Chapter 12 Morals and Ethics
Ren
Iput on one of my favorite podcasts as I get ready for dinner. Dinner with Roman. Who apparently, and I quote, “likes me quite a lot actually.” My current level of giddiness makes post-vanilla latte giddiness feel like a trip to the dentist. And I hate the dentist.
Which is one of the reasons I put on the video podcast in the first place, something to distract me from checking the time every two minutes.
The show is two best friends who live across the country from each other just yapping.
I feel like a fly on the wall for their weekly catch-ups and often aimless chatting.
I’m loosely curling my hair while Kelcie tells Autumn about a new guy she’s seeing who she met on an app for people interested in kink. He had something called free use in his bio, so she asked him about it.
“So it’s basically a mutually agreed arrangement where one partner can use the other whenever, wherever they want,” Kelcie explains.
“What if I want to use them to do my taxes?” Autumn deadpans.
“No, like sexually.” She laughs. “They can initiate sex without asking or foreplay and it doesn’t matter if the other person is busy with something or asleep or whatever.”
“Asleep?” I share Autumn’s shock.
“Mm-hmm. I mean, that’s somno, but it’s included in a lot of free use kink. Like, imagine waking up and he’s just inside you because he woke up in the middle of the night wanting you so bad,” Kelcie says with an eyebrow wiggle.
Autumn sits back, looking scandalized, then admits, “Okay, that’s hot.”
“Right? And of course specific limits and boundaries are decided ahead of time, so sleeping or in public could be a hard limit previously established.”
“Can they say no?” Autumn asks.
“Yes!” Kelcie says emphatically. “You’re preemptively consenting to anything within your limits, but when it comes down to it, you always have the right to refuse.”
“So you’re basically agreeing to almost never saying no, but you still can.”
“Exactly,” Kelcie says. “And agreeing that they don’t really have to ask.”
“So I could be reading and getting fucked at the same time?” Autumn asks, interest piqued.
Kelcie shrugs with a smile. “I suppose so.”
Autumn sits up and claps. “Great, where do I sign up?”
Kelcie laughs and says, “I’ll tell you. But after a word from our sponsor . . .” I mute the show as it cuts to an ad.
My stomach swirls with mixed emotions. It feels like they just described my relationship with Lewis except without the prior discussion, agreement, or pleasure. Then finding out he was married the whole time . . . Yeah, I definitely feel used.
But then I think about the blunt and direct orders Roman gave me. How it made me feel to not only follow them, but see his appreciation when I did. I’ve never agreed with something so quickly as when he said this pussy is mine tonight.
My doorbell rings, and my heart skips a beat. I quickly shake out my hair and unplug the curling iron, butterflies beating up a storm in my stomach. As I make my way to the door, I can’t help but wonder: what would it feel like to be willingly, knowingly, used by someone like Roman?
I take one deep breath before opening the door. Roman looks up from his feet when I do. He looks stunned, almost as if he expected someone else.
He runs his palm over his mouth as his eyes travel up and down my body. My chest pounds, giddiness turning to nerves. It feels like hours, not seconds, before he speaks.
“Christ, Ren.” He shakes his head with a heavy exhale.
I twiddle with the zipper on my clutch. “Is everything okay?”
His eyes widen as if he just realized how his reaction must look from my side. Then he says with a soft, sincere smile, “Yes. More than okay. You look great.” My nerves melt away, replaced with glowing warmth.
“Well, you look . . .” I pause, taking in his long-sleeve knit with a raw hem and boatneck line that shows off the top of his toned traps and his charcoal tweed pants.
“Kinda old, but still really hot?” he offers with a mischievous tilt of his brow.
I cover my eyes with an embarrassed laugh. “Any chance you’ll forget I ever said that?” I ask while walking out onto the stoop.
“The kinda old part? Sure.” He places his hand on the small of my back as we walk down the steps, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
He opens the passenger door to a black Mercedes parked along the curb.
“The really hot part?” he says as I slip into the car, then before he closes the door with a smirk, adds, “Not a chance.”
Roman
The server drops off our after-dinner sherry in petite glasses while Ren finishes telling me about her current job situation.
I thank him, then say to her, “It’s really none of my business, but I think you made the right decision to take some time off before jumping into another job. And who knows? When you decide to start looking, maybe you’ll find the perfect thing with gorillas.”
“Yeah, maybe they’ll need help balancing their accounts.” I laugh. She takes a sip then asks, “And what about you and the Foxes? Friends or colleagues?”
I lean back in the leather booth and stretch one arm along the back. We’re currently the only diners in the restaurant’s back room. I drum on the upholstery, thinking about how I want to answer.
“Both,” I end up saying. “But closer to family than friends.”
“That must be nice. What do you do?” When I hesitate again, she jokes, “Unless it’s classified or something?”
She’s not far off.
Long before Cass ever left, I knew where it was heading. This job is what has always gotten in the way of any relationship, not that I’ve really been tempted these past twelve years. Until now.
I consider skirting around the truth, but similar to this morning when I considered lying to her about the men in the newspaper, it feels wrong. I decide to keep it simple and just be honest.
“What do you know about the Foxes?” I ask.
“Not a whole lot. The gala was the first time I met them, and they told me I could come by the Den anytime for a drink and to plan Lewis’s demise.”
“That definitely sounds like Harlow.” I chuckle.
“The Den is one of several establishments they own in the city. But they, the family, have many other business interests.” My heart rate picks up.
If I tell her this, there’s no taking it back.
I could tell her and she could walk out right now and I’d never see her again.
My selfishness tells me to leave it at that.
