Page 1 of Bad Duke

ALEX

I tip my head back and blow the smoke I’ve been holding from my lungs into the air. I’m not even in the mood to pretend I’m into the two girls dancing in front of me. I’ve got far too much weighing on my mind. Trent, however, is appreciating every single desperate second of their show. He calls one of them over with a flick of his chin and she smiles at him seductively as she moves towards him. Her friend must take that as a signal from us both because she lowers to her knees and starts crawling across my rug towards me. Her eyes are focused on mine, as her nails creep up the leg of my tailored suit. I frown at her when she sits up on her knees, between my legs, and starts unbuckling my belt. I don’t know her name, or who invited her here. But that's nothing irregular. My apartment is always a non-stop party. The drugs are free and the alcohol never stops flowing. Half the time I’m not even here for it. This girl who now has her hands wrapped around my shaft came here looking for a good time, and if it were any other night I’d be all up for showing her one.

I look across to the other sofa where Trent is already balls-deep inside her friend. The cocky fucker winks at me over her shoulder as he squeezes her ass cheeks and bounces her on his cock. “I heard the rumour, but…” The girl, giving my dick all of her attention, takes me out of my pants and licks her pumped-full-of-collagen lips as she lowers towards it. “I need some fucking air.” I stand up on my feet, knocking her back on her ass and tucking myself away as I head for the balcony. Once I’m outside I close the door on the thumping music and look out at the city view. The air out here may not be all that fresh but it’s as good as you're going to get in the city. A few sharp shots of it is just about enough to get my head straight. I’m far too tense tonight, and I’m mad at myself for it. I shouldn’t be nervous about tomorrow. I decided years ago that my father was an irrelevant figure in my life. So why has he, summoning me to the estate, got me all riled up and confused?

For years I’ve been labelled as a rebel, my father doesn’t hide that he’s ashamed of me and I don’t pretend to care about his opinion. I work hard and I play harder, and for that, I make no apologies. My life has been one endless party, a high I’ve been too scared to come down from. I have no regrets but hearing, earlier today, that he wants to see me seems to have knocked something out of me. Suddenly, being here tonight among these people I don’t know, makes me feel like a failure.

“Yo, Alex!” Trent barges through the doors carrying the tray of cocaine that's been attached to his hand for most of the night. “Did you just bail on getting your cock sucked by that feisty, little redhead?” He looks back through the glass door over his shoulder and laughs. “You didn’t last long.” I ignore his question. I already despise feeling like this, I don’t need to be called out on it. “You know how doing it with people watching, gets me off.” He winks, before laying the tray on the table between us. “This shit’s fucking good. Much better than the last batch.” He hands me a rolled-up twenty while using his American Express to cut me a line. “We only distribute the best.” I wait for him to finish, then lean forward so I can hoover it up. Trent isn’t wrong, the supply I’ve had in the past doesn’t come close to how good this shit is, and I’m certain it’s going to make me a lot of money. Which reminds me…

“Anyone heard from Danny and that mate of his yet?” I check, sitting back on the bistro chair and lighting myself another smoke. Trent lowers his head and shakes it sheepishly. “Listen, Alex, I know I vouched for Danny because he’s my cousin but—” “This isn’t on you,” I assure him. I’ve been friends with Trent for years, I trust him with my life. That being said, his stupid shit of a cousin will still get what he deserves for insulting my intelligence. He and his friend thought they could steal supply from me. Even after both of them were warned by Trent that I wouldn’t tolerate bullshit. “I just didn’t want it to change your opinion of me. We’ve been friends for a long time. I love you like a brother,” he admits. “Forget about it. Like I said, it isn't on you.” I shake my head. Right now, losing a kilo of cocaine is the least of my fucking worries. My father only ever calls me home two or three times a year and every time it’s been for some kind of social occasion. His image is important to him and a bad son is better than an estranged one. But this time is different. There's no special occasion. No one to prove anything to. It’s just going to be him, and me.

