Mr. Sugar: A disturbing psychological thriller with a twist of dark romance

by L. D. Fox

  He could feel her watching him until he’d stepped through his front door.

  30

  Drew's Trust

  Bryce had only just set his briefcase down before his cellphone rang. Grimacing, he stuck his hand in his suit pocket and ended the call. Then he strode into his kitchen and yanked open the fridge to get a beer.

  “You’re home early.”

  “It’s eight.” Bryce closed the fridge, leaning against the door as he popped off the top and took a long swig.

  “Yesterday it was nine.” Joy winked at him and gestured him to her with her fingertips. “I missed you.”

  “Missed you too, baby girl.” Bryce used his hip to push away from the fridge and gathered Joy into his arms. She was tall, almost as tall as him, with the legs and ass of a runway model. And God, did she love flaunting those legs of hers. She wore one of his shirts — she’d taken it out of the hamper again if the traces of cologne and sweat were any indication — and it barely covered that fine ass. He could smell rum on her breath; she was probably three drinks ahead of him already.

  “You eat?”

  “A little,” she murmured into his neck. “But I’ll make us something after.”

  “After, huh?” He grinned at Joy and got a wide smile in return. She was pretty enough; her skin shone with expensive moisturizer, and her hair had the sleek, glossy look of hair products that probably cost more than a year’s supply of the stuff he used. “After what, exactly?”

  Joy ran her hands up his arms, pressing her fingers into his shoulders. “After I get rid of these knots.”

  He let her lead him through his apartment. It was austere — not purposefully but just because he didn’t give a shit about decorating the place — but he loved every inch of it. Maybe because he owned it outright; there was something to be said for knowing you could drive your fist through a door and no one would care. The only thing he’d really splurged on was the bed. You had to have a good bed. Chicks appreciated a mattress that didn’t creak when you banged them.

  Joy’d gotten his shoes and tie off before his phone rang again.

  “Jesus,” he muttered, taking another swig from his beer before batting away Joy’s hands. “Let me take this.”

  “Seriously?” The woman crossed her arms over her chest, her chestnut hair sliding around her shoulders as she shook her head. “There’s something wrong with you, Bryce Sugar.” She washed her hands down her body, her face sullen. “I mean, hello?”

  He grabbed her, gave her a rough kiss, and pushed her so hard that she fell with a squeal on the bed. “I gotta take this.”

  Joy pushed up to her elbows and scowled hard at him as he hunted through his jacket for his phone. She was toying with the top button of her shirt — his shirt — when he answered.

  “Sugar.”

  “Bryce? This is Harry Reynolds, Drew’s attorney.”

  “Christ, is he suing me already?” he cut in, taking a last swig of his beer before setting it down the nightstand.

  Joy’s hand was halfway down her belly; the buttons above all undone.

  She wasn’t wearing a bra.

  A smile twitched his mouth as he slid his knees on the bed and ran a hand over her collarbone. His fingers disappeared beneath the fabric of her shirt.

  “I’m sorry, suing you?”

  “That’s what this is, right? Look, it was just a prank, buddy. It got out of hand, feels were bruised, people got fired—”

  Joy made a pleased sound when he tweaked her nipple. She lay back on the bed, parting the shirt so he could see the entire expanse of her flawless skin. Delicate, citrus notes rose up to him as he bent his head to press his lips to that same dusky nipple.

  “P—prank?” Harry’s voice broke into a stutter. “Why’d I b-be calling about a prank? This is about the trustee position.”

  “The what now?” He skimmed his free hand down Joy’s stomach, smiling when her muscles trembled at the touch. She gasped quietly when his hand disappeared between her legs.

  God, she was dripping wet for him. Had she been keeping herself busy with that neon pink vibrator of hers? The thought made his dick swell.

