by Maya Rose
Nemesis
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Maya Rose
Copyright © 2020 Maya Rose
All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed, or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
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This is a work of fiction. Name, characters, places, incidents, and situations either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, situations, or locations is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Nemesis
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Letter to the reader
Prologue
Stanford, California, March 2009
Eli
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“Now’s not a good time, Scotty.” I manage to grunt out, gripping my phone, hoping to hell my twelve year old brother on the other end of the line can’t tell what I’m doing.
Molly giggles around my cock, bobbing her head eagerly up and down my length. Christ, that high pitched laugh almost kills my erection. That, and the way she flutters her eyelashes at me. What in the ever loving world makes her think that’s sexy? She’s twenty one, and it’s juvenile. And we’ve been through this. No eye contact during sex. How hard is it to remember? I fist her hair and nudge her eyes down. She doesn’t complain and goes at my cock faster. Shit, why can’t I look at her? She’s my girlfriend, for crap’s sake. And flat out gorgeous. Smooth, long raven hair, a body most lingerie models would kill to have--
“I can’t reach him, Eli.”
Ah Jesus, Scotty. He seriously has to call me because dad won’t pick up a call? With Molly stroking the base of my shaft in a hurry to get me to the finish line, my brain struggles for executive function. “Call him again…” I stop before I have to pant. “...in the morning.”
“I haven’t seen him in 3 days.”
That’s not unusual. Dad travels a lot. Sleeps in the studio connected to his office. Anything to avoid coming home. “What about mom?”
“I couldn’t find her so I called her. She’s in Ibiza.”
It was worth a shot. I’m in shock that she even answered his call. “You’re alone in the house?”
“No, Jason and Nina and...”
Damn it, cooks and drivers don’t count. “What does your school…shit!!” I glare at Molly’s head with more anger than lust, because she’s chosen that precise moment to suck hard on one heavy ball. But one reminder was enough for her. I know she won’t look up till she’s finished. Just how I need it. Except there’s that something’s not right feeling again. With her. With us. Maybe it’s because Scotty’s drifting on in my ear about his middle school crisis. But I know better. The mood was barely there even before he called. It’s been like this for a while now. My dick starts responding to her touch, then my head gets in the way. Why is it that all we do when we’re alone is fuck and eat? Never talk. Not about anything that matters. I gleaned her goddamn birthdate from her Instagram profile. It’s been a half a year. Where’s the connection I’m supposed to feel with a girl I’ve been seeing exclusively? I tug at Molly’s hair, my buzz entirely killed. “Get off, Molly.”
She looks up immediately, and her disinterested shrug is a slap in the face. Shouldn’t she be more upset at the interruption? Does she even want me? Is it because I don’t return the favor with my mouth? Get past it, King. I get myself off the bed and into the attached bathroom to talk to Scotty. I turn my back to the mirror and take a moment to collect my voice. “What is it, Scotty?”
“Eli, I already--”
“Then tell me again, damn it! Jesus, I was in the middle of something. Not sitting around waiting to solve sixth grade problems.”
The line goes silent, before his stiff voice breaks out. “I’ve been selected for a one week all expenses paid junior design training in London. Mark Collins liked what I sent in.”
Who? I put Scotty on speaker and browse for that name on my phone. Some hotshot architect. They’re catching kids at 12 now? “So what do you need?”
“An adult to accompany me.”
Damn it. Even if he could reach dad, this was a no go. And our mother wouldn’t be caught dead with a kid who was likely to publicly call her mom. “How about one of your teachers? I’ll pay for it.”
He doesn’t reply for a while. When he does, it’s tentative. “Can you come with me, Eli?”
Oh hell. “Scotty, I have classes.”
“But it’s next week--during your spring break.”
“I have extracurriculars.” Fucking and drinking and partying. It’s selfish, but I’m twenty one, and I’ve been working like a maniac because it’s my final year. Then this thing with Molly. I’ve earned time for myself. Between letting off steam or chaperoning him, it isn’t much of a contest.
“I really want to do this, Eli. Can you please try?”
Does he expect me to drop everything and come running because he has some infantile dream of building the damn Sistine Chapel? “How about a nanny or a--”
A soft click echoes in my ear, and then blankness. He hung up. I stare back at my phone. Should I call him back? And say what? I grew up without mom and dad even knowing what school I went to, so you can too? Expect tuition checks and bailouts from sticky situations, otherwise you’re on your own. Whatever, he’ll figure it out like I did. I’m not filling in as a substitute parent. I’m doing him a favor by making it clear, because it’s my damn fault for hanging out with him and raising his expectations these last few years. Why couldn’t I have left it the way it is in our family? Put on a public game face and stay in our lanes in private.
