The Top Dog, Part 1: Lust (The Seven Deadly Kins #1)
Prologue
Welcome, folks. My name is Anderson Wilde, and I’m seventeen years old. Today, I’m at my grandfather’s house. I figured I’d take you on a tour and explain what you’re gonna see today. It’s amazing, isn’t it? huge, too. Like a big museum. This isn’t his only house though. My grandfather owns a lot of houses. A lot of land. A lot of buildings. A lot of businesses. And a lot of people…
He’s a bit of a collector of people, too. Hell, he’s been married five times. They say his second wife, I think she was common-law, was Ms. Tina, was the love of his life. According to my mom, she was the one that got away, but I have a hard time imagining that Grandpa really ever loved any woman in that sort of way. I mean, yeah, I’m just a kid my parents say, but I’m not stupid. I might even be wrong. I don’t know just yet. Rumor has it, she just up and disappeared. Some believe she’s dead. Others said she’s hiding. Hiding from who? I think you know …
Anyway, I come from a large family. Larger than most, I imagine. Grandpa had a bunch of kids. He’s got nine living sons and three daughters from those five marriages of his. Oh, and one son from an affair that nobody talks much about. Another son of his is adopted: his third wife’s child from a previous marriage, my Uncle Danny. He has more grandchildren and great grandchildren than I can count—including me, of course.
I have so many cousins spread all over the state of Texas, and only get to see all of them under one roof on Thanksgivin’ and Christmas. The holidays are always nice around here. That’s when we all get together and have a great time. Aunts talk about how big so and so is getting, who’s pregnant, who got promoted, and who looks just like their daddy. That seems to be a common theme. Kinda silly if you ask me, but, to be honest, some of us do favor. People say me and my dad have my grandfather’s eyes, for instance. A lot of us do, I imagine. That’s funny considering all of Grandpa’s different wives. He must have strong genes. You may be wondering now what Grandpa looks like since I brought it up? Whatever you think he looks like, you’re more than likely wrong.
My grandpa looks like a fit, tanned Santa Claus. It sounds funny, don’t it? But it’s true. Head full of silky white and silver hair that goes down his back, a matching mustache and beard. He’s a handsome old man, for sure, and pulls women half his age with no issue. I’ve seen ’em sneaking in at night, and leavin’ bright and early in the morning. He’s strong, even in his seventies. He’s seventy-three to be exact, but doesn’t look a day over sixty. Takes good care of himself.
He wields a gold cane, one of many in his collection, but doesn’t need it. I think he just likes how it looks. Style and fashion. He wears two signature bulky diamond rings, one of them a gold bull with diamonds for eyes. A longhorn, like his nickname. Grandpa says he’s an animal, and all the best men in his family are animals. Animals belong in the zoo. I’m not really sure what that means. Anyway, he wears dark tailored business suits and hand sewn silk ties. Grandpa always says a man should look sharp from the time he steps out of his bedroom to the moment his head hits the pillow, even if that pillow is in a casket. He has an entire room full of nothin’ but high-priced cowboy boots and big, beautiful cowboy hats. Yeah, he’s rich as all outdoors, but he shares.
He gives many toys away on Christmas Eve to needy families. Turkeys with all the fixin’s. Oodles of expensive dolls to the girls, puzzles for the brainy kids, the latest electronics like iPads, cellphones, you name it. He even gives away brand new cars.
His house turns into a winter wonderland covered in millions of lights that twinkle to the beat of cheerful Christmas songs. On Christmas day, the downstairs rooms are filled with hot homemade pies, soft cakes and buttery cookies from top notch Texan bakers that cater his shindigs. There’s always warm cozy fires lit, roaring in almost every room of his big mansion on fourteen acres of private land. The Christmas trees inside the house, all with different themes, have a crapload of presents beneath them, all for his smaller great-grandchildren. Dad says Grandpa picks out all the presents himself. Despite all of this, please don’t misunderstand. He’s not jolly, and he ain’t Santa by a long shot.
He’s one of the most feared men in all of Houston. Hell, all of Texas. Possibly the entire country.
My grandfather, Cyrus ‘Longhorn’ Wilde, is the head of the Wilde Empire. Some call it the Wilde, Wilde West. Some call him, ‘Bull in the China Shop.’ That’s because he walks into a place, strikes fear, and destroys men’s egos and pride within seconds, if he sees fit.
When you work for Mr. Longhorn, The Bull, he expects complete devotion.
He doesn’t care if you are blood, or a stranger on the street—if you cross him, you will pay, but not with money. No, he wants to eat your heart and soul.
When you’re born into the Wilde family, you are expected to answer your calling, fulfill your destiny. That means helping run the family business. Grandpa is generous with both pleasure and pain. Some try to toe the line. As soon as he feels like we’d make a good addition to the family business, we’re under contract.
