Page 32 of Fool's Gold

Yeah, I’ve been involved with Celeste in one iteration or another, but they all fall short when I hold them up against the real brightness: Empire.

Almost like she’s reading my mind, Celeste arches up and loops her arms around my neck.The movement brings with it the scent of her perfume and something stale like blood left to sit in the sun, the puddle slowly drying into a memory of violence.

The press of her breasts means nothing to be. My dick shrivels up into my body. I’d rather fuck a horse than lay one finger on her, even when she’s not giving me much of a choice.

“I’d gut punch you if you weren’t a woman,” I growl under my breath. “That’s how much I fucking hate you.”

So much hate, and all of it pointed singularly through her to the man whose shadow she stands inside.

She is Stanic’s creature through and through. If that isn’t enough, she reminds me of myself and the version I’ve tried hard to kill and forget ever existed. In the days when I was forced to do anything and everything Stanic wanted with the ruthlessness of the soulless.

Empire won’t see any of this, though. Not from whatever angle she’s found that allows her to listen in on the conversation or, god forbid, watch us.

She won’t see the way my chest clenches and my teeth grind. Or the fierce light in Celeste’s eyes because she knows she’s got me.

I’ve given too much away.

And we both know hatred is a tool to use the same as anything else. Better, even, than most.

You don’t need to like someone to fuck them. Or hurt them. She will wield my hatred of her into something useful to get me in the direction she wants. This isn’t just about the movie anymore, and a part of me wonders if it ever has been.

The carpet underneath my feet might as well be a bog that I’m steadily sinking into.

Celeste chuckles but doesn’t move away. “Risk it. Punch me, push me away. Tell me how you really feel. I love the pain, and I know you do, too. He wouldn’t have sent me to you otherwise.”

This is part of their plan. I go rigid under her probing hands. Waiting for her to finish up the steps or get it out of her system or what the fuck ever before she leaves.

Celeste is the type of person, regardless of her ties to Stanic, who likes having power over people, men in particular.

I know how to handle her in whatever guise she wears. Except tonight I’m home weary, and grinding my molars will only get me so far.

“Come on, Ortega. Marcus.” My name is a promise on those red lips.

Power and problems.

Those two go hand in hand, and Celeste wants them both. She knows whatever buttons she presses today will work against me and against Empire.

“I need you to leave.”

She shakes her head. “What you need is to pull the rose-colored glasses off your face and see what’s right in front of you.”

“You can’t mean you,” I say with a scoff.

“Why not? I’m here, aren’t I? And I’m a hell of a lot more appropriate than where you’ve set your sights. You manage actresses in fairy tales. You do not live them yourself.”

“Stop.”

It’s the same thing Empire said to me, and I’m repeating it now to the same effect. Celeste doesn’t hear me.

The glint in her eyes only increases as her smirk grows. She’s close enough for her front to meld to mine and tie us together, and I’m immovable. She’s the gorgon who’s turned me to stone.

“You think you can just finish filming, call wrap, and suddenly make a home for yourself with the girl? She’s not like us. She will never be like us, and you will never be anything other than what you are.” She keeps one hand wrapped around the base of my neck and slides the other down my chest, resting on my heart. “A brute.”

“So what?”

“What do you think you can offer her? Misery,” Celeste presses on, merciless in her description. Merciless and accurate. “Nothing. In comparison to the life you’ve led, she is nothing but a child. And too innocent for you to claim, no matter what lies you fed her. Or yourself. You’re a man, and she’s a spoiled brat.”

“If you don’t shut your goddamn mouth—”

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