Page 81 of Ruse
My plan, the well thought out yet horrible executed scheme I’d concocted, blew up in my face and wreaked havoc everywhere it shouldn't have.
“Fuck,” I cursed to myself, slamming my fist into the steering wheel, making my already blood-stained knuckles burn. The chill of the first Autumn breeze blew through my hair as I sped through the night with the top down, only the brilliant light of the full moon in the sky illuminates the road ahead of me.
This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go down. I was to come back home and exact my revenge on Austin Bancroft, blackmailing him into giving me the money necessary to go off on my own until I could dig into my inheritance in two years. It was supposed to be quick and easy. Painless.
Even after meeting Phoenix, I figured I’d make the most of my time here and use her to ensure my plan worked. She was the hottest chick I’d ever come across and I knew she would be down to kill some time, even if she pretended to hate me. I felt it in the way her body reacted to my nearness. The desire that flooded her eyes when she met mine, the way her lips parted, her tongue sneaking out to lick them when her eyes roamed over me. I knew it because I had the same reactions when I looked at her.
It was after the first night we kissed, that I decided if Bancroft didn’t agree to give me the money, then I’d use his princess to get it. Only I never imagined what being near her, touching her silky soft skin, and tasting her sweetness, would do to me.
I never expected to throw it all away for her.
Which is what I did, and now I had nothing.
Before heading to the game Friday night, Austin called me into his study and handed me the check for half the amount I demanded, swearing he’d deposit the rest into my account the moment I left town for good. It was an enticing offer and frankly the entire reason I was here, but I couldn’t accept it. Not after everything that happened between my sweet Little Nyx and I. Getting my revenge on him didn't matter anymore. Not if it meant losing her.
Turns out I lost her anyway, and now I’m penniless.
It doesn’t matter that Tatum Mortimer was the fucking bitch who somehow discovered my plan and outed me in front of her, nor that Austin wouldn’t give up until I was as far away from his daughter as possible, even if it meant dragging himself down with me. There was nothing I could have said or done to rid her of the look of complete and devastating betrayal that flashed in her eyes, so I didn't chase after her, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t. Not after the public humiliation she once again faced which this time was caused by me. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way; it wasn’t supposed to happen at all.
Less than five hours later, I got off my father’s Cessna Citation Longitude jet and headed toward the penthouse he keeps thirty minutes out of New York city's center, not ready to face him. To say I was exhausted would be putting it mildly, but to say I was able to sleep a fucking wink would be a damn lie. I couldn’t stop replaying the look on her face when she walked away from me. It haunted my every waking thought from the second I drove off till now, lying in the spare bedroom of my father's penthouse, drunk, high, and completely resigned to ever seeing her again.
“Fuck, Uncle Matty wasn’t fucking joking. You look like shit cuz.”
I force my eyes open and sit up against the headboard of the bed, finding someone I never expected to see again, standing under the open doorway of the bedroom. Jet black hair similar in length to mine, a pair of deep-set green eyes drawing in at the corners with the way his mouth is pulled up at the sides, dressed head to toe in black leather, looking like an older, grungier version of me.
“Crew,” I mutter, throwing my head back against the headboard. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Crew steps into the room halting when he reaches the edge of the four-poster bed at my feet. “Uncle Matty…” He pauses and the man I’ve just noticed standing behind him grunts, warning him to watch his tone. “I mean Uncle Mathieu,” he corrects himself mockingly, in an exaggerated French accent, “Sent me out to fetch you. Something about you fucking up and getting into a shitload of trouble, again. Not that it surprised me, but seeing you, well it raises some questions, little cousin.”
I roll my eyes at the asshole. “Questions I neither have answers for, nor do I feel like fucking answering Crew.” Realizing he’s not going to leave, I get up off the bed and head over to the adjoining bathroom, which unfortunately for me doesn’t have a fucking door.
Just like the rest of the modern yet slightly industrial-like feel of the place made up of black walls, leather furnishings, stainless steel appliances, metal fixtures and accents, the bathroom is clean, with a walk-in shower with black tiled walls, concrete countertops, and black marbled sinks. Something I’d probably have the interior decorator do at my place.
