by Jade West
Her eyes weren’t quite the right shade of blue, and the golden dress wouldn’t hug her curves the way it did Elaine’s.
Not Elaine. Not Elaine. Not Elaine. The litany played in my mind like an infernal song.
Not-Elaine wet her lips, anticipation in every movement.
She was desperate for me. Of course she was. I’m a master at everything I do, always – but I’m showing the very best side of the monster when I’m mastering pleasure and pain.
I should’ve taken her right then, centered her on my cock and buried myself in her virgin cunt. I didn’t.
Not Elaine. Not Elaine. Not Elaine. I couldn’t shake it. That feeling. The sensation that the virgin on my lap was a counterfeit, a replacement that would never live up to the woman who’d snared me with nothing more than a passing glance. Even though I hated the bitch in gold, I couldn’t get her out of my twisted mind.
Not-Elaine gave me a confused look, as if she wanted to ask me why I’d stopped but was too scared to voice the question.
I needed to fucking focus. On pleasure. On pain. On Not-Elaine. I yanked her slip from her as she gasped huskily. Not the same curves, not the same anything.
“The belt for you.” I snarled and pushed her off my lap, then made her bend over the arm of the chair. I held a hand flat to the base of her back and I slapped that peach of an ass hard until she screamed, only allowing her to catch a breath in the time it took to free up my belt. I gave her no warning, swung that leather so sweetly it connected with a smack so sharp and brought a cry so gut-wrenchingly loud from the little doll that I closed my eyes and tried my damndest to pretend she was Elaine.
I hit her again and again until finally – with a dick so hard it was aching – I lined up behind her to take her untouched pussy.
I held her head down flat against my leather chair, wrapped my fist in her fake blonde curls, and stopped.
One thrust. Hard and savage. That’s all it would’ve taken.
She reached down between her legs and circled her clit, readying herself for me. Not that anything could prepare her for what I was capable of.
Her ass cheeks were pink from my slaps, and ridged from my belt, but the little slut fucking liked it. She wanted more. She wanted all of me.
I should’ve done it.
Not Elaine. Not Elaine. Not Elaine.
With a roar, I wrenched her onto her knees as I stroked my cock, working myself fast as I thought of Elaine. Not-Elaine stared up with pretty eyes, blue and wide. But they weren’t the eyes I wanted. Not the ones that kept haunting every one of my black heartbeats.
I gritted my teeth and stroked faster.
Her eyes drifted to my cock as I worked it. She wanted to be a good girl for me. She wanted me in her mouth and her cunt.
Just like the real Elaine Constantine would have. Only I’d have hurt the real Elaine Constantine a damn sight more than I’d hurt cute little Not-Elaine. I’d have hurt the real Elaine Constantine so bad she’d be a mess on the floor, not sure where her pain ended and lust began, they’d be too fucking blurred to tell the difference.
I loved it that way.
Dominant didn’t come anywhere near describing what a dark, filthy fucker I was in this life. Nothing ever could.
Nobody would ever understand it. Nobody would ever understand me.
Nobody could ever understand my freak of a body, so tainted in its strengths, and my freak of a mind to match.
Then again, maybe one woman could. An enemy. A Constantine in a gold dress with a death wish and big, sad eyes. Just the thought of her pushed me over the edge. One spurt covered Not-Elaine’s face. She opened her mouth to accept it, but I grabbed her chin and yanked it closed. This wasn’t for her. Not a fucking drop. It belonged to someone else. To the Constantine bitch who’d gotten her claws into me with nothing more than her mouth and her broken innocence. I finished on Not-Elaine with an unsatisfied twist in my gut.
I left her gasping and walked away in a beat, composing myself with deep breaths.
Under usual circumstances, I’d have already taken her cherry and gone straight back in for another round, but that night was different. I looked over at the beautiful thing on my floor, and for the first time that I could ever remember, I didn’t want a first round, much less a second.
