Tainted Love Read online

  She smiles cunningly, ignoring my plea.

  “I want the library collection your father left you.”

  “Seriously? Are you insane? We can talk about this later!”

  “Well… I’m just giving you a heads up that it’s staying in the main house, as is.”

  “Fine! Keep the fucking books, just get the hell out of here!”

  “Hmph. Sure, thing sweetheart. Nice to see you again Pax,” she finishes with a wink.

  I holler out that I’m changing the locks the second I get out of the damn shower as she exits the room.

  “Shit, Vixen,” Pax laughs, “calm down… why don’t we go back to what we were doing?”

  I slap his hand off of my shoulder and take in his stupid grin.

  “You wish, you big dummy! Why the hell didn’t you say something to her, or cover your fucking junk at least?”

  “She’s Satan… I didn’t want to end up locked in her firey dungeon. Besides, your mom is kind of hot.”

  I punch him in the ab so hard it sends a surge of pain through my fist as I exit the shower, trying to shake it off.

  “Fuck you, Pax!” I say, slamming the shower door. “You are unbelievable!”

  He shrugs and says nothing, just gives me that stupid face he does when he knows I’m frustrated with him.

  What a jerk. He knows how much I hate the fact people find my mother attractive and that she’s literally slept with every guy eighteen and up that lives on the Hill. Married, single, widowed, divorced, blind, even fuckers in wheelchairs… you name him, she’s fucked him. She’s even fucked two of my underaged boyfriends while I was dating them! They claimed it was because I wouldn’t put out, but that’s beside the point. The worst part is that Dad got wind of it.

  If that’s not enough to drive a man to kill himself, then I don’t know what is. My poor father, I’ll never understand why he put up with her for as long as he did. Her and her drinking were always causing problems. Sometimes I wish he would have at least strangled her first instead of leaving her here to mess with my life.

  I look up from the laptop as Pax saunters shirtless into the kitchen and takes a seat beside me.

  “You still pissed I didn’t damn Satan back to hell?”

  “You know that’s not why I’m mad.”

  “I wasn’t thinking, Vix… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it.”

  “Whatever… it’s fine, just leave it alone,” I say, searching the web for a locksmith.

  “It’s not fine. Will you look at me for a second?”

  “No… I’m busy.”

  Without warning he slams the laptop closed, spins his chair around to straddle it, and jerks my chair closer to his.

  “I’m fucking sorry, Kirsten, it honestly slipped.”

  I can tell by his face he feels guilty, but it still hurts to know he thinks the same thing everybody else does. I’ve been overlooked my entire life, traded in for my mother repeatedly because of her looks. Pax promised me that would never happen when we met. I don’t care if he sleeps with anyone else on the planet. I just can’t bear the thought of him laying with her.

  He grazes his thumb lightly over my knuckles that are still red from how hard I punched him.

  “Do you forgive me?”

  “I’m working on it,” I mumble, not looking at him.

  He lifts my chin and kisses my forehead; his stubble is scratchy and it tickles.

  “I’m going to head down to the Club to pack up some of my stuff. Want to come with?”

  “No thanks, I think I’d better stick around here and see if I can’t figure out what that bitch is planning to do with my dad’s book collection. Ride safe.”

  “You know I will.”

  He slips his shirt over his head and ties back his hair Pax style. It always halts my breath when I watch the way he moves with a sexy charm about him.

  I make my way out to the main house as I hear his bike pull away, knowing the second I turn twenty-four I’m getting the hell out of here. I’ll be getting on the back of that man’s bike and I won’t care where in the world he takes me, as long as it’s far the fuck away from the Hill.

  Three

  Money Can’t Buy Sobriety

  My father had a strong sense of family, was always determined to mediate the tension between mom and me. He was good at laying down the law when it came to her booze-fuelled tantrums, he’d often take away her car keys and tell her to walk it off and every few months he’d offer to take her on vacation as an incentive to get her to put down the bottle.