I yank the door open to find Molly lounging on the bed on her stomach, busy on her phone. She’s naked, save for her bra, not having put her panties back on. I’m still wearing my shirt. I never bother taking anything but my pants and underwear off.
I run my fingers through my hair and look at her, wondering what the guys are doing. I’m bored. How am I bored? In the beginning of our relationship, I would have pounced on her and taken her non stop. Has she changed? Or have I? The sex is still fine I guess, but the urgency is gone. Why does this happen with every girl I date? It’s not that I’m not horny. I’m just not horny for her. I’m jerking off to porn but I don’t need it with her. Is this what happened to mom and dad?
I lose the
thought when I get an email notification. A credit card transaction for 25000 dollars? What the hell?
I look around for my boxers, needing to cover my limp dick. Putting them on, I ask Molly. “What did you buy?” I don’t mind her using my credit card. She’s had it for as long as we’ve been dating. But I would appreciate at least being informed.
“Huh?”
Why does she insist on feigning ignorance? When she knows that every single purchase she makes is billed to me. “Molls.”
She turns around and sits up, leaning forward, pressing her tits together in a calculated move, till a nipple falls out from her bra. My dick couldn’t care less. Shit, do I need to see a doctor?
She tosses her hair back when I don’t react. “My dad won’t let me have my car anymore because of that stupid little accident last month, Eli.”
The little accident where she rear ended a cop car. Then ran over a fire hydrant. When they asked her to step out, she did. Drunk out of her brains. She promptly assaulted a police officer, breaking his arm. I had to call dad to get her out of jail time.
I tell her for the millionth time. “Molls, you need to cool it with the drinking.”
She gives me an overtly agreeable look. “I will! I promise, Eli! With the new car, I’ll never--”
Understanding strikes. “You bought a 25000 dollar car for yourself?! With my money? Are you shitting me?”
“It’s my birthday, Eli!”
“In 6 months!!!”
She frowns. “Why are you getting so mad? It’s a drop in the bucket for you!”
She’s fucking unreal. “Goddammit Molly!“
“You kept complaining you have to drive me places—excuse me for thinking of your convenience!” She riles. Then she sniffs. Makes this long face like her dog got killed. “And now you’re yelling at me!”
Shit—was I really? Maybe she’s right. I’m going to inherit a goldmine and I’m worried about a 25 grand expense. So she’s a little careless with money. I’m no saint either. But we’ve lasted almost six months. Longest I’ve been with a girl. I can’t keep finding reasons to walk away from all of them. And I won’t fight over money. I move to stand in front of her. Part of me thinks I should squat so we’re at face level, but I can never bring myself to kneel. For anyone, for anything. Cupping her cheek, I lift her chin. “I’m not yelling, Molls. Just...just tell me before you buy stuff, alright?”
“Fine.” She grumbles. Then she starts to slip her hand inside my boxers. When I block it, she gives me a surprised look. “What--you’re holding out on me now?”
I don’t refute her. That assumption is probably better than the truth. “It’s seven. We’ve been inside all day. Let’s go meet the guys. Carter said they’ll be at Seb’s.”
“Carter’s a jerk.” She gripes.
Those were Carter’s exact words about her too, but Jesus, can she not do this now? I’m not a fan of her girlfriends either, but she doesn’t hear me complaining.
“He’s my closest friend.” Is all I say before I turn and collect my jeans, and pull them on.
I have trouble finding my keys. It’s a large penthouse, but her stuff is everywhere. Clothes, cosmetics, electronics, purses...never cleaning up after herself...with this piquant lavender scent all over the damn place...it’s like she’s moved in. Holy hell. She has, hasn’t she? Is that why I’m constantly running out of cash? I shouldn’t mind. Let it go. Just let it go, dammit. Money’s the one hard thing I can give her.
Then she comes out wearing this sundress with a plunging neckline and for once, just for a minute, I’m ready to forgive her if she cleans me dry. She tries to walk past me, but I get a hold of her wrist and pull her in for a kiss.
But she averts her head, cringing. “Ughh...hair and makeup.”
She sure used to not mind it before. Before she was officially Eli King’s girlfriend. Now there are no squeals of delight or little flirty glances my way. Now, she keeps looking at herself in the rearview mirror or texting the whole ride to Seb’s place. And only hooks her arm onto mine when we step out of the car, and the valet takes my keys. She prunes in satisfaction when everyone in the living room has seen us enter together. Then disappears inside with an offhanded, “Text me when you’re ready to leave.”
My ego takes a blow, even though it’s a pattern with any girl I’ve been with. But I have other things to worry about today. I swipe a glance looking for Carter, but all I can see are beer bottles, half naked chicks, some reality show playing on the giant TV, couples making out in every corner, music that I’m sure can be heard all the way to Mexico, and pizza everywhere--there’s literally pepperoni on the wall. And Seb’s in a corner on the deck, in only his briefs, inhaling a damn powder from the back of his hands.