But then she tilts her head and looks at me with those trusting eyes that only see the good in me and I know what I have to do.
I swallow the knot in my throat and continue, “Many of which aren’t legal, and I don’t mean in the grey area or the unethical-but-legal arena.
” I trail off to gauge her reaction and see what conclusions she’ll draw with only that information.
She purses her lips as she thinks and takes a slow sip of sherry. “Are we talking insider trading or like . . . the mob?”
“The latter.” She nods slowly, taking in my answer, so I decide to add, “And occasionally the former.” Might as well get it all out there now.
“Hmm,” is all she says, and I feel my chest tightening, my fingers itching to reach for her wrist, feeling like she’s going to run out of here any second.
“I’ll answer any questions I can.”
She thinks about my offer for a moment, then asks, “How did you go from special forces to the mob?” It’s a fair question. I told her a little about my previous military career earlier.
“There were several things that happened to land where I did, but I don’t think you’re asking about a timeline of events. You want to know how personally, morally, I could go from patriotic soldier to criminal.”
She nods, so I continue, “Well, like I said, there wasn’t just one thing.
It was a series of events, a . . .” I struggle to find the simplest explanation for something that is so complicated and layered.
“A culmination of experiences that ultimately made me realize that, at least in this world,” I say, referring to the criminal underground, “I always know who the good guys and bad guys are.”
“And in my world?” she asks thoughtfully, without any hint of judgment, making me feel like maybe different worlds doesn’t have to mean separate.
“It’s more grey than it seems. When I was in the military, we were supposed to be the ‘good guys,’ but it didn’t always feel that way.
It felt like we picked and chose when and for whom our morals applied.
The world I operate in now, it’s simpler.
There’s a strict moral code. It’s the same for everyone, it’s not situational, and if you don’t follow it, well, there are consequences. No matter who you are.”
She pauses for a moment to look me in the eye. Though, it doesn’t feel like she’s simply making eye contact. It feels like she’s looking, really looking, assessing. It’s hard to breathe while I wait for her to find whatever it is she’s searching for.
My lungs finally fully expand when she says matter-of-factly, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I mentioned my sister, Harmony, right?” Now it’s my turn to wordlessly nod. “My full name isn’t Ren. It’s Serenity—well, technically . . .” She bobbles her head side to side with half an eye roll. “It’s Serenity Aurora Divine Calloway.”
“Is your sister Harmony Borealis?” I joke.
“Yes.” She gasps and gives me a look like how did you know?
“Oh, I was joking.” Now, I feel like a total ass.
“Well, I’m not.” She laughs, and the sound is so welcome. I was worried I offended her. “Harmony Borealis Divine Calloway. After hearing that, I’m sure it won’t be a surprise that we grew up in a hippie commune, but really it bordered on a cult.”
That actually does surprise me. Nothing that I’ve learned about her so far would make me think that. I lean forward, giving her space to continue but making sure she knows I’m listening.
“I watched the leaders tear families apart because one spouse began to question their teachings or drain people of their life savings. There was one girl I grew up with who had severe learning disabilities, but she worked ten times harder than everyone else and got into her dream college, only to learn her parents had been brainwashed into giving away her and her brothers’ college money for the ‘betterment of the community.’” She makes air quotes.
“In theory, we were a self-reliant community, but in reality, we weren’t becoming more self-reliant. We were becoming more isolated and dependent.”
She traces the rim of her glass and chews on her inner lip for a moment, looking down at the table in thought. After she sighs once, she looks back up with something nostalgic or bittersweet in her eyes.
“I’m not saying everything about it was unethical, but a lot of it was.
Unethical, but as far as I know, legal. I could spend years trying to explain what I experienced and you would still never truly understand.
Just like I will never understand all your life experiences and the nuances within them.
So, how could I possibly judge your choices? ”
A lump forms in my throat. I think I so expected her to race out of here when I told her who and what I am, that I never even considered how I’d feel if she didn’t. And fuck, does it make me feel . . .
Words remain twisted up in that lump in my throat. So, all I can think to do is take her hand like she took mine in the barn and bring it to my lips. I feel her physically relax as I press a light kiss to her palm.
“But . . .” She gently pulls it away with a coy smile. “The second you are no longer a good guy with me, I am out of here.” She says it lightly, almost as a joke, but I know she’s serious.
“I’d hope you would. I think you’ve had enough of the bad guys. And you certainly only deserve all the good.”
She laughs and teases, “All the good guys?”
“No.” I hook my arm around her waist and pull her across the seat next to me. “Only one.”
She wets her bottom lip and looks up at me through her lashes. So. Fucking. Beautiful.
I tuck her hair behind her ear then cradle her jaw. She so naturally follows my lead, tilting her face up, eyes dropping to my mouth. Damn butterflies take flight in my stomach and—
“Thank you so much for dining with us tonight.” The server seems to fucking appear out of thin air, dropping the bill on our table.
She practically leaps out of her seat to be the first to grab it. I don’t fight her, instead relaxing back. Her face falls when she opens it, glancing up for the server, but he’s already gone.
She turns to me accusatorily, holding up the receipt for the paid bill. “What is this?”
I shrug smugly.
She huffs, crossing her arms, and stares me down.
I rest my elbow on the back of the booth and dust my thumb across my lower lip.
Her glare narrows.
“Yes?” My brow lifts.
After a beat, a sly smile teases her lips. “Since you paid for dinner, I still have yet to properly thank you.”
“Mm-hmm.” I nod, curious where this is going.
She looks away bashfully but returns confident. “Have you heard of something called ‘free use’?”