Not with her.
I wanted the true, genuine Elaine Constantine. Not a girl trying to be her.
Fuck.
Confused, Not-Elaine moved a bit closer on her knees, looking up at me with another curious look on her face.
“Have I displeased you, sir?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, sweetheart. I’m done. You can go now.”
She stayed on her knees, paused, and I smirked at her, and myself, because I knew it. I always knew it.
Not-Elaine didn’t want to go. She wanted me balls deep in her cunt as she screamed. She wanted my handprints all over body, pain and pleasure tattooed on her skin. But she wouldn’t get that from me. Only one woman would. And then I’d end her and her hateful family once and for all.
“Go. Now,” I told her, and she nodded as she came to her senses.
My little dolly grabbed her lace slip from the floor and held it tight to her chest as she dashed to the elevator.
“Thank you, sir,” she told me before she stepped inside to leave.
I didn’t even bother saying goodbye. She’d escaped with her cherry intact, a gift I never intended to give her. But it wasn’t freely given. No, that Constantine temptress stole it, pulled that pristine cunt right out of my hands.
I should have thought about a million things as I paced back to the windows and stared out over the New York skyline. I should have thought about high-end trade affairs, and corporate business, and Trenton Alto’s seedy deals with the Kelly family across the Atlantic. Maybe pondered whether I should arrange a chat with my brother Declan about how Alto was handling our Irish business.
But no.
I wasn’t thinking about the million things I should be thinking about; I was thinking about one thing and one thing only.
The woman in gold.
I was still thinking about the woman in gold.
Elaine fucking Constantine.
I roused Trenton from his slumber when I called him this time.
“What?” he asked. “Was the girl no good?”
I laughed. “She was good enough. This is about something else. Someone else.”
Even Trenton baulked when I gave him his next instructions.
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” he said.
4
Elaine
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Tristan’s face was a picture, hands in his hair as he paced my lounge.
“He didn’t tell anyone,” I told him. “Even Silas had more sense than that.”
“Yeah, but he could have. He could have gone straight out of there and told the whole ball that Lucian Morelli was in the building. You wouldn’t be standing here, Elaine. There’s no way your mom would let you sleep at night knowing you’d had any of the Morelli’s fingers inside you, let alone his.”
I found myself shrugging. “Plenty of things could have happened. Lucian Morelli could have broken my neck and taken a handful of others down with me before security got to him and blew him away. But he didn’t.”
Tristan Fields had been my best friend and most trusted ear in this world since I was twelve years old. He’d seen me do plenty of crazy shit in the past thirteen years, but nothing had ever made him stare at me like I was this crazy. I guess I’d topped the pinnacle of crazy Elaine. A high mountain to climb, but I’d managed it.
I swigged back another gulp of gin. “It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again.”
“I’d fucking hope not. Believe me, baby, I’d be telling your mom myself if I thought that was gonna happen. You’d stand more chance of making it out alive with her on your case than him. Close call, but I know where I’d put my cash.”
I closed my eyes to
ease off my thump of a hangover, but it made no difference. My brain was jammed plenty by Tristan carrying on his speech.
“You do know he was playing you, right? He probably thinks you’re an easy road into Constantine life. If he didn’t think he could trick you into giving him what he needs, he’d have killed you the very second he had you alone.”
Something about that offended me. It may not have made any sense that it did, because he was probably right. Tristan’s words made perfect sense. Still, it offended me. Something about that concept twisted my heart and made it hurt.
I was stupid. Totally stupid. Stupid to want to believe there was anything other than hate and purpose behind Lucian grabbing me at Tinsley’s party . . . but, stupid or not, I wanted there to be. Some twisted, fucked up part of me wanted there to be.
I shrugged again. “Yeah, he was probably playing me.”
“Definitely. He was definitely playing you.”
I stared at him. “Yeah, he was playing me. Like I said, I’m never going to see him again. What does it matter?”
