Page 41 of Privilege

Chapter Thirty-Five

Dane

I try not to imagine slitting my dad’s throat as Rich pulls out of me.

Of fucking course he’d materialize now. I wanted a minute with Rich to take this in, wanted to enjoy one fucking second of post-orgasm bliss with him inside me. But of course dad chose now to show his face for the first time all summer.

Welcome home, daddy. Have I finally fully lived up to degenerate status?

Cara scrambles up and collects her dress, holding it in front of her naked body. She flushes, and glances nervously between me and Rich and my dad.

I know babygirl, there’s a bit of tension in here.

Rich keeps his back to dad and quickly pulls his underwear back on.

I don’t bother, just stand there naked and stare him down with an ass full of cum.

He’s spitting mad, the vein in his temple raised and purple, his handsome features marred by a scowl that could topple empires.

“I always knew you were a waste of space,” he says, “but I never thought you were a fucking pervert.”

Oh. Okay. That stings a little more than it should, considering I’d known all along this is how he’d react.

“Good thing I don’t take up much of your day then,” I say politely. “You don’t have to endure my perverted presence very often.”

Cara takes an involuntary step towards my side, her teeth bared at my dad like she wants to attack. My face softens, because I’ve never had anybody on my side before. Not really .

Rich’s heavy hand clamps down on my shoulder. He stands beside me in an open shirt and his underwear, looking as fierce as Cara.

My throat suddenly feels tight.

“What do you want,” Rich says.

Dad assesses him warily, his sneer growing bigger. I watch him write Rich off before our very eyes. The golden boy, the heir to the Pritchard dynasty, Evelyn van der Beer’s handsome little puppet. Gone. Done. A bad investment.

“All of you, get the fuck out of this house,” he hisses. He doesn’t need to say we’re never welcome back.

Cara hands me my pants and I watch my dad’s cold, dead eyes start calculating his losses. Wait for it…

“And don’t go thinking your credit cards will keep working,” he says. “Your trust accounts are gone. You understand me?”

I give him a jaunty salute. “Understood,” I say.

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. He’s been in the room for enough hostile takeovers, back door deals with politicians and policemen and city officials, to know when someone has an advantage. When someone knows something about the deal he doesn’t.

“What did you do,” he says.

I’m pleased that he made this leap so quickly, because it’s been a long two years. I’ve been waiting for this for what feels like forever. It’s the only reason I came home.

“How’s it going in Montauk, dad?”

The room goes deathly still.

He repeats himself, slower this time. Like I’m stupid. “What. Did. You. Do.”

He’s always treated me like I was stupid.

Wrote me off as soon as I expressed more interest in cars than general ledgers.

When I signed up for shop class in my first year of high school, he told me I ‘may as well get a neck tattoo and start dealing drugs’.

He never bothered to pay attention to my report cards.

Never showed up for teacher conferences to discuss my work.

Had no idea that I made the honour roll, graduated top of my class, and that the valedictorian at graduation was actually the second pick.

I’ve been flying under the radar for so long that he forgot to check up on me. Forgot to keep tabs. Forgot I’m an enemy.

Big. Fucking. Mistake .

“Having trouble with the permit office, aren’t you? Things not moving as quickly as you’d have liked?”

His shoulders get wider, and his palpable rage fills the room.

I continue on without bothering to disguise the smugness in my voice. “Did you know that the new director of the city planning department had a brother and sister-in-law who worked at that plant? The one you put out of business?”

He takes two threatening steps towards me but I don’t care.

“Every single vacant lot, severed property, and commercially zoned real estate on all sides of you will be launching lawsuits. It blocks their view, it alters the wind pattern for a tropical flamingo, it violates the rights of a special spore of mushroom. If you can think of it? I’m suing you for it.

That development is dead in the water, dad. ”

For one brief moment, I see a flicker of fear in his eyes. I know what that plan was worth. I know what those condos were going to sell for. He put too many eggs in this basket, didn’t diversify, and he’s going to lose millions.

And then there’s the industrial rezoning in Manhattan. And the project on Long Island. All stalled out, delayed, not going according to plan. The fear grows, but he buries it fast, mask up.

“You don’t have the money for this,” he says. “Your trust fund is gone, Dane. You understand me? Gone. How are you going to pay those legal bills now?”

I openly smirk at him. “I’ve been living on pennies and using my trust fund to invest in tech start ups for the past two years,” I say. His eyebrows raise in genuine surprise, as do Rich’s. “Kelladone? Trinity Inc? Melodic? Those are all mine.”

I hear an exhale, and realize it’s Cara. She’s in robotics, and understands what I’m saying. She’d recognize all those names. They’re not start-ups anymore.

“I don’t need your money,” I say.

A slow smile spreads across Rich’s face. Cara hums with understanding and approval. The sight of them fucked right, messy as hell, and laughing at my dad is better than I ever could have imagined.

“Get the FUCK out!” Dad roars, storming past us and throwing open the double doors that lead into the atrium.

He’s stalking off to his office no doubt, checking up on my information to make sure its good, but he’s an exceptional businessman and knew I wasn’t bluffing. It was written all over his face.

Heads are going to roll when he finds out I’ve been paying off his key people to stop feeding him information.

In the grand scheme of things, he’ll recover, won’t even feel the financial hit long-term.

This will mostly be hassle and embarrassment.

But it’ll eat away at his brain forever that he lost.

And to a gay pervert, no less.

We throw on the rest of our clothes. Cara stays barefoot, hangs her shoes off the back of her finger.

“Where do we go?” Rich asks. “Can I afford a hotel? Am I poor now?”

Cara laughs even harder.

I throw an arm around his neck and roughly kiss the top of his head. “I’ll spot you, okay brother?”

We stumble out of the house and towards the back parking lot where Rich left his Lexus. The two of them are holding hands, so in love it’s physically grossing me out, and I find myself wondering if Rich is sober enough to drive so that I can eat Cara out in the back seat.

“I’m so sorry,” Rich murmurs to her. “I never should have brought you here. ”

My heart stalls out momentarily. If he’d never brought her here, she and I never… He and I never—But before I can spiral he reaches out and takes my hand, same as Cara’s.

“What hotel should we hit up?” he asks.

I shake my head. “We can stay on the yacht.”

Rich makes a face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dane.”

“Why not?”

“Mum and dad are going to be gunning for us. No way they’ll stand for this without, you know, the most severe punishment known to man?”

“Probably,” I say with a shrug. “But what’s that got to do with the boat.”

Rich frowns, and his brow furrows with frustration and annoyance. “They’ll come looking for us there,” he says. “And kick us off. Is it really worth the hassle?”

Cara narrows her eyes at me, and I can see the gears turning. I smirk at her.

“The boat is mine, Rich.”

He blinks in shock, which is a little offensive because clearly he didn’t think I was smart either. But I’ve pulled it off. I’ve pulled it all off. I didn’t think it would be while my brother was emptying his balls in my ass, but that’s neither here nor there.

Cara claps with delight. “We get to sleep on the boat after all!” she says.

I picture her and Rich stretched out in my bed, the gentle rock of the ocean lulling us to sleep.

What a fucking privilege, to love like this.

THE END