Mister Stone (CEOs of Kink #6)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Cassius

The only successful thing I’ve done in my life is live up to my name.

One of the clearest memories I have of grade school is the day we were assigned The Name Project.

I’m not sure what, exactly, it was supposed to teach us, other than the skills to research and think outside of the box and realize how ridiculous our parents are for choosing the names they did.

It was especially difficult for me, not only because of my name’s meaning, but because of my living situation—but that was something I would learn to deal with and eventually accept.

The night before the project was due, I was lying in my bed, dreading going into school the next day because I had nothing to show.

I’d get another zero, all because I couldn’t afford a damn thing needed for this project.

At that time, I hadn’t resorted to stealing yet—I wasn’t that desperate.

But there was a time when I stole everything I needed, which didn’t last long because I realized I was nothing like my mother and felt bad for doing something wrong.

Unlike her, I have a conscience and a moral compass that points in the right direction.

But as I was lying on the lumpy mattress, staring at the space beneath the top bunk, my sister, Cammy, snoring on the bunk beside me, the answer hit me like a bolt of lightning.

I jolted upright in bed, nearly smacking my head on the bunk above me, dashed out of my room and into the bathroom.

I dug through the cabinet beneath the sink, ignoring the water-stained bins and toilet paper rolls because the pipe under there had leaked for as long as I could remember.

There it was.

The exact thing I needed. It was rare we had anything of importance left lying around, but Mom must have overlooked this.

Not that she could get much for it. What would someone do with a cracked fishbowl?

It couldn’t hold a fish any longer, though I still mourn that little orange thing, and it wasn’t big enough for another animal—but it was exactly what I needed for this project.

That night, for the first time in a long time, I went to sleep with a smile on my face. I knew it wouldn’t last, but I let myself have it anyway. Just this once it would be okay to be happy about something.

When I woke up earlier than usual, the bowl was still at the foot of my bed, right where I left it.

I put it into my backpack as carefully as possible and hurried out to the bus stop twenty minutes early.

My stomach grumbled, but that was nothing new.

The meals in school were the only meals I ate.

The lunch ladies gave me extra so I could have late night snacks or eat something over the weekend, but I always shared with Cammy because she was too young for school, and I didn’t know what she was fed during the day.

I was vibrating with excitement all the way to school, and when the teacher asked who wanted to present first, my hand shot up.

The inertia caused me to move upward, my knee banging the desk, and everyone stared at the chaos I was causing.

I didn’t care though—not that day. Ms. Henry was shocked by my enthusiasm, considering I never wanted to do anything first. Kids in class always looked at me funny, and I didn’t like being the center of attention.

They were always mean to me, so I kept to myself.

“Okay, Cassius. You can go first,” Ms. Henry said with a kind smile. She was nice enough.

“Yes!” I hissed under my breath, then carefully pulled the bowl from my bag and went to the front of the class.

With a grin, I held the bowl out in front of me and proudly said. “My name is Cassius. It means ‘hollow’ and ‘empty.’ Just like this bowl.”

It was silent.

Everyone stared.

Not a peep. Not a blink.

Then the whispers started.

“Cassius, I’m not sure you understood the assignment,” Miss Henry said carefully.

“Yes, I did,” I answered confidently. “This is empty like my name means. It’s exactly right. It means the same thing. They’re synonyms. That’s what we learned in English class.”

The whispers got louder and the giggling started. Miss Henry tried to shush them, but it only got worse.

My cheeks got warm. My chest felt tight. Tears burned my eyes and my mouth went dry.

I hardly heard the shattering of the glass on the floor as I dropped the bowl and ran out the door.

I learned early that trying your hardest doesn’t protect you—it just makes you more visible when someone decides to aim.

I learned young that hoping for things only teaches you how to wait for disappointment.

And I learned that you can’t rely on anyone but yourself—because when things get hard, people leave to protect what matters to them.

So, that’s my trauma story, but definitely not the only shitty thing I’ve dealt with in life. In fact, that was only the beginning.

“Do you want another?”

The guy in front of me comes into focus when I blink to clear the fog in my eyes.

I huff a laugh. “Fuck. Forgot where I was for a minute.” I scratch my head and stare at my empty glass. “Yeah, I’ll take another.”

Should I be spending money on alcohol at a bar? No. Absolutely not. It’s overpriced as fuck and I’m obligated to leave a tip.

We have no food at home, and our electricity is two days from being shut off if we don’t pay the overdue balance—but what else is new?

Living without electricity has become my norm.

But that’s not what sent me into the downward spiral of looking for an outlet.

It was the call to my work from my little sister, Chrissy, telling me her meds won’t be covered by the insurance because the insurance was canceled.

Because our mother is an irresponsible train wreck who never should have had kids in the first place and can’t handle the bare minimum of responsibilities when it comes to said kids.

I’ve been dealing with bullshit from my mother for twenty-two years—literally from the day I came out of her. They should have taken me then and gave me to someone who wanted me. But then I wouldn’t have my sisters, so… I guess I’ll take it.

I know Diane’s games. I know what she does to get away with shit and get what she wants without having to worry about her kids—or anyone else. But knowing doesn’t stop it from happening; it just means I have to get better at cleaning it up.

This is a new low for her. So much in fact that I was unable to handle it, which is why I came here instead of home to help my sisters figure it out, but I need a moment to think, and a drink—or two. Or five. For ten damn minutes, I need to forget about this shitty existence.

I’m so fucking tired of fixing her messes all the time. The moment one fire is put out, she’s already started another. It’s sickening. Exhausting. I’m just done.

And if it were only me, I would be done for real. But I have siblings to worry about, and I will not leave them to fend for themselves the way I was left.

When Chrissy, my youngest sister at fourteen, called, I told her that I would handle it. And by handling it I meant logging into the system to see what the fuck the problem was.

