Page 2 of Sweet Redemption
Without much encouragement, I moved faster until my balls tightened and a familiar charge at the base of my spine jacked up my back and I unloaded down her throat. I tried to pull back, but Clarissa wrapped her arms around my waist and sucked me dry.
I bowed forward, my hands landing on the tiled wall. She finally released me and stood, wanting a kiss for her earnest efforts but I pulled away, not wanting any more of her touch. I rinsed off and then stepped out before Clarissa got any more bright ideas to prolong this moment.
Yeah, I’m a total prick.
“Hey, what about finishing the shower with me?” She sounded petulant. Clarissa hitched a hand to her hip and then jutted her tits out as though she used them for balance. Fuck, I hate whiny women. Granted, I was about to walk away, leaving her unsatisfied, but didn’t I mention I was a prick?
I stopped and frowned down at Clarissa, who stood waiting. “Thanks babe, I needed that. Now that you’ve had your fill, I have to go. I think it’s best you do the same.” I turned around and left the bathroom.
The last thing I heard before I retreated to the bedroom to dress was, “You fucking bastard.”
Yes, that was me. A fucking bastard.
***
Not able to sleep when I got home, I paced the living room. I knew it was a huge mistake hooking with a Clarissa again. Even though she was a good piece of ass, I knew she wanted more—like most single women in the social circle I occasionally hung out with. They saw me as wealthy single man, who could offer them the world. Marriage, wealth and a level of prestige.
I’m far from giving anyone anything.
I grabbed a beer from the fridge, because why not add more alcohol to my twisted state of mind? I took a long pull from the bottle. I gazed out at the skyline of Los Angeles, wishing I were somewhere else. Beautiful, but nothing gave me joy like sweet home Chicago.
Home.
The solid mass of raw pain implanted deep in my chest seemed to grow as each day passed. It was a constant reminder of how fucked up my life turned out to be. I had to finally admit it was a massive mistake that I left.Ran like a fucking pussy was more like it.
Remembering the night Bryce and I brawled outside the Christmas party our father had thrown for the clients of the firm. It was the last straw for my brother and the pain I’d caused him. I had no choice but to leave.
Letting go of my family—the connections I had in Chicago—was the toughest thing I had ever done. No matter how fucked up my parents were, they were still my family. The pressure Dad had put on my shoulders since I was a kid never went away. Even two thousand miles away, that man had influence over me.
I always had to prove to be better than everyone else, especially against my own brother. Mom had dampened some of the conflict when we were kids, but not by much. To the day I left Chicago, Markus Landry Senior pitted his sons against each other like some familial blood sport.
The hypocrisy in my family had me chuckling cynically. Picture it. A loving and doting mother, a father who was there at every level of his sons’ achievements…it had been nothing but bullshit. I knew it and so did Bryce. The only difference between my brother and I was that I went against the grain where my father was concerned. Whereas Bryce flowed along with what our father wanted. Never argue because it wasn’t worth verbal torment.
I had questioned the jealousy that rose inside me at times. But no matter what, I was damn proud of my brother’s accomplishments. It wasn’t our fault that our dear old Dad pitted us against each other. The old man's verbal brutality wore down our bond until there was barely a thin string holding us as brothers. Then I go fucking around with his fiancé and that eviscerated the last bit of connection I had with him.
I slugged down the rest of the beer and checked my Rolex. It read 1:22 a.m. It was 3:22 in Chicago. I wondered if I called home, if the P’s would pick up?
I let out a huff of laughter. If they pick up at all, Mom would start reprimanding me for my inappropriate timing, even after nearly two years of not speaking to me. Then she would have promptly hung up.
I turned away from the window, not caring what was out there. As I retreated to the kitchen, I let out a long sigh when my cell phone rang. Who the fuck was calling me this late? I pulled the phone out of my pants pocket and stared down at the screen.
I was hesitant to answer. Not recognizing the number, but it was a Chicago based area code. I tapped the green circle anyway and answered. “Hello.”
“Markus?” I knew the voice right away. It was Beth Monroe, Bryce’s girlfriend. She was the only one who ever called me by my full name.
“Bethie?” I said with a thin smile. Back in college, she made the best damn chocolate chip cookies ever. So it was no surprise to hear that she opened up a bakery in the South Loop called Sweet Cupids. Beth was a sweet girl then—still was. She was perfect for Bryce and I hoped he was happy with his new life.
“Yeah, it’s me. I…” Her words faltered on a soft hitch, which had my spine stiffen.
“Is everything alright? How did you get this number?” I asked. Pressure started to grow at the center of my chest and expanded fast when there was a pause on the other end of the line.
“Brian gave me your number—Markus, listen to me.” She sounded serious, but Beth always had been.
“Okay. What do I have the honor of this phone call?” I couldn’t keep some the sarcasm out of my voice, and instantly regretted it. Beth had always treated me with respect. She didn’t deserve my animosity. “Sorry Beth. What is it?”
There was another pause before she spoke, which twisted my gut tighter. “I’m calling to let you know that your mother died tonight.”
For a second, I wasn’t sure if I had heard her correctly. “W-what did you say?”
