My fingers tighten on my briefcase as I stare at the unflattering version of my stepmother’s face.
But it’s not the plastic view that I want to smash to pieces. It’s the feelings behind it. The malice that glitters in her beady eyes. The smirk that tugs on her lips.
We’re standing in front of the courthouse, but with many people as witnesses, murder would certainly not fly under their radar.
This bitch just had the audacity to make her lawyer argue that my recent investments, my implication with Nicolo’s legitimate fronts, are dangerous for my father’s legacy. She’s going for incompetence, poor judgment, and therefore, by her flawed logic, the shares my father used to own in W&S should revert back to her. They wouldn’t. They’re rightfully mine, and even if I’m proven to be incompetent, they would go to my executor, not her. But she thinks if she files enough lawsuits and throws her weight around, she’ll get something.
Other than my undying desire to finish her, she’ll get zilch.
Susan strokes the pink fur that’s resting on her shoulder like it’s a pet. “I’ve got to show proper gratitude and thank you for giving me this opening. Better prepare the keys to the kingdom.”
“The only keys you’re getting is for a staycation clinic to fix whatever your plastic surgeons ruined.” I glare down my nose at her. “Your lawyer is a bit of an incompetent fool and probably forgot to mention that the money I invested was originally mine, not my father’s, so suing for it is similar to fishing in the Dead Sea. And no one probably told you this, but here’s a small piece of advice—just because you can file a lawsuit doesn’t mean you should.”
“That’s not the money I’m after, dear son.” I don’t miss the mockery in her voice when she says “son.” “It’s the rest of it that was originally your father’s and is, therefore, rightfully mine that I want. I’ll continue arguing in court until I have the slice of pie I deserved all along. How does it feel to be beaten at your own game?”
“You haven’t even started to recognize the game, let alone beat me at it.”
“Maybe I’m better endowed at it than you think.” She pats my arm, smiling. “How is Aspen?”
I narrow my eyes, partially forgetting the feel of her disgusting touch. Why would she ask me about Aspen?
No one knows about our relationship, aside from Caroline, and probably Mateo and Nicolo.
And whoever was in the private booth that night to witness the whole alcohol-spilling, jealousy incident.
I don’t think Susan is desperate enough to have me followed, but maybe she is.
The fact that she even knows about Aspen makes me clench my teeth. She, of all people, needs to keep her destructive energy far away from her.
Still, I don’t take the bait and, instead, stare at her, solemn-faced.
She merely smiles, her red lips appearing grotesque. “You promised to take everything of mine, and I promise to do the same, Kingsley. Especially now that you have more to lose than your billionaire status and that spawn you call a daughter.”
With one last revolting touch, she leaves, her steps brisk and measured. And I wish she’d fall on her face and die the most horrible death.
Or maybe I should do it myself, after all, because old dogs like her don’t die as easily.
My mood takes a sharp dive to the worst for the rest of the day. Everyone knows to stay the fuck away from me whenever I’m back from a hearing with Susan.
Everyone except Aspen, the main reason behind my sour mood.
I can battle with Susan to infinity and beyond. The reason I’m not finishing her off isn’t because I can’t but because I need her to suffer and take on more plastic surgeries to fill the hole inside her black soul.
I need her to be on her toes until the day she dies, and when she does, alone and with no beneficiary, she’ll go kiss the ground my mother walked on before being shoved into her special place in hell.
But an ominous feeling has been nagging at my chest ever since she asked about Aspen. By name.
So I make my way to her office. The last time I spent time with her was three days ago, when Gwen decided it was a good idea to cock-block me.
As if that’s not blasphemous enough, she’s proceeded to steal Aspen’s time every night since. Sometimes with Nate.
To say my dick is planning mass destruction on those two is the understatement of the century. I might have paid them a visit unannounced last night and cock-blocked Nate until Gwen fell asleep, for which he kicked me in the shin. Naturally, I kicked him back. Then we had a boxing match for old times’ sake.