  “Mr. Sugar…” The lawyer noisily cleared his throat. “Your brother is adding you as a successor trustee to the D. M. Sugar trust. He wanted it kept as some kind of surprise, but it’s my legal obligation to ensure that you are made aware of the fact before I—”

  Joy grabbed hold of his dick through his pants, squeezing him hard. Then she parted her legs, exhaling a warm breath against his cheek when he glanced up at her.

  “He’s what?” This with a laugh. “Wait, the what trust?”

  Harry let out a long, blustering breath. “Your brother, Drew? It’s his trust.”

  Bryce tugged Joy’s legs open, climbed between them, and unbuckled his pants. Her arms lifted and grabbed hold of the top of the headboard. She gazed at him with hooded eyes, her lips parted with anticipation.

  “Sure it is,” he said. “Look, I’m kinda in the middle of something, yeah?”

  “I… I can hear that.” Harry cleared his throat again and then rushed out, “I’m having the trust deeds couriered to Drew. He said something about giving them to you this weekend. You’ll need to keep a copy in a safe place at all times, along with—”

  “Hey, Harry? Do me a favor, would you?”

  “Yeah, okay?” The man’s voice on the other end of the phone became wary. Had he heard Joy? Was he wondering what the hell had made that noise? Or did he already know?

  Joy began squirming impatiently, pouting at him as she tried to tug him closer with her legs. He slapped her ass, hard. She stilled, her mouth falling open, and her lips trembling.

  “Tell Drew to go fuck himself.”

  “Mr. Sugar, you don’t seem to understand—”

  “Listen, buddy… I’ve got places to be.” Bryce thrust hard into Joy, making the woman gasp. “Let’s chat later, yeah?”

  But Harry had already hung up.

  Bryce grinned at Joy as he dropped the phone to the bed beside him.

  “What was that about?” she asked, her voice tight with effort.

  “Not sure yet.” Bryce leaned down, catching her bottom lip between his teeth. “I’ll know soon enough.”

  Joy wrapped her legs around his waist when he thrust into her again. This time, her moan was loud enough that his neighbors must have heard.

  That was the other great thing about owning an apartment; no one could kick you out because you fucked your girlfriend too hard.

  31

  Check Mate

  Angel slammed down the bowl she’d been ladling soup into, spinning to face Drew. Soup slopped over the side, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “She’s what?” Her voice shook.

  He shrugged. “It’s not like I don’t have the room.”

  Angel’s face twitched at that, and she scowled openly at him. “And now you’ll have even more, because I’m not going.”

  “You can’t stay here by yourself.”

  Her scowl deepened. “What, because I’m twelve? I’ve been looking after myself—”

  He moved around the side of the kitchen island, catching her arm just above the elbow. “Because I said so.”

  Her eyes flickered, darting between his. “I thought it was just going to be us.” She held up her hand, stabbing a finger at the ring that gleamed so prettily on her finger. “You know, the newly engaged couple?”

  “I’ll make sure we spend some time together.” He smiled softly at her. “Just you and me.”

  “And she’s okay with that?” There was tension in the girl’s face, but it was fading.

  God, was she so naive that putting a ring on her finger had evaporated every reservation she’d had about him? If anything, it should have rung alarm bells all through her pretty little head until she couldn’t go to sleep for the ruckus.

  “Sure, why wouldn’t she?”

  “Last I checked, you were still trying to bang her.”
/>   “I’m making up for the shit I put her through.” He squeezed her arm. “You really think I’d do that to you? Try and screw someone else while my fiancé was in the house? Didn’t you hear what I said today?”

  She tugged her arm, trying to get it free. “That wasn’t just for show?”

  He laughed. “You think I’d marry you just for show?”

  Angel shrugged. “Yeah, actually. Like, to get back at your brother, or something.”

  “Get back at him?” He laughed again, harder. “Were you paying any attention? At all? Once? The past is in the past, Angel.”

  “Then why are you doing this?” she asked, leaning into him until he could feel her body heat. “Why are you putting Bryce in your trust?”

