Page 36 of Integrated (Mistress & Master of Restraint #11)

“Truthfully, I never saw Whitt as a fan of Imagine Dragons. Bleeding Out is a bit too angsty.” Cortez teases our host as we sit at our reserved table during Alt’s Grand Opening.

Alt is packed with people thankful to express their love without fear of judgment or violence, especially on a night like tonight. New Year’s Eve, when you make resolutions with your nearest and dearest.

This is the first time Cortez and I have gone anywhere as an outed couple, versus us always going everywhere as companions. Cort divorced Divina shortly before I married Katya, so we were always legally attached to a woman. Before that, we were kids.

Freedom is an unexpected high.

“If I were a betting man, I’d guess the Emo picked the music.” Voice light, I wear a slight grin, still not feeling in the mood for celebration. “I kind of like it, very apropos to our recent events.”

“Cheer up.” Cort happily orders, shaking my shoulder while smirking into my face. Huge gray eyes glitter with mirth, and an overwhelming need to cry in thanks overcomes me. I love Cortez so much.

“It’s not every New Year’s Eve we spend hanging out in an alternative lifestyle establishment. It could always be worse– we could be at Restraint.” An obvious shudder weaves down Cort’s spine, my club holding bad memories for him.

“Or–” I raise an eyebrow, trying hard not to laugh, because it would ruin my punchline. “We could be at French Kissed Kink, ogling jiggling tits and pressing ones into G-strings.”

“Oh, God. The humanity!” All dramatics, Cort mock dies in his chair. Forearm flung over his forehead, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, he catches a case of the vapors.

“What in the hell is wrong with him?” Whitt comes up from behind us, trying his damnedest to look angry, but the grin he’s sporting is a dead giveaway. “This isn’t a library, but it’s not a place for shouting out the Lord’s name. Some gays feel slightly shunned by their respective churches.”

“Would you rather I shouted the word TITS ?” Cort taunts, doing just that.

Snorting, I shake my head back and forth, loving how Cort is back to his usual snarky self. I crave this lightheartedness, after all the doom and gloom and stress we’re inundated with.

While friendly with our Pretty Boy, Cort hasn’t truly warmed back up to him since we had sex. If the situation were reversed, and it was anyone but Marcus, I’d kill any bastard who touched my Cortez. So I don’t blame Cort for being slightly bitchy.

After all, if I were still fractured, I’d be kicking my alters’ asses for it. I wasn’t actually going to fuck Whitt and Dalton. Ironically, it doesn’t seem to matter how many times I repeat this, Cort does not believe me, and for once, it wasn’t a lie.

“Well, you just made the lesbians happy,” Whitt draws out while rolling his eyes. “Pretty sure my aunt just dampened her panties.”

“Yuck!” Cort’s plump lips twist into a grimace. “I’ve seen Ade in action. Never. Can. Erase. From. My. Mind.” Yet again, Cort pretends to die.

“Is he drunk?” Whitt asks me while eyeing a giggling Cortez.

“Nah… Cort doesn’t drink. I think he’s relieved to be around adults, but he seems to forget he’s around adults .”

“I was either with the twins or in a hospital room, excuse me for letting off some steam. Shadow Haven feels like a prison camp.”

“By the way, tell Dalton the music is fantastic,” I compliment to change the subject.

“Will do,” Whitt murmurs, causing Cort to point at me and mouth, “You were right about the Emo!”

“How’s Katya doing?” Whitt refuses to let the subject drop. “An Atwater, huh? There’s a reason I’ve stayed away from my family and all their drama, but that means I never get any updates. My dad visits Katya once a day, I do know that.”

I have no response to Whitt’s questions, since I’m exiled from Katya’s life. After hours of arguing, begging actually, where I kept saying Katya was my wife of four years and she deserved a hefty divorce settlement, I was blackballed.

Katya, Cortez, and I created a joint custody agreement where no child support exchanged hands. Katya allowed me to pay for the children’s health insurance, daycare or nanny services, and school tuition from preschool through medical school, should Marcus Zane become a phrenologist after all. The trust funds are for the children’s futures, with Katya gaining nothing from them, the accounts maturing when they reach the age of majority.

