell her anything about what happened between us or about my relationships.”

“You said it was over with you and Spinelli.”

“So? She has a big mouth, and every thought she’s ever had is on her face.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know. Honestly, there’s no pillow talk because there’s no pillow. I have no time right now for any of it. Did you see the latest polling?”

“Heard about it.”

“It’s partly Clarice,” he said. “She knows her job. But it’s also taking action against crime. Caution doesn’t play. That’s a fact.”

“I would have talked you out of it.”

“Yeah, well, there you have it.”

I didn’t realize I was still attached to my work on his campaign until that underhanded non-insult. “Ouch, Dan.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to give you a hard time.”

“Oh, good.”

He leaned forward, getting into his business posture. I saw that his fingernails were cleanly cut, and his hair didn’t flop, and his hands didn’t seek purchase on old habits or tics.

“You left some notes behind with Bill and Phyllis,” he said. “You had a lot of questions about a cluster of buildings in Mount Washington. They brought it to my attention a couple of days ago.”

I remembered how to tamp down my emotions and how to control my expression. “I didn’t find anything. That’s why I didn’t bring it up.”

“I know. But some of that property was managed by a law firm with one client who was killed by the current owner,” he said.

“You lost me on the killing part.”

“I’m going to let a judge decide that. In the meantime, I’m getting together a warrant. I wanted to let you know ahead of time. If you left a tube of lipstick there, or a tampon or whatever, you’d better go get it.”

I laughed a little to let him know what I thought of his warning.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re protecting me?”

“Yes, I am.”

“They’re not going to forget Catholic Charities. The press might have brushed it off as an interesting photo op of nothing, but if my stuff is on that property, dots get connected. How would it look if it comes out that you sat on your hands for almost a month while a war started? It’s going to look like you swept it under the rug because I was involved.”

He set his face in a look he’d never given me before. It lacked any compassion or grace. It was the look that scared witnesses. “I want to be clear, so I’m only saying this once. This is the last time I will speak to you as an insider. This is your last concession. If I need to subpoena you, I will. If you have a shred of DNA over there, remove it, because once I walk out of here, I won’t hesitate to drag you down with him.”

I stood and held out my hand. “Thank you for your consideration, Mister Brower.”

Instead of shaking it, he held my face and kissed my right cheek then my left. Though Daniel was as American as apple pie, it felt like a final good-bye.

thirty-eight.

Did I have hours? Days? Was the time between now and Daniel’s warrant measured in minutes? And what did I want to do about it?

I put the top down on my dented car as I drove home, as if the extra smog intake would clear my head. But the 10 freeway at rush hour was no place to get my head together.

Antonio had dumped me in no uncertain terms. I owed him nothing. If he got dragged into a black and white tomorrow, it would have nothing at all to do with me. But that image of him in cuffs, for anything, made me pull off onto Crenshaw.

I still had his phone. I swallowed my pride and dialed, heart pounding from the first ring, then the second, then the voicemail announcement. I hung up. I didn’t know if I was being ignored or if some smaller insult was being hurled, and I didn’t want to think about it.

I plugged the phone into my stereo and listened to Puccini. Could I call East Side Motors? Should I just go? It was about five fifteen. The drive would take me a good forty minutes.

I headed east. When I passed downtown, I’d decide.

* * *

I saw smoke on the horizon as I went east on the 10. Wildfires were a fact of Southern California life, especially at points north and east of Los Angeles, so I thought nothing of it. Then the traffic on Figueroa was diverted to Marmion, and I heard sirens and saw flashing lights on the flats, not the wooded hills. I parked and walked a block south and two east, smoke choking me. A crowd had gathered at the curb, and the police were hard-pressed to keep them safe from their own curiosity.

“There are underground gas tanks,” one cop said to a guy who wanted to cross the street. “They blow, and you’re gonna be grease. So get back.”

The man got back, and I stepped in his place for half a second to confirm what I knew to be true. East Side Motors was up in flames.