  He flinched at the question. “It’s what responsible people do. If something happens to me—”

  “I’ll tell your boss it wasn’t you,” she cut in, her eyes darting between his. “I’ll tell him everything. You’ll get your job back, Bryce’ll get fired.”

  “Too little, too late.” He shrugged. “He wants everything I have? Let him have it.”

  Angel’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

  “I’m done fighting, Angel.” He sighed heavily. “I’m done losing to him all the time. I’m just…” He dropped his eyes. “I’m done.”

  “So you’re rolling over?”

  “Trent will never hire me back, even if you clear this up.” He ran his hands up her arms, gripping the sides of her neck. “Something you don’t seem to understand, sweetheart.” His voice dropped low, but the urgency — the fury in it — multiplied. He dipped his head so he could stare her straight in the eyes. “My reputation has been destroyed. I won’t be able to get a job in anything resembling finance ever again. Best I can hope for is some kind of freelancing gig where I get to put my years and years of experience to some semblance of good use. Do you get that? Can you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Fuck you, you condescending piece of shit,” she spat, ripping herself free.

  She lifted her hand, already tugging the engagement ring from her finger. He grabbed her, crushing her fingers together hard enough that she yelled out in pain.

  “Did you think there wouldn’t be repercussions? Huh? Did you think you could fuck my brother, get me fired, ruin my fucking life—” his voice rose to a shout “—and you wouldn’t have to pay the fucking piper?”

  “Let go!” She yelled as she yanked her hand free.

  “Life isn’t all peaches and cream, Angel.” He grabbed the back of her head, shaking her. “Not this life. Not this one.”

  “I didn’t know he’d do that!”

  Tears shimmered on her lashes, but she sniffed hard and squeezed them from her eyes with a hard blink. “I didn’t know, okay?” she whispered. “I didn’t fucking know.”

  “Would you still have done it?” He wiped his thumbs over her cheeks, smearing those glittering trails of wetness into her skin. “Huh? Would you still have fucked him if—”

  “No!” She shook her head, blinked another pair of tears from her eyes. “Jesus, no.”

  That statement — or perhaps the sliver of sincerity that sparkled in her eyes — doused his anger like a bucket upended over a fireplace. Releasing her, he turned and took a seat at the kitchen counter. Then he retrieved the bowl of soup she’d been dishing up and slid it closer.

  “Glad to hear it. Now go pack something warm.”

  She used the heel of her hand to swipe at her eyes. “I don’t have something warm.” She slopped soup into her own bowl, choosing to sit across the table from him.

  “Penny should have.”

  “She who will not be named?” Angel muttered.

  He put his spoon down.

  Angel froze, drew a deep breath, and tore off a piece of bread from the French loaf she’d put in the middle of the table.

  “Sorry.” This, another mutter.

  “Sorry, who?”

  “Sorry, Sir.”

  He grunted, watching her as she dipped her bread into her soap and nibbled at it. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t look at him, instead concentrating on her food. He’d heard her moving about the kitchen the past hour, but he’d been caught up with filling in forms and forging Bryce’s signature on them; he hadn’t been about to interrupt. The smells coming from his bowl were making his mouth water; she’d prepared some kind of tomato and herb soup that had a swirl of pale cream in the middle. It even had a few bits of caramelized onion sprinkled on top.

  “Isn’t it?” he prompted when she refused to answer.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “So why are you sulking?”

  Angel’s cheeks tinged pink at that, and she pushed her bowl away. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  “Eat.”

  She’d already slid from the kitchen stool, but her jaw set and she turned back to her place setting. And then she began shoveling spoonfuls of soup into her mouth, using the knuckle on her thumb to smear away whatever trickles escaped her mouth.

  “I don’t like your attitude.”

  “And I don’t like being shoved around like a pawn in this fucking game of yours.” Her blue eyes blazed like frozen sapphires when she glared up at him. “But I guess we’ll both just have to get used to it.”

  Her bowl was empty when she slid off her stool again. She paused as if waiting for another command. Another order for her stay, or eat, or behave. But he just watched, calmly sliding his spoon into his mouth.