  She was never sober longer than a week, but I loved my dad for trying even though I felt she never deserved his loyalty.

  He worked hard, built his company from the ground up, and ran it for over thirty years until it became an empire. He was well respected by everyone, except my mother. Thirty-eight days ago, when he took his life, he took a piece of me with him, and the things he left behind don’t mean shit to me. What I care about now is making sure that ice cold bitch in the main house never gets her happily ever after. Not with no hotshot lawyer, and not so long as I’m still standing.

  “Hey, Natasha,” I regard, entering the main house, “did you take the business card from the entryway table that douche lawyer gave me earlier?”

  “No, it should still be wherever you leave it. I like hair by way,” she says, pointing at my head. “Dark looks nice on you? No?”

  “Thanks… it helps set me apart from Satan. There will be no more confusion when someone comes up behind me. The twat can sport blonde better than me anyway. Speaking of the hell spawn, where is she?”

  “Last I saw she was in library, drinking martini, and making big pile of mess in middle of floor. I clean it later when she finishes spat with self, yes?”

  I shrug and nod, knowing Natasha wants to avoid being a target during one of Satan’s fits. I don’t blame her for wanting to stay out of the minefield of exploding valuables.

  Creeping the corner, I watch quietly as mother blindly tosses books from the alcove behind her into a pile while slurring some incoherent rant I can’t make out.

  “Mother… what are you doing?”

  She turns toward me, spilling some of her drink down the front of her blouse.

  “Damn it!” She hisses. “If you must know, I’m sorting through some of your father’s literary abominations… I mean who reads this crap? One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? Sounds dreary.”

  I watch the book land in the pile and shake my head.

  “Maybe you should read that one. Fuck, Mom, you’re destroying everything Dad loved.”

  “No, dear, you have it all wrong. It was your father that destroyed everything I loved.”

  “Like what? He gave you everything and you walked on him, disrespected him, and yet he never quit on you.”

  She laughs wickedly as if I’ve just crossed a line.

  “I’d say he sure as fuck quit on me the day he killed himself, Kirsten. You have no idea what you are even talking about. You are just as pathetic as he was.”

  “I’m pathetic?” I repeat. “Well if that’s true, it’s not because I’m like Dad. It would be because I was damned to hell and burdened with you as my mother.”

  I dodge the book that comes barrelling at me but can’t avoid the glass as I screech and feel the rigid force of it crack against the side of my head. I hit the floor, dazed for a moment, trying to sort my thoughts as I pick shards of glass from my hair and study my fingers that are covered in blood.

  I see Satan’s shoes as she stops and looks down at me, and for a second I think she might help me; my heart is pounding in my chest and tears are welling in my eyes from the pain that’s setting in.

  “Christ, child!” she snorts, “Get yourself cleaned up and stop whining. We are Kings and Kings don’t have time to sit around crying… not when there’s drinking to do.”

  She steps over me and hollers for Natasha as I stand holding pressure on my head with my sleeve. I breathe deep, knowing I’ll have t
o fix it myself and unsteadily I find my way back out to the guesthouse.

  If I had my wits about me right now, I’d have a good mind to hop on the lawn tractor and drive it straight through the patio fucking doors and into the sitting room. Then I would turn it on and laugh as the blade chewed up her eighteen thousand-dollar Persian rug while I laughed in her Satanic face.

  Instead, I’m busy picking her bloody martini glass out of my head hoping I don’t need stitches because I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some doctor shave a section of my hair.

  “CHRIST! WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED THIS TIME?” Pax asks. He tosses his duffel onto the washroom floor and helps me down from the countertop.

  “I waged war with Satan, that’s what happened,” I say, handing him the lawyer’s bloodied business card.

  “Shit Vix! Let me see the damage.”

  I take a seat on the toilet as Whiskey runs his fingers gently through my hair.

  “Jesus! This is quite the gash; you might need stitches.”