That still didn’t relieve the tension, though.
And once again, I refuse to jack off like a thirteen-year-old. So that leaves Aspen with sexual frustration issues to resolve, preferably now.
So imagine my fucking surprise when her assistant, a short woman with long hair and gold-framed glasses, tells me, “She’s taken the afternoon off, sir.”
“Are we talking about the same Aspen Leblanc, or have you picked up a side gig and become someone else’s assistant?”
She appears stunned for a second, then blurts, “I’m talking about Ms. Leblanc. She usually doesn’t work this day of the year.”
I check the date on my watch to confirm it’s not Gwen’s birthday. Aspen mentioned that, since she thought her daughter had died, she got drunk on her grave and mourned her.
Though the getting drunk part is a nasty habit that she has sans mourning.
“Do you know why she doesn’t work on this particular day?”
The woman slowly shakes her head. “Ms. Leblanc isn’t exactly the sharing type.”
Don’t I fucking know it.
The dip between my brows could fit the Atlantic Ocean as I leave Aspen’s office. There’s a fifty percent chance Nate knows what’s up, but I’m not willing to risk the other fifty percent and have him smell something.
Besides, considering she’s never had a heart-to-heart with him about her dark origins, I might as well lower that percentage to thirty.
I retrieve my phone and pause as I stare at the cockteasing pictures she sent me over the course of the past few days.
Because, apparently, the inability to touch her isn’t enough, so she has to taunt me with what I’m missing. Or what I could be doing if Gwen hadn’t picked up the habit of hanging around her like a clingy shadow.
I search my surroundings to make sure no one gets a glimpse of her nakedness, then type a text.
Kingsley: You haven’t answered my calls all day, so now would be a good time to.
Kingsley: And you better kick Gwen out today at the pretense of having a cold.
No reply.
Not even a read sign.
Throughout the day, I send her a thousand texts along the lines of…
In case no one mentioned it, I’m not a patient man, witch. So a push-and-pull game will only get your ass red and your pussy brutalized by my cock.
Can you at least let me know if you’re all right?
I swear to fuck, Aspen, I’m going to have Nicolo’s dogs search for you and lock you up in some cabin. Then I’ll put a tracker on you.
You haven’t seen my crazy side for a while, so maybe you missed it, but I promise you, sweetheart, you will regret this stunt when you’re unable to walk tomorrow.
Did something happen?
Don’t make me file a missing person’s report with the incompetent NYPD.
Did you tell your bodyguards not to pick up my calls?
By the time I go home, I’m in a mood that’s sourer than vinegar and just as bitter. I called Gwen to snoop around and she said she was having alone time with Nate.
I hung up before she went into disgusting details.
That ruled out Nate as well since the stoic motherfucker actually forgets about the world when he’s with my daughter.
Caroline Luciano was of no help either and even proceeded to make my ears bleed with how Aspen is heartless and has only called her once since she finally moved out.
I’m dialing Nicolo’s number as I’m stepping out of my car. When I talked to the fucker about the last attack outside of his club, which was undeniably orchestrated by Bruno, he sang the usual tune of “no proof.” But he did offer some of his men for protection, whom Aspen refused, choosing Mateo’s men instead.
If Bruno is pulling another stunt, I’ll severe Nicolo’s head from his neck.
My fingers pause when I find Aspen’s Range Rover in my circular driveway.
She’s…here.
I refuse to honor the feeling in my chest with a name as I stride into the house, hell-bent on spanking her ass until she begs me to stop.
Aspen is crouching in the middle of the grand hall in front of the demon painting, her shoulders slumped and her eyes glued to it.
“Why, and I can’t stress this enough, the fuck aren’t you answering your phone?” I stop in front of her and I’m taken aback by the redness in her cheeks and the bottomless lack of color in the depths of her eyes as she slowly stares up at me.
“I don’t know where I threw it,” she says, voice low, almost meek.
I grab her by the arm, pulling her to her feet. I’m so used to Aspen being a damn gladiator that it feels off to see her so vulnerable.
