Ice on Fire (Treble and the Lost Boys Book 1)

by G. R. Lyons

  “But he gave you a promotion?” Hadley asked.

  Milo nodded. “Made some off-hand comment about having known our grandfather, but otherwise didn't say a thing about the old rivalry. Not a word. He got real quiet for a moment, and I thought he was going to fire me on the spot. Then he goes on about the company and the merger and what he expects of everyone in his employ, and how he was impressed by my record, then just blurts out that he's bumping up my position. Raise and everything.”

  “Holy shit,” Zac blurted out.

  “Language,” Mama said, almost distractedly, still staring at Milo along with everyone else.

  Milo nodded. “I don't get it. I mean, he doesn't really know anything about me. Yeah, my record's good and all, but he has no idea if I'll actually work up to his standards, and he just throws a promotion at me.” Milo frowned. “I can't figure out if he's trying to rub it in Grandpa's face that a Cinder is working for him or what. Unless it's a keep-your-enemy-close kind of thing.”

  “Or maybe you're just that good at your job,” Merik said, “and he sees that.”

  Milo frowned at his twin. “Maybe,” he muttered, clearly not convinced.

  Merik reached across the table and gave Milo's hand a squeeze. Milo squeezed back, then took another breath as he looked around the table and gave a shrug. “Nothing to do but wait and see, I guess.”

  A few nodded while others simply frowned in thought.

  Zac bounced his leg. Gods, he hoped his brother was going to be alright working for that man. The last thing he wanted was to see any of his siblings lose their jobs for whatever reason, but especially because of the stupid old rivalry between the two families.

  Milo turned the discussion over to Hadley, who gave her bit of news for the week, then suddenly it was Zac's turn.

  Zac hesitated, leg still bouncing as he poked at his eggs with his fork.

  “I…uh…”

  He hesitated again, shoving a bite of pancakes into his mouth to buy himself one more moment.

  “Sweetie?” Mama prompted. “What is it?”

  Zac grimaced, swallowed, then muttered, “I think I did something stupid.”

  Fane snorted. “That's hardly a first,” he teased.

  Hadley threw a piece of toast at Fane, who neatly caught it and tossed it right back, smacking Hadley in the cheek.

  “Ewww.”

  Fane laughed. “It's your toast.”

  Hadley stuck her tongue out at him while she scrubbed at her cheek with her napkin.

  “Zac?” Mama asked.

  The whole table fell silent and looked at him. Zac was sure he was blushing, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  “So…um…my group, Treble. We got offered a gig. By Frost.”

  “Holy sh–,” Merik and Milo both said, then simultaneously corrected themselves: “Crap.”

  Mama shot the twins a look, then returned her attention to Zac. “And?” she asked gently.

  “And…we turned it down?” Zac finished lamely.

  “How come?” Kaelie asked.

  Niko snorted. “Duh. Because it's Frost.”

  Zac bounced his leg and shrugged, trying to appear more nonchalant about the whole thing than he felt. “He was going to pay us twenty grand,” he mumbled.

  Someone hissed.

  “And you turned that down?” Kaelie asked.

  “He was going to make us change everything. Our looks. Our sound. He said Ryley and I didn't look 'respectable', and that our usual music was too wild. He called it 'stuff',” he finished, spitting the word. Gods, that still hurt. Hearing his music reduced to something that sounded like the equivalent of filth on the bottom of Mr. Gordyn's shoe.

  Stuff. What the hells does he know? He wouldn't know good music if it slapped him in the face.

  “Good for you,” Dad murmured.

  Zac whipped his head around, and saw a proud smile on his father's face.

  “Your integrity is far more important than all the money in the world,” Dad went on. “Never forget that.”

  “I'm proud of you, sweetheart,” Mama added.

  “Here, here,” Fane said, unusually serious as he raised his glass of orange juice in salute.

  Zac almost felt dizzy as all the worry drained out of him. His family supported his decision. Thank gods. Of course, as he looked back at his father again and gave him a grateful smile, he realized he should have known better, especially after what Dad himself had done as a young man, turning down ungodly sums of money for the sake of his own integrity.

