Page 1 of Break You

Prologue

Xavier

Two years earlier

As I picked my way through the derelict old movie theater, I knew I was making a mistake. There had been something off with Pixie’s message summoning me there, though I hadn’t been able to pinpoint exactly what, but now as I tiptoed through the ruins, I was certain something bad was about to happen.

My suspicions were quickly confirmed when I reached the allotted meeting point—by the concession stand—and a hooded figure emerged from the shadows. As it came nearer, I got a better view. It was shrouded in a hood and wearing a sinister-looking ‘Anonymous’ mask, like the ones activists sometimes wore. Without a word, the figure raised its hand and delivered a swift, sharp right hook to my cheek.

Searing pain tore through my body, and a loud crack ricocheted through the deserted space. He’d broken my nose or cheekbone, for sure. The blood gushing from me like a fountain suggested my nose, but the next blows rained down before I could reach up to survey the damage, to be able to tell for sure.

Although I’d been blindsided, and was in excruciating agony, there was no way I was going down without a fight. The hooded, masked figure had the advantage of catching me off guard, and being at least half a foot taller and broader than me. But I was young, fit, and fierce as fuck. I gave it everything I had and managed to connect a few decent blows. I definitely had nothing to be ashamed of in that respect, though my response obviously wasn’t a smart move when it came to pissing off Anonymous. He fought back with a vengeance.

I wasn’t sure how long it went on for, but after breaking a few of my ribs to go with the smashed nose, the end of our clash came with an expertly delivered headbutt that saw me hitting the deck like a sack of shit. My whole body hurt, but that was nothing compared to the agonizing pain that was cracking my head apart like Humpty Dumpty’s. If I’d been a cartoon character, I would have been seeing stars and tweeting birds spinning around my head in a dizzying halo.

Being made of real-life flesh and blood, I slumped groggily among the rubble and shit—animal and human—trying to work out if I was going to live or die. I’d almost forgotten about my attacker, until I felt something small and light land in my lap.

“First and last warning.”

I looked down to see a small wooden square like an old school Scrabble tile, embossed with the letter P in old-fashioned typewriter font. Pixie’s calling card—not that I needed telling. As much of an asshole as I was, he was the only person I could think of with a vested interest in breaking my face and several other body parts besides.

I struggled with aching limbs to stuff the square of wood into the change slot of my jeans, then painfully dragged my phone out of my back pocket. Everything ached—seemingly even bones that hadn’t been affected by the onslaught. I fought to see through the river of blood that was sprayed in, and caked around my eyes, and called the only person I could trust to come to my aid—Octavia Douglas. My dad wouldn’t bother to pick up my call—he’d be too busy getting his dick wet somewhere—and our domestic staff would try to contact him for instructions before taking any action to help me, which would result in the same thing. Nothing.

It was a sad day when someone on your father’s legal team was the only thing standing between survival and dying alone in the shell of what was once a beautiful picture house. The call connected, and when Octavia, aka LILF—Lawyer I’d Like to Fuck—picked up, all I could manage were a few garbled, blood-muffled words before I blacked out. I had no idea whether I would actually make it to ever piss her, or anyone, off again.

One thing I did know, even as I lost my grip on consciousness was that if I survived, I was going to get my revenge. I didn’t care if it took me a week, a year, or an entire fucking lifetime, I’d make Pixie pay.

Xavier

Cherie Moore was like fine wine. She got better with age, and her cork had been popped many, many times. I’d first sampled her vintage way back in ninth grade, and had dipped in and out for a sip whenever the mood took us ever since.

I looked down at her bare ass—exposed as her dress was hitched around her waist, and her pearl G-string was pushed to one side while I slammed into her in the staff bathroom at the Trinity Hall O-Week gala dinner—and thought about the things I had to do that didn’t involve banging my date.

Speaking of banging, I’d been trying to ignore the hammering on the door, but it was becoming louder and more insistent. And even for someone with my ability to focus on nothing but myself, it was fucking hard to ignore. More so when it was accompanied by a whiny-ass voice that was like nails on a chalkboard.

“Hey, cut it out. I need to fucking pee. Actually, while we’re on the subject of fucking—dude, she’s faking, just so you know. So why don’t you hurry it along, and do what you have to do? Or better still, call it a day right now, and put us both out of our misery. Life’s too short for mediocre bathroom sex. Handy hint: get a fucking room and do it properly, like with foreplay and everything, so she doesn’t have to pretend she’s having a good time.”

More rhythmic thumping.

I was fuming. The fact was, it was true. Cherie’s moans of ecstasy sounded as fake as all hell, and I was barely enjoying myself enough to even bother finishing. I had so much other shit on my mind, I could just as easily have skipped it. Still, I wasn’t one to back down in the face of dissent, especially now that the dissent was getting angrier and funnier as time ticked by.

“Come on, Pencil Dick, we all have work to do. If you wanna piss this job up the wall for a mediocre screw with a faked finale, then that’s on you, but I need the cash too much to lose this gig. Also, if you make me pee my pants, I will hunt you down and string you up by your tiny little ballsack, then I will end you.”

It took me a few moments to realize that Angry of Brooklyn had jumped to the mistaken conclusion that the people testing her bladder were fellow members of staff. Oh, I was going to have some fun with this.

But first I did need to wrap things up with Cherie before I died of boredom, or her subpar acting skills were tested any further. I ran my go-to porn scene in my mind, guaranteed to get me from zero to sixty in half as many seconds, and felt the familiar sensation as my release built in my balls. It wasn’t exactly going to be the orgasm to end all orgasms, but it would take the edge off the tedium of the event, and even me out for dealing with the Cygnus business we had to take care of tonight.

“I’m coming.” I was only telling her so that she could gear up for her final performance. Truth was, I didn’t much care if she got there or not. When she’d followed me out into the hall after I’d specifically asked her to wait for me in the ballroom while I went to do my thing, I’d read the lust in her eyes and decided to put us both out of our misery in the hopes that she’d leave me to do what I needed to do the rest of the night. I had been somewhat horny, so the exercise served more than one purpose.

I’d caught her by the arm and tugged farther down the hall, following it as it curved around the back to the building. Ignoring the clearly printed STAFF ONLY sign, I’d pushed through the double doors that led to the service area, then into the staff bathroom. I could have gone upstairs with her, but knowing I’d be conducting Cygnus Dei business up there a little later made me think twice. Cherie was nothing if not exceedingly nosey and annoyingly blabber-mouthed—not a good combination at the best of times, let alone when club business was involved.

Added to that, not only did I not want her to know that I had an access all areas run of the place—which would have been a dead giveaway of my status—nor did I want to have to try to convince her to leave once we were done, and she was reclining comfortably in a lushly made-up bed. Wham Bam Thank You Ma’am was the best plan. As crazy as Cherie could be sometimes, even she wasn’t going to want to hang out in a bathroom for longer than she had to.

As the thudding outside built to a crescendo, along with my orgasm, I wondered why none of the event staff we’d passed in the bustling back of house area had stopped to see what the commotion was about. Although if the shouting and chaos in the kitchen were anything to go by, everybody was too busy trying to nail the haute cuisine for the night of nights in the Trinity Hall calendar to worry about what was happening in the corridor.

I grabbed Cherie’s butt harder, watching her lily-white skin blanch where my fingertips pressed against her firm flesh. One last hard thrust into her and I exploded, grunting my release through gritted teeth.

The last aftershocks had barely flowed through my body before I was peeling off the condom and flinging it in the trash. Tucking myself back into my trunks, I pulled up the zipper of my tux pants and started toward the door.

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