  After a few seconds, Angel turned and left. Drew stared after her, pushing away his bowl the moment he heard her making her way up the stairs.

  It wasn’t the food — that had been some of the best soup he’d tasted — but his appetite had vanished at Angel’s statement.

  What she didn’t get was that he wasn’t using her as a pawn. She was the queen, if anything. Capable of mimicking the move of every piece on the board… except for the knight, of course.

  A faint smile pulled at his mouth.

  And, in this analogy, he was the knight.

  32

  Afterglow

  Joy lay curled on her side, sound asleep, when his cellphone rang again later that night. Bryce grabbed it from the nightstand and cocked his head when he saw the caller ID. Snatching his cigarettes, he slid out of bed and walked half-naked into his living room as he answered the call.

  “Evening, bro.” He lit himself a cigarette and opened the door to the balcony, stepping into the brisk night air. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

  “Evidently, I didn’t wake you up,” came Drew’s sour voice from the other end of the line. “Busy banging the third girl of the week?”

  “What? Me?” Bryce laughed, leaning his elbows on the railing and taking a long pull at his smoke. “Nothing of the kind. So to what do I owe this most prestigious call?”

  Drew grunted and was quiet for a moment. “Busy this weekend?”

  “Is that a rhetorical?”

  “You know what, never mind.”

  Bryce’s smile lifted. He thought on the paperwork Harry had faxed through two hours ago, after he’d put Joy into a fuck-coma and phoned the lawyer back to find out what he’d been on about. He must have stared at those documents for over half an hour, chain-smoking cigarettes as he drank his last beer and then chased it down with two whiskey sours.

  Why the fuck would Drew be adding him to his trust? And then there was Angel — the trust’s new beneficiary? There’d been something else, too, something that Harry seemed reluctant to voice despite how hard he pressed. He just kept saying that it was privileged information until Drew decided to share it.

  The only slightly plausible explanation — and the most logical — was that Drew had lost his mind.

  What fun.

  “What’s on your mind, bro?”

  There was a pause. “I’m going to my lakehouse. Taking some time off.”

  Bryce tugged on his cigarette, staring out over the twinkling light
s of the city spread before him. This wasn’t exactly New York, but there were plenty enough apartment blocks, street lamps, and houses to pollute the night air with their lights. Enough that only a few of the bravest, strongest stars were visible when he tipped his head back.

  “Yeah, that’s the Drew I know. Phone up your brother and brag about your lakehouse. Nicely done.”

  “I…” Drew made an exasperated sound. “I didn’t want—”

  “One word at a time. You can do it.” He grinned when Drew’s voice came back rushed and heated.

  “Angel said to invite you. Said it’d be a good chance for us to resolve our issues.”

  He laughed, hard, slapping the railing with his palm. “Yeah, sure she did. Was she wearing a pair of glasses and writing in a little notebook at the time?”

  “You know what? Forget it. I told her it was a waste—”

  “Whoa, little brother. Don’t get your panties in a knot.”

  “For fuck’s sake—”

  “I’ll come.”

  There was a pause. He could hear something sliding over wood — a tumbler? — and the squeak of a chair. “You’ll come?”

  “Yeah. Why not?” Bryce scratched his side, giving himself goosebumps. “Nothing to do here, anyway.”

  “You mean no one,” Drew said dryly.

  “Sure.” He laughed. “Is Angel going to be there?”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t mean—”

  His laugh cut off whatever Drew had wanted to say. “Relax, bro. You know me; when have I ever had the same piece of ass twice?”

  There was a long, pregnant pause. He could almost imagine how Drew’s face screwing up; his lips going tight, his eyes narrowing, homicidal rage brewing in his eyes.

  So he laughed again, took the last drag of his cigarette, and flicked it over the side of the balcony.

  “Send me the address,” he said, his words emerging white and billowy with the smoke. “And tell me what to bring.”

  “Your best behavior.”