Page 19 of Prized Possession

Jacob lives in the building opposite mine, but other than the fact we both live in the penthouse, that’s where the similarities end. While my apartment has a very modern yet homey feel, Jacob’s is a full blown bachelor pad.

His walls are painted navy blue, and wherever you look there’s technology to make the room appear advanced. Everything is controlled by a home computer system, even the heating under the floorboards and the blackout covers on the windows.

While my place is light and airy, Jacob’s feels dark and stuffy. Every time I walk in here, I want to throw the window open to let some fresh air in, and get some natural fucking light into the room.

If it weren’t for the cleaning team he employs, I’m sure this place would look worse than a dirty frat house full of teenage boys who don’t know how to work a washing machine.

Jacob is sitting at the poker table already, taking a swig from his beer bottle, when I walk into the room. It’s cloudy and stuffy, even though Jacob doesn’t smoke.

“Fuck, do any of your windows actually open? You do know what fresh air is, don’t you?” I grumble, as I walk into the kitchen and grab a beer for myself from the fridge.

Jake tuts loudly. “You know you sound like a fucking old man, right?”

I shrug my shoulders, not bothering to reply to that. To a perpetual man child, my response sounds like something an old man would say, as opposed to simply an adult. I learnt a long time ago to pick my battles with Jake, and this one isn’t worth it.

I take a seat opposite him at the table, drinking down a large gulp of my beer. Beer’s not my favourite, but it’s become part of the tradition—we play poker, eat crisps, and drink beer.

“You look like shit,” Jake says with a grin once I place my drink on the table.

He’s not lying. I have bags under my eyes from lack of sleep, and I’ve been running my fingers through my hair so much, I’m sure it’s a mess.

“I can’t seem to get over a hangover the way I used to do when I was eighteen,” I grumble, hating how fucking old that makes me sound.

Jacob chuckles, but he nods like he understands. “That’s why I take the ‘hair of the dog’ approach.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Being drunk continuously is not an option for most people.”

“I’m not always drunk. Sometimes I’m just high,” he states with a wink. I have to remind myself not to punch my friend.

“You’re a real life fucking Peter Pan. The boy who never grows up.”

I hate how bitter the words sound on my tongue. Although I need Jake to grow the fuck up, I’m also a little jealous that he’s avoided the responsibilities that have been thrust upon me.

Actually, his lack of action as the heir to his side of Blackthorn means I have even more work to do. I’ve been trying to make sure Jake’s family is unaware of his failings. If they knew how little he was actually doing, they’d have gotten rid of him a long time ago.

In our world, business comes first, family second. No matter how much Caleb wants to pass power over to Jake, if he thinks he’s not capable of running the Santoros, he’ll get rid of him in a flash, without a second thought that he’s his son.

Love and family are a weakness, and the family business will always be the priority. Which is exactly why I need to get Jake to stop fucking around, or he may lose more than just his position in the family.

Nobody leaves our world. The only way you get out is to retire, at which point you’ve proved you’re trustworthy, or you die. Jacob definitely hasn’t proven he can be trusted, and no matter how much Caleb might love him, he would have no choice to take him out if that’s what the family requested.

I need to stop things before that happens.

“What can I say, I have no desire to grow up and turn out like my father.” His face wrinkles in disgust, and I can see the anger he’s trying not to show.

We’ve both spent our whole lives promising, even when we do become the full-time leaders of our family, we’ll never be like our fathers.

Neither of us have had enough to drink yet to tackle that subject, so I quickly change direction. “Well, I’m hoping you’re more hungover than I am, as I could do with a win today,” I say with a grin as I nod towards the pack of cards that are sitting unopened on the table.

Jake chuckles as he picks them up and starts to shuffle. “I’m nowhere near drunk enough to lose.”

“Well, I need to get you onto the harder stuff then.” It sounds like I’m joking with him, but I’m not. For once, I need him to hit it hard, if I’m to stand any chance of this shitty plan working.

“Here, you finish shuffling and I’ll get the good whiskey.” He hands the pack of cards over to me before heading into the kitchen.

“Don’t forget the crisps,” I shout, knowing I’m going to need nibbles if I keep drinking this beer.

Jake returns, placing a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers onto the table, before handing over a large packet of crisps. I look at him with disgust. “At my house, I, at least, serve the crisps in a fucking bowl,” I grumble, ripping the large pack open so I can grab some.

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