Page 13 of Violent Little Thing

Blurred Lines

ADONIS

A WEEK LATER

T here’s something to be said about an only child’s relationship with their parents. Something I can’t say because I’ve always been more of a visitor in their world than a permanent fixture.

They sit across from me at a table overlooking downtown Wildwood and all I feel is a niggling of agitation that I left work to have this lunch with them.

“We heard about your new houseguest,” my mother announces with a soft clearing of her throat. Her eyes clash with mine, demanding a follow up to her announcement.

Smile sponsored by Valium.

Wardrobe sponsored by Dior.

A lifelong aerobics class pass and more time spent in the steam room than should be allowed has her slim frame in prime form .

My mother has never denied the fact that she likes being thin more than she likes most things.

When I was younger, she never missed a chance to tell me how my arrival sent her into a spiral until she lost the baby weight.

With skin the color of cocoa and her deep red hair styled in a pixie cut, Adriana Samson is as beautiful as she is foreboding.

Every time someone mistakes her as my sister, I swear tears of joy well in her eyes. There’s no higher compliment for her. I used to think it was sad. But I’ve come to accept it. It’s who she is, and it’s served her well all these years.

Noticing my attention on her, she smiles again. It doesn’t reach her eyes. No emotion ever does. My father sits beside her, stoic as his eyes rake over me.

Minus the locs, he’s staring at his reflection from twenty years ago.

The only evidence of his age is the distinctive gray hair edging out his formerly ebony strands.

Antoine Samson says everything without speaking a word. It’s in the weight of his stare, the hard set of his jaw and the fidgeting with the signet ring on his right index finger.

Based on how slowly he’s spinning the gold ring, he’s not disappointed, just agitated.

Reading his mood, either through telepathy or ease born of the decades they’ve been together, my mother says, “You know, it’s untoward to have a woman living in your house when you’re set to be married to someone else in less than a year.”

This lunch invite isn’t what I expected. I don’t know why I had any expectations when it comes to the two people across from me, but sometimes I liked to visit the land of delusion and overestimate my importance in their life.

With a scoff, I loosen my tie even though it’s only the middle of the day, and I wish the water glass in front of me had tequila in it instead.

Because I didn’t get the gushing parents who expressed their pride for anything I did.

I got the pair that used untoward in casual conversation and treated every discussion we had like a business meeting.

“We’re not engaged,” I tell her, the reminder hitting me like an iceberg after months of smooth sailing.

I haven’t thought about the woman I’m set to marry in a long, long time.

In fact, the only person I’ve thought about is the menace currently residing under my roof. The woman who can’t stand me, but I can’t stop thinking about.

It seems like guilt would be an appropriate reaction to that discovery, yet I feel nothing. I’ve always felt nothing when it comes to Chiara. I have to believe most people feel that way about spouses who are chosen for them.

My mother toys with her hair. “Not yet. But let’s be honest, it’ll just be a formality at that point. You were always going to end up with Chiara.”

The flippant little lift of her shoulder sets my molars on edge.

Before I can think, my hand flies in the air, flagging down our waitress.

“Yes, can I get you something?—”

“A double shot of tequila. On the rocks.”

Tittering from across the table stops the waitress in her tracks. “Oh, Adonis. It’s barely noon. Too early for hard liquor. We’ll take a Bordeaux instead. A cabernet, if you have it. ”

Pain shoots to my temple from the force of my back teeth grinding together. But I don’t say anything.

I never do.

Swiss boarding school for thirteen years.

Exceptional at every piano recital.

First place in every indoor and outdoor track event I participated in.

My French is shit, but they let that slide because at least I can keep up in German.

Graduated from their alma mater at the top of my class. For my bachelor’s and master’s degrees.

I did everything they told me to do.

Before I ever set foot in undergrad, they’d spent over a million dollars on my education.

I wasn’t their son, I was their favorite trophy. A living, breathing reminder of their excellence reflected at them.

A title I didn’t mind most days because trophies were left on a shelf and seldom bothered. It meant I got to do what the fuck I wanted.

But sometimes…sometimes I had to clock in and put in face time with the people who were responsible for my existence.

The Samson name comes with a responsibility I can’t shake. My sole purpose is tied up in who my father is and what he promised The Society before he and my mother extended their bloodline.

This upcoming marriage is my duty to The Society. To solidify an alliance that had been in the making before my birth. My parents promised their first-born son would marry the last-born daughter of the Dupree family.

I never had to sacrifice anything to The Society because my whole existence was predicated on what I would do once I reached thirty- five.

I hadn’t wanted anything in a long time. Hadn’t felt anything.

There were no wild oats to sow. No playboy phase for me to work through because I’d always only been focused on me.

Until Delilah.

I liked my solitude. My peace. The order I was able to maintain by moving through life alone.

Sex wasn’t a craving that plagued me. Ever. I’d only been with two women in my life. And it was only for the release. Never the connection. I hated connections.

But in the back of my mind, I always knew there was an expiration date attached to that freedom.

Until Delilah.

She’s disrupted everything and I can’t even say I don’t like it. She’s chaotic. Overwhelming. I like that. I shouldn’t, but I’m loath to do anything but admit it.

When I tune in again, my parents are talking about the object of my obsession.

“It’s sad what happened to the girl. Having her mother leave like that. Marcellus was a single father for all those years.” An elegant hand waves in the air. “Of course, it doesn’t excuse the way he mismanaged his funds. But still, the stress. So unfortunate…” she trails, leaving the rest unsaid.

Another word doesn’t leave my lips until my first glass of wine is drained.

Ignoring my father’s eyes on me, I reach for the bottle and give myself another healthy pour.