The stench of alcohol assaults me when she grabs my face and attempts to kiss me. One of the few times she’s gone for it first. Another red flag.
“You’re drunk,” I state the obvious.
“Don’t be the boring alcohol police. And I’m not drunk, just a little tipsy.”
“Did you drive while drunk?”
“No. I stole one of your wine bottles once I got here, and I still don’t get the hype. Tequila is better.”
A muscle tightens in my jaw. “Where’s Martha?”
“Don’t reproach her about this. She thought I was in Gwen’s room.” She slides her small hands down my sides and to my cock.
And while the motherfucker would love to get reacquainted with her cunt more than anything, I grab her wrists and pull them free. “What’s going on?”
“I want you to fuck me. That’s what’s going on.”
“Believe me, sweetheart, I’ll fuck the living daylights out of you, but not before you tell me why you appear as if you’ve seen a ghost.” I comb my fingers through her fiery hair and she shudders, slowly closing her eyes.
“Can’t you just fuck me? You’d usually jump all over the opportunity.”
“Usually isn’t now. So you might as well start talking.”
“Goddamn you and your stubbornness and your annoying controlling behavior.” She drops her forehead against the center of my torso, but she doesn’t hug me, her hands hanging lifeless at either side of her.
“Glad you got all that off your chest.”
She shudders, her breathing shattering against my chest and I realize something.
She’s hiding.
Fully intent on not letting me see her face.
“Today is the anniversary of Mom’s death.” She trembles as if the words rattle her. “I have two days a year I allow myself to be emotional. The day I thought my daughter died and the day Mom swallowed all the pills she could get her hands on to finally escape my father. Now that I know Gwen is alive, I think all the stupid emotions are coming back to haunt me. I hate it.”
My fingers get lost in her hair, slowly caressing it. She goes still at my touch like a small child who’s getting comforted for the first time. “Hate what?”
“The emotions. I’m not good with them, and all I can think about is how useless I was, how I spent as much time as I could outside to keep from going back home and seeing how pathetically weak Mom was. I hated my father for beating her, but I hated her, too, sometimes for not standing up for herself. I hated her when I cleaned her wounds, heated canned food, and bathed her. I hated her for forcing me to become her parent instead of the other way around. So I went out more, stayed at school more, hoping not to witness Dad’s violent episodes and her crying sessions that always followed. I also hoped to escape Dad’s orbit, because whenever he was mad, really mad, his poison of violence extended to me as well. He didn’t hit me as much as he hit Mom, but if I got in his way, I would get a slap in the face or a kick in the stomach. And that life suffocated me. The constant anxiety, fear, and worry crippled me and I had no hopes to change it. Which is why I preferred the impersonal outside world instead. Until one day, I got home and it was too silent. Too…lifeless. She used to always have the radio on, listening to talk shows and focusing on other people’s problems instead of her own. That day, it was hauntingly…silent. I think I knew even before I went to her bedroom, I knew something was wrong. Like…like…like…”
“She’d had enough and ended it,” I whisper, the words too hoarse for my liking.
“Yeah.” Her voice cracks as she digs her fingers into my waist, using me as an anchor. “She was lying in her bed as if she were asleep, but she wasn’t breathing, and… For the first time in my life, I saw a smile on her bruised face. She was happy to finally leave and end her misery. To this day, I wonder if I could’ve saved her if I’d just stayed around more. If I hadn’t run off to escape her and Dad’s negative orbit. Maybe if I’d been a more reliable daughter, she would’ve survived.”
“No, she wouldn’t have. She’d already made up her mind probably months or even years prior to that moment. You were a kid and had no power to stop it, so blaming yourself is not only useless, it’s also illogical.”
She rests her chin on my chest and stares up at me with an unnatural shine in her eyes. “And yet, you blame yourself for your mother’s death.”
“I don’t blame myself.”
“Is that why you’re after Susan with the spirit of a vengeful ghost?”
