Page 2 of One
“Subject One.”
Chapter 1
Present day
RAPHAEL
“Come back to bed,” a feminine voice whispers sensually.
Back? I haven’t even touched that bed. And I have no intention of doing it now after the deed is finally done. The beautiful girl is sitting naked with her back to the headboard. Her black hair falls in waves on her smooth chest, covering her perky breasts. Her shaved cunt is still glistening with her juices. Next to her, the sheets rustle over the shape of another body. A hairy, muscular leg is tangled in the champagne fabric, the meaty butt jiggling slightly with the movement.
My gaze remains vacant while my head is already out of this room. I need my body to quickly catch on. I turn away and grab my black leather jacket from the chair. Without wasting another glance on them, I walk out of the five-star hotel room and check my phone on the way to the elevator. There’s a text from Rami. Looks like I’m going home tonight.
The woman at the reception desk stands straighter when she sees me, sending me an inviting smile. I tilt my head at her, but don’t stop on my way out. The room has been paid for, and I have what I came for tonight. Not interested in more.
The sky is dark against the streetlights of downtown Chicago. The spring air is cool on my face, and my satisfied body relishes the fresh breeze. When the valet finally brings my black Ducati around, I give him a large tip. I slide my dark helmet on and mount the bike, revving the engine. For a couple of seconds, I let myself feel the low rumble vibrating through my body. Beneath me, the wild power is waiting to be unleashed. Fucking perfect. Kicking back the stand, I release the brake and whiz down Michigan Avenue.
I’m one with my bike, leaning left and right, weaving around cars, listening to the wind hissing. The engine thunders beautifully. My body is relaxed after the hookup. Sexual frustration isn’t advisable in my case because, when I turn restless, something’s gotta give. I become impulsive and sloppy in other areas of my life, which is risky. But tonight, I was barely able to come. Thought a threesome with the two models I picked up at a club would help, but I lost interest after the first five minutes together.
Maybe I should try orgies again. I used to enjoy the uninhibited atmosphere and slightly sadistic tone of Madam Claudette’s club. But that was years ago. If it gets out now that millionaire Raphael Bear-Stone likes to dip his dick in that kind of large buffet, my mothers will cut that particular appendage off and put it in a jar for my brother Sari to examine.
I stop at a traffic light and turn my palm up to look at the long scar across it. It’s a reminder of the promise I made to myself and the others. I can’t jeopardize everything we’ve built. And although I have no remorse or any kind of empathetic quality—the joys of being a psychopath—I’m not an idiot either. An asshole, definitely. But I like my comfortable life; won’t do anything to risk it.
Still, I need more excitement, other than the usual kind I get with my brothers. I’m fucking bored. And boredom is another feeling not beneficial to a psychopath. My mind starts wandering, and who knows where it’ll take me.
So, orgies are out. Paying for sex, then. I can askRague, since he’s been using that kind of service for a while now. At least I can enjoy some of my kinks without having to pretend to care about the other person’s needs.
I turn on the Bluetooth inside my helmet and let the music of AC/DC fill my head with mayhem and blood. Thirty minutes later, I’m slowing down on the long driveway lined with white Bradford Pear trees. They look gloomy and ominous waving with the wind in the darkness.
When I was a kid, I thought they kept going to infinity. But the grey road does end, in front of high, heavy, black gates. The two stone bears perched on the top of the marble columns on either side welcome me home once again. I live in a penthouse in Streeterville in downtown Chicago, but this is the place where I grew up with the others. And now we use it as our base for our side projects. The bloody-fun kind.
I pull up near the gates, facing the slate wall where a small screen is placed. I take off my helmet and push some of the locks plastered on my forehead away. Then, leaning closer to the screen, I let the eye scanner do its job.
“Welcome, Raphael,” a woman’s languid voice says.
“Serena,” I reply, letting the AI check my voice as well.
“Please, enter.”
The gates slide open and, slotting the helmet through my arm, I drive the rest of the way to the garage, only glancing at the building’s austere facade of white bricks. Inside, there’s Rague’s old pickup truck, and Gabe’s new slick GT. Uri’s Hummer is parked further down on the left. But Rami’s electrical sardine can on wheels is missing.
I place my bike right in front of the electrical plug, as a payback. Teasing his brothers is Rami’s favorite pastime. And even though I usually shrug it off, this boredom is turning to irritation. I want everyone around me to feel it as well. Being the only psychopath around here has its pros.
The garage door starts closing while I reach the brown tool wall. Serena’s voice tells me to place my hand on the black screen in front of me, well concealed among the many pieces of hardware. A green laser light moves over my palm and then the panel eases backward and slides along the wall, revealing descending metallic stairs. They are illuminated by white hospital lights that are damn annoying to my sensitive eyes.
That’s Uri’s fucking doing. “Serena, remind Ferdinand to change the lights all over the base. I left the bulbs on the kitchen table.”
The AI answers immediately. “Added to his tomorrow to-do list.”
Being the only ones in the family with personality disorders—Uri is a sociopath—we tend to like toplaywith each other. It’s like a Pink Panther game, where there’s no inspector and we are both thieves stealing from each other. Changing the yellow warm lights with white ones was a damn low blow. Taping the yellow ones under Suicide Bridge while forcing me to retrieve them? It was the lowest. I could have easily bought new ones, but what’s the fun in that?
The ball is in my court now. What to steal to make Uri miserable?
Sari’s melancholic country music floats from the lab. Instead of heading that way, I stop in front of the FUNS room. I can see Rague’s huge shoulders looming over a crying figure sitting with their hands and feet tied to a chair. We have adonorin the base.
I push the button on the intercom near the door, but Rague’s gruff voice is too low to understand. Still, the menace leaking out of his tone and the huge as fuck knife in his hand tells me all I need to know.
Behind me, I hear the squeak of sneakers descending the stairs. “Ten bucks says he’ll start with the ear.” Rami stops next to me, punching me hard in the shoulder. Guess he found my bike in the garage.
