When I hop onto my motorcycle, my gut is churning. It could be a stress shit coming on or the text I received from Kay saying to meet at the warehouse tomorrow at 11 AM. So, I roar the engine to life and take off, but as I drive, I can't stop thinking about the last few hours.

Am I past the point of no return? Over the years, I've done things I'm not proud of, but lately, my moral compass is absolutely fucked. Things with Mindy and me will never be the same, but what if Augusta tells her what we did? What if she can't ever look at me the same, and we can't even be friends?

The thought causes an ache in my chest, so I release one of the handlebars and rub above my sternum. We have good memories as friends, where we spent nights with the group drinking or having a late dessert. How many times did I wipe her tears, and how many times did she massage my back when I vented about Celia?

She's been my friend, the calm in the chaos that is my life. Yet, I keep sailing toward the storm, ignoring the rogue waves threatening to capsize me.

Tears accumulate in my eyes. I don't know what kind of man I am anymore.

This isn't me.

So I wipe away the weakness staining my cheeks, and instead of heading home, I head to Gwen's. I don't even know why. I just know I need to see her.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm banging on her door, and like last time, it takes an eternity for her to answer. But when the door opens, I reel back at some bare-chested fucker standing there. His bronze skin glistens in the sunlight, and he's built like a retired MMA fighter, with grey hair peppering his goatee and sideburns.

"Calvin, who is it?" Gwen says somewhere in the background.

"I don't know," he says. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Miguel. One of Gwen's patients."

"Miguel?" Gwen approaches the door, her eyes squinting when they meet the bright daylight. "Is everything ok?"

"I need to talk to you."

"It's a little early." Her man candy says to me.

"It's ok, Calvin." Gwen steps aside. "Come inside, Miguel."

I brush past them and begin pacing the living room, but Gwen takes my elbow and nudges me toward her office. Her man-friend gives me a once over as he proceeds to the kitchen, where the scent of fried eggs wafts.

"Boyfriend?" I say as we step into the hallway.

"It's new."

"Doesn't look new if he's walking around shirtless and cooking you breakfast."

"Miguel..." Gwen sighs, opening the door to her office. "My personal life is not up for discussion."

"Why not? You know about mine."

"Sit." She motions to the small couch and closes the door behind her. "You're my patient. My personal life has nothing to do with your healing. Now, tell me why you're here."

"Is this new?" I sink into the cushions, and she settles in next to me.

"Yes, actually. Now, what brings you here, banging on my door without an appointment? Again."

"I... uh... I'm losing it. I started crying like a little girl again."

"Can you elaborate, please?"

"I just did something, and I just..." I rub my sternum with a wince. "I feel like it was wrong."

"What did you do?"

"I..."

"Miguel, this will always be a safe space for you. Please, go on."

"I... I did a sexual favor for money. It was a business transaction. A quid pro quo."

"Quid pro quo?" Gwen arches a brow in concern. "Is someone blackmailing you?"

"Yes. Well, no. Not really. It was a business transaction."

"Dare I ask what the arrangement was?"

"I gave oral sex to a very wealthy woman for ten grand. Well, actually, she said she would double it and pay me for each orgasm."

"Wha-what?" Gwen nearly chokes on her saliva.

"She tossed an extra thirty grand in there for me to fuck her."

Gwen's eyes are wide and searching the carpet as if she can pluck her following words from it. Instead, what comes out is, "Wow."

"Yeah. Tell me about it."

"That's a lot of money..." Gwen's hand goes to her chest, and she stands. "I think I need a glass of water. Would you like one?"

"Yes. Please. I can still taste her pussy on my tongue."

"Lord have mercy." Gwen's eyes widen even more, and her face flushes red as she skitters from the office.

And I'm not kidding. When I got to Penthouse, I used the mouthwash in my locker, but no matter how much I gargled, I can still taste Augusta. No matter how much I scrub my skin, I still smell her mandarin moisturizer. And when I'm motionless, I can still feel her.

