Storm, Meet Raine

House of Speros.

"Life."

"Deep."

He led me further down the stairs, passed a picture of him and some girl both dressed up really fancy, big bubble letter balloons hanging above them reading PROM. Cute. I bite my lip to keep from making a smart comment out of slightly bitter jealousy.

I didn't even know him back then. Doesn't matter. I follow behind him quietly, admiring the small bar lights hanging from the ceiling inside the kitchen. Instead of going to the right toward the dining area, he takes a left, heading down a hallway. There was more on the walls down here, but instead of sharpie, it was paint. An incredible expanse of sunflowers were painted along the left side. I let my fingers drag across the textured, thin, yellow petals. "Kennedy is a painter."

"She paints for a living?" I ask, tracing some visible stems as well. The lights in this hallway were a little dim, so I'm sure the green of the stems were much lighter than the murky green I was looking at.

"No, but she doesn't sell from time to time." We reach a baby guard at the end of the hall, blocking off a set of steps. "My brother had a sleepover and his friends chased them down the hall. He tripped on a toy and they all went falling down the stairs," he tells me as he unlocks the guard. I gasp while he laughs. "He only got skinned by the wall a bit. Nothing major."

He steps through, walking down the stairs and pointing to a dent in the wall where some of the boys ended up landing. Then we reached the hard, tile floor of the basement. And my jaw dropped. This isn't a basement at all. "Wow," I gawk. The tile floor was hard and cold, but it was polished and black, with white, crispy clean lines. The walls were hand painted, not professionally because it was just repetition of whips, chains, ropes, clamps, and other kinky stuff, each of them having their own unique features. If I didn't know any better I would say Kennedy painted them.

The ceiling was full of recessed lights, dimmed to create a mood, I'd assume. What didn't help was that the lights were a deep red. My eyes travel across the big, four poster bed in the center of the room, different notches and hooks and things (whatever the technical terms were) were attached to each of the poles. I don't know much of the terminology, but the bed was beautiful, that I could say.

There was a bench off to the side that made my cheeks hot, and there was a sex swing as well. I couldn't take it, my eyes wide as saucers as I took in everything this room had in store. It was powerful. Carson grabs my attention when he opens a closet , revealing so much...equipment I saw dollar signs sitting on every object.

"You're enjoying this?" He asks me, his lips quirking up into a goofy grin.

"It doesn't smell like sex," I whisper, my mind blown. This sends him over, laughter erupting from him, making me giggle long with him. "Stop laughing at me!"

"You're so cute." I don't even think he realized he said it, it came out so smoothly. "My mom is a clean freak, so you wouldn't even know anything happened down here," he shrugs. "You into this stuff?" He lifts a cane that was hanging on a rack on the inside of the door.

I shake my head. "You?"

"Nah." He taps the cane a few times on the door before putting it back and turning to me after closing the door. "I can get a little aggressive every now and then, but I don't have the patience for all this," he waves his left hand, gesturing to the room and it's capabilities. "Wanna go back?"

I nod my head, and he leads the way. "Who painted?"

"Kennedy."

"So you and your family have known about your parents for a while?" I ask, wondering what it had to have been like to have parents that never put away their lifestyle.