Page 44

ADRIAN

I brushed a loose strand of dark hair over the gash in my forehead as I eyed myself in the mirror.

Smoothing the black tie along the seam of the matching vest, the silver glint of the polished buttons catching the light as I adjusted each of the sleeves of my black dress shirt and secured the cufflinks.

As much as the thought of stepping foot in my room sickened me, I refused to wear someone else’s throwaways.

Especially when that someone else was the twisted son of a bitch looking to starve me to death like a discarded pet he couldn’t be bothered to euthanize.

At the same time, I wasn’t na?ve enough to think the old man didn’t have some ulterior motive behind tonight’s dog and pony show.

We didn’t do “family dinners.” At least not where they concerned me.

I was no more part of the Prescott family than the used tube socks tossed around Tate’s en-suite bathroom .

But if the old man insisted I dressed for whatever bullshit he had up his sleeve tonight, it would be in a three-piece fitted suit I had custom tailored to my measurements… in exchange for a few sexual favors with a local seamstress. Her handiwork was impeccable. Mine was better.

Either way, the widow’s lax bartering system served to keep my closet fully stocked over the years without having to dip into my savings.

If I needed new shoes, I’d slide a handful of tranquilizers under the right salesman’s door while a few bottles of pills gave me free rein over most of the local clubs.

Drug use might not have been tolerated but it sure as fuck was enjoyed by the occasional rule breaker at Original Sin.

And when I stepped through those doors, my mask in place and my identity as obscure as my sexual preferences, I wasn’t the bastard son of Tate Prescott anymore.

I was “the doctor,” thanks to my choice of profession and face-wear.

A few more years, and I’d be upgraded to the rich folk’s favorite plastic surgeon.

Spending my days pumping tits with silicone and foreheads with Botox while lining my pockets with the fuckers’ cash.

That was what I reminded myself as I shoveled another protein bar into my mouth, glanced at my reflection one more time, and then strolled back upstairs with my hands in my pockets. Appearing as unbothered by big brother’s cheap shot as he was bothered by my existence.

The jingle of the silver chain of my pocket watch announced my presence before I stepped foot in the formal dining room, set for four when there were only three of us in attendance.

Tate leaned an arm over the mantel. A small white bandage covering the incision on his nose as he grinned in my direction.

His eyes flicked behind me, then back again.

Until I had no choice but to spin around to see what he was seeing.

My gaze dropped to a set of modest heels.

Raked over two long stocking-covered legs and the flowy hem of a rose-petal pink dress before hinging on a silhouetted waist that curved outward to cradle a perfect set of tits, a gold pendant necklace, and a few loose curls of dark hair.

And then my focus was forced up to a pair of green eyes.

Eyes that had lost that last flicker of life I was certain I’d seen there a few days ago.

I was too far gone to notice Tate had stepped up behind me until his arm circled around my neck in a headlock as he pushed up on his tiptoes, lifted his mouth to my ear, and whispered, “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?

” He smirked. I could feel the tightening of his jaw muscles against my cheek.

“ Mary , this is Adrian, our houseboy. Whatever you need, the good man will be sure to get it for you.” He tapped the back of a hand on my chest before shoving me a step forward.

“Adrian, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Mary .

But you’ll address her as the future Mrs. Prescott. ”