by SE Chardou
I knocked on the door shortly after I rung the doorbell. It was too late now for me to back out of this arrangement even if I had a pretty good idea what Dorian and Ella had done before I showed up. Perhaps that meant he truly was serious about me and wouldn’t expect sex from me that night.
Dorian opened the door in a pair of slightly baggy dark blue jeans and a black silk shirt. He looked good even if he was dressed on the casual side when compared to me. I would have never known anything had gone down between him and Ella except his hair was damp from a recent shower. He smelled good, like a mixture of designer body wash and cologne that had strong accents of sandalwood, mint, and citrus.
“You look great,” he said to me as he kissed my cheek and embraced me warmly.
As we separated, I smiled at him as he led me into the living room. The whole downstairs smelled like some kind of delicious culinary masterpiece awaited us in the dining room.
“I’m impressed,” I stated, looking him up and down with a wry grin on my face. “Not only are you a talented musician but you can cook too.”
Dorian smirked though the slight crimson stain of a blush he was trying to hide put a dent in his didn’t-give-a-shit persona. “I’ve always known how to cook. I didn’t grow up with maids, cooks or a butler you know. It was tough to live amongst strangers after my parents tossed me to the side and couldn’t be bothered to care about me.”
I noticed the bitterness in his voice and wondered who his parents were exactly. Not much was known about his private life or his upbringing except that he’d grown up in South Africa and attended a boarding school there. At the age of fourteen, he’d transferred to a military academy where he graduated at seventeen with honors and after that, everything was a blank slate covered up by him backpacking across Europe for several years until he set down roots in Paris and quickly became known as one of the best DJs in Europe shortly after his twenty-second birthday.
DoPe was born sometime shortly thereafter and he managed to get a hold of Grace Cox as his manager and some of the best producers working the progressive house and trip-hop scene. He’d released three full-length albums: Collide, Listen Up and his latest, Sick Beats. All had gone multi-platinum and had led to an additional three live albums: DoPe Collides in Rio de Janeiro, Listen Up in Ibiza and Sick Beats Rock Berlin.
The man was a legend on the dance scene though most people knew him for his love affairs and trysts with pop stars and hip Hollywood starlets than they did for his music. He’d had more than a few mainstream hits, mostly remixes of popular artists songs that he managed to make better than the original versions.
I realized then although I’d slept with this guy, I didn’t know anything about him that probably couldn’t be found on his Wikipedia page. That was a first for me. I’d always been meticulous and fastidious about the men I’d had sexual relationships with especially in this day in age with sexually transmitted diseases and the whole YOLO culture of having been born a Millennial.
“So, where did you just go? I asked you a question and you completely blanked me.”
“What?” I asked out loud, ashamed that I’d been caught in my own world yet again.
When was I going to stop analyzing every part of my life and learn how to live? Probably never since I was indirectly responsible for a man’s death and there wasn’t a statute of limitation on murder.
True, I was never suspected and his death had been ruled natural causes due to his age, health, lifestyle and the medications prescribed for various ailments common with men his age but that didn’t mean my secret was safe. As long as Campbell was around and breathing down my neck, I would never be safe.
“Sorry,” I replied as our eyes met. His were so blue they resembled the Caribbean ocean while mine probably looked hazel with green flecks caused by wide-eyed, acute guilt. “I have been spacing since Richard’s death. I don’t know why . . . hopefully, it’ll get better once it sinks in he’s really gone.”
He walked toward the back of his house and I followed until we reached the dining room. He’d tastefully decorated the expensive oak table with good china, immaculate silverware, two wine glasses and a bottle of Pinot Gris. Whatever he cooked looked like it was a stew or a soup since the dish was set in the middle of the table. A large china bowl with the top firmly in place, and a large soup-serving spoon next to the dish confirmed my assumption.
“I didn’t know what you liked but since I saw you devouring seafood earlier, I knew you aren’t allergic to it so I made a South African specialty with an American twist. It’s lobster tail soup jazzed up with various vegetables and prawns in a butter-cream base. Yes, it sounds heavy and caloric but believe me, it’s worth every sinful spoonful,” Dorian explained as he pulled my chair out and I sat down.
“Wow. Thank you, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it a lot. It just means I’ll have to add an extra half hour at yoga tomorrow but I’m sure you’ll make it worth my while.”
The double entendre was not lost upon him as he responded, “You know there’s more ways to work off this soup than yoga.”
I waited until he sat down so I could look him in the eyes as I said, “Well that’s very true but I’m sure doing the horizontal shuffle with the insatiable Ella Jade probably wore you out.”
He studied me as he opened the wine and poured us each a half a glass. “You sound jealous. If it makes you feel better, I wore a condom. It was her idea—not mine. We weren’t supposed to see each other again until tomorrow when we’ll lay the first track down at the studio.”
