Dane

He was in his father's office, at his father's request. Earlier that morning Dane had had a knock on his apartment door and a young woman in a beautiful suit, but with twitchy eyes had informed him that his father was asking to meet with him.

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"He couldn't come ask me himself?" He'd been to the apartment daily.

"He… asked me to ask you. Eleven o'clock?"

Dane shook his head. His father was playing games. He'd said he would give him three days. Dane supposed he should consider two days a bit of a win. This request was probably because he wanted to see if Dane would come—whether he'd given in to the weakness, as his father would see it, of emotion. He hadn't left the apartment for two days, and it was an act of sheer will to do it now, but he knew if he didn't, his father claim it was a sign that Dane wasn't really in, and who knew what he'd do then?

So, when the woman asked him a second time if he would agree to the be at the office at eleven, Dane had showered for tenth time, dressed properly, and put his game face on.

He was still rotting on the inside but he wouldn't let anyone else see it. Especially not his father.

So, here he was. And there was no one else here. Dane couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

"I'm glad you came out, Dane. I have some news and it isn't good, but it is… necessary."

Dane just stared at him, but internally he braced. "What is it?" he asked dully.

"I just pressed send on that video to Lila."

Dane blinked. He'd spent the last two days assuming his father would have sent it immediately. He'd spent the last two days imaging everything Lila was going through and whipping himself with the mental images. So to learn now that she had been completely ignorant of it.

His father had that strange light in his eyes—his peak fascination. He was watching Dane closely. Because he knew… he knew that learning this right now meant Dane was realizing the last two days had been wasted. And… and that he was fast coming to the realize that Lila was probably watching it right now.

Seeing that in his head sent him spiraling back through two days of grief and self-loathing. "For fuck's sake, Dad," he shook his head and clenched his teeth against the wave of emotion. She was watching that sick filth right now, her heart breaking, her mind… "Fuck." She was probably crying. Maybe raging—he hoped she was raging. He hoped she felt strong. He prayed she didn't let it make her question herself.

Then he had a mental image of himself in her shoes—someone randomly sending him a video of Lila getting off with someone else… Rage burned in his skin even as his stomach flipped over.

"How do you feel? Right now?" his father asked in that weird, excited voice he sometimes got.

Dane snapped his eyes to look at his father, leaning over his desk, eyes a little wider than normal, and smiling so his teeth showed.

He shivered with the desire to lock his hands on that extended neck.

Swallowing, he looked away and shook his head. "I don't even know how to feel," he muttered. Sick, sick bastard. He knew it would push Dane back, make him feel like it was happening all over again. He knew, and he'd done it on purpose.

Fucking cunt.

"Can I guess? See if I can get it right?" Doug said, leaning forward on his elbows as if he'd touch Dane if he could, that perverted light of thrill in his eyes.

"Knock yourself out."

Doug tipped his head and his smile tipped higher on one side. "You're angry at me."

"Newsflash."

"The question is, is it just the rage of pushing Lila to this, or is it because I waited to send it? I think it's a little of both, but mainly the wait. Feels like it's happening twice, doesn't it, Dane?" Dane's hands clenched to fists on this thighs. "There's this fascinating thing I've been playing with, you'll enjoy this, I think, once you get past your own… thing here, anyway, listen. Remember that old saying perception is reality?"

Dane nodded once, his eyes never leaving his father's face.

"Well, I've been testing that, and do you know, it's true? When people think something is really happening, they experience everything else through that filter, as if it were true—even if it isn't! Oh, I can't tell you the fun I've had with this one."

Dane just stared and his father caught his eye, then his lips thinned.

"What you're feeling, Dane, is the death of hope," he said through his teeth. "Loss on a lot of levels—the one you expected, where your wife starts to hate you. Probably the easiest one, because you were prepared for it. But you didn't expect to admire me, did you?"

Dane didn't let anything show on his face. His father stood and walked around the desk to come stand in front of him. "You didn't expect me to win. You didn't think I'd really find my way through." Then he leaned down, his hands on the arms of the chair Dane sat in. "You didn't think you could be broken. Not really. You feared it, sure. You knew I would try. But you were prepared for all the wrong things, Dane. And that's the secret to breaking a man—you have to find his undefended front."

Douglas tipped his head and to Dane he'd never looked more like a serpent than that moment.

"Making you live it twice is just making sure the lesson gets learned, son," he said. "So, here's some truth for you: Your wife has spent the last two days getting herself together. She spoke with the Police this morning and now she's finally allowed back in the Penthouse. And I know she has a lot of good feelings associated with that place. So I waited until she got there, then I sent her the video. Because it isn't just you that needs to lose hope. It's her too. She was starting to fight. But I think you know how that's going to go for her."

Dane didn't move, didn't react, didn't even let himself feel. He barely breathed.

He'd known his father was evil for decades. Known that nothing was as thrilling to him as manipulating people. So why did he always get this flash of surprise when his father revealed a new low?

"So, tell me, Dane? How does it feel?"

"How does what?"

"Learning that you lost. Everything. What is it, bubbling under this quiet exterior?" He circled a finger in front of Dane's face.

Dane almost bit the finger off. But he cleared his throat without breaking eye contact and leaned a little bit forward, so they were basically nose-to-nose. "Hopeless," he said. "There's nothing left now. So… nothing. I'm the same kind of sick as you now, Dad. I don't feel anything except sick to hell of this life. So, let's move on, shall we?"

His father smiled. "I don't believe that, but maybe you do. We'll see. Until you figure it out, just keep this mind, Son: I did you a favor. Hope is dangerous. You're a dangerous man and dangerous men often think nothing can harm them. Here's a lesson I learned that you haven't yet, Dane: You needed to see that you're breakable. You needed to learn that even you cannot fight me. You needed to figure out just how much better off you are letting me point you and lead you. That's what all this is for. It's freedom, Dane. Embrace it."

Dane didn't answer. He wasn't even sure he breathed.

Doug sucked in a breath and stood, shaking his head. "One more day, Dane. I'll let you feel sorry for yourself one more day. But then we're moving on."

"I know."

Then, just like that, his father told him he could leave. And as Dane got up from the seat and forced himself to walk out without shaking, then walk back to his apartment, he wondered if his heart—which was pounding so hard it hurt—was going to give out.

Later, sitting in that chair that his father had left to torment him, he made himself face it. Made himself see what Lila was seeing. To own it.

And by the end of that little joy-ride, his heart was steel.

Hopeless? Yes. But rudderless? No. Dane might be beaten, but he wasn't dead. Not yet.

Maybe the time had come to let himself get caught up in this. Maybe he could take out the cancer before someone took him out—

The knock on the door startled him, but his heart was already pounding, so he just turned his head toward it as it swung half-open.

A few seconds later, Felix poked his head around. "How are you holding up?"

Dane's stomach sank.