Turns out Mom missed the date to send in the renewal forms, something she usually is on top of.

She needs insurance too, so she can go to the doctor and get her pain pills and whatever paperwork she needs to keep getting disability—the only income she gets but does nothing to contribute to the bills.

Me and my other sister, Cammy, are the ones who pay the bills. Chrissy can’t work not only because she’s fourteen—I mean let’s face it, we could find her a job, but we won’t—but because she has epilepsy and we hardly keep it together while she’s in school.

This is why she needs insurance more than anyone else in the family.

Insurance = meds.

Meds = less seizures.

Less seizures = a healthier her.

A healthier her = me being able to fucking breathe.

Seeing her have a seizure is by far the scariest thing I have ever dealt with in my life, and though I can and will deal with it, I’d much rather her be seizure-free.

Chrissy’s meds are so important, and I’m not sure what we’re going to do, but I do know that I can’t handle it right this second. I need a few minutes to fucking breathe and work through this shit.

Thankfully, I have some time because she still has a week’s worth of pills. It isn’t a long time, but Cammy and I have made a lot happen in less time.

It’s one thing after another in my life. Electricity getting shut off. Water pipe busted. Ceiling is leaking. Rent is past due. Now there’s no insurance.

Fuck my life already.

Because where is our mother? Out with her flavor of the week, being taken care of. Fed drugs. Alcohol. Bought things. While we’re all here, suffering.

If Chrissy was old enough, we’d leave. Cammy and I would take her and go, but we know our mother… she’d rain hell down on us just to spite us.

Jasper, the bartender who I am familiar enough with, puts the mixed drink with bottom-shelf vodka in front of me.

“You look worse than usual,” he comments.

“Hey, thanks,” I say with a smile.

He places his hands flat on the counter and leans closer, giving me a sympathetic look.

“Are you okay? Can I help you with anything?”

Jasper is aware of my living situation—he lived in the same trailer park as me for years.

He was lucky enough to get the fuck out when he turned eighteen because he was an only child.

We went to school together but never hung out.

I didn’t have any friends or even people I “hung out with.” There was always too much going on at home that was embarrassing as fuck or taking up all my time.

I’ve felt like a single parent since Cammy was born—when I turned three and learned how to use the microwave, so she wasn’t drinking cold formula.

Plus, most of the kids I went to high school with were the same ones who made fun of me since Kindergarten, so I learned to stay away.

“Not unless you know where I can make a quick couple grand.” I pick up the glass and refuse to breathe near it. If I smell it, I’ll gag. It tastes like rubbing alcohol as it goes down, but hey, it’s cheap.

He raises a brow, surprised at my desperation. He shouldn’t be; he knows what my life is like. This isn’t the first time I’ve come here to have a private meltdown.

I shake my head, bringing the drink to my lips to take a sip.

He makes them strong, and I appreciate it.

It’s why I come to this bar when I need something to take the edge off.

He at least makes the drinks worth the cost, which then hinders the guilt…

until I wake up tomorrow, hung over and miserable because we have even less money than we did before and it’s all my fault because I should have sucked it up and stole a bottle from the neighbor instead.

“I…” He begins, then shakes his head, rapping his knuckles on the counter. “Never mind.”

I cock my head to the side. “What? You know something?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh, it’s something. Spill. Please, Jasper. I’m desperate,” I whine, pouting my lips to hopefully make him feel bad for me.

He shakes his head again, walking away. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can! Come on. I’m begging you,” I plead, standing up from my stool and leaning over the counter to watch him walk away.

He stops, his head falling back. He turns on his heel, and comes back in front of me, lowering his voice. “Fine, but it’s no guarantee.”

“I will try anything. I’m working twenty hours a week because they won’t give me more, and I’ve been filling out applications daily. Cammy has been working her ass off too, and it’s still not enough.”

It never is.

With a huff, he looks around then lowers his voice. “You know Dark Rose?”

I rear back, plopping onto the stool. “The sex club?”

He looks around, lowering his voice even more. “Yes.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“I was there a few days ago, for fetish night.” Well, that’s a surprise. Didn’t get those vibes from him. Like, at all. “There was a guy there. He gave me his card, said he wanted me to call him, but I wasn’t interested.”

“Okay?” I say, not understanding what he’s getting at.

“Maybe if you go there, run into the same guy I did, he may offer you the same thing.”

I blink a few times, going over the words he spoke again… same guy, same thing?

“What did he offer?” I ask.

My interest is peaked.

He sighs, eyes falling closed. “You’ll have to see for yourself.”

He pushes off the table to leave again.

“Wait!” I say too loudly, causing a few people to look at us.

“What?” he growls, coming back in front of me.

“How will I know who he is?”

I’m desperate. So desperate, that going to the kinkiest sex club in a hundred mile radius sounds great.

Though, no, it doesn’t. But… if this could get me money?

Maybe it’ll help not only with Chrissy’s meds but the rent and other bills.

Or maybe it’ll be enough to finally get our own place, so we don’t have to deal with Mom anymore.

It’s possible if we pay her off, she’ll let us take Chrissy…

I don’t know what this guy would want me to do for money, but I’ve already considered prostitution. My morals went out the window years ago. I just want to take care of my family and stop struggling.

“He’ll have on a suit with a deep turquoise blue tie. Older. Like mid-forties, maybe? Looks rich as fuck. Maybe a little snobby. Fancy watch.”

My brows raise. “And how do you know what he will be wearing?”

Gritting his teeth, I notice his face is getting red with frustration. I’m pushing my limits here.

Through gritted teeth he says, “He told me if I wanted to find him again, to look for the tie.”

Jasper walks away, and I’m left wondering if this is a good idea.

It can’t hurt, right?