"Here." Gwen returns with two glasses of water and holds one out for me. "So, if this woman is paying you all this money, it must mean she needs something of equal value in return, and don't get me wrong, Miguel, but you're not a wealthy man. So, what is your end of the deal?"

"I can't tell you that."

Gwen eases back down beside me, her hands gripping her glass. "Alright, then, how about you tell me why you need so much money?"

"Wouldn't you have sex with someone if they offered to pay that much?"

"No. I would not."

"You wouldn't?"

"Listen, people are free to do what they want with their bodies, and I would never shame anyone for their sexual desires, but I could never have sex in exchange for money."

"That's only because you've never been offered," I laugh. "If I threw ten grand on the table right now, I bet you would dive onto your knees right now and—"

"That's an inappropriate thing to say, Miguel."

"Fuck. You're right." I rub my temples. "That was crass. I respect you and would never pay you to suck my dick."

"Um... thank you."

"For what it's worth, I'd let you do it for free," I add.

"Miguel." Gwen pinches the bridge of her nose.

"I'm kidding. It was a joke."

"Yes, I know. You joke when you're uncomfortable or feel guilt or embarrassment. It's a defense mechanism."

"I have nothing to feel bad about. I did what I did for a damn good reason, and it wasn't about the money."

"Then why?"

"Reasons..."

"Miguel," Gwen sighs, but it's not one of annoyance. No, it's more like concern as wrinkles form across her brow. "You didn't come here to chat. You came to me for help, but I can't do that if you don't open up."

"Is the reason that important?"

"Yes. In our months working together, you've never given me the impression you can be bought or persuaded to do something you don't want to do. This tells me you must be desperate, which is a concern. So, I'll ask again, why did you have sex for money?"

"To get away," I lie.

Although, it's not a complete lie. After all this shit, it would be nice to get away from this hell and take my mom with me—start fresh in a place where there isn't some secret underground hierarchy of rich, twisted fucks calling the shots.

"I see." Gwen nods. "This is the first time you've expressed wanting to get away, and that money can pay for more than a vacation. It can jumpstart a new life. So I have to ask, are you in danger, Miguel?"

"No," I say.

But the truth is, I have no idea what's going on anymore. At Penthouse, Jocelyn said Augusta plans to kill me, yet she just finished paying me for sex and is helping us find Alma. She wouldn't do that if she wanted my head on a platter, right? However, if I'm being honest, there was a moment I wondered if sexual cannibalism was Augusta's kink, and I feared she might bite my head off like a Praying Mantis.

"Are you sure?" Gwen says. "That didn't sound like a confident no."

"You know what, it was silly to come here." I rise from the couch. "I should go."

"Miguel, wait a damn minute!" she barks, and I freeze at the office door. "Sit back down. You are running again. You will never heal if you keep running. Now, sit so we can talk this through."

Staring at the couch, I realize she's right. How can she guide me when I never tell her the complete truth? Bowing my head, I say softly while twisting the hem of my wrinkled shirt, "You heard what happened to Alma?"

Gwen nods. "I did. The police came here and asked me questions. Why?"

"Well, let's just say I know some important people, so I went to one of them to help find Alma. To pay for this help, I had to... well, you know."

"So, if you had to have sex with this woman to pay for her help, then why did she pay you so much money?"

"She says she doesn't need it. I guess it was to sweeten the deal. I don't know why the fuck rich people do what they do!"

"Let me wrap my head around this..." Gwen takes a long sip of water, her brows furrowed. "Alright, so you went to her for help, and in exchange, she wanted sex?"

"Well, no. Not exactly. I went to her for help, and then she got her cartel friend-lover to track down Alma. Then she got me out of jail-"

"Jail?" Gwen's eyes widen.

"Yes, long story." I wave my hand. "So to pay her back for getting me out of jail and for getting her cartel friend to find Alma, I had to have sex with her. But I didn't know that was the deal going into it. She sprang it on me."