  It was why Zac's family had always struggled financially, but Dad never complained, and often said it had been the best decision of his life.

  Zac gave a sigh of relief just as Milo asked, “Was it for the gala last night?”

  “Yeah, actually,” Zac answered.

  Milo chuckled. “Too bad. It would have made the night so much better. The music was awful.”

  Zac grinned. “Toni's band?”

  Milo shrugged. “I have no idea. It was just so painfully dull.”

  “Wait, you were there?” Niko asked.

  Milo nodded. “Yeah. The great, annual company gala,” he noted sarcastically, then shrugged. “Apparently, all employees are required to attend, so…” He gestured at himself, being employed by Frost now. “That was interesting, trying to come up with dress clothes at the last minute.”

  “Oh, honey, why didn't you say something?” Mama scolded him.

  “We got it figured out,” Milo and his twin both said at the same time before Milo continued alone: “Mer's gonna need a tux for when he goes to the Crawford art show, anyway, so we went and bought one together to share. Not like we'll ever need it at the same time.”

  “If ever again, after this,” Merik put in.

  “You never know,” Mama said.

  Milo shrugged. “Honestly, I'd be fine if I never need to wear one again. Especially at a Frost function.”

  “That bad?” Tarynn asked.

  Zac focused on his brother, curious as to just what he'd missed out on by not taking that gig.

  Milo chuckled. “Frost is so fake, it's ridiculous. He comes off nice enough, but you can almost see the calculating look behind his smile, you know? Like–”

  “A shark going after its prey,” Merik said with him, their voices in sync.

  “And his son,” Milo went on, chuckling and shaking his head. “He's basically Frost, Second Edition.”

  “He has a son?” Dad asked.

  Milo nodded. “Just the one, apparently. And he's as cold and standoffish as Frost himself is made out to be. The guy barely acknowledged anyone the whole night.”

  “Jerk,” Kaelie spat.

  “Right?” Milo and Merik replied before Milo went on: “He'll fit right into his father's shoes when he takes over someday.”

  “Poor kid,” Dad muttered.

  Zac frowned, inclined to agree, though he'd never actually met Frost himself. To be raised by that man? Ugh. No, thank you. Bad enough the whispers he'd heard about Frost's stern reputation in business. He could only imagine how bad it was at home.

  While the conversation ran on, Zac glanced at each face around the table, and found himself smiling. Yes, Dad definitely made the right decision all those years ago. Like him, Zac wouldn't trade his family for all the money in the world.

  * * *

  ADRIAN OPENED his eyes slowly when he woke Solday morning. Late Solday morning, he noted when he saw the time glaring at him from the clock on his nightstand. He slumped back on his pillows with a sigh. His father would be furious if he knew Adrian was still in bed. Hells, the old man had probably been up since half five, impeccably dressed and hard at work despite having gone to bed well past midnight, after the gala.

  Apparently, his grandfather had been the same way. No wonder the man had died of a heart attack as young as he had. Adrian frowned. He did not want that life for himself.

  Just a few more months. His final school term would start tomorrow, giving him som
ething to do, something to work toward. He had absolutely no plans to ever use his degree, especially now that he knew of the trust fund just sitting there, waiting for him to graduate. With millions at his disposal, millions that his father couldn't touch, he wouldn't have to go work for Frost Investments like he'd always been told, for which he'd always been groomed. He could be a free man. Make his own decisions. Pursue his own dreams.

  Whatever those might be. He still hadn't figured out that part.

  But it didn't matter. If he kept at his studies, finished his degree, earned his inheritance, he could do whatever he wanted. Live a little. Maybe take some time to enjoy life on his own terms. Then decide what to do. He knew it couldn't last forever, and that, at some point, he'd have to buckle down and get some sort of job, but at least he'd have an opportunity to enjoy some freedom for a while, freedom from his father, freedom from his very name.