He tipped his head and matched my stare. His eyes were cold, green pools of disapproval, and I hated that. Tristan was always on my side.
“If you see him again, Lainey, you have to scream and run, understand? No matter how slick he is with his fingers, you have to scream and run. No excuses.”
“Of course I would run,” I told him, telling myself at the same time. “I might have been reckless, but I’m not that insane.”
The way he shook his head showed me he didn’t believe me. In that moment, he thought I was as insane as the rest of the world did. I felt offended all over again, but I didn’t say anything. I deserved this.
I always did.
“Have you told Harriet yet?” he asked.
“No.”
“Hopefully Silas doesn’t tell her before you do.”
“Silas doesn’t tell Harriet anything. He may be her brother, but they have about as much in common as a swan and a boar.”
He smirked at that. “I’m not sure Silas would like the analogy.”
I smirked back, even through my hangover. “He can be a boar.”
“In actions, not in visuals.”
“Still, he can be a boar. An attractive boar, but a boar all the same.”
“True enough.”
He sat down alongside me and took hold of my hand. His fingers were strong. It was the kind of strength I’d enjoyed for years, him sitting next to me as we whispered through our fears and struggles.
I knew what suggestion was coming before he spoke.
“Can you go back to Dr. Karlin again? I think you need it.”
“Therapy makes no difference. It’s never made any difference.”
He squeezed my fingers. “You don’t let it make any difference.” He gestured to the glass in my other hand. “It stands a shit ton more chance of working than gin, or champagne, or coke.”
My defences came up. “I’m not doing as much of any of them as I did.”
I felt his eyes on me. Again, I could feel the disapproval. “That’s not what Harriet said. I saw her at the Aegean last week, and she said Jonesy was telling her just how much you’ve been buying.”
My cheeks burned. “Jonesy shouldn’t be telling Harriet anything. It’s not her business.”
“Even he is worried.”
“He shouldn’t be.”
“I’m worried, Lainey. Really fucking worried.”
He took the drink from my hand.
I groaned. “Quit it, will you? I’m fine.”
I’d always been a liar – I’d needed to be – but even I was pushing it. I was less fine than I’d ever been in my life, and again, that was a high mountain to climb. Or more like a deep swamp to sink to the bottom of.
Sometimes I wished I could find the voice to say what I truly needed to say. I wished I could summon up the words to confess just how broken I was inside and why. Secrets, secrets, shhh, little girl. I wished I could spit it out and live with the consequences rather than reaching the end with the secrets still stabbing me in silence. So, so many secrets . . .
I couldn’t.
I could never tell my secrets.
With that thought, I grabbed the gin back from Tristan and took another swig.
He sighed. “Please go back to Dr. Karlin.”
“Please stop bleating on about it.”
We sat in silence until I tried to change the subject.
“How did it go with the rock superstar? What was his name? Indigo Peacock or something?”
“Blue Hawk.”
I laughed. “Is he one of those indie peace man types?”
He laughed along. “No. He’s one of those not-sure-if-he-really-wants-dick-or-not types.”
“Sounds like you just a few years ago.”
Tristan had taken a whole lot of time to finally accept that he was bisexual. I’d been there through the journey, knowing way earlier than he did that he had a fixation for hot guys as well as women. His parents had been . . . tough. Especially tough on a son who lived his life outside of their trailer park status quo. I still remembered his scars. Scars had been the very first thing we’d had in common.
I loved his smile as he looked at me. “I don’t have years to wait until he works out if he wants to take dick. There are plenty of dicks out there ready and willing.”
“And pussies.”
He leaned his head against my shoulder. “And pussies.”
Once upon a time I’d wished that Tristan could be my one and only. That maybe he’d fall in love with me and I’d fall in love with him, and we could keep it secret. Secret enough that he wouldn’t be destroyed for enjoying my body.
