Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
KINCAID
Jared gets refused entry two pubs down the line, and I have my driver drop him at his place before continuing home. When I’m inside, I go downstairs to the basement and knock on Onyx’s door.
The moment he opens it, I ask, “Did you get it?”
“Course, I did.” He hands over a cheap phone, the cracked screen identifying it as Francesca’s. “She sure looked cute wearing your shirt, man.” He licks his lips and my jaw locks in irritation. “If you’re ever in the mood to share, let me know. That arse is—” he makes a chef’s kiss gesture.
My fists clench, but he’s done me two favours tonight—firstly the phone, second the tipoff that Francesca was wearing my number—and I might need another one in future.
Tyson’s room is next, but he doesn’t answer my knock. I leave the phone beside the door for processing, and send him a text to explain why he has shoddy electronics as a gift. I wait for a minute in case he’s pretending not to be in, then give up and go downstairs to my suite, walking straight into the adjoining bathroom.
“Kincaid?”
I freeze at my uncle’s voice, stifling a curse before turning back through the connecting door. I thought he was up in Auckland till the end of the month. “Hey. Sorry to wake you.”
“You didn’t.”
Lance Tana is a dark shadow of a man. Taller and broader than me, he dresses like a cheap thug rather than the head of a multibillion-dollar crime empire.
A method that works well for him, measuring by the results.
His expression is its usual blank slate. I never have the slightest clue what he’s thinking. He prefers it that way.
We stand together in silence. Experience has taught me not to break first because he’ll take it as a sign of weakness. No matter how old or how big I get, when he’s in a mood, I revert to a small child.
Finally, he crosses to my bed and sits on the edge. “Would you like to explain why you’ve withdrawn five thousand dollars from the household account?”
Shit. I forgot to deposit the cash to cover Francesca’s payment.
Our family money doesn’t mean a lot to me, but it means everything to my uncle. His grip on the reins is tight.
“There was a girl…” I falter. That’s not the right way to start. “There was an incident at school involving Alice—”
His sharp voice cuts across mine. “Forsyth? Ezra’s Alice?”
“Yes, but not any longer. They split.” A result I’m happy to take credit for.
“Tell me you haven’t gone into debt with those vultures.”
“No, it… She was bullying another girl. A friend…” He tilts his head, and I abandon the explanation. I should know by now, my uncle doesn’t tolerate excuses or mistakes. “I’ll pay it back.”
“You will.” There’s another short silence. “Ezra has a job lined up for next weekend. A man who owes money and thought blackmail was the way to pay it. Help your cousin take care of him and we’ll call it even.”
Take care of him.
The phrase can be interpreted many ways, but I understand exactly what my uncle means.
Another ghost to haunt me.
“Yes, sir. I’ll get it done.” It’s not the best time, not with a mistake blotting my record, but I want to know. “Can I ask you something?”
He raises his eyebrows.
“A sports agent said he could arrange a scholarship to an overseas college, maybe even take me pro with one of the teams there.”
I pause, and he cocks his head. “And the question?”
“Would that be okay?” I sublimate the urge to fidget, stiffening my muscles. “I don’t know what your plans are for me.”
“The same as I’ve always offered you. A family and a job.” His eyes bore into mine, but his voice is soft. “You’re either in the business or you’re not, Kincaid. I won’t be your backup plan. You have to choose.”
I nod, frowning at the floor. “What about attending university here? Same as Onyx and Tyson.”
“Studying what?” He waits but I don’t have an answer. “You’ve never shown an interest before. Where has this come from?”
“A lot of my year are going on to uni.”
He keeps his gaze steady on me while the silence grows suffocating.
“That hole inside you?” He nods where my hand is pressed hard against my abdomen, and it’s like he’s reading my mind. “The emptiness? I had it, too. You can’t fill it with drugs or fast cars or mindless fucking. No religion gives enough answers to plug the gap.”
He moves to stand right in front of me, toe to toe.
“You need to find your purpose. You need to gather your people.”