  Freedom to find out what in all seven hells he wanted to do with his life, something he'd never been allowed to consider before. Now he was faced with the prospect of actually having that opportunity, and though it scared the ever-loving shit out of him, it also brought a thrill he'd never allowed himself to entertain, not even in his wildest fantasies.

  Adrian groaned. Speaking of fantasies…

  A shiver of delight ran through him, thinking back on his fantasies from the night before. The razor, though bringing him an initial sense of calm, hadn't fully done the trick, the sharp pain not quite enough to cut through the full extent of his anxiety from when the alcohol had combined with his pills. Having to endure the end of the night with nothing but his own determination not to entirely lose control—so he'd neither make a fool of himself nor embarrass his father—had been agony. Somehow, he'd been able to reach the end of the gala without incident, but that much effort meant a more desperate need for relief.

  After a quick session with his razor, drawing the blade across his leg over and over until he knew he had to stop—that cutting any more or any deeper would only lead to disaster even though he ached to keep going—he'd taken a shower, longer and hotter than the one he'd taken before the gala, reveling in the sting as the water beat down on his fresh cuts, then let his mind drift to the violinist, the man who occupied all his dirty fantasies.

  And, frequently, his thoughts in general. Memories of the violinist up on the Underground stage had carried him through the night, helping him endure the torture that was the crowded gala, the constant posturing, the incessant game of pretend in which he had to be a proper gentleman and a good host. That didn't even touch on the disgusting farce of pretending interest in Miss Dawsen. Adrian shivered at the thought. The poor girl had batted her eyelashes at him more than once, touching him suggestively without breaking the bounds of propriety. It had been all he could do to avoid even the simple touch of her fingers on his arm.

  But when he imagined the violinist's fingers in their place…

  Adrian tilted his head back and groaned, picturing those long, slender, elegant fingers, wondering how they'd feel on his skin, teasing him, tormenting him with pleasure. He wondered how it would feel to pull all that hair free of its braid and let the strands run through his fingers. How it would feel to strip the man of all his clothes and press their bodies together, a sensation Adrian could only guess at since he'd never felt anything remotely like it.

  Hells, he couldn't remember the last time he was even hugged.

  What would it be like to have another man's hands on him? Trailing over his skin? Drawing him close? Holding him tight? Lost to the simple fantasy, Adrian wrapped a hand around his aching cock, startling himself with how quickly he found release. His thoughts hadn't even gotten anywhere near actual sex, and he was already coming while the hot water had continued to beat down on his skin.

  Now, the next morning, as he thought about it all over again, his cock grew hard once more, begging for attention. Adrian smiled as he pictured his violinist.

  His. Gods, he wished. To have that man in his arms, in his bed, to be inside him…

  Adrian's hand drifted toward his cock, only for the perfect silence of the morning to be shattered by his ringing phone.

  “Fuck,” he spat, sitting up in bed. “Why?”

  He threw back the covers, hunted around for his phone, snatched it up, and answered.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “About time you answered,” Sebastian Frost grumbled.

  Adrian frowned, pulled his phone away to check the screen, and saw two notifications for missed calls, both from earlier that morning. He'd somehow managed to sleep right through the ringtone.

  He put the phone back to his ear. “Apologies, sir. I was…studying.”

  “Oh. Very well, then. And?”

  Adrian stifled a grumble. Classes didn't even start until tomorrow, but that didn't mean he was allowed to put anything off. At least he could answer honestly: “I've already studied the course syllabi, as well as read the first three chapters of all my texts.” He'd be well ahead and prepared for whatever they threw at him on the first day.

  “Good enough, I suppose,” his father said. “How do you see this term going?”

  “Challenging, but doable.”

  “Alright. And outside of school?”

  Adrian paused, not understanding the question. “Outside of school, sir?”

  Sebastian Frost sighed heavily. “Young man, you are twenty-two years old and have no friends or business contacts. And don't even get me started on the fact you're still a virgin…”

  Adrian winced.