I’d always loved the way he looked. Hair rich and mahogany, cheekbones sculpted just right, even when they were swollen with bruises. When I was a teenager, I really did think he could be the one. My Tristan Fields, forever.
Those days were gone. My imagination had shrivelled to nothing, and any illusions of a happy ever after for me were dead and buried.
“You’re lucky. You can have all the dick and pussy you want,” I said and felt that horrible flare of hurt inside. Just like I always did.
Tristan’s smile disappeared. “They can’t hold you back forever, Lainey. If you meet someone fitting, and you talk to your mom about it . . .”
I pulled my hand from his and held it up. “Stop. You know that’s bullshit as much as I do. Mom will never let anyone lay a hand on me. Not unless it suits her that I marry them.”
He wrenched my hand back down and squeezed it all over again. “She’ll never let anyone you think’s good enough lay a hand on you. Your taste is bad.”
“My taste doesn’t fit their criteria of acceptable.”
“Just as well, or their criteria of acceptable would be acceptably fucked up.”
I let out a sigh and leaned against him, loving the way his arms wrapped me up, even though he thought I was an idiot today. He was the only one who would do it, give me his genuine warmth and not the fake kisses and smiles people all around me gave.
I tried to indulge him in talk of him and not me.
“Are you seeing this Hawk guy again, then?”
“Next Saturday. He’s playing a gig at Cyrus Bar, an intimate little show. Looks great.” He paused. “You could come if you wanted.”
“Where the hell is Cyrus Bar?”
“Downtown. About as far as you could get from the world of Bishop’s Landing.”
It sure sounded a world away from Bishop’s Landing. Bishop’s Landing looked down its nose at anyone without a billion dollars in their back pocket.
Yeah. I liked the damn sound of Cyrus Bar, downtown.
I called up my diary on my cell. I had some crappy charity affair on Saturday night, but I could ditch it. Fuck it, I would ditch it. I wanted to check out this Blue Hawk guy for myself.
“You coming?” Tristan pushed. “I’ll need to get you on the guest list. It’s a sell-out.”
“Yeah, I’m coming. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet a hot rocker guy for myself.”
“You’d be signing their death sentence if you did, and you know it.”
Yeah. I knew it. Even a sniff of my involvement with a rock god would put a bullet in the poor guy’s head.
Tristan’s next words were a whisper. A whisper with a chill.
“Promise me one thing. Swear on your heart you won’t ever fall for Lucian Morelli.”
“I won’t,” I told him.
“So promise me.”
I looked into his eyes and summoned up the fire inside. Because I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t ever fall for Lucian Morelli.
“Swear on my heart and hope to die,” I told him, and hooked my finger in his.
That appeased him. He was smiling as he hooked my finger right back.
Just a shame for me that I spent most of my life hoping to die anyway.
5
Lucian
“Trenton Alto is here for you,” my secretary said, poking her head around the door.
I waved at her to let him in.
“Not like you to come here,” I grunted as he walked on through and sat himself down across my desk from me.
“Not like you to ask for something so black listed.” He leaned back in his seat. “This was expensive. And risky.”
“I’m well aware of both,” I told him. “Is it comprehensive?”
“It’s comprehensive. Changeable, but comprehensive.”
He handed the business card across the desk, and I took it. “This is accurate, is it?”
“From a reputable source.”
“Good.” I stared at the encrypted web address.
“How the hell do you think you’re gonna get into these places? They’ll shoot you dead on sight.”
I shot him a glare. “I have methods, Alto. I always have methods.”
“Methods in the madness,” he said, and I smirked.
“You can fuck off again now.”
“Got too much to talk to you about before I fuck off.”
I put a pause on official business to hear him out about the shifting tides of criminality behind the scenes. He was right. He had plenty to be talking to me about. My life was a web of dealings. Veins of darkness running under the surface of the world all around us. We were into everything. Everywhere. Every dirty scene, every corrupt empire of trade, every filthy way to make cold, hard cash.
