Page 23 of Cruel Pleasures

The elaborately welded wrought iron gates part down the center. I walk onto my family’s property, indifferent that I’m covered in blood and look like death. I haven’t slept in forty-eight hours, haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four, and haven’t fucked anything in at least twelve.

If the blowjob some drunk bimbo gave me in the Oasis counts. I stuff a cigarette between my lips and wander the baroque marble hall.

Only the Hurst family would be pompous enough to believe they could recreate the home of some eighteenth century aristocrat. Only Mother would be materialistic enough to decorate it so.

I wind up on the third floor. You could say hiding out from the others—or saving them the potential outburst that would erupt if I’m tested.

After the day I’ve just had, I’m in no mood for stupidity.

Which is why I’m immediately pissed when the click of heels sounds from down the hall and I realize I’m no longer alone. I look over, my cigarette smoldering, and I snap, “What the fuck are you looking at?”

The face gawking at me couldn’t be more startled. Parted pouty lips. Rounded dark eyes. High, knitted brows. Features that harmonize so well they form a beautiful face I’ve seen before, even if she doesn’t realize I have.

The face of Imani Makune. The face she wants everyone in the club to believe belongs to Sasha Newton. Others may be too stupid and self-involved to notice, but I’m not.

I’m well aware of who she is and why she’s here. A detail she hopes remains a secret.

She pivots on her tall heels and flees the scene.

I can only laugh.

Imani Makune has no idea she’s perhaps the one saving grace of this asinine club event. She’s the one point of interest that could make things… exciting.

That could finally shake things up.

And she really has no fucking clue she is. I’d feel sorry for her if I weren’t a sadist. If I even had a heart at all.

It’s no surprise when I’m summoned hours later. I may have skipped out on the formal dinner and opening ceremony for the games, but I’m well aware of the hilarious scene that was made. Nolan tells me all about it before I’m called to the parlor in the left wing.

Mother waits for me, as sweet as can be, her hands folded in her lap. A smile plastered across half her face, bright and cheerful in the way only deranged people can be.

“There he is,” she coos. “My sweet boy. How did you enjoy the dinner?”

“I wasn’t at the dinner, Mother. Or have you forgotten?”

“I quite enjoyed the seared swordfish and capers. They paired perfectly with the delicious glass of Pinot. Of course, the Hostess warned if I ate any more it would go straight to my hips. Which, she reminded me, I cannot afford.” She simpers out a soft laugh.

“The Hostess always has the most flattering things to say about you.”

My sarcasm goes unnoticed as she pats the cushion on the sofa next to her. “Come, sit. Let me hug my boy like when you were a child.”

“What do you want? Why have you disturbed my evening?” I ask without budging an inch.

“You really do look like your father sometimes. It’s uncanny. I’m sure he’ll say the same once he returns from his business.”

“Father has been living overseas on business for the better part of almost thirty years now. In other words, my entire fucking life. When are you going to accept that was a lie he told you? He’s not coming back.”

“Have you met our special guest?” she asks, beaming. “She’s quite beautiful… though also quite a nuisance. You’ll need to be extra careful keeping an eye on her.”

“I’ll handle the situation how I see fit.”

“The Hostess said?—”

“The Hostess has no bearing on how I handle the situation,” I interrupt coldly. “Is that all? Are you done prattling on?”

“What’s wrong with my sweet boy? What has caused him to be so angry?”

…you know exactly what, you fucking useless sack of bones.