That was all I was allowed to contribute. Boy did Katya turn beet-red with fury when I tried to give her alimony– I thought the heart monitor was going to fizzle out by the way it was screaming.

I may be out of the loop. However, Cortez is a Katya Waters expert. “Kitten came home from the hospital this afternoon. She’s spending New Year’s Eve with all the kids. Zane and Torian too, so their families can have some fun tonight.”

“I’m surprised my sister allowed that.” Whitt murmurs in wonder, mirroring my exact thoughts.

Caleb is very persuasive when he wants to be– what those persuasion techniques are remains to be seen. Earlier today, when I informed Faith how Katya wanted Zane to spend time at her house with the kids, Faith screamed like a banshee. Caleb walked out of the house and returned with not only Zane but Torian too. I have no idea how he managed to pull that miracle off.

Faith’s trying to be reasonable, but the pregnancy hormones and a lifetime of being a crusty bitch are not helping matters.

“We’re letting Ava off the Shadow Haven chain gang long enough to help her mother recuperate. Caleb is like a wart you can’t remove, so prison camp standards will still apply while Ava is with Katya. According to Faith, Ava will be exhausted from exercising within an hour of entering her mother’s home, because Caleb is all about structure and schedules. Faith called him a military sadist, if that gives you any idea of how he operates.”

“Good.” Whitt sneers, speaking of Ava’s punishment, not Kat’s recovery. He also believes the punishments are for the video, not the article. I am not punishing my daughter over acts that she did not commit, especially when she was blackmailed in the first place.

The Whittenhowers are blaming Ava, because she received the texts, the video was shot and uploaded from her phone, and it was her siblings who were used as leverage. With Niel and Whitney keeping their traps shut to protect themselves, they assume Ava made the decision to protect the twins, forcing Niel and Whitney to have sex.

They have to blame someone, because they don’t understand how Niel and Whitney feel about one another. My daughter is the perfect patsy to ease their minds, no matter how irrational it is. There’s also their suspicion that Ava wrote and published the anonymous article outing Regina as an adulteress, since she was still married to Whitt on Halloween.

In defense of my daughter writing that article, one where I had a starring villainous role, every word of it was true. Sometimes the truth hurts, but we need to hear it to better ourselves. Regina is not exempt from the consequences of her actions, no matter her motivations.

I own my part, and I accept all the fallout from the article, as well as the dissolution of my marriage.

To the Whittenhowers, my daughter is seen as a monster, and not the cute term of endearment Cort gave Ava when she was a tween.

The fact that Niel is not defending Ava infuriates me, disappoints Cort, and has Ava experiencing bouts of rage-filled tantrums. The twins miss the redheaded boy who has now been revealed to be their cousin, not understanding why they can’t see him, when our entire household sees him as a coward.

I understand Niel, but he needs to man-up and stop blaming Ava. He needs to claim Whitney’s child as his, so the kid doesn’t grow up with abandonment issues and a complex, thinking his mother a slut for playing with a groundskeeper. Niel needs to tell his family he’s in love with Whitney, then stop using my daughter as an excuse to cover his shame.

Niel, Whitney, and the whole of Misery Castle, they are in protect-their-asses mode, and they tossed my daughter under the bus to justify their piss-poor actions.

As for Regina, she is acting self-righteous about the article, and completely ignoring the fact that she committed attempted murder against my wife. I haven’t seen her nor spoken to her, petrified how I’d react, and I’m barely taking Marc’s calls at this point.

More than half of Misery Castle’s residents are currently on my shit list for being bad human beings, and that’s saying something, coming from me.

“I’m glad Katya is doing better.” Whitt sounds slightly guilty over her beating. Everyone sounds like that when they ask how Katya is doing. At least the ones who bother asking, that is.

“Niel?” I sound like everyone when they ask of Katya. Not because I feel a sense of secondhand guilt, but because I sense it’s not pleasant being at Misery Castle with a pissed off vice president. “How’s he holding up with Kent?”

“Better now.” Whitt runs his fingertips through his wispy hair, causing his t-shirt sleeve to ride up over his bicep. My eyes glue to the new tattoo peeking out on his left arm. I’m so intrigued, I almost tug his shirt for a better look.

Worried I’ll offend Cort or make him jealous with my ogling, my eyes quickly flit his way, but he’s staring off into space blushing, pretending he wasn’t checking Whitt out too.