“The gala at the manor next month would be a great time to show a united front and confirm your plans to marry.”

Fuck, I forgot about that.

The first show of emotion from my father is a smile aimed at my mother’s brilliant suggestion.

I drain my second glass in a single gulp.

My breast pocket buzzes against my chest, so I reach inside to send the call to voicemail. Until the name on the screen catches my eye.

Silas.

It’s not a call, just a series of short texts.

Si: He’s awake

Si: Room 522

Si: Visitor badge at the usual spot

Adrenaline snuffs out my annoyance and I’m standing before I can get a rein on my actions. I only notice when my parents have to crane their necks to look up at me.

“I have to go. Something came up.”

My father nods and I ping pong between both their expressions, my last attempt at getting them to acknowledge the significance of this day. They don’t. They nod and go back to what they were doing before.

In the backseat of my Maybach, I wait until Victor pulls into traffic to check my phone again. As soon as I do, my dad’s name appears on the screen.

“Hello.”

Antoine skips a greeting. “If you want to have some fun with the girl, be discreet. Remember the long game. Don’t let what’s between her legs make you think you’re in love. She’s still a Rose.”

The disdain in his voice is warranted. Somehow, Delilah is a Rose, regardless of how removed she seems from the name.

A Rose wouldn’t go through the five stages of grief after losing a job that barely paid minimum wage. I’m ninety percent positive she knows nothing about the cameras throughout the house, so it couldn’t have all been for show if she didn’t know she had an audience. It lasted for a full week.

The Roses had always been gaudy and proud, so why was Delilah sharing a studio with another woman? Why does she spend her days studying for a certificate when Weston attended the best private schools in the state?

The woman turned me into a liar. I didn’t take Delilah to get an upper hand on Weston; I took her because I could. Because I wanted to know how a woman like her came from a house like that. I wanted to make her remember me and drop whatever shield she’d built to block out the version of her I met.

“You hear what I’m saying to you, Adonis?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, clearing my throat. “I hear you.”

A sigh escapes as I pinch the bridge of my nose. I need to get my shit together. I hadn’t heard a word, too caught up in thoughts of the woman I can’t figure out.

She fucking shot me. There’s nothing else to figure out. And still…

Victor catches my eye in the rear-view mirror, his brows dipping before he turns his focus back to the road ahead.

Again, a deep voice tugs me back.

“And son? ”

“Yes sir?”

“Take care of Weston before I do. Nobody steals from this family and walks away. I don’t give a damn if it’s ten dollars. Anyone who fucks over a Samson will pay.”

“Yes sir.”

The call ends without a goodbye and I exhale, tucking my phone away. I know my father enough not to call his bluff.

Downtown blurs into the industrial parks on the perimeter of the city. The slight buzz from the wine holds me spellbound to the passing scenery.

Ten minutes later, Victor announces, “We’ve arrived, sir.”

Weston Rose looks better than he deserves. He deserved a closed casket funeral the second I saw him slap his sister at that auction, but here we are.

He sits up in bed, monitors beeping, while a nurse helps him sip water.

When I clear my throat, the nurse smiles at me while Weston’s face pales like he just made eye contact with a ghost.

Good. The Rose sibling I want to fear me, does. That alone settles the lingering tension from my lunch date.

I don’t waste time on pleasantries, but I do wait until the nurse leaves his bedside before I tell him exactly how the next three months are going to go.

“Enough coke to kill an elephant in your system that night.”

“You have nothing to offer society in that state.”

“Best ninety-day facility in the country. ”

“When you get out, you can explain to me why the hell you still deserve to be alive.”

He nods along with every new detail, silent acceptance and trembling fingers wrapped around his call button.

But he doesn’t push it. Maybe because he knows nobody is coming to help his dumb ass.

Before I leave, I pause to button my suit jacket and turn back to look at him, letting a burning question finally leave my lips.

“Why wasn’t Delilah left anything in your father’s will?”

His eyes flicker to the door and back to me before he makes a show of rubbing his hand over his heart.

“Because my father knew exactly who she was. He left it to me because he knew I could manage it.”

The sound of me kissing my teeth joins the beep of the monitors. “That remains to be seen. Your net worth has been in the negative for the past ten years.”

Weston rushes to object, his words coming out on a stammer. “Sh-She’s not who you think she is. Don’t let her damsel in distress act fool you. She’s the reason our mother left, the reason my father is dead. She’s a snake, Samson. Be careful.”

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I stare at him.

He follows his ramble with another one. “And I told you, my funds are tied up. But as soon as I move things around, I’ll have your money.”

A lie. The debt he owes to The Society matches what he owes me.

Delilah’s virginity would have cleared that debt, and now she’s with me.

How he plans to scare up two million dollars is none of my business.

And anybody who believes Weston’s lies deserves what they get.

A momentary lapse has my heart rate picking up and a smile fighting for purchase on my face because all I can think about is Delilah spewing similar words at me when she woke up.

My teeth puncture the inside of my cheek, washing away the amusement. “She’s your only family left in this world. I could be violating her every night. And your only thought is that I should be careful?”

He looks solemn but it’s insincere. “She’s good at fooling people. Don’t let her play you. Don’t let her get to you,” he warns on a rasp.

She’s already gotten to me.

How low have I fallen where I’m taking anything this man says seriously?

It’s like my common sense has a restraining order out on me when it comes to this woman.

But I’m being smart.

I think about the tracker on her cellphone. The way it alerts me every time she picks up the device. The way a mirror of every message she sends or receives arrives on my phone. I throttled her data speed and blocked apps.

Nothing is getting past me. I have nothing to worry about. Still, when I get back to the car, I ask Victor to keep digging for more information anyway.