Page 4 of Cruel Fate

I can barely hear her over the music I play to drown out my loss. I think about being rough, taking my pain out on her, but I don’t. She would tolerate it too, for the privilege of being inmy bed. Brag about it later. Instead, I step off the mattress and throw her dress at her. “Get dressed. You should go.”

She pouts, and Christ, I can’t think of her name. Maybe I never knew it.

I pull off the condom, throw it into the wastebasket near my nightstand, and tug on a worn pair of jeans that has holes at the knees. I need a drink in the worst way, but I would only be trading one vice for another.

She slithers into her dress, peering at me out of the corner of her eyes, trying to entice me into letting her stay, and she shoves her panties and bra into her bag. She shows me her back, and I do up the zipper, wondering how she dresses at home by herself. If she lives alone. Our conversation never got that far. It never went anywhere at all, except for her panting, “Fuck me” every five seconds as I pumped into her.

She rocks unsteadily in her heels, and I help her down the stairs.

I hope Zarah doesn’t see.

I shouldn’t have brought her here. I should have had the patience to drive her to the hotel I use where I pay to keep everyone’s mouths shut and I can leave and not look back.

The woman’s lips are smeared with lipstick, mascara is crusted under her eyes, and her dirty-dishwater blonde curls give her a thoroughly fucked look.

Zarah would be disappointed. She’s been steadier than me, though she’s not in charge of the company, I am, and at twenty-five, I am not prepared.

Just before his death, Dad had started prepping me, and I had my first real taste of what it would be like to rule the world. But instead of Superman, I feel like a little boy in his Halloween costume begging for candy. Begging for his parents back.

The blonde tries to kiss me, but hiding a grimace, I dodge her lips and jab the button for the doors of the lift to open. I wantto give her some cash, but I don’t know if she’d be offended or pleased. She’ll walk through the lobby to leave the building, and the cameras will catch her face. If she works in an office around here, or hell, even for Maddox Industries, the facial recognition software will tag her. I’ll ask security to pull her name, and I’ll send her flowers.

She’ll be impressed.

It’s how I roll.

She wiggles her fingers in goodbye, my bad manners not affecting her at all. The doors close, hiding her too-sharp features, and when I don’t have to see her anymore, my muscles relax.

Unsatisfied, I prowl the living room, and nearing the kitchen, I hear voices.

Laughter.

It seems almost a crime to hear it so soon after our parents’ deaths, but I shouldn’t resent whoever can bring a smile to Zarah’s face at a time like this.

We need all the help we can get.

I push one of the swinging doors open, the frosted glass obscuring my view. We used to eat dinner with our parents in the formal dining room—Mom insisted on us learning proper etiquette—but lately we’ve been eating in the smaller, cozier room. After they passed away, sharing a meal with Lucille, our jack-of-all-trades housekeeper, made both of us feel not so alone.

Zarah and a girl I’ve never seen before sit at the island, a bottle of red wine and a half cheesecake that has little bites taken out of it, the marks of the fork tines grooved into the creamy cake, positioned on the marble between them.

My sister’s smile lights up her eyes, and the blonde covers the lower half of her face to keep me from seeing her mouth full of food.

She meets my stare, and my belly dips.

Her blue eyes sparkle, and her high cheekbones give her an aristocratic look. She’s slim, like Zarah, but her cleavage pops out of her blouse. Her dainty feet are perched on the stool’s rungs next to her, and sheer pantyhose encases her lean legs.

My gaze travels from her delicate ankles, up her shapely calves, to her slender thighs, and I imagine them cradling my hips as I sink into her.

My cock stiffens, even after it already had its fill, and she blushes.

She knows exactly what I’m thinking about.

“Hello,” I say, stepping into the kitchen.

Zarah stops laughing and stares at the counter. Now I feel bad I messed up their party. I should have stayed away, but I wanted to be part of whatever’s going on because I’m scared and lonely. I have to keep it together for Zarah and the company, but I’m tired, and I need something.

Someone who will make me smile, too.

“Don’t stop.” I kiss Zarah on the top of her head, and she slaps my chest, reminding me I’m half naked. “I want to know what’s so funny.”

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