“At one point, Kent dragged Niel through the house and out into the driveway. Kent tried to lock the kid out. Secret Service pointed out how Niel was the heir apparent to Whittenhower Estates, and since Mr. Vice President wasn’t a Whittenhower, he was committing a crime. If it escalated, they would be required by law to report it. A few hours later, minus the Secret Service, Niel found himself being terrorized by his uncle.”

“What happened?” I ask, thoroughly enthralled with the tales of the politically rich and incestuous.

“Katie lit into her husband, defending Niel and Whitney.” Whitt tries to hide his proud grin, but I catch the underlying meaning.

No matter how much the Whittenhowers are irrationally blaming Ava, they know. They know Niel and Whitney are in love with each other. Extortion be damned, it was going to happen eventually anyway.

“Then Katie and Regina beat up Kent, and we know Regina can kick some serious ass.” Wry as all get out, Whitt misses how Cort and I flinch, which means he knows nothing as to why Katya was hospitalized. “It didn’t solve anything, and they’re blaming everyone and everything they can think of, but it made them feel better. Released the pressure, so to speak.”

“There’s no one to blame,” Cort offers. “It just is what it is. I wasn’t aware being in love and having a baby was a bad thing.”

“Exactly. But go ahead and try to tell that to an estate full of pissed off relatives. I refuse to visit Misery Castle until Kent goes back to Washington. I understand why he’s upset over the defilement of his oldest daughter. I helped raise them together . It’s as wrong as it is right. I get it from every angle, but I just don’t like Kent laying a hand on Niel. Grandfather has been absent from any shit slinging– something tells me he saw it coming and doesn’t want to appear too happy.”

“Daniel’s probably on cloud nine.” I muse, voice filled with laughter. “He’s finally getting the ultimate Whittenhower heir. Daniel would do anything to ensure Jackson lives on, to the point he would’ve arranged this union if he thought no one would have killed him over it.”

“Oh, yeah. Grandfather is so old-school, he was plucked straight out of the eighteenth century, where you married your first cousin to keep the wealth in the family.”

Snorting, almost choking on my silent laughter. “Isn’t that exactly what happened?”

Looking relieved to laugh about his brother’s predicament versus stressing over it, Whitt takes a deep breath, then smiles at me.

Not finding anything funny at the moment, Cort goes on the defensive. “Everyone is blaming Niel, then?” I’ve never seen Cortez so angry, face red and eyes narrowed. “Kent is a grown man, a coward picking on a kid who refuses to hit back. Niel could tear Kent in half, but he chooses not to because he’s a good kid.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it. I offered to shelter Niel and Whitney here at Alt, but they wouldn’t leave, saying the castle was theirs and Kent’s siege could only last until the inauguration. Two days ago, I signed over everything Whittenhower to Grandfather, with the codicil that Whitney and Niel would inherit on their shared twenty-fifth birthday.” Whitt flashes us a malicious grin. “Good luck kicking them out of their own house.”

“Whoa…” is muttered in awe. “Everything?”

“ Everything ,” Whitt drawls. “You’re looking at the proud owner and proprietor of Alt. That’s it. Oh, and I have a hefty trust fund. Ah,” Daniel sighs. “Freedom tastes sweet.”

“Poor kids,” Cort mumbles, good mood gone, and in its place are real tears. “They must be petrified.”

Everyone at Shadow Haven is torn in two on many fronts, as loyalties are tested. All of us living in the gray area of right and wrong versus justice and vengeance. Those who have harmed Katya and Ava, we love and understand them, but it’s hard when dealing with women who are black and white.

If Ava heard Cortez right now, how he is defending Niel, she would close him out. I understand from my daughter’s perspective, how Niel threw her under the bus. But I also understand how terrified Niel must be, where admitting the truth could harm many others instead of just Ava. Not fair, but the truth.

They’ve been friends for four years– Niel needs to apologize to Ava and make things right. My daughter did no wrong, even if Niel’s testy about that article exposing his mother. There wasn’t a single fabrication or lie in that article.

“Hey, now.” I try to tug Cort out of his negative thoughts. “We’re here to blow off some steam, remember? Happily ring in the New Year. No sulking. Reality is waiting for us back at Shadow Haven.”

Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around Cortez, trying to comfort him the best I can with the table in the way. I meep out in surprise as his lips seek mine, stealing a searing kiss. Never in public has Cortez affectionately touched me, not even holding my hand. When the kiss becomes more aggressive, hands tangling in my hair, I pull back and look around.

“Sorry,” Cort mumbles, blushing a gorgeous pink. “I forget sometimes. I’m so used to being alone together at Shadow Haven, I forgot myself. Sorry.”

“That’s the beauty of Alt.” That lusty French accent precedes Dalton, causing Whitt, Cortez, and me to shiver.

What is it about a man with an accent? It doesn’t matter the country of origin. Normal is boring, unusual is exotic. I’m sure that accent wouldn’t turn on others who speak fluent French. Makes me wonder if US citizens abroad are seen as assholes or exotic.

“Look around– nobody gives a shit.” Dalton comes to rest near me. “Grocery store, restaurant, movie theater, I kiss Whitt when I feel like it. I was worried at first, then said the fuck with it. Don’t be ashamed– just don’t start making out. Straight people even laugh and point and get disgusted when other straight people start sucking tongue. It’s not bashing– it’s just inappropriate.”

“I didn’t use tongue,” Cort softly admonishes as he stares wide-eyed at Dalton, tracking all over the exotic man’s face. Cort blushes fiercely, and I sense he’s recreating our passion-filled afternoon within his overactive imagination, contemplating the logistics of a gay three-way.

“Do you guys want a drink?” Dalton graciously offers as he glances around Alt, making sure everyone is happy and comfortable.

“I was about to get up and get us some sparkling cider for the countdown.” Feeling odd having to explain, because I fear upsetting Cort or betraying his trust, I give out just enough information to stop further questions. “Cort doesn’t drink alcohol.”

I’m not sad Cort doesn’t drink alcohol, only sad to the why of it. After Raymond forced Cort to drink nothing but stale beer, Cort has a PTSD visceral reaction to it.

“I’ll send someone over with some.” Dalton absentmindedly mutters while surveying the area. “You ready to mingle?” Dalton throws Whitt a heated look, which has the man mumbling his goodbye, then following after his fiancé with his tongue hanging out and a huge bulge growing in his pants.

Cort dramatically sighs, which immediately has me turning to him to discover why. “What? Why that sigh?”

“Dalton was eye-fucking you,” Cort whispers like it’s a secret.

“I don’t want to fight.” Exhausted in every way possible, I can’t handle anymore of anything. “Not again. Not tonight.”

“I don’t mind.” Cort flashes me a filthy albeit smug smirk. “The otherworldly French-accented Emo can eye-fuck you all he wants. He can reminisce over your half hour of fuckage, maybe rub one out over it in the shower. But only I can give Dalton permission for a repeat. Kinda makes a man feel powerful and confident when he owns something someone else covets.”

“You’re more twisted than people realize,” is murmured with pride, lips spreading into a huge smirk. “Naughty.”

“I’m hard just thinking about it.” Cort whispers the admission. My cock grows so fast I get lightheaded from bloodloss.

“I heard that!” Dalton purrs, flirting with Cort, as he sets our sparkling cider on the table in front of us. With a string of dirty laughter, he ruins Cort for all others. “I hear it’s quite exquisite .”

“My God!” Cort groans, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “It’s criminal to say that word with an accent.”

“What word?” Smirking, I force a flushed and horny Cortez to respond with the word in question, knowing it will drive him to the brink.

“Exquisite,” he murmurs with a shudder. “Jesus, what’s the matter with me? I just want to fist that silky hair and force Dalton to suck my dick.”

“Please!” I’m not above begging, because I’m about ready to drag Cort over the tabletop and have my wicked way with him in public view. “Please, shut up. You’re horny. That’s what it’s called. It’s been almost three days since we touched– six if you count sex in a bed. And you only came out of the closet less than a week ago, so your need is heightened. You’re instinctively hunting. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that gay, straight, man, woman, child, alien… Dalton Anthony Fontaine Marconi is–”

“Gorgeous, beautiful, exotic, unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” Cort readily supplies.

