Chapter 3 - The Return

Steve’s duffel bag lay open on the garish floral bedspread of his motel room, a few items of clothing haphazardly stuffed inside. His hand trembled slightly from exhaustion, he had not slept well in the past 48h. As he picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over his mother’s contact photo—a picture of her laughing, her vibrant red hair catching the sun, the generous swell of her breasts straining against a summery top. He wanted his family back, but a deeper, more primal part of him craved to understand the dark, tantalizing world he’d been introduced.

His thumb swerved at the last second. He dialed his father.

The phone rang twice. “Steve? Son?” Robert’s voice was a mixture of relief and caution.

“Dad.” Steve’s own voice sounded rough, unused. “I’m ... I’m coming home. But I haven’t decided anything. Not about ... the clan.” He took a sharp breath. “I need to know what it’s like. From your side. From the outside looking in.”

There was a long pause on the other end, filled only by the faint static of the connection. Robert sighed, a heavy, weary sound. “It was a lot to process, Steve. I wasn’t much older than you when Suze and her sisters sat me down. Her tits were practically spilling out of her top, a fucking distraction even then.” He gave a short laugh. “They were honest, I’ll give them that. Told me I’d never have a vote on the council, that the bloodline was everything. But they also told me the ... benefits. That the doors to every bedroom in the family were open to me. Her sisters, Charlotte and Evelyn ... Christ.” He trailed off, and Steve could almost see the memories playing behind his father’s eyes. “The organization, from what I’ve seen, isn’t nefarious. They protect their own with a ferocity you wouldn’t believe. And their main job, their real purpose, seems to be guiding the kids, the next generation, into the fold. Making sure the tradition survives.”

Steve absorbed this, the image of his stern, sometimes distant father being seduced by his aunts a bizarre new layer to an already surreal painting. “Thanks, Dad. That ... helps. Gives me a lot to think about.”