Page 22 of Played
“I don’t want to hate you, Hotshot. I actually fucking do.”
He trails two fingertips across the lapel of my jacket. I should punch him in the face. “You can keep telling yourself that, Playboy, and yeah, maybe a part of you does.” His voice is low and dangerous, and it sends a shiver up my spine. “But that other part of you remembers all the ways I made you come.”
Holy fucking shit. My knees almost buckle. Arrogant fucking douchefuck.
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning, wearing a suit and tie. You know, so I look like someone doing a health and safety audit.” He arches an eyebrow. “And if I don’t find the leak within three months, then you can fire me.”
Or I could fire his ass right now. Actually, I just did a few minutes ago, didn’t I? So why am I working out when his three-month period would be up? He’s so damn sure of himself. What I’d give to wipe that smug, self-centered look from his face. But I don’t.
“Fine. But you stay the hell away from me. I don’t even want to see the back of your goddamn head while you’re working here. Got that?”
“You won’t see me,” he says, holding up his hand. “Scout’s honor.”
I roll my eyes. “Like you were ever a fucking Boy Scout.”
He lets out a soft laugh. It sounds self-deprecating, except that it’s him, so it can’t be. “I’ll do my best to stay out of your way, Mason.” He sounds sincere too, which again, can’t be the real King. Not the one I remember anyway.
“See that you do.” I spin on my heel and walk out of Elijah’s office, blood thundering in my veins and my heart racing with every step. I barely acknowledge any of our employees as I pass them, propelled forward by my singular mission to reach my office, close the door, and have a full mental breakdown.
When I finally get there, I close the door behind me, rest my head back against it, and take deep, calming breaths until my pulse returns to normal. Then I stagger to my desk and pour myself a full glass of our “special occasion” Scotch. Two huge gulps and it’s gone. The burn in my throat isn’t enough of a distraction though. Neither is the slight buzz as the alcohol hits. Because it’s not only King. It’s everything he represents from that time in my life. The ghosts I worked so hard to lay to rest. And they all came roaring back with a vengeance. Ten years of therapy up in smoke.
I could tell my brothers what happened, and they’d never work with King again. They’d probably have his father taken out by their friends in the Irish mob, which is definitely an optionto revisit at a later date. But truthfully, I don’t want to open that can of worms with them. I managed to keep my relationship with King a secret from them all for the entire eighteen months we were sneaking around.
More surprisingly, I managed to keep the aftermath a secret too, although that was unintentional.
I roll my neck. I can do this. Three months, and then King is out of my hair again. No need to dredge up the past. No need to reopen old wounds that I spent a fortune and thousands of hours healing.
I place my hands on my desk. Yeah, I can do this. I survived the Worthingtons before, and that was when I was a scared kid. Now, I am Mason fucking James, and nothing and nobody will ever make me feel weak or less than what I am ever again.
Let King stay. Let him see what I’ve made of my life without him in it.
Chapter
Eleven
MASON - AGE 17
“Fuck!” King’s warm breath dusts over my skin. “You feel so good, Mase.” He sinks his teeth into my shoulder blade. “You’re my perfect little fuck toy, aren’t you?”
My entire body thrums with pleasure. “Yeah.”
“Yeah you are.” His lips dust over my ear. “I’m really gonna miss you, baby.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Gonna miss you too.”
He gives me a final kiss on the back of my neck before falling onto the seat beside and zipping up his fly.
I tug up my jeans and sit beside him, still riding the high of my climax. He lifts his arm, and I go to snuggle against him, our usual post-fucking-in-my-Jeep position, but before I can…
“What the fuck is going on?” The voice is so full of rage and disgust that I flinch. But my reaction is nothing compared to King’s. His face turns whiter than snow, and he scrambles to get away from me.
We purposely use this spot because nobody ever comes out here. So who’s discovered us? How? And why the hell does he sound so mad about it?
“Shit,” King mutters, and what happens next happens so fast my head spins. King is pulled from the car by a very large balding man who appears to be foaming at the mouth. “I knew you were up to something. You dirty little bastard. You sick little piece of shit.” He punches King in the side of the face, and my boyfriend falls to the ground.
“Hey!” Vibrating with fury, I jump out of the car and confront the mountain of rage standing over King. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He turns his angry scowl on me, his face only illuminated by the interior light of my car. “You perverted little shit. I should snap your fucking neck.”