I walked to my car. I knew where Antonio’s house was, more or less, but it was very close to the shop, and the fire trucks had blocked off that street. He wasn’t getting out without being seen, and neither was I.

I scrolled through my phone, the one without Puccini and Verdi. Did I have Paulie’s number? Zo’s? Would any of them listen to me or would they just be relieved I was gone? I needed someone I could trust. Someone who had an emotional enough connection to Antonio that I could count on their loyalty.

I felt fit to burst. I needed to tell Antonio what Daniel had told me. I didn’t need to make sure I didn’t have any tissues at his house. I didn’t need to clear myself of malfeasance. I needed to make sure I’d done everything to get him out of Daniel's way.

It occurred to me late, almost too late. Too late for me to claim innocence.

I was bait. I was doing exactly what I was supposed to do: going to Antonio and leading the authorities right to him.

“Daniel, you fucking bastard.”

I’d never felt so used, so whored in my life. I drove away as fast as I could with the top down, west on Marmion. Was my phone tracked? Who knew what Daniel had done while we were together. If he felt no compunction in tracking my credit card purchases, why wouldn’t he track my phone?

At a red light, I wrote down a number from my call history then tossed the thing in a bus stop garbage can. It smacked against the back of the wire mesh and dropped onto a pile of ketchup-covered fast food bags.

I unplugged Antonio’s phone and called the number at the next light. If his phone wasn’t secure, I didn’t know what would be.

“Hello?”

“Marina? This is Theresa Drazen. I’d like to meet with you.”

She barked a laugh. “About what? I told you he’d never be with you.”

My heart jumped into my throat, as if deciding it needed to be eaten rather than tolerate this. I swallowed hard. “It’s business.”

“I’m not in the business.”

“That’s why I want to talk to you.”

She didn’t answer right away. “What then?”

“It’s not what you think. Where is good for you?”

“Dunno. Things are a little crazy with the men right now.”

“I know. I’m on Marmion, if that helps.”

“Yeah,” she said sharply, as if coming to a decision. “Sure, yeah. Come by Yes Café, off La Carna. Ten minutes.”

“Thank you.”

She didn’t hear me apparently, because she’d hung up.

thirty-nine.

Yes Café had plastic-wrapped sandwiches and lousy coffee. The half and half came in little plastic cups with peel tops. I sat in the wooden chair and looked out the window playing with Antonio’s phone. It felt like reminiscing about Antonio, even though the thing was clean of anything but music and a short call history. He’d given it to me, he’d left me, and now it was all I had.

I read the local paper, which reported the same things as the bigger papers: The spate of violence in the city. Bruno Uvoli’s nasty history which may or may not have included having a hand in the death of his cousin, Domenico Uvoli. Vito Oliveri’s penchant for young girls. Nothing new but the insinuation that they had it coming.

Marina was twenty minutes late. She came in from the parking lot in the back, all heels and tight jeans, makeup and shiny hair. I hadn’t realized how young she was, maybe her early twenties. Dew hung on her like the morning, and I felt a twist of jealousy for the fact that she was so fresh and pretty.

“Hi,” she said, clutching her purse strap over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

She shrugged and sat. “It’s fine.”

“Did you tell Antonio you were coming to meet me?”

She looked at me sheepishly.

“It’s fine either way,” I said.

“I gotta go soon, so if you want to say something?”

I took a deep breath. “I trust you to bring this to Antonio because you care about him.”

“He won’t like me getting involved.”

“I know. He can take it out on me if he wants.” I leaned forward, hands folded. “I happen to know that the district attorney is getting a warrant to search l'uovo.”

She looked down, shifting her mouth to one side.

I continued. “I don’t know when he’s serving it. Tonight, tomorrow, next week. So if you could tell Antonio personally as soon as you can.”

“Well, the shop is kinda burning down. And uh, I hear things got hot with some of the other guys. The other, um, group.”

She was so unpracticed, so raw in her immaturity, I didn’t know whether to feel threatened or sorry for her naiveté.