“That’s what rugby does. The team—”
“If it did, you wouldn’t have the haunted look in your eyes.” He cups my neck, drawing me forward into a hongi , his forehead and nose resting against mine. “You wouldn’t know what I’m talking about… but you do, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The business is my purpose. The men I pick to join—you included—are my people. My whanau .”
He stays in place a moment longer, then slowly releases his hold, retreating a half step.
“You like a girl?” I nod. “Good. It’ll help you to start building a life with someone.”
An odd sentiment to hear from my uncle, who has a series of contracted ‘pets’ rather than a spouse or partner.
I give a soft laugh. “She doesn’t like me much.”
“That’s not unusual in our line of work. But there are ways and means of binding people close to you. Respect and fear can work just as well as love.” His razor-sharp gaze scans me, then he nods. “I’m happy to invest in your education, but I won’t pay for you to spend three or four years partying with nothing to show for it. Come back to me when you’ve thought it through.”
“I will. Thank you.”
After he’s gone, I get into the shower, thinking over his words before my mind moves to the far more pleasant memory of Francesca tonight, dressed in my shirt. Seeing my name against her skin again turns me to an animal, savage with need.
I had intended to stay away tonight, not wanting an accidental glance or movement to reveal my connection to Onyx. But when he texted me a picture of her wearing the rugby jersey, I couldn’t stay away.
After a cursory wash, I soap my cock until it’s covered in lather, stroking myself as I revisit the memory of Francesca on her knees. Turning it over in my head like it’s a film, choosing the best angles, cutting out filler.
My mind fills with her tiny, squirming body, her full lips, the vibrancy of her tousled hair, a hundred shades from strawberry blonde through to darkest chestnut. Nothing as simple as red.
As I pump my fist along my length, the movements grow faster. I imagine her tonight, and picture myself returning to the bar, surprising her before she reaches her car. In my head, I push her against the outside wall of the cheap tavern and her breath is hot against my chest, those large eyes staring up at me the way they did in the locker room.
The difference between the eager faces of the girls who willingly line up to fuck me and Francesca’s frown of reluctance, of dismay, of unmitigated horror is chasmic.
I play out a vision where I grow sick of her hesitant efforts and grab hold of her cheeks to face-fuck her. Imagining my cock thrusting deep into her throat, not caring if she can swallow.
Saliva spills down her chin and along my length, as clear in my mind’s eye as if she were in front of me on her knees. I relive the vibrations as she gagged on me, choking, like literally choking on my cock, and it’s… fuck.
My balls tighten a second before my release splatters across the tile wall. I lean forward, supporting myself on one hand, panting as the visual of Francesca fades from my imagination and reality comes back into focus.
I wipe away the mess with a swipe of my forearm, rinsing it under the spray.
It’s odd to service myself in the bathroom when, since I sported my first teenage boner, I’ve had a steady stream of volunteers willing to help.
To be fair, there are still plenty of willing participants, it’s just that none of them appeal to me any longer. Even before Wednesday, I’d grown tired of the revolving door routine.
With every other girl, the moment they’re out of sight, I forget them.
Francesca doesn’t appear any different on the surface yet, here I am, days later, my imagination an art gallery dedicated to her likeness, my chest aching with need-need-need.
I can’t wait to hand her the phone, to track her every movement, both physically and online. To learn everything I can, study her like a final exam, and pounce when the moment is right. Bend her to my will, have those changeable eyes turn large with tears, waiting to do my bidding…
And I’m hard again.
Grabbing hold, with the glut of sensations flooding my mind, it’s over quickly. My release sprays the walls when all I crave is for it to coat the inside of her mouth, her pussy, her arse.
I want to carve a new hole in her and claim that with pearly droplets of my cum.
The few interactions we’ve had won’t keep me satisfied for long. I need to claim her for real the same as I have in my imagination. Her walls stretching around me, her arms being pinned, her skin my teeth sink into as I bite a mark in warning to anyone who might venture too close.
My cock fattens again, only a semi but my refractory period has never been as short before.
This fucking girl.