  “Nah, it’ll heal; these injuries always do. Just get whatever shards I missed out please and pour me a drink.”

  “How about I get you some Advil instead?”

  I roll my eyes as he scoops me up like a baby and carries me into the kitchen, seating me on top of the table.

  “Now I can see what I’m doing. So, what’s the plan with the lawyer? Are you gonna try to have her share nullified?”

  “Nope, I’m going to go for the kidney shot this time.”

  “You know it will backfire. It always does when you mess with her,” he advises.

  “Yeah? Well, you’re not talking me out of it this time. I’m done being her target practice, Pax. There is no way I’m going to survive another four years here and we both know it.”

  I swig back the water and down the Advil he hands me as he begins to inspect my head again.

  “Well, we could always leave without the money and come back when you turn twenty-four.”

  “Are you crazy? And leave her here alone to trash the place while she drinks her miserable life away?”

  “It’s just a thought,” he says, kissing my forehead. “There, I think I got all of the pieces out. You are such a good girl… didn’t even cry once!”

  I laugh satirically.

  “I’m a King remember? Kings don’t cry.”

  He sighs, and his eyes meet mine, seemingly dancing with guilt.

  “You know,” he pauses, tucking my blood matted hair behind my ear, “I think if you cried once in a while you might relieve yourself of some of that pent-up hostility you carry around.”

  “Why would I want to do that when I have you to hate-fuck it out of me?”

  His eyes narrow and I know he’s fighting off a smile because he’s trying to be serious.

  “Come on Kirsten, let’s be real… I haven’t seen you let out a single tear since the day of the funeral. You need to grieve.”

  “No, Pax, I don’t. His funeral was the last time I will ever shed a tear, I’m just glad you made it back in time to be there. I’m positive I would have shoved Lucifer into the plot with the way she was hammered, staggering, and fake sobbing.”

  “I remember. I’m the one who undid your anger in the cemetery washroom. It seemed a bit inappropriate to fuck a dead man’s daughter on the day of his burial, but I have to admit it was pretty hot.”

  I can’t help but laugh at his twisted humor or the wicked gleam in his eyes.

  “My dad loved you, Whiskey. I’m sure he would have expected nothing less from you that day.”

  “You call him pulling a baseball bat on me love?” he asks doubtfully.

  “That was so long ago, and he thought you were committing a home invasion. I mean look at you… long hair, entirely inked with grizzly stubble, and torn clothing like you’re a bum. You can’t really blame him.”

  We both start laughing to the point of tears.

  “Ha! I finally made you cry!”

  “Whatever, dork.”

  “What did you just call me?”

  His face goes completely serious as I contemplate running. He hates it when I call him a dork.

  “I meant to say dick.”

  “I bet you did. Now get on mine, you little badass.”

  His tone is dark and dirty just like his mind and God knows sex could cure my throbbing head, but the doorbell rings.

  “Hold that thought,” I tell him.

  Shit! It’s the douchebag lawyer.

  I open the door and unhappily wave him in.

  “What brings you back here so soon? Trying to get Lucifer to explain why your pecker is covered in blistering burns perhaps?”

  He laughs as if I’m joking as he notices Pax and nods in his direction before he introduces himself.

  “Hey, man, my name’s Gabe. I’m the family lawyer and a friend of Helen’s.”

  Pax ignores him, saying fuck all as usual, just glares at him from the table with his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face.

  “Do you want a drink?” I offer. “Feel free to take a seat with my mute roommate.”

  “Sure, please, a glass of water would be great, but I won’t stay long. I just came to drop off some paperwork I need you to sign.”

  “Paperwork?” I question.

  “Yeah… I have it right here.”

  I watch as he rummages through his briefcase, seemingly unnerved by Whiskey’s looming presence and the smoldering stare of hurry the fuck up on his face.

  Personally, I find it hot, but I know it’s because Pax hates lawyers, everything about them. He says they’re Satan’s minions, and right now he happens to be right.

