Page 3 of Explosive Prejudice

Gritting my teeth, I clenched my hands into tight fists and held back from answering the scum.

“After all, you were moaning so loud. Did you enjoy it?” The sickening joy that came with his sadistic question repulsed me.

Furious, I turned to look at him. Orson stood two inches taller than my six-foot frame. The mean son of a bitch was in his mid-thirties and had been working as my father’s personal bloodhound since his early twenties. Nothing about this man was pleasant, from his pale eyes, which were the color of mold, to his combed-back, dark hair and chiseled jaw that made him look more like a model than a monster. But that’s what he was. A cold-blooded monster. So was my father.

But that was Orson. Beautiful on the outside and rotten on the inside. It was why he fit perfectly into our life. On the surface, everything seemed glamorous, only it wasn’t. And the act we put on couldn’t be further from the truth. Underneath our ridiculous wealth was a twisted reality hidden behind a wall of deception. Fake smiles, parties, benefits, donations. My father was a master of deception, and with the mask he put on, he succeeded in making the world believe he was a saint.

“Did I enjoy being raped?” I hissed back, trying to ignore Orson’s vile smile. I knew that other than rubbing the sadistic parts in him the right way, throwing the word rape in his direction would do nothing. Not that I was surprised. The sad truth was that word had lost its meaning long ago.

“Rape?” he tsked, looking rather pleased. “A whore is never raped.” He reached to touch me, but the moment his hand caressed my skin, I slapped it away.

“Ever touch me again and I’ll tell him.” If there was one thing Orson and I shared, it was the fear of my father. “I’ll tell him everything.” I made my threat clear while holding his stare.

“No, you won’t,” he said, stepping closer and looming over me. “Because if you do, he’ll blame you. Sure, he’ll get rid of me, but imagine the ways he’ll punish you.” His predatory eyes were locked with mine, feeding on my fear.

Not knowing how to reply, I broke our stare and looked down. I was completely powerless.

“That’s a good boy.” He patted my cheek and made that clicking sound he always did with his tongue that reminded me of a spoiled child who was fed up with the conversation. “Your father is waiting to eat breakfast with you,” he said, as if he didn’t just terrorize me on top of humiliating me.

“Okay,” I whispered back, knowing better than to say anything else.

“Is something wrong with your breakfast? Are the fruits not fresh enough?” my father asked from the other side of the table, watching me play with the sliced fruit on my plate, moving them around in circles. Like any other day since arriving here, breakfast was served in my father’s suite, where we had it together by the balcony.

“They’re okay,” I said quietly and poked a strawberry with my fork.

“So why aren’t you eating?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve already lost weight. It’s about time you regain it.”

“I’m not hungry,” I repeated myself, and he sighed.

The sound of cutlery filled the silence until he cleared his throat. “I’ve spoken with the rehab center.”

I looked up, narrowing my eyes at him. Was he talking about—

“You mean the physiotherapy center in New York?”

Cleaning the corner of his mouth with a napkin, he then nodded. “Yes.”

“And?” I asked impatiently. Finally, something I was interested in. Before coming here a week ago, I was forced to let go of my Jordan.

“The doctors are optimistic,” he said, not giving me any more information. I wouldn’t need him to tell me how Jordan was doing if I had my phone, but he’d taken it away as soon as we boarded his private plane.

One may think being here, in this fancy suite overlooking one of the prettiest cities in the world, was a privilege, a reward even, but it wasn’t. It was a punishment.

“What else did they say? Will he be able to walk soon?” After London and Berlin Kingston, the scum who used to be our friends, crushed every bone in his left leg, Jordan had a long recovery waiting for him. Thinking about him this week was what kept me sane. I thought about everything we’d gone through since the beginning of the year, from manipulating the guy to actually caring for him. My feelings had grown deeper than I ever thought was possible. I tried to force myself to forget him, but it was impossible. While I was worried for him, I also missed him.

Not him. You miss the distraction. The way he helps you forget.

“It will take time, but they promised me he’d be able to walk as if nothing had ever happened.” Dad smiled at me softly, his blue eyes shining with the light coming from the snow outside.

“I want to talk to him.” I bit the inner side of my cheek with pleading in my eyes. “Please, Dad.”

“You know you can’t.”

“I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t cause any more trouble. Please.”

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