Page 15 of Crazy Rich Monsters (Necessary Evils 1)

A Danish proverb states that to tell the truth is dangerous and that to listen to it is boring. The truth is absolutely dangerous. The utterance of it can destroy lives and set entire civilizations ablaze. Boring though? The truth could never be such, not when it’s woven with salacious stories and horrific secrets.

The unknown has the mesmerizing ability to terrify me, but I’m a moth drawn to the flame. As much as I know I should stay away, I can’t help but to throw myself into the lion’s den. My therapist once told me that I was the cat that curiosity killed, wherein curiosity stood for some stupid metaphor that I can’t recall.

There are two things rich people hate the most.

The first thing they despise is losing money, especially when it’s stolen from them. It makes no difference that so many of the wealthy elite build their fortunes on the back of stolen cash. It doesn’t matter that they can replace what’s stolen as easily as someone else wakes up in the morning. Cash is the most valuable currency of power and a little can measure for a lot.

The second thing the rich hate the most is having their secrets exposed. They can play with the lives of others with no regard for human decency, but can and will turn into absolute monsters in the name of protecting their own secrets. Let me tell you, rich people have some sick fucking secrets that could destroy entire dynasties.

I could destroy the Calloways, but I don’t. Wielding power isn’t the same thing as using it. At the end of the day, I could ruin them but in turn, they would destroy me too. Like I said, Confucius warns that before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves. I’m not ready to dig my own grave yet, and besides, we’d need a lot more than two holes in the ground. The truth is like a dangerous game of dominos, each piece lined perilously close to the precipice of a jagged cliff.

What’s Nick’s truth? Why is he back in the Hamptons at the same time as I am? If his true motive is revenge, he certainly doesn’t act like it. Maybe he’s as wicked as the rest of his family and if that’s true, I need to know what I’m dealing with.

That’s why I’m here at this seedy club that other people would consider posh and sexy. I paid the exorbitant cover fee with the cash from Nick’s wallet and feel absolutely no remorse about stealing from him. Take from the rich and give to the needy. I’m a modern-day Robin Fucking Hood and I’m on cloud nine. Unfortunately for him, I took all the cash and ditched the wallet in a dumpster down the street from the bar. Fortunately for him, he has millions more where that came from.

No pity here.

The club is dark, which is perfect for someone like me that doesn’t want to be seen. I’m here to observe the elite rich folks that move circles in the Hamptons scene. Other than that, I don’t even know what exactly I’m looking for. A part of me is hoping to see Emily. For my own personal reasons, I feel a sworn duty to protect her even though she’s made it clear she wants nothing to do with me.

Can’t exactly blame her, but she should extend a little grace.

Something she said piqued my interest in a stomach-churning way. She told me that Nick and I were perfect for each other. Knowing how she feels about me, that must mean he’s done something awful too. I intend to find out exactly what she’s talking about.

I move in the shadows, hiding in the dark pockets that brush the edge of neon lights that paint the dancefloor below in an assortment of bright flashes. From up here, the social elite of the Hamptons look like coked-up animals begging for release from the expectations placed upon them by their wealthy parents. I’m a loner. I don’t do well in crowded places, so I stay on the catwalk where it’s safe and out of sight.

I grip both hands on the railing as I lean over, trying to get a better view of someone that looks like they’re wearing a familiar face. I wince my eyes, trying to get a better look at a girl wearing high stilettos and a fitted black skirt that rises to the base of her knees. But then there’s a shadow behind me that steals my attention and I recognize the scent of the person approaching.

It’s that part in a horror film where the character turns to look when she should already be running, but again, curiosity kills the cat. Nick Calloway is curiosity and I’m the fucking cat. Before I can make an escape, he’s right behind me, pressing the weight of his body against me as he drops a hand onto each of my own. This is the second time in one day and the third time in two that he’s pinning me against a hard surface in public.

And this time? There’s not a chance in hell that anyone will hear me scream.

The music is too loud, the people dancing below ignorant to the fact that their hearing will be busted and bruised in a few years. Even if they could hear me cry out for help, they’d probably mistake my screams for part of the track. We’re in a crowded club filled to the brim with people and yet we’re completely alone.

He lowers his head against my own, and even though I know he’s not being quiet, it comes out as a whisper. “I see we’re adding thievery to your rap sheet. Fits real perfect next to murder.”

As he should know, I don’t have a rap sheet. In the court of public opinion, I’m basically dead. In the court of the law, I’m an innocent woman that made bad decisions. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The only point in lying to him is to toy with him the way he’s been playing with me. The truth isn’t up for debate. We both know I stole his wallet.

“It’s okay.” He grips my hands tighter as he begins to roll his body forward. “I know how you can pay me back for what you took.”

Clever. No hint of subtlety whatsoever, and that’s not just because I can feel his restrained cock rubbing against my ass. If I wanted to get into this stupid club, I needed to dress the part. That meant wearing a slutty dress and high heels. I’m regretting that decision now. He presses down hard with one hand while he removes the other. Without needing to see it with my own eyes, I already know where this is going.

With one hand absent, I imagine him freeing his hard cock from his slacks. My suspicions are confirmed when I feel his dick smack against my ass cheek. And then his mouth is back at my ear, hot and wet. Teasing and torturing. I’ll never say it out loud, but there’s something abouthimthat I crave. Maybe that’s what truly drew me here tonight, in hopes that I’d see him.

Like I said, the truth is never fucking boring. It’s obscene and dirty. It’s dark and deadly. An enigma wrapped in blood and entropy. I stand still, torn between running and letting him have his way with me. He might think he’s in control, but I don’t think he’s the type of man to force me against my will. I don’t know him well enough to know that for certain, but I fully intend to figure him out completely. That bit of investigative journalism is just going to have to wait for now.

I grip my hands around the railing once more, tightening my grip as I prepare myself. My chest heaves wildly as his warm hands trace over the side of my hips, and then his fingers are tangling around the thin fabric of my panties. I let out a gasp when he rips them at the side with one strong tug. He’s feral, animalistic in the way he undoes me piece by piece. He removes my torn panties from my legs and litters them onto the floor.

One hand slaps against my bare ass, surely leaving a mark. He tugs at the base of my earlobe with his teeth, letting out sharp grunts as his cock wedges between the cheeks of my ass. A hand circles forward, palming softly at my pussy and then he’s breathing hot fire against my ear as he speaks, “I’m going to fuck you in front of all these people, Addison.”

“No,” I whisper, but there’s no fire in my denial and he sure as fuck can’t hear me. It’s less of a denial anyways, and more of myself trying to convince myself that this isn’t what I want.

It’s exactly what I fucking want. Somehow, he seems to know that better than I do. Maybe it’s the way my body responds to the way his palm caresses my cunt. I shiver and shake, and shift my ass backwards, trying to get closer to his dick.

Anyone down below could see us.

What would they think if they did? If they watched as I’m fucked by the brother of the man I killed. It would sting his reputation more than mine. It’s not like I have a name to defend anyways. It’s his life that’s on the line here and he seems to get off on living life on the edge.

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