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Chapter Ten

TRISTAN

Buzz. Buzz . The annoying sound of my phone tells me someone is incessantly trying to piss me off more than that almost loss we just had.

It was the fucking Salt Lake Seagulls, for fuck’s sake. The fucking Seagulls. They are one of the worst teams right now, and we almost blew a five-run lead on them. They had the bases loaded with us up by one run; any base hit would have brought in a run to tie it, or worse, the winning run.

Buzz. Buzz. My phone rattles on the shelf. Internally, I flip off whoever that is.

Though I know who it is. And he’s the last person I want to talk to.

“That was a nice save, Evans.” Cameron gives me a friendly slap on the shoulder. But I turn and growl at him. I hate being touched or congratulated, and he knows this. He grins as he winks at me.

Asshole.

“Someone had to keep the Seagulls from making us a laughingstock. Wasn’t gonna be any one of you fuckers.” I turn back toward my locker, throwing on a clean shirt.

In the final inning, top of the ninth, with the bases loaded, a line drive was hit on the third base line. It was foul, but I threw myself sideways and caught that son of a bitch. Ending the game. Giving us our win.

And sure, I could have let it go foul, but then that would give them the chance to win the game. To get that hit or home run. Fuck that.

So, I won us the game by making that catch. I wasn’t losing to the fucking pussy ass Seagulls.

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.

I walk through Level Seven Nightclub, and it’s pretty empty except for the workers who are getting ready to open the place up in a couple of hours.

The club is decked out in extravagance and lights.

A giant snakeskin double helix hangs above the giant dance floor.

Through the center of it, a glass chandelier, made to look like raindrops, hangs.

A second-floor balcony wraps around the entire lower portion.

This is where the special guests get to hang out and drop thousands of dollars in one night.

A DJ is on the stage working through some lighting and set issues prior to the night’s opening. Before long, people will be elbow to elbow, drunk off their ass, and dancing to whatever annoying shit is coming out of those speakers.

I keep walking to the other side of the floor toward the employee only elevator. Once I’m inside, I enter my pin and take it up to the third floor. When the doors open, I walk out, turning to my right and seeing the whole club below me.

God, I hate this fucking place.

Shaking my head, I head toward the locked soundproof doors and let it scan my eye. It clicks, and I enter. There is only my father’s office back here, but a reception desk is up at the front and a conference room behind where the desk is.

The office is empty, and at this time of night, that’s typical. Making my way back, I get to his door, and I take a deep breath before pushing inside. God only knows what I will find behind these doors. But here I go anyways.

As soon as I walk in, I stop in my tracks.

Well, found his receptionist.

On her knees, with his dick in her mouth.

“Son! Sorry, I got bored.” He yanks the blonde up by her ponytail, and she lets out a screech. “Your sucking skills need work. Get the fuck out of here until you can learn to suck a dick like the slut I know you are.”

The blonde straightens her skimpy black dress and wipes her mouth with her finger. As she runs a hand through her hair, she turns and smiles at me. I stand there, emotionless. These bitches are just fucking my father thinking they can get some of the family fortune.

He would have them killed before that happened. They have no idea how dangerous he really is. What he controls and who.

When slut in training leaves, my father goes to the back credenza and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He then preps a second one, but the bastard knows I don’t drink.

He walks over and hands me the drink before sipping on his.

I take the glass and slowly move the drink in the air holding it off to the side of me.

His eyes track every single one of my movements as my eyes stay locked in on his.

My head tips to the side as I slowly start to pour the drink out onto the floor.

He rolls his eyes. “Fuck’s sake, Tristan. You could’ve just not had the drink,” my father says as he knocks back his whiskey.

“You know I don’t drink,” I say flatly.

“One won’t kill you.” He shakes his head.

I don’t answer him. He knows I don’t drink. Not a single drop past these lips. Ever. And he knows why.

Because the one night I did, the one night I got shit faced, my mother was killed. And I couldn’t be there to save her.

Because I was passed out drunk.

“What do you want?” I grate out.

My father sighs, “It would be nice if I could run the club with my son.”

“I don’t want anything to do with this cesspool.” I grimace.

“Not this one, The Pit under it.”

“That’s even worse.” I roll my eyes.

“Tristan, you are an Evans. You have the world at your fingertips. And yet you continue to play this little boy’s game. It’s time you step into your role as an Evans.” He sets his glass down and sits down at his desk.

“A little boy’s game I get paid millions of dollars a year to play,” I growl as I turn and head back toward the door.

“You took an oath, son.” His words make me stop in my tracks. “The society has been patient with letting this little tantrum you have been throwing, but they are quickly losing patience.”

“I took an oath when I had no idea what it was that I was getting myself involved with.” My entire body starts to vibrate in anger and rage.

“Nonetheless, it’s an oath. And you know you can’t just leave the Society; that’s not how it works. You know there is only one way out,” my father says from behind me. I can hear the smile in his voice because he knows he’s got me.

I let out a huff as my feet carry me toward the door. I need to leave before I do something I’ll completely regret. Like kill the bastard. And unfortunately, killing the bastard won’t grant me my freedom.

But he’s right. I know there is only one way to get out of my oath to the Society.

Death.