“You seem different than you were on the phone the other night,” I said.

She turned pink. “You’re intimidating in person.”

“Well, in the interest of not making you any more uncomfortable, I have nothing else.” I picked up my bag.

“Wait,” she said. “You need to tell him what you told me. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Do you have a little time?”

Did I? Was I looking to get involved even more deeply? By a woman who perceived me as a threat? Did I want to go home to my empty loft? Or start the round of calls to friends and family to ensure I had things to do and places to go for the next few days? Or did I want to exist in Antonio’s sphere for another hour?

“Sure,” I said.

* * *

She drove up the hill in her Range Rover. I followed her lights on the unlit roads. We were a few miles west of the car shop. She stopped on the top of a hill. The concrete ditch of the L.A. River was beneath us.

“This it?” I said.

Below were makeshift shacks occupied by the homeless, some more complex than others. Across the river was Frogtown, but no one would walk across the muck of a dry river bed for that.

“Marina?” I turned to ask her where we were going but stopped short.

She was holding a little silver gun.

“Jesus Christ.” I held up my hands.

“What did you do?” she asked. “Tell me. What did you do to make him love you?”

“He doesn’t—”

“You’re lying. He does. You made him crazy. He’s still crazy.”

“I didn’t do anything Marina, I—”

“He’s destroyed everything because of you. First, he dumped me, then he threw Vito Oliveri under the bus. And Bruno? Bruno was a good guy. But he saw what was happening, and he tried to get you so he could put some sense into Antonio. It was just going to be an example.”

“He let Bruno live, Marina. I was there. He could have killed him. He had his wits about him.”

“Bruno was made, you dumb Irish bitch. He can’t kill him without warning every other family in Los Angeles he’s gonna do it. They’re coming from the old country to kill Antonio, and now I’m going to save him by killing you. The cause of it all.”

I didn’t know if it actually worked like that. I wasn’t in her world. Maybe if she brought my head to Donna Maria Carloni and whoever was coming from the old country, that would be helpful to Antonio. Maybe the spell I’d woven around him would be broken and he’d start making coherent decisions again.

I stepped back, hands still raised. “You understand if you murder me, you’ll go to jail. Is that what you want?”

“For him, I’d go.” She straightened her arms and aimed for my heart.

Smart girl, unfortunately. It was a safer shot than the head. Her hands tightened. I would be dead in a second. I wasn’t sure my arm would reach when I extended it for the gun. She moved, bending her elbows, and it went off with a flash and a pop.

I didn’t feel any pain, just a pressure and a blank space in my thoughts. The world went sideways, then I heard another crack, and– nothing.

forty.

The pain came first, as if someone had put a sharp clamp on the side of my head. The sounds came afterward. People shuffling, metallic clacking noises, short laughs, all men. The acoustics indicated I was in a small space. And the smell was wet, sticky earth.

My mouth was dry, and I moved my tongue.

“What’s the date?” said a voice. That voice.

I didn’t know the answer, but I opened my eyes. Lights and colors were blurred as if thrown into a blender.

“What’s your name?”

“Contessa,” I croaked.

“Good.”

I blinked, squeezed my eyes shut, and opened them again. The room was tight and low, with dirt walls and ceiling. Enzo and Niccoló passed by, yammering in Italian, and over me was…

“Capo.”

“Shh. Please. You got a good knock on the head.”

“Where am I?”

“Under l'uovo. But I’ll say no more.”

“Where’s Marina?”

He shook his head. “She’s fine, but stupid. Otto found her and you just in time. She’s being sent home to Naples tomorrow. How is your ear?”

That must be the searing pain on the side of my head. “Hurts.”

“It caught a bullet.”

I got up on my elbows and looked around. I saw a door on each side of the room and a wall lined with racks of rifles.

“I wanted to tell you something,” I said.

“Marina told me.”

I noticed then that he wasn’t touching me. He wasn’t holding my hand or stroking my cheek. His fingers were laced together between his legs.