Everyone’s contract is different, and rarely is it available for negotiation. Grandpa revises it as we age and mature. Mine is probably being revised as we speak. Like I said, I’m only seventeen—too young to have seen it just yet.
Speaking of contracts, right now all hell is about to break loose. I’m watching some of my older male cousins arriving at Grandpa’s compound in big black trucks. I imagine it’s to review their agreements. Matter of fact, I’m pretty certain of it. These particular cousins have been, I guess you could say, problems…
They’ve been resistant. Causing difficulties. They’re rebellious and have suffered for it, but it appears that Grandpa has called a meeting, and wants them to come to some sort of agreement. I only know this because I listen in on discussions that I’m not supposed to, and have done so for years. I know what closets and rooms have the best acoustics for hearing conversations throughout the house, if you figure out just where to stand. I know what rooms have landline phones that are bugged, and which have hidden cameras. I am also familiar with my grandfather’s routine, and I’m aware he will change it on a dime, anytime he sees fit. Since I was a little child, people have whispered about my grandfather. Some see him as an angel. Others, well, the opposite.
I’ve heard people curse his name, then never see that person again. I have pressed my ear close to vents in this enormous palace and overheard crying, screaming, and pleas for mercy. I have been held in his arms as a baby, felt him kiss me on my forehead, then he’d tuck in my bed, only to hear screams of agony from another chamber in his house moments later, followed by his calm, muffled voice. As if nothing had happened. Now, if you look out this window over here, you can see my uncles stepping out of the black trucks. Seven of them.
Yeah, that’s them. Now, the guy with the gun is Jasper. He’s one of my grandfather’s bodyguards…The head bodyguard, actually, and friend of the family. Yeah, he’s pattin’ them down before they come inside. That’s routine for anyone who comes in. Oh, you don’t have to be afraid. Ju st stay out of everyone’s way. Everything is set up and ready to go. The half-naked maids have already poured alcoholic potions in fancy white and black wine glasses for a luncheon Grandpa is having after this meeting. They also laid out impressive appetizers that Grandpa’s personal chef made, and provided expensive, gold-wrapped cigars on a silver tray. I doubt the food is for my cousins. Maybe the cigars. Grandpa asked Alexa to turn on some Crystal Gayle’s, ‘Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue.’ I heard him do it, and it’s been playing on repeat for over an hour. One of his favorite songs.
Grandpa is waiting in his study right now. I saw him go in there earlier. As I stand here with you hiding behind a column with a bag of Cheetos and a thumping heart, I know he’s full of fury. Waiting for his prey. His office has two big ivory pillars outside of it, like somethin’ you’d see at a gallery in Washington D.C. There’s a big stone lion, a bear, and a bull statue by the tall double gold and white doors. You can’t see them from here, so I’m just filling you in is all. You can feel Grandpa’s presence without even looking into his cold blue eyes.
You may wonder why I’m slipping and sliding around, risking being caught instead of outside in the pool swimming, playing on the home basketball court, in the game room with every video game and gaming system a kid could want, or working out in Grandpa’s big gym? Hell, you may wonder why I’m here at all.
Well, he told my parents he wanted me to stay with him for the summer. In fact, Grandpa has sent for me many times during my life. He’s taken an interest in me since I was a baby. Nobody told me exactly why, and when I asked, I was given a bullshit, absurd answer that I barely remember. Regardless, though he’ll never admit it, he sometimes gets lonely and wants a hunting partner. I’m a pretty good shooter, if I say so myself.
Here’s my theory on why I’m here: Grandpa only trusts family to run the business and be around him on a consistent basis, so here I am. I’m sure there’s more to it than that, but this explains at least a part of it. He always asks me about my grades in the private school I’ll be graduating from next year, and wants to know all about my football practices. He sends me presents every month, and calls me on the phone just to see how I’m doing. Sounds nice, right?
Sounds like a great old man… the perfect grandpa. I’m young, but I know I’m not here because he loves me. There I go again with that love stuff. I mean, he might love me, but that’s not the biggest motivation, ya know? Grandpa has to run the chess board. He is a big observer. A people watcher. He’s persistent, too. Just when you think he’s forgotten something… Boom. He’ll get his revenge. I think I’m sort of like that, too. I’m perceptive. Patient. He wants to see how my mind works before he hires me on. Maybe for a very special job? He wants to see what alterations need to be made to my contract when the time comes, and what better way to find out then to have your grandson spend time with you?
My mother, while drunk one night and probably high on too many of her damn anxiety pills, said that Grandpa thinks he’s God. Daddy disagreed. He said,
“No, he doesn’t think he’s God, honey. He thinks he’s the devil, and he’s right. That’s why he’ll never die. Evil lives forever…”