  “I need you to start cultivating a life here, to take part in the community. The Frost name will take you far, but you're going to have to step up and do your part to foster that.”

  “Yes, sir,” Adrian forced out.

  “How did you like Miss Dawsen?”

  Adrian froze, his stomach churning with nerves. Before he could come up with an answer, his father went on.

  “Mr. Dawsen indicated to me, this morning, that his daughter took quite a liking to you, though I'm honestly not sure why, considering how aloof you were all night. Still, I suppose it's something that you managed even that much.” He paused, then ruined Adrian's morning even more: “I'd like you to take her out again. Sometime in the next few weeks. Provided it doesn't interfere with your studies, of course.”

  Adrian clenched his free hand into a fist, rubbing his knuckles roughly over the new cuts on his thigh, tearing them right back open.

  “An alliance with that family would be a smart move,” his father continued, oblivious to his pain. “Both in terms of business and society. The Dawsen name is respected and would look good alongside yours one day.”

  “Father,” Adrian said, trying not to sound like he was begging, “I've only just met her–”

  “Yes, yes. I'm not saying you should just go out and marry the girl. Gods, don't be ridiculous. You'll certainly have to ascertain her character first. However, she is a promising prospect.”

  Adrian tightened his fist while also rolling his eyes. That was all any human being was to Sebastian Frost: a prospect, an object, something to be weighed and measured and either used or cast aside.

  “I– Hold on.”

  Adrian half-listened as his father spoke to someone else, the conversation muffled. He closed his eyes and tried taking deep breaths, forcing the anxiety to steer clear so long as he was on the phone. He could fall apart after.

  His father sighed. “I have to take care of this. Consider my words, Adrian. And do well in class tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir,” he managed to force out.

  Without so much as a farewell, his father rang off.

  Adrian dropped his phone at his side and gasped out a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He opened his fist, his fingertips dragging across his cuts. The pain startled him enough that he gasped again and looked down, watching as smears of red seeped up and stained his pale skin. The sight was just what he needed. Adrian stared, focused on the color, on the pain, until he felt su
fficiently composed that he could actually stand without crumpling to the floor.

  He went to the washroom, used the toilet, cleaned up the blood, bandaged his cuts, and got dressed. No sense in trying to jerk off now that his father's threats had driven all signs of life out of his cock.

  A few more months, he reminded himself. With that in mind, Adrian sat at his desk and went over his class schedule again, making doubly sure he had everything he needed for his first week of school. Textbooks. Notebooks. Bag. Pens. Tablet. Locations of all his classrooms.

  He had three more degree courses as well as one core class he'd not yet been able to fit into his schedule, the times always in conflict with the other courses he needed, plus his thesis sessions with his department adviser. He'd be plenty busy.

  Which, with any luck, would make the time go by all that much faster.

  And then graduation.

  Which meant a trust fund.

  Which meant freedom.

  It couldn't come fast enough. As such, the rest of the day seemed to drag on endlessly, tormenting him with waiting when all he wanted to do was hurry up and get started. He studied more, trying to get a bigger head-start, but that only chipped away at the hours. He fantasized, but that somehow only ate up minutes. He watched movies, but still the day wasn't over.

  Nightfall took ages to come around, and once it did, Adrian went to bed, only to toss and turn and watch the clock tick away at an agonizingly slow pace. It seemed morning would never come.

  Then it did, and Adrian jerked upright in bed as his alarm tore him out of sleep, reminding him that he was now going to have to face the crowds. Go out in public. Step outside the safe confines of his apartment.

  He eased out of bed and went straight to his bottle of pills, forcing himself to only take one instead of a handful like he wanted. He'd have to at least be functional. Not a total robot.

  But not a quivering mess, either.

  One pill chipped away just enough of the anxiety that he managed to get dressed, gather his things, and walk out the door. His apartment wasn't far from campus, so he walked the whole way there, keeping his head down and his shoulders rounded, eyes fixed on the pavement before him as he made his way through the morning traffic.