“I’m not jealous at all.” I sipped from my wine and enjoyed the enchanting crispness of the elegant white wine that seemed to light up my taste buds. “I’m just not into sharing. If you have personal issues to work out with your ex-girlfriend then you can’t possibly become serious about me.”
“You’re not into sharing yet you have spent more than a decade sharing a man with his wife. Isn’t that a contradiction in terms? Not to mention you were cheating on your spouse.” Dorian swigged from his wine. “Tell me, was the child you became pregnant with really Richard’s?”
I knew what he wanted from me: shame and indignation as if I dare bring up his little early evening delight when I was not only an adulterer but having a long-term sexual relationship with my adopted brother. Had it been on my terms, I might have felt guilty but since Cam had been ordering me around for most of my life and Richard had done the same, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
No matter how “progressive” our society became, what was good for the goose was not good for the gander. Men could string women along and have as many as they wanted yet society never judged them. If a woman did the same, she was considered a skank, whore, or generally a female of low self-esteem with “daddy” issues.
I said nothing as he served the soup, giving me a smaller proportion to what he served himself. All I could think of was that old adage my adopted Mother repeated constantly when she thought I was eating too much, “Calories, Calories, Alyssa! Gluttony is a sin, and unbecoming of a God-fearing young woman.”
“Well?” Dorian asked again. “You never answered my question.”
I tasted the soup and he was right, it was sinfully delicious. Plus it bought me time to answer a question I truly didn’t know the answer to, and never bothered to find out.
“Yes, the child I lost was Richard’s baby.” I glanced at him beguilingly. “My affair with Cam isn’t entirely consensual. If I’d had a choice, I would have stopped it ages ago. I thought it would stop when he got married but after he married one of those stuck-up, sexually repressed Mormon bitches from our congregation, I innately knew it wouldn’t.”
“I guessed as much from your body language toward him.” Dorian finished his soup in record timing and cleaned his mouth with a cloth napkin. “So, tell me, Alyssa, was the sex between you and Richard entirely consensual?”
What the hell was this? Twenty questions?
“Yes, it was. In my own way, I loved my husband.”
>
Liar!
“Is that right? I mean . . . didn’t he cause your family a tremendous amount of grief?”
I didn’t like where this conversation was going. Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t seen the signs even though they were all there in plain view. He obviously knew much more about me than I did about him. Yet even if that was the case, I refused to discuss my parents’ death with anyone. A shrink couldn’t get it out of me and neither could the police investigators or my adopted family. In that case, the evidence truly was my voice because I refused to give credence to the one event in my life that changed me forever.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I responded with a straight face. “Richard was a good man. He lived an exceptionally charmed life, and I suppose his only regret was he failed to leave a legacy behind other than the music he produced.”
“Richard Conlon, formerly known as Jeroen van den Beek, lived a very charmed life, and I can assure you his legacy extends beyond his music. He immigrated to the States at a young age. He was determined to make it and nothing or no one would stand in his way. Including his best friend who came to America with him. You see, Richard Conlon had no surviving relatives except for distant family in Ireland. They looked very much alike—they could have passed for brothers. Hell, they were brothers—half at least. The Conlons worked for the van den Beeks, and Mary Elizabeth had a long-term affair with Edvard, Jeroen’s father.”
I stood slowly to my feet. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Dorian stood as well and walked over to me. “They were born the same year, and their birthdays were only a few months’ apart. The van den Beek name is synonymous with the diamond industry—specifically conflict diamonds. Not to mention the family were staunch supporters of the apartheid regime. Do you honestly believe Jeroen van den Beek would have been a success story had he not sacrificed his brother’s life, assumed his identity and literally became him?”
“How can you possibly know all of this?” I shook my head, trying to erase this whole dreaded story from my mind as Dorian walked me up the stairs to his bedroom.
“It’s common knowledge in South Africa or did you forget I spent more time in that country than I have in the States?” His arm wrapped around my waist possessively. “What I find amazing is that you feel guilty about what you’ve done when in fact you did the world a favor. Jeroen van den Beek should have been murdered a long time ago yet it took his trophy wife to make it happen.”
I looked into his eyes and there it was all along. He hadn’t chosen me randomly in that crowd. Somehow or another, he knew what I’d done and set me up to be the perfect foil for him. He was no angel either, and he needed someone as ruthless and heartless by his side as he truly was but hid behind a veneer of civility and class.
The man was a predator and for the first time since the age of fourteen, I’d been outplayed.
Checkmate.
The look on Alyssa’s face was priceless, and one Dorian would cherish over and over again. Unfortunately for her, the secrets he’d spilled wouldn’t be his last but he was done with their certain brand of foreplay.
There truly was something fascinating about playing against an opponent who was almost as good as him but one he knew he could make even better. Alyssa was perfect for him in every way but she wasn’t ruthless enough yet. Her cold heart and almost apathetic personality derived from heartbreak at an early age. The events of her life had slowly turned her into a sociopath where as Dorian was born one.