“Thank you. The warning about the DA is very helpful. We were clearing out anyway. Paulie’s gone.”

“Why?”

“Why? He put you in a terrible position. We, ah…” He looked at his hands. My vision had cleared enough to see the red scratches on his fists. “We fought. He set the shop on fire. I don’t know who he will align with, if anyone. But not me.” He stood. The ceiling wasn’t much higher than his head.

“Antonio,” I said, “where are you going?”

“I have a war to prepare for. Otto will make sure you get home safely.” He walked toward the door like a doctor satisfied the patient would live.

“No,” I said, suddenly lucid. “Don’t. Please.”

“Nothing’s changed, Theresa.”

“That’s right.” I swung my feet around, and they found the floor. I was sitting on a wooden bench. “Nothing has changed. You feel the same. Deny it. Deny you love me.”

“I don’t love you.”

“You’re lying.”

“Contessa—”

“Don’t call me that until you admit how you feel.”

He closed the door, shutting out the sounds of the men. “What difference would it make? I won’t destroy you. If I take you in, you’ll be miserable. You’ll spend your life never knowing who I am or what I do. You’ll have to accept that I may go to jail for years, and you can’t leave me, even then. It won’t be tolerated. But even me in jail is the better scenario.”

“And the worse one?”

“You learn to tolerate me.” He put his hand on the doorknob.

I knew that if he went into the other room, only Otto would come back. It would be the last I’d see of him. So I jumped up and stood in front of the door. The world swam. I tried to lean on the wall, but my stomach turned over, and I was sure I would fall.

Antonio’s arms went around me, holding me up. My senses came back, and I pushed him away.

“Admit you love me.” I touched his face, feeling the stubble on his cheek and the exhaustion emanating from him. I wanted to make it all go away, to give him peace.

“It wouldn’t make any difference,” he said.

“Admit it.”

“I loved you the second I put my eyes on you. It doesn’t matter.”

“Let me love you back.”

“You have a life to live.”

“I have nothing.” I stroked his lip, and his hands remained at his sides. “I’ve danced enough. I’ve seen movies. I’ve been in every pool in Malibu. I’ve travelled. I’ve dated. Worked on a political campaign. Met stars. Had a job. I’ve done all that. What I’ve never done is love a man like you.”

He turned, ever so slightly, and kissed my palm, letting his eyes close. “What if you die from loving me?”

“What if I die from not loving you?”

He kissed my cheek, and I melted into him. I thought I’d never feel those lips again, and when I did, I groaned.

“Please,” I whispered. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“You’re going to get hurt.”

“Hurt me, then. I’d rather get hurt than live a lie.”

He put his forehead to mine and wove his hands behind my neck. It increased the pain in my head, but I fell into it, wanting his pain as much as I wanted his pleasure.

“Contessa, you make me crazy.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know where you’ll fit in with me. I don’t know your place.”

“My place is beside you.”

He leaned back, and I felt the loss of his touch deeply. I needed more. But he put his hand behind his collar and took off his medal of St. Christopher.

He pressed it into my palm, one hand over mine, one under. He looked into my face as if watching a storm gather. The metal was hard on my skin and warm from being close to him.

“Are you sure you want to never feel safe?” he asked. “Are you sure you want to always look behind you? Are you sure you want a life without people you trust?”

“If you’re with me, yes.”

“Are you sure you can love a man who’s damned?”

“Only you. Damned or saved, I want only you.”

“I have a problem, my Contessa. It’s been eating me alive since I kissed you. I want you, and I don’t know how to have you. I want you beside me. I want my world and your world to be one. To see you laugh in the morning. To see you weep my name at night. I am not ever afraid, but with you, I am. I’m afraid I won’t have you, and I’m afraid I will.”

He turned my hand over until my palm was facing downward, clutching the medal. He leaned down and kissed it, fingers, knuckles, wrist, and looked up at me. His eyes were felony black, lips built for declarations of love, jaw set to break barriers.