Crew chuckles as he follows behind me, patting my back in abrotherlyway. “Yeah, I suspected as much,” he says, meeting my reflection in the oval mirror in front of me. I let the cold water run out of the shiny steel automatic faucet, splashing my face before reaching for a towel hung to my right. “Come on, let’s go get fucking trashed and then we can circle back to whatever’s got you looking like you’ve been dragged to hell and back. It’s been a while since I’ve gone out with my favorite cousin.”
Not that I was expecting my father to pick me up from the airport, he has too much important business to conduct to be bothered with the mundane shit, but I was never expecting to see Crew either. Crew Carter, my twenty-year-old cousin I haven't seen in three years.
When I first left, well truthfully was shipped off to live with my father’s sister Estelle and her son and daughter Crew and Cara, the three of us were inseparable. We spent nine out of twelve months living on campus, but the other three we spent together, wreaking havoc in the city. But soon enough, Cara, who is two years younger than me and four years younger than Crew, got into some trouble with some kids at school, and was bullied so terribly by a boy who pretended to fall in love with her only to ridicule her in front of the entire school. That kid was my best friend at the time and Crew hasn’t really forgiven me for not protecting his little sister, who was then sent away to a psychiatric hospital after trying to slit her wrists. It didn’t matter that I beat him black and blue, sending him to the hospital freshman year. Crew’s held it against me since.
“I thought you were parading around in Northern Italy with Sterling, conducting your plan to take over the world.”
He shakes his head while I strip out of my clothes not caring that he’s still in the room, and step into the shower, letting the cold water from the large square shower head hanging from the ceiling, to fall on me, cooling the raging fire within me.
“Nah, I was chasing skirts in the South of France. Various short, deliciously French skirts all at once, if you catch my drift.” He smirks and I know he is not joking. The thing about Crew, he’s a fucking manwhore, as in threesomes, foursomes, you name it. “I was serious when I told my mother I was taking a year off to see the world before succumbing to my mundane pre-planned life under Uncle Matthieu’s wing.”
“It’s been three,” I mutter, meant to be more for myself than out loud, but he catches my dig.
“Yeah well…” Crew pauses but I don't press the issue. “Tell me little cousin, what has you crawling back to your daddy?”
I run my hands through my hair and over my face, so furious that it’s come to this. Suddenly I’m sick to my stomach, disgusted with myself about what happened between Phoenix and I, especially after recalling how I let Cara be used by someone I thought was my friend instead of standing up and protecting her. I did the same to Phoenix. Only this time I didn’t just leave her unprotected, I was the one who used her, planning to make her fall in love with me in order to destroy her father.
Ignoring Crew still gawking at me, I quickly finish washing my hair and he hands me a towel, stepping aside so I can exit the shower. Wrapping the towel around my waist, I walk around him, entering the bedroom where I throw on a fresh pair of jeans and a black crew neck tee I brought along with me.
“I fucked up Crew, majorly fucked up.”
I turn back around to face him, since he’s been silent for all of five minutes, which for Crew is a miracle, and find him nodding knowingly, all traces of humor gone from his face. “Look Mav, he told me what happened. Daphne called, said you’d done it again and warned us you were volatile, about to erupt at any second. But she also told us about the girl. How she’d never seen you look at anyone that way.” I roll my eyes and glare at him, making him raise his hands in surrender. “Don’t worry I reminded her she didn't know you well enough to make that assumption, but given the heartbroken look on your face, I'm guessing she was right.”
It doesn’t matter what he sees or what he suspects happened, there is no fixing what I’ve done. I didn’t come here to ask for my father’s help to right my wrongs nor mend what I broke; I came here to offer him a deal. A safe-haven I could retreat to until I can leave on my own merits, in exchange for my loyalty. It’s what he’s always been after, especially since he plans to one day leave his fortune, a legacy I want no part of, to me.