"Sprang it on you?"

"Yes. One moment we're eating omelets, and the next, she's naked and holding the information about Alma hostage until I agree."

"Miguel..." Gwen's mouth forms a line as she chews her bottom lip. "Oh dear." She sets her water glass aside. "This sounds like sexual coercion."

"But, I agreed."

"She manipulated you." Gwen gestures to the couch. "You should sit down."

"I don't want to." Yet, my legs carry me back to her, and I sink onto the cushions. Gwen turns her body to me and takes my hands, her eyes searching mine.

"This will be difficult to digest, but what happened was sexual assault."

I yank my hands away. "Fuck you. I wasn't raped. I agreed to do what I did."

"After she manipulated you."

Shaking my head, I scoot away from Gwen. "She didn't manipulate me. She's helping me find Alma. It was what I had to do."

"No, Miguel. If she were truly helping you, then it wouldn't come with conditions. She could have told you what she learned about Alma. Period."

"But she got me out of jail."

"It doesn't matter. She made it impossible for you to say no to her. She made you feel like there was no other way and then enticed you with money. These are manipulative tactics by someone intending to take advantage of you."

"But she's helping me," I whisper.

"Tell me something, Miguel. Did you want to have sex with her?"

My eyes flash to Gwen, then to the carpet. Did fucking Augusta feel good? Sure, I love sex, but did I want to do it? Rubbing the back of my head, that gurgling in my stomach returns, and saliva gathers in my mouth.

"I think the answer is no." Gwen touches my knee. "And you're probably conflicted because it felt good, and you got a lot of money from it."

"Maybe..."

"You're not alone, Miguel. I've had patients who, for years, suffered through sexual coercion without knowing. You'd be surprised, but it happens a lot in marriages."

"In marriage?" My gaze darts to hers. "But isn't sex a given in marriage?"

"Yes, sex is an important part of marriage, but even then, neither spouse is entitled to their partner's body. There still needs to be respect and care. Guilt should never enter the equation. No one should ever feel that it isn't safe to say no, even in romantic relationships, and when a person can't say no, it's rape."

That word echoes in my ears like a fire alarm. "But rape is forced and violent."

"Not always, Miguel. Want to know why I became a therapist?"

"Yes." I nod, but my hackles are up. I don't think I like where this is going.

"When I was seventeen, my boyfriend and I started having sex, but when I expressed that I wanted to stop and wait until we were older, he flipped out. He asked if I was cheating on him and made me feel guilty for wanting to slow things down. If that wasn't bad enough, he threatened to tell everyone we had sex. So I was struck with a sudden fear. Girls in my school were often labeled sluts after losing their virginity, so I feared it would happen to me and that my parents would find out."

"That guy sounds like an asshole."

"Yeah, he was. So because of the fear of getting labeled a slut, disappointing my parents, and my boyfriend pressuring me, I kept doing it. However, sex no longer felt like an intimate or sweet exchange. It became something I had to do to keep him quiet and happy. At the time, I didn't realize that what he had done was manipulation, and it was sex against my will."

"Fuck..." I blow out a long breath. "So then, what happened?"

"Well, in college, I spoke with a counselor about my experience. She helped me understand why I had become so depressed, why I had developed such low self-worth, and why I was scared to go on dates. Do you know what happens when you continue to have sex out of coercion?"

"No."

"Your mind and your body begin to process it similarly to someone who was physically forced. Some people might flinch when touched or lock the bathroom door so their significant other can't walk in on them showering. Others will avoid doing anything that could potentially spur arousal in their partner. Even something as benign as a hug creates a genuine fear of what it might lead to."

"Sounds like PTSD."

"Yes, and it's these little things, like a switch, where we subconsciously change our behavior to protect our body."

