Page 40 of Family Ties

314 Topaz. Final resting place of Madeline O’Rourk.

317 Topaz. Final resting places for Chloe Wilson and Cameryn Weathers.

Turn onto Opal Drive, my eyes are drawn to a taupe-colored brick accented with deep-red shutters and an impeccably well-manicured lawn.

597 Opal. Home of Paisley Allen.

Well, her final home.

There are perks to having a friend—with no moral compass—who has unfettered access to land, backhoes, and concrete. Buried deep in the foundations of these beautiful homes are the various women who have been unlucky enough to have crossed paths with Edmund, William, Samuel, Liz, or myself and became our playthings.

Some willing women who learned too much to allow them to return to their lives without putting the rest of us in danger.

The rest, unwilling women who met an untimely demise, sometimes as part of the games they were forced to play.

Plenty of room to continue to hide the casualties of our depravity.

Pulling up to the clubhouse at the rear of what has currently been built in this neighborhood, I park next to Edmund’s car. There is another car in the lot, which I assume belongs to the agent he has working for him.

Stepping inside the clubhouse, there is no questioning the fact that he has gotten his wish about fucking her. He has her bent over the pool table in the middle of the room. Her shirt is lying on the floor, her black business skirt is hiked over her hips, and the remnants of her lacy panties are dangling from her hip. Handprints riddle her ass and thighs, which is currently the same shade of red as the estate at 314 Topaz Circle.

“Fuck. I’m going to cover this perfectly marked ass with my cum,” he grunts while driving his cock deep inside her. He strikes her tender flesh again, and she lets out a pained yelp. Hereyes widen at the burning sting radiating across her ass. They widen further when she sees me approaching.

Gasping in horror at being caught in the act with her boss, she scrambles and tries to push herself up from the table. Edmund grips her hair and roughly shoves her face back into the felt of the table. She hits with such force it rattles the racked balls at the other end of the table.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he snarls, “You’re going to take my fucking cock until I’m finished. You’re going to let him watch, like the dirty fucking whore you are, as I cover you with my cum. And if he wants to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, you’ll take him down your throat like a good little cum slut.”

“I’ll pass.” I take a seat in a large, upholstered chair. “But I’m more than open to seeing what a good little whore she is. Do you like being used? Or do you hate the enjoyment you get from being someone’s whore?”

Her face grinds against the felt as he continues to pound into her and he growls, “Eyes on Grant. Give him the pleasure of watching your loathing, self-disgust for enjoying how I treat you.”

His palm slams against her ass, only a silent scream escapes her mouth. Holding her head firmly to the table, he fucks her hard and forces her to come. Barely giving her the opportunity to enjoy it, he pulls from her and fists his cock until his cum splatters across her red and bruised cheeks.

Using his hand, he smears the cum over both cheeks like it’s lotion before wiping his hand clean with the strands of her torn panties. He tucks himself back into his pants, releases his grip on her, and pulls her skirt back over her hips.

“The Carltons will be at 263 Ruby Court for their final walk-through in about ten minutes.” He lifts her shirt from the floor and tucks it into the crossed arms attempting to cover her tits from me. “Clean yourself up and go take care of them.”

“Of course.” Her eyes dart to the floor, likely realizing how little that fuck meant to him.

“Sweetheart.” A smirk spreads across his face as he calls after her, interrupting her already faltering gait. “If you want more of my cock or miss my sting on your ass, you know where to find me.”

“You know I didn’t come here to watch you dip your cock in your assistant, right?” I stand from the chair and walk toward Edmund.

“I’ve been trying to beat up that ass for weeks,” he laughs. “I wasn’t passing it up just because you had poor timing.”

“You do plan to wash your hands before we go get lunch? Don’t you?” I eye the hand he used to smear cum over his assistant’s ass, and he merely smirks at me. I am slightly relieved when he leads me into the kitchen, where he promptly walks to the sink.

“Over lunch and a few drinks, I expect you to tell me what the fuck is going on with you,” He thoroughly washes his hands while he talks. “First bailing out early last week, then declining what was going to be a rather enjoyable pre-lunch blow job.”

He's right. I’m not myself.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

ABIGAIL

Grant has been gone for hours. So long that the sun is beginning to set as I sit on the couch in the den and read a book about a hot, Scottish archaeologist.

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