How could be not be with the parents he had and the family lineage he derived from? Where others would have tried to suppress their natural instincts, he thrived on his. It was fun being who ever and whatever was acquired of him to get what he wanted. True, he’d never killed for pleasure like Alyssa—that was one area about her life he was incredibly envious of—but he’d murdered in the name of survival.
It was the way of the world, and he had so much to teach her but she had to be willing to learn. In order to flourish, she would have to truly understand the real meaning of being completely powerless. She hadn’t felt it yet though she thought she had. When he was through with her, she would reach her full potential and be the woman she was meant to be. Of course that meant she would also be by his side, not just as a significant other or girlfriend but as his wife.
“How did you find out, and what do you want?” She didn’t even bother to flinch though her hazel eyes had taken on green striations near the pupils.
“The how is inconsequential but the what is extremely important.” Dorian smiled playfully. “However I can’t indulge my whole plan to you just yet. I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
“I’m willing to do anything you want me to do as long as you agree to get rid of Campbell.” He laid her on the bed and straddled her between his strong legs though he never applied any of his weight on her slender frame. “I don’t mean you have to get rid of him yourself—”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he questioned casually as he took off his shirt and tossed it on the floor. “Involving more people can be dangerous and lead to blackmail. We have a dynasty to preserve after all.”
Alyssa’s smile diminished. “You didn’t sleep with . . . Ella . . . in here, did you?”
“What difference does it make? I changed the mattress pad and the sheets—I’m quite hygienic you know. I used a condom too. I’ve decided that since we are going to get to know each other so well, there shouldn’t be any secrets between us. You’re the first woman I want to face when I fuck you. I want to eat out that gorgeous pussy of yours, and I want you to scream with pleasure from my cock. So, tell me, when’s the last time a man went down on you?”
She looked into his eyes and he realized that deadly combination of her vulnerability mixed with the fact that she could be dangerous when threatened was what attracted her to him in the first place.
Alyssa reminded Dorian of the infamous child soldiers in Africa they had to brainwash and dope up just to shoot people because they’d once been innocent little boys whose only wish was to go to school and play footie. The warlords didn’t give a shit about that; as long as they could hold an AK-47, they were just as effective as any other soldier out there.
The Dark Continent was much more part of his blood than the land of free and the home of the brave. He understood, loathed and loved the land of his metamorphosis and all the different countries with their hidden beauty that could still make him weak. He longed again to walk barefoot on that brick red soil, rumored to be its color from all the bloodshed and horror that had taken place over the centuries. If he hadn’t spent most of his life in South Africa, he would never believe it a rumor, and accepted as the harsh, cold truth that people were able to live with. And yet he could also understand the sacrifices that had been made to keep the country together—as much as that could be accomplished.
Alyssa’s soft hands touched his face, and he realized he was the one who’d blanked out this time. It was so easy to do because whether she realized it or not, she reminded him of home. He wanted to have a home again even if it couldn’t be where he truly wanted to be. In that case, he would have to worship her and convince her she was the most important person in his life while he slowly broke down her walls and turned her into the woman he needed her to become.
When he was finished with her, she would be cold, calculating, able to withstand more pain than she ever thought, and yet still be one of the most beautiful and feminine women alive. Men would desire her and other women would be completely jealous of her because she would have that “je ne sais quoi” aura about her.
She’d be flawless, like those beautiful diamonds before they were polished and sold on the high street. Uncut diamonds were even more beautiful than after they were prettied up because there was a natural beauty that could never be taken away despite the fact it was just a rock.
He had a whole safe deposit box full of uncut diamonds from all the years he worked as a mercenary, and when the tim
e came, Alyssa could decide what color diamond she wanted to wear on her finger and he’d make it so.
But first, the agony before the ecstasy.
“Now it’s my turn to ask you where you went?” she inquired in that sexy voice of hers with just the right amount of smoky quality though as far as he knew she didn’t indulge in the filthy habit.
“Inside but don’t take it personally. It’s not that I don’t find you one of the most fascinating women I’ve ever met, it’s merely something that is . . . habit I guess. I spent most of my childhood exploring my own feelings and not enough time talking. I suppose that’s why I love music—I can express myself without saying a word. In fact, I can create a great track and have some beautiful woman or gorgeous man’s voice interpret the words for me and it’s a million times better than singing them myself.”
“So you can sing?”
Dorian stared her down with captivating blue eyes. “Yes, I can sing but I choose not to. I enjoy being the anonymous guy mixing and making the music but not having to utter a word. You see every kind of music has a purpose and to me, progressive house is my classical genre. I like that I can mold it to be whatever I want.”
Alyssa smirked but somehow it made her more beautiful and playful. “I hate classical music. It’s the music of intellectuals, crazies and serial killers. I used to hate going to see my shrink because that’s all she played and all I could think about was waking up with smelling salts to find Hannibal Lector bent over me.”
“What would he say to you?” he inquired as he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zipper.