Processing her words, I sit back and hug my chest as the air exits my lungs on a sharp exhale. This must be what my mom experienced with Chuck. Sometimes I'd hug her from behind, and she would flinch but then apologize after realizing it was me and not Chuck. It makes sense now. My eyes sting, and when I wipe them, my fingers come away wet. "You know about my stepdad being an asshole, right?"

"I do."

"Well, there were nights when Chuck would be all over my mom, even when she wasn't feeling well, and he would beg and make her feel guilty until she said yes. Then they would lock themselves in the bedroom, and after ten minutes, my mom would shuffle into the hallway bathroom crying. I always asked her what was wrong, but she always swore through the door that she was ok. However, now that you've explained all of this, I realize what was happening to her was rape."

"Oh, Miguel. You've never told me this before." Gwen reaches out. "I can't imagine what it was like to be a young boy witnessing that."

But I shrug away from her touch and skyrocket from the couch. I pace the carpet, then scream with my fists clenched. How could I have been so blind? Why didn't I see what Chuck was doing to her? Grabbing the first thing I see, I snatch the garbage can next to Gwen's desk and fling it across the room. It crashes against her bookshelf, then bounces across the floor with the trash scattering around. The office door slams open, and Gwen's boyfriend steps in, ready to defend her.

"Calvin, it's fine," Gwen juts out her arm, stopping him, and I continue to pace the office, my hands slapping my temples over and over.

"Like hell it is!" he says. "This guy is crazy."

"Calvin!" Gwen warns. "Leave us. Now."

"Gwen, it's not safe in here."

"Calvin, leave. Now!"

"Fine, but I'll be in the hallway."

The office door closes, and I spin around to see Gwen with her palms up, facing me as she slowly approaches. "Miguel, it's alright. It's alright."

"It's not." Tears stream down my face. "How did I not know? How did I not see what my stepdad was doing to her?"

"Because that's the ugliest part about sexual coercion, and nobody talks about it. Half the time, people don't realize it's happening to them. Our minds aren't ready to process that someone we love or trust could do that to us."

"But it's so obvious now when I think about it. I should have done something to that sick fuck a hell of a lot sooner."

"You were just a kid, Miguel. This isn't your fault. It's your stepfather's and that woman who paid you."

"What?" I wipe my eyes.

"When it finally hit me that I had been having sex against my will because of manipulation, I broke down. I never felt so lost or alone, and that's happening to you right now, but you can turn this into something good. What happened to me made me realize that I didn't want anyone else to go through it alone, too. So, I changed my major and was determined to help others. Now here I am. Helping you. What you experienced today was against your will. That woman made it impossible for you to say no. She manipulated you."

"No." I shake my head. "No."

"It's ok, Miguel." She places her hands on my forearms and tries to look me in the eyes. "We can process this together."

"No! Fuck you, Gwen," I cry and twist away from her. "It was my choice. Mine!" I beat my chest. "I was not fucking sexually assaulted. My mom was, but not me. I agreed to Augusta's terms for helping me. So don't contort this into something it's not."

"It's ok to be angry. It's ok not to want to accept it yet."

"Fuck you." I wipe my eyes and yank the office door open. "Fuck you."

"It's ok to be angry."

"Stop saying that!"

"I know you're reacting this way to protect yourself, and that's ok. I'm here when you're ready, Miguel."

Storming out of her home, I slam the door behind me. I don't want to hear another word, even though, deep down, I know Gwen is right. Augusta pulled my strings like a marionette, and she got me to do exactly what she wanted.

But why?

What sick pleasure does she get from it?

Suddenly, the wad of cash in my pocket is like magma, and I want to use it to set the world on fire. I want to set the Sisters ablaze with it, watch their bodies turn into charcoal, and while their screams fill the smokey atmosphere, I want to roast Richie fucking Reddy, put a bullet in Kay's skull, and every other asshole who has driven me to this point.

I want them all to burn in hell.

And they will.

If it's the last thing I do, I will kill them all.