  Finding the papers he was searching for, Gabe sets them on the table and takes a swig of water.

  I smack Pax on the arm, trying to nudge him to tone it down with the Viking face, but he just winks at me and carries on with his silent assault.

  “So, I just have to sign this stuff and then everything dad left me is officially mine?”

  “Uh, yes,” he confirms, “except full access to the money of course, but I should probably head over to see your mother now.”

  I half-smile, irritated, and walk him back to the door.

  “Well, thanks, I guess. I’ll sign the forms and leave them with Natasha if that’s cool.”

  “Sure, that works, and can I ask what happened here?” he finishes, inspecting the dried blood on my head.

  Before I can answer, Pax gets in between us and puts his arm in front of me as if he’s shielding me.

  “Gabe is it? I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  His tone is so low and dark, it causes my skin to prickle. Gabe simply nod’s and exits without another word said.

  “What the fuck was that about?” I ask baffled.

  I know Whiskey can be territorial and all, but I’ve never seen him like this.

  “Are you serious, Vix? The guy is a total schmuck, and I don’t like the way he looked at you.”

  “Yeah, okay, so he’s a douche… I know that and I also know how you feel about lawyers. But he was only trying to be nice.”

  “So he can get in your pants.”

  “No, because I happen to have a gaping wound from Satan on my head.”

  “Don’t be naïve, Vix. I’m a man and I fucking know what I saw.”

  I roll my eyes and sigh.

  “Even if you’re right, why would it matter? It’s not like I’m gonna fuck a guy who slept with my mother… that’s her gig. And besides, you are not my boyfriend so stop acting like you own me.”

  I turn to walk away but he grabs my arm and spins me back toward him. His eyes are filled with an angered hunger, the expression that says I’ve provoked him as his lips meet mine and he’s even rougher about it than usual. He holds my face to his, controlling my tongue until he bites my bottom lip and stops.

  “I may not be your boyfriend, Vixen, but just to be clear, I absolutely own you.”

  I gasp as he runs his hand forcefully between my leg
s and the other one grabs hold of my ass firmly. His nose is pressed to mine, and his eyes are piercing mine with a look of intended destruction.

  “I also own this,” he hisses, massaging my pussy, “and this,” he continues, gripping my ass. He continues his methodical movements running his hands underneath my sweater onto my breasts. “And these, and also this,” he finishes, kissing me again. “I’m the only one who can give you what you need, and you know it.”

  I’m wet and he understands it’s what he does to me when he takes control. The way he is able to make me feel craved; as if he only breathes for me.

  “Say it Vixen.”

  I swallow, lost in his touch.

  “Only you can give me what I need.”

  “Say it again,” he demands, slapping my ass.

  “Ouch! Okay… only you can fuck me the way I need it.”

  “That’s right… and if I tell you that some arrogant prick lawyer is looking at you funny, you should damn well listen to me,” he states as he rips my sweater over my head. “Isn’t that right?” he continues, now removing my shorts and panties in a seamless motion.

  I nod, now standing completely naked and lost in his barbaric movements as he continues his rhythmic incursion against my pussy, my body shaking and begging for more.

  He lets his hair down and it falls just below his shoulders in dark waves of unruliness and then he removes his shirt. He smiles wickedly and is deliberately slow about unbuttoning his pants because he knows he has my attention, but I can also see that I have his.

  “Now,” he whispers, pinning me against the wall and lifting my arms above my head. “Tell me it turns you on knowing that I own you.”

  I let out a moan as his fingers graze over my heat and push deep inside me.

  “Ahhh, fuck Pax, you know it does.”

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  I ignore him, enjoying the rigid movements of his fingers penetrating me fiercely.

  He stops, jerks me forward, and smacks my ass and I yelp.

  “Fucking say it, Vixen, or I’ll just make you watch me jerk off instead.”

  As much as I love watching him masturbate, I’m far too turned on to let him.

  “It makes me wet knowing you own me,” I breathe out.