“It’s called revenge, sweetheart. My contribution to humanity is ridding it of one gold digger.”
“Bullshit,” she says softly and reaches a hand out to stroke my cheek, hesitantly at first, as if she has no clue how to do this, then it’s more proactive and with pure determination. “You feel as guilty as I do, maybe even more because you chose to stay with your dad to torment your stepmom instead of living with your mom.”
“How the hell do you even know that?”
“Nate.”
That motherfucker.
“You were young, too, Kingsley. You couldn’t have done anything, and it’s time to finally let it go.”
“You got your revenge against your father by shoving him into prison. I haven’t.”
“And look where that got me. I’ve been looking over my shoulder for twenty-five years, counting days and months for his eventual release. Revenge is not the answer, not when more important things are at stake.”
My jaw clenches beneath her touch. “I found my mother swimming in her own blood with tears in her eyes and my father’s cursed lighter between her fingers when I was damn thirteen. So I will not, under any fucking circumstances, allow the woman who caused that scene to get away with it.”
“You’re not doing it for her, you’re doing it for you.” She grabs my tie, shaking me and pulling me close at the same time. “Can’t you see how it’s stripping away your humanity? How it’s torturing you? Even Gwen knows to stay away from you on Susan days because you look more like a stranger than her father. Is that what you want to be for the rest of your life?”
“Are you done?”
“No.” She lifts her chin despite the tears gathered there. “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”
This goddamn woman.
I release myself from her hold, or more like force her to let me go and storm to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water.
My first choice would be whiskey, but bringing that out in front of a closet alcoholic is no different than handing a gun to a fool.
Aspen follows me and unapologetically steps between me and the counter, forcing me to look at her.
At those damn eyes that haunted me for the longest time.
“You can run, but you can’t hide from me, King.”
My dick jumps in my pants at the way she calls me that. Fuck the asshole and how easily he gets turned on by her.
“You’re surprisingly clingy,” I say with an unveiled jab.
“And yet, you’re still interested.”
“Maybe I changed my mind.”
“Maybe you’re a liar.”
Wildfire covers her features as she gingerly gets on her knees with the elegance of an angel.
An angel that I’m transforming into my custom-made devil.
All my plans and thoughts leave the building when she unbuckles my pants and pulls out my cock. The traitor who obviously likes her more than me jumps to his full glory in her hold.
“See?” She gives me a sly smile as she jerks me off slowly. “Your dick thinks you’re a liar, too.”
“He’s physical. His opinion doesn’t matter.”
Her other hand strokes my balls as her small mouth wraps around the crown, sucking the precum.
“Fuck, sweetheart. Your lips were made for me. Now, be a good girl, open that mouth and suck me like a good little whore.”
She takes me—or as much as she can fit of me—all the way inside and sucks with the determination of a succubus.
Jesus fucking Christ.
This woman will make me come like a teenager on his first masturbation session.
My fingers sink into her hair and I wrap it around my fist. Aspen escalates her performance, head bobbing up and down with one need—making me come.
I can see that determination in her bright eyes, the challenge, and even the need to please me.
Not in this life would I have thought that I’d have Aspen in this position. Not only is she prideful, but she hates showing any form of vulnerability.
But she’s on her knees for me.
A sense of possessiveness rushes through my bones at the thought.
Aspen might be a wild horse, but she’s my wild horse.
Using my grip on her hair, I thrust inside, hitting the back of her throat. She stills, her face reddening, and I expect her to fight me, and push me away, even.
But something happens.
She loosens her jaw and hold and lets me fuck her mouth as ruthlessly as I would have fucked her pussy.
I don’t hold back and I certainly don’t take it easy. Just like we both want. And this wild woman takes every drop of my crazy, even as drool and precum trickle down her chin.
Even as her eyes fill with tears.
Fuck me. This beautiful witch will be the death of me.
I’m about to empty down her pretty throat when the last person I expected to be here calls from down the hall.
“I’m here, Dad!”