“I was going to say hung like a fucking horse, but that will suffice.” I bite out, knowing my erection will never go down until it has expelled its building pressure. “I’m going to fuck you within minutes of the clock striking the New Year. Just a friendly warning,” I offer while wearing an innocent smile.

“Will we even make it back to Restraint before that happens? Alt isn’t that kind of establishment.” Anxious, Cort flicks his gaze around Alt, checking to see if we’re making a spectacle of ourselves.

“Doubtful,” I mutter as I look around.

Alt is conservative, belying its clientele. It’s classy, upper crust, calm and soothing with warm hardwood mahogany from floor to ceiling. Top-shelf booze and microbrewery beer. Local artists’ masterpieces hang from the walls. Rotating culinary geniuses concoct whatever they wish for the evening, offering no menu. The music is at a low level, enough to allow for stimulating conversation with your date. The intoxicating scent of expensive cigar smoke tickles my nose.

Subconsciously Daniel Whittenhower II replicated Misery Castle’s study, and he doesn’t even realize it. It’s no wonder Whitt feels at home within Alt, as it’s a melding of his true nature and his legacy.

“Maybe we should go before the big ball drops.” … and then I hear it, that laugh – the only person with that laugh is Cortez.

Eyes flicking around the small establishment, I see my mother and Ade chatting with a few friends. I quickly skip over them– I’m not seeking them.

Again, the laugh .

Sitting in the shadows of the darkened club, that laugh is coming out of a huge tan male with a beautiful smile. He’s well over six feet– very tall, since I can tell that even from his seated position. He’s sporting arms thicker than Aaron’s and strong enough to make Roarke green with envy.

The laugh .

Husky, smooth, infectious, causing you to smile even if you don’t want to.

The lips .

I’ve kissed lips just like those for over twenty years– rosy, pouty, strong. Lips that bring me to my knees in joy, pain, and pleasure from their words to their skill.

“Holy fuck!” I hiss, debating what I should do now. “Holy fuck! Why didn’t I ever notice before?”

“Dude, isn’t that guy Faith and Wil’s fire chief? Stanton’s enforcer? What’s his name? The guy that’s possibly Katya’s brother. The little cheerful, redheaded man?” Cortez does not understand the gravity of the situation.

“Cory Fitzpatrick,” is a shocked whisper in reply.

“Julio’s man, right?” Cort laughs the laugh . “I didn’t even see Julio over there. We should go say hi before we leave.”

Julio Ramirez– the only person of Mexican descent in Ma?tre du Jeu besides Cortez.

The Green Enforcer, who stood across from me for decades during meetings, scowling like I was the antichrist. I’ve never seen him laugh, let alone smile.

I truly am the twit Cortez calls me.

It’s been less than a week since the Christmas meeting, and so much has happened in between. I had sex with Whitt and Dalton. Cort came out as gay. Katya left me. Katya moved into Simpson Manor. Cort, the kids, along with Aaron and Kayla, they moved back to Shadow Haven. Kent Preston landed at Misery Castle. I moved back to Shadow Haven with Roarke. Katya was attacked and hospitalized. The press conference and article. Katya and I signed divorce papers.

Too much has happened in a total of six days, which is why I never put two and two together, because I was distracted by grief, shame, and misery.

It all comes tunneling back to me, and I sort out the information, putting it into appropriate boxes.

Gwen said she couldn’t tell Cort who his parents were because they were out of town for the holidays– the reunion should be a happy one. She said Celeste asked the wife for permission, because she was attracted to the husband. Gwen said the father retired shortly after because his elder was retired permanently , with the son taking over as enforcer for the new elder. The father doesn’t know he has another son.

Everyone asked Julio why he was seated in our section, directly behind Cort, not with his husband or with the Greens. Julio said his parents were on a second honeymoon he booked as a surprise months ago.

“Julio is a nickname, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, why?” Cort laughs again, causing my heart to stutter. “Grant used to talk down to Julio in a patronizing voice to rub Stanton wrong. What did Grant call him? Let me think.” Cort smiles at me, like he deserves a prize. “Julian! Julio’s name is Julian, just like me! Cool. Let’s go say hi.”

Laughing, Cort climbs out of his seat, preparing to swagger across Alt to greet his own brother.

Now that I’ve finally heard Julio laugh and seen him smile, Cort’s life just changed.