“I can’t let you go,” he said. “I want to be that man who can make you breakfast and raise children without always looking behind his back. I am going to make myself worthy. I am going to get out so I can’t hurt you. But I can’t just walk away from what I do, and I can’t turn away from you. God help me, every time I walk away from you, I only see hell in front of me.”

I put my hands on his face, letting the chain slip over my thumb and dangle. “Don’t walk away from me. It kills me when you do.”

“This life, it’s impossible to pay every debt and go straight.”

“Pay what you can.”

He took the chain and opened it. I leaned into him so he could put it around my neck and fasten it.

I laid my head on his shoulder and pulled back. “Ow. My ear.”

He turned my head to get a good look. “It’s barely a scratch.” He kissed my neck, moving the chain to put his tongue on the skin where my neck and shoulder met.

“I have a headache,” I said, pushing his ass forward until I felt his erection at my hip.

“I’ll fuck you gently. You’ll come long and slow. Your head will forget its ache when you shed tears.” He reached under my skirt from behind.

I groaned.

“Shh,” he said. “My men are on the other side of this door.” He pushed me back onto the bench and spread my legs. “Amore Mio.”

He kissed inside my thighs, moving my panties aside to lick so slowly I almost came with anticipation. I grabbed his hair, but he wouldn’t suck. He only used the tip of his tongue on my clit.

“Antonio,” I whispered. The hard bench bit my back and the room was rough hewn from the earth, yet I’d never felt so comfortable, at home, safe. “Always be my Capo.”

He slid my underpants off and planted himself between my legs, his dick out and ready for me.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Fuck me,” I said with conviction. “Fuck me now.”

He put one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me for him. He moved my body like a precious thing, then he slid his dick into me. I was so wet, he got the whole length of him in with one try.

“Come vuoi tu, Contessa.” He moved out then in again, every inch a breath of intention to keep me safe, to keep me pure. But most importantly, I felt his intention to keep me. His voice dropped, and his words sounded more like prayer than surrender. “Come vuoi tu.”

Fine, per adesso.

–

Thank you for reading.

I anticipate two more in the series, and I may need up to six months between them.

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****

KICK, Book One in Songs of Perdition, will be part of the Erotica Consortium’s boxed set, due out May 5, 2014. This will be a serial format, same as Songs of Submission, about Fiona Drazen, a sex addict, the men in her life, and that one who saves her.

Add it on Goodreads.

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Thanks to my team, the Canaries, Team Drazen, all my goddesses and kings for making 2013 my most creative and rewarding. Kaylee, Jean, Lisa, Tony, Diana, Eva, Christy. I'm a slobbering idiot without you.

Gabri Canova helped with the Italian phrasing in the story. Thank you, Goddess.

Erik Gevers did the formatting, yet again making me look like a pro.

My family tolerates me, and I love them so much. D-Sleepy, A-Bomb, Lady Nono.

Have you read the Songs of Submission?

No?

Gracious me. Because Theresa's brother, Jonathan has this whole thing happening with Monica, that singer with the short-circuiting mouth, and it's all kinds of epic length.

Links and reading order below:

Songs of Submission, Sequence One

1) Beg (usually free on Amazon) 2) Tease

3) Submit

Songs of Dominance

Very short, optional read

3.5) Jessica/Sharon

Songs of Submission, Sequence Two

4) Control

5) Burn

6) Resist

Songs of Dominance

Very short, optional read between Burn and Resist

5.5) Rachel

Songs of Submission, Sequence Three

7) Sing

Songs of Dominance

7.5) MONICA – a very short story, is the last of it, and you might need it after Sing.

If you prefer saving a couple of dollars, and feel ok committing to a few books at a time, the bundles might work for you.

Sequence One – books 1-3 Beg/Tease/Submit

Sequence Two – books 4-6 Control/Burn/Resist

Sing, and all the Songs of Dominance, are still separate as of this moment.