Page 28
Story: Black Shadows
Buzz. Buzz.Mother fucker! I pick up my phone and see messages from the one person I don’t want to hear from.
My father.
Assfuck:
Need to talk to you.
Good game, BTW. Get your ass down to home base.
Now, son.
Me:
What the fuck ever. Be there when I can.
With that, I let out a sigh of frustration and tip my head down as I sit on the bench in front of my locker. I hate my fucking father more that words can even begin to describe.
He is a casino billionaire who has more money than he knows what to do with. And when casinos got boring, he opened up a sex club. Well, it’s a normal, typical club that has a hidden sex dungeon in the basement. You know, totally fucking normal.
And I was supposed to follow in his footsteps, like the good son. His only son. And I gave him the fucking middle finger on that one.
I don’t feel like being mixed up in that shit and on my seventh marriage to whatever barbie doll is stupid enough to get involved with this family. I fell in love with baseball at an early age. That was always my escape, my freedom.
I have always felt more at home on that field than I did inside the mansion that my father built with his dirty fucking money.
Yes, dirty.
He has more politicians and people of importance in his back pocket than one should. His little club helps him with that. The sneaky and dirty shit he has gotten himself involved in runs deep. So, what he built, what he “worked” for, grew from bribes and deals.
And I want nothing to do with it. Yet I was always told I didn’t have a choice. I would follow in his footsteps.
So, I turned to baseball. That has always been my out. Throughout my baseball career, he has told me many times that my “hobby” wasn’t going to last forever and I would need to grow up and take on a real job.
Well, I showed him, sort of.
Because yeah, I made it into the major leagues. In fucking Las Vegas. The one place I wanted to leave, and I’m here under a goddamn contract. But I couldn’t pass up on the offer.
Fucking, Vegas.
At least there is a revolving door of pussy. The benefit of living in a tourist town and being a professional baseball player. All the pussy I could ever want to tie up and fuck. And yet most nights, I spend them by myself. But pussy is there if I want it.
“You coming out tonight?” Drew breaks me out of my thoughts, and I turn my head toward the sounds of his voice.
“No.” My voice is clipped with agitation.
“Dude, you have to. It’s a team outing! Team party!” Kayce says as he stands next to me. “Come on, man. You made the winning catch. We have to at least get you a drink.”
I look at him out of the corner of my eye. They know I don’t drink. For so many fucking reasons.
Kayce laughs, “We’ll get you a soda pop, grandpa. Don’t worry. Just a bubbly soda pop for you.”
Fuck this.
I throw my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and head toward the door of the locker room. When I get out there, there are fans and news cameras hovering and waiting for the team to come out.
But today, I have other things that I need to focus on, so I push past them and ignore their calls for me to talk about the catch. Coach will be pissed I didn’t do a presser, but I don’t fucking care. I ignore the screaming women who are ready to throw themselves at me just to say they slept with me.
No, instead, I head toward the man I hate more than I have words for.
My father.
Assfuck:
Need to talk to you.
Good game, BTW. Get your ass down to home base.
Now, son.
Me:
What the fuck ever. Be there when I can.
With that, I let out a sigh of frustration and tip my head down as I sit on the bench in front of my locker. I hate my fucking father more that words can even begin to describe.
He is a casino billionaire who has more money than he knows what to do with. And when casinos got boring, he opened up a sex club. Well, it’s a normal, typical club that has a hidden sex dungeon in the basement. You know, totally fucking normal.
And I was supposed to follow in his footsteps, like the good son. His only son. And I gave him the fucking middle finger on that one.
I don’t feel like being mixed up in that shit and on my seventh marriage to whatever barbie doll is stupid enough to get involved with this family. I fell in love with baseball at an early age. That was always my escape, my freedom.
I have always felt more at home on that field than I did inside the mansion that my father built with his dirty fucking money.
Yes, dirty.
He has more politicians and people of importance in his back pocket than one should. His little club helps him with that. The sneaky and dirty shit he has gotten himself involved in runs deep. So, what he built, what he “worked” for, grew from bribes and deals.
And I want nothing to do with it. Yet I was always told I didn’t have a choice. I would follow in his footsteps.
So, I turned to baseball. That has always been my out. Throughout my baseball career, he has told me many times that my “hobby” wasn’t going to last forever and I would need to grow up and take on a real job.
Well, I showed him, sort of.
Because yeah, I made it into the major leagues. In fucking Las Vegas. The one place I wanted to leave, and I’m here under a goddamn contract. But I couldn’t pass up on the offer.
Fucking, Vegas.
At least there is a revolving door of pussy. The benefit of living in a tourist town and being a professional baseball player. All the pussy I could ever want to tie up and fuck. And yet most nights, I spend them by myself. But pussy is there if I want it.
“You coming out tonight?” Drew breaks me out of my thoughts, and I turn my head toward the sounds of his voice.
“No.” My voice is clipped with agitation.
“Dude, you have to. It’s a team outing! Team party!” Kayce says as he stands next to me. “Come on, man. You made the winning catch. We have to at least get you a drink.”
I look at him out of the corner of my eye. They know I don’t drink. For so many fucking reasons.
Kayce laughs, “We’ll get you a soda pop, grandpa. Don’t worry. Just a bubbly soda pop for you.”
Fuck this.
I throw my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and head toward the door of the locker room. When I get out there, there are fans and news cameras hovering and waiting for the team to come out.
But today, I have other things that I need to focus on, so I push past them and ignore their calls for me to talk about the catch. Coach will be pissed I didn’t do a presser, but I don’t fucking care. I ignore the screaming women who are ready to throw themselves at me just to say they slept with me.
No, instead, I head toward the man I hate more than I have words for.
Table of Contents
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