“All hail the King!” He hollers, somehow louder than everything, and then mock bows when I walk over. “Mi casa es su casa, my friend.”
“Your casa is my casa, Seb. I’m paying the goddamn rent.” I remind him bitingly.
He billows out a wisp of smoke from a cigarette he seems to have pulled out of nowhere. Smoking, drugs, drinking, this guy’s the poster boy for smart choices. “Yeah but who’s paying the utilities?” He asks with an out-of-it smile.
Me. Why am I friends with this leech? “Where’s Carter?”
He shrugs, and I muse if the smoke coming out of him is his brain evaporating. I make my way to a quietish corner without debris on the floor, which is no easy feat, but I need to get a hold of Carter. He still hasn’t submitted the final recommendation analysis for the semester team project. One thing, that’s it. That’s all he had to do after I did the research, wrote it up, and made the presentation to Professor Keaton. He’s been slipping up. Negligent and irresponsible. Complete 180 from the guy I hit it off with the first week of freshman year. That guy was focused as hell when he didn’t have to be. His father’s some bigshot politician, like mine’s loaded. But for a change, it was nice being around someone who didn’t just want to slack off. Then all through last year and this one, I’m left playing catch up. Asking for extensions or covering for him, and him waltzing in at the end to share the credit. When I try to talk to him, all I get is a different excuse each time. He doesn’t like Molly. He has football practice. Or a new girl to impress. Or busy with a business plan for a tech startup--which I still haven’t seen, after giving him funds anytime he asked. If it wasn’t for the King fortune paying for a whole wing of the university and the football stadium, we would never get away with so many missed deadlines. Maybe I should stop bothering with grades, like he has. A or D, not like my future is going anywhere.
“Heyyyy Eli. I was wondering if--”
“No.” I cut the sugary voice off, whoever she is, without looking up from my phone. Horny or not, problems or not, I’ve never cheated on Molly and I don’t intend to start. I walk past the girl to the stairs, on my way up to bust open every door so I can pull Carter off his latest conquest, when the music is suddenly switched off. The room fills with audio from the TV. Some rich guy found in his office with his wrists slit. Christ. What are these people watching?
“Oh my God. Isn’t that your father?”
Seriously? I shake my head as they start chatting up some poor sucker behind me, and keep going up the stairs. But Seb’s voice booms so loud, I hobble at the edge of one step midway.
“Eli! That’s your father, dude!”
“Piss off, moron.” I mutter, steadying my feet and continuing up. Has he been tested for any developmental disabil--
“...reports confirm that real estate magnate Vaughn King committed suicide earlier this morning in his downtown Seattle office…”
It’s loud. So loud that this weird knife sharp fear cleaves up my chest, and all my energy is on keeping it at bay. It’s a sick joke. It has to be. I spin, fully expecting the voice to follow up and confirm that it was a hoax. But she doesn’t. Dad’s face now covers half the screen, while she talks about him being survived by two sons and a wife. And they have medics and ambulan
ces and emergency vehicles all around dad’s office. The hushed whispers around me turn into one giant screech of white noise. The only question I have in my head, as I feel the rug being pulled out from under me, is whether he left a formal will. Given the way things are...were...between him and mom, he must have left everything to me, right?
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There’s no will. Wouldn’t have helped anyway, given that there’s no money. None. Just a legacy of fraud. Cheating people out of their savings. Embezzling. Scam deals. It caught up to him. Evidently, that was his undoing. Not a wife who didn’t care. Or sons he didn’t know enough about to care. He killed himself because he ran out of illegal ways to keep making money. And the noose had been getting tighter. Even the house was collateral on a loan that he couldn’t repay. The lawyers tell me they have to put it up for foreclosure. We need to vacate it. Me and Scotty. Mostly Scotty, because I haven’t been living there for a while now. We don’t know where mom is. When she doesn’t show up even after the funeral, it’s safe to assume she’s not coming back. News reports told us that she ran away with some realtor, and that they had been in a relationship for a while. It doesn’t surprise me after the things I’ve seen her doing in my own home. And there’s no one else for us. How did I not ever notice the absence of any cousins or uncles or aunts? Either mom and dad don’t have any living relatives, or they’ve all wisely chosen to stay away from the clusterfuck we’re in.
I realize the night we move into a motel that I have cash that’ll only last us for a week. I also don’t have a plan for beyond that timeframe. I’ve never really had either. But for the first time in my life, I need both.
That, is when Warren Walton shows up.
Chapter 1
10 years later
New York, Early Oct 2019
