Chapter Nine
Huxley
Sleep fades as my consciousness starts to assert itself. I feel so damn good as I laze in the soft bed, my face on the plush pillow and my body on twisted sheets. The morning after a visit with my family always starts with my mood somewhere south of zero, but not today.
Grace.
Just the thought of her makes me smile. My internal clock says it’s still early. Maybe a morning shower together would be good. With me washing her very thoroughly. I’d love to see my cum on her wet, naked body, her eyes glazed in orgasm, her nipples hard, and her mouth soft and swollen from my kisses. By then our breakfast should arrive. We can eat and then do it again, this time in bed. I’d love to have her for dessert.
I reach over to stroke her long, silky hair…and my fingers touch nothing but cool sheets. I crack my eyes open. She isn’t here. The bathroom’s quiet—and the door’s open—so she isn’t in there, either. No sound coming from the living room or the kitchen either. No scent of coffee. Nothing to indicate another person in the residence.
I sit up and rub my forehead. Displeasure tugs at my attention like a splinter stuck under my nail—not enough to hurt, but enough to make itself known. I glance at the nightstands and the desk. No note.
If it weren’t for the ripped condom wrappers, I could have dreamed the whole thing with Grace.
Why did she leave?
The sex couldn’t have been the problem. She came hard multiple times, her pussy spasming around my tongue, my fingers, my cock. She clung to me like I was her lifeline. I asked her what she liked for breakfast so I could instruct the concierge to send our breakfast at nine thirty sharp, all the while patting myself on the back for bringing her to the Aylster Residence my brother Seb still has a lease on, although he doesn’t live here. I chose this place because it was closer than mine and traffic was a shitshow. Plus, the concierge is damn convenient.
But I didn’t count on Grace fleeing the scene as I fell asleep with her in my arms. My mood craters, and a shower doesn’t help. By the time breakfast arrives, there are practically thunderclouds over my head.
I stare balefully at the Belgian waffle, all the attendant fixings and the three-egg omelet with cheese and bacon. I choke down some coffee, but don’t touch the food. My stomach is clenched too tight.
I don’t feel any better when I arrive at my place. Should’ve driven us here even if the traffic was shitty last night. Then she wouldn’t have been able to leave so easily—Uber and the like can’t get past security without alerting me first.
I glumly stare at my mansion. It merely stands, stately, the stained-glass windows sparkling and the rock garden as Zen as the one I saw in Japan. Everything is as it should be, except my mood.
How am I going to find her again? I got the sense that the bar wasn’t her usual spot. She said her ex was a lawyer, but the city has over eighty-five thousand licensed lawyers. If she went to the bar to find a lawyer who was better than her ex…
That bar is a hangout for Huxley & Webber’s rival, Highsmith, Dickson and Associates. Most of their attorneys are from Ivy League schools or Stanford, and the massive firm has its fingers in hundreds of legal pies. And they generally employ very good lawyers.
“Hi there!” comes a high-pitched, cheery voice from… above ?
I look up at the big tree in the yard. A blonde in a leopard-print dress straddles a branch about seven feet off the ground. The outfit is cut so low, I can see the tops of her areolas. She’s put a soft cloth over the branch to ensure she doesn’t chafe her toned thighs, and the skirt is riding so high I can see half her bare ass. I’d bet both eyeballs she’s going commando. With Grace, it was hot. But this chick—it’s just vulgar.
If I had normal people for parents, I’d be at least slightly alarmed that a stranger had invaded my home. As it is, what I feel is a little resignation and a lot of fury.
What the fuck, Joey?
“Get down here!”
“I’m Jane.” She smiles and waves like a pageant queen.
“And?”
She bounces on the branch, one hand over her quivering tits. “I could be your Jane if you’d just come up.” She lets out a tittering giggle, unfazed by my impatience. Or she’s too dumb and oblivious to notice. “Do you know that every woman in my family had twins? So we could have twins. One that looks like you and one that looks like me! Wouldn’t that be cute?”
“More like terrifying,” I mutter. Joey has been sending me progressively dumber and dumber women to procreate with, trying to satisfy my father’s need for a baby he can take to Hollywood parties. Apparently, I’m smart enough to compensate for a lack of IQ in the baby’s mother.
“So let’s do it!” She leans forward, arching her back and opening her mouth to show me her tongue. The sight is outright third-rate porn. Actually, I don’t think even third-rate porn does this anymore. “Come ooonnn .”
She brings down her torso low enough that her breasts pop out of the dress. Instead of covering herself, she laughs. “Oops! Guess the girls can’t wait.”
My skin crawls. “Get down here. Now .”
“Make me!” She giggles again and sticks her tongue out.
Just how old is she? Twelve?
“Come and get me, Tarzan,” she says breathlessly, then cups her breasts and pushes them toward me.
No. No! I can feel brain cells gasping and writhing as they die. Time to end this shit.
“I haven’t done any skeet shooting in a while, and it’s time I got some practice in. To avoid getting rusty.”
She lets out a theatrical gasp. “Are you threatening me?”
“Nope. Just informing you of my plans for the day.” I start toward my house.
“Wait! I can’t get down on my own!” she yells.
“How’d you get up there?”
“Joey helped me.”
“So call him.” Maybe I’ll shoot both of them. Joey could look like a clay target if I dumped a bucket of white paint on him.
“Wait!” she screams again. She probably has a twenty-word vocabulary, the top one being “wait.”
“If you aren’t gone by the time I get out…” I give her my most charming smile, the one that makes even my mom nervous.
It scares “Jane” more than a gun, because she lets out a small shriek. “Oh my God! Joey never told me you were a serial killer!”
“I’m not. But I could make an exception.”