“So, that girl in there, the one who wanted to suck your balls out your bell end… bet you didn’t know that her daddy’s a member of parliament?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “I know who her daddy is, he’s a member of the club,” I inform him, then laugh when I notice the shock on his face. “Well, she just took a line from her friend's panty line and it got me wondering why you’re out here missing out on all the action.” “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I admit, taking another long toke from my cigarette. I’m not prepared to give anything else away. I may have known Trent for a lot of years but that doesn’t earn him the right to be in my head. “What could you have to worry about? Look at your life, Alex. You’ve got an apartment full of women that all want to fuck you. Top class supply at your fingertips…” He dabs his finger into the heap of cocaine on the tray and holds it up in front of me as evidence, “...add to that the fact you’re rich and fucking good looking, what more could you want?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.” I stand back up and rest my elbows on my balcony wall, looking out at the city and wondering why despite having all of the things he just listed, I’m going back to my family estate tomorrow feeling like a failure.

* * *

I stare at the floor feeling like a delinquent child, while my father keeps me waiting out in the hall. No doubt it’s tactical. Theodore Stanley is a man who needs a constant reminder of his authority. I glance around noting that nothing’s changed about this place. There’s still that stuffy atmosphere in the air that I remember, the walls remain covered in the ancient faded art my father collects; and I still feel that deep-set anger when I think about the man on the other side of the door.

“Alexander.” I look up from the hands I’ve got crossed over my knees when I hear a voice I recognise. Barnaby has been head of staff here since before I was born, nothing much about him seems to have changed either, except maybe his back’s a little more crooked and his hair’s gotten thinner. “Your father will see you now.” He smiles, looking pleased to see me as he opens the door to my father’s office. I step through and when I see the old man sitting behind his desk, I'm taken aback by how frail he looks.

“Father.” I nod my head curtly and notice Samuel-fucking-Hamilton sitting in the corner of the room, which immediately gets my back up.

“I thought this was a private appointment?” I narrow my eyes at the slimy prick before returning them back to my father.

“Samuel is a trusted advisor of mine. We have no secrets.” He barely finishes his sentence before he starts to cough, his eyes watering and his trembling hand reaching for the glass of water beside him. I move to help, but good old fucking Samuel gets there first.

“I won’t beat around the bush in telling you why I called you here. I’m sure you can see for yourself that I’m not in good health, which means–”

“Which means you need to start taking some responsibility.” Samuel cuts him off when he starts coughing again.

I stare at the interfering prick to let him know his opinion isn’t welcome, and once my father has collected himself he gestures to the seat in front of him, for me to sit down.

“Very soon you will inherit my title, my estate, and my fortune.” The words come off his tongue like they're laced with acid.

“I think we established, a long time ago, that I won’t be needing your fortune.” I laugh at the old man, we’ve never seen eye to eye, and I’m sure having to have this conversation with me is killing him just as much as whatever is sending him to his grave.

“This isn’t about the money, Alexander. If it were, I’d have cut you off a long time ago.” I notice the smirk Samuel makes and allow myself to think of all the ways I could cause him pain. “This is about our family's reputation. Our title. One that our family has held for nearly two centuries. You have the responsibility of carrying on our name in good stead.”

“Like you have.” I shake my head and snort at the old bastard. He knows, just as well as I do, that he’s far from perfect.

“All men have sins, but you…” He looks me up and down as if I’m something sticky on his shoe. “You–”

“I’ve made my own fortune.” I remind him that I need none of what's his. I like my life the way it is. It may not be all that legitimate, and it has its dangers, but I vowed the day I left home that I would never rely on this man for a damn thing.

“None of that matters, Alex. When I die you will become Duke of Hatherly, you will live in this home, and you will abide by our family's customs.”

“Careful, you're making that sound like an order, and I don’t take those anymore, from you or anyone else,” I warn, taking a cigarette from the inside pocket of my jacket and lighting it up.

“Hate it as much as you want, this is your birthright.” Father shakes his head weakly, while Samuel continues to scowl at me from the other side of the room.

“Okay, so I have to attend a few events, throw some money at local charities, and pick the prettiest female member of staff to fuck. Doesn’t sound like anything I can’t handle.” I raise a judgemental eyebrow at my father, and when he launches into another coughing fit I can’t help thinking that it’s conveniently timed.

I keep the smug look on my face while he recovers, then shake my head in humour when he slams his hand down on his desk and tries to gain some authority back.

“You know what I mean! All your illegal activities must come to an end. Those places you own must be sold, and all ties you have to them, gone.”

“You mean my clubs?” I stare back at him.

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