Chapter 13
ARATH
I find Elgin at the window in the bedroom when I come out of the closet. He’s once again wearing the shirt I told him not to. I’m not sure how he found it again, but he’s not going to wear it today any more than I let him the other day.
Turning around, I shuffle through the drawer until I find an appropriate shirt. That one is going to end the day in the trash.
He hasn’t moved. He’s still looking out the window when I join him in the room again. I stop behind him, hands on his hips. His ghostly reflection smiles in the window. Gripping the hem of his shirt, I pull it up and over his head.
Elgin huffs. “Seriously, what’s wrong with that shirt?”
I don’t answer as I toss it aside and pull the new one over his head. We settle it into place, and I grip his hips again, pulling him back to me. Specifically, I press his ass to my cock. I’m not hard, but it wouldn’t take much convincing to get me there.
“What has you so entranced outside?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just admiring.”
“I know I’ve referred to you as my hostage, but you’re not actually a prisoner. You can go outside if you want to.”
“This is going to make me sound like a wimp, but what are the odds that there are members of Empire lurking around in the trees to shoot me?”
“Not wanting to die doesn’t make you a wimp.
We were outside the fence when we took a ride into the trees.
What you’re seeing is well within the fence.
You asked about security. Outside the fence is primarily monitored by the cameras because, again, I like to learn about those who dare come onto my property.
Within the wall is closely monitored by living, breathing, armed people. ”
“You’ve referred to Empire as a mafia wannabe, but it sounds to me like you’re the real deal.”
I laugh quietly, enjoying the way he shivers at the sound. “No. We can get into why Van Doren isn’t mafia, nor do we have any interest in being mafia-like, but I fear it would still sound that way.”
“Let me guess.” Elgin twists to look at me. “The real mafia is all about having control through criminal activity, and your family wants control legally.”
Smirking, I shake my head. “We aren’t about controlling anything.
Believe it or not, our rapid growth into every market is all about diversification of specialties and income.
The economy is unpredictable, especially when you have tyrants in office.
My brother’s sole interest is making sure his family is always provided for.
If one avenue dries up, we have all these others.
If eight avenues dry up, we have seventy others. It’s about adaptability and survival.”
“I see. And the killing people part? That’s a bonus?”
“This particular trade was only organized in the last decade. Before that, it was just about protecting our own.”
“What happened in the last decade?”
I study him for a minute, determining whether he needs the truth. But hell, I’ve already told him I kill people illegally, perhaps stretching the truth about our permission to do so, so what’s a little more incriminating truth?
“Let’s go for a walk.”
Elgin joins me, and we head outside. Not in the courtyard, but out in the fields that look endless. Maybe I’ll bring him to the old rose garden.
“Are you familiar with antisocial disorders?”
He shakes his head.
“Psychopathy? Sociopathy?”
“You mean psycho?”
“That’s a shortened clinical term for psychopathy, yes.”
“Okay, I’m familiar with the generalized public term.”
“So, not at all.” He rolls his eyes. “The world sees movies or reads books like The Shining and thinks that’s what a psychopath looks like. It would be easy to pick one out if they were all running around with knives in their hands and looking wild-eyed, right?”
“I’m guessing that’s not the truth of it?”
“Psychopathy is genetic. Sociopathy is environmental. However, neither of which is how movies sensationalize them. They tend to blend in with society because that’s how they survive in this world.
For instance, you have a whole branch of the government claiming that empathy is a woke weakness when, in reality, a lack of empathy is a hallmark of an antisocial disorder. ”
“Okay. So what’s the point of this conversation?”
“One of my brother’s sons is a diagnosed sociopath. Circumstances in his environment provoked him to violence, and my brother decided he needed to create a controlled environment where his son could release his violent urges. Another is likely an undiagnosed psychopath.”
“So he stationed everyone in crime-riddled cities?”
“No. That’s a little different. We do that… I hate to use vigilante service as an explanation, but in a way, we do this part because the world needs a little help getting rid of the trash. I told you I was a contract killer. That’s the operation we run here. Yeah?”
Elgin nods.
“That’s the business branch that my brother created for his sons.
With the creation of the contract killer services, we tightened up our operations in cities throughout the country.
I don’t take on contracts often unless it’s happening in my own backyard, and quite frankly, I find that offensive, so I’m happy to make that happen. ”
“No offense meant when I ask this, but how are you making money when what you do is primarily non-paying?”
“Every major company has feeder programs. Programs that are money losses on the books but serve purposes to bring in more business. That’s what this is.”
“How does this bring in more business?”
“In a safe place to live, more people gather. We have other businesses in the cities, and with more people living there, the more they use our other businesses. Thus, we’re making money.”
“So this entire place is a money pit? All the people you employ just cost money and don’t make any?”
“No. Approximately half of my staff execute contracts. While the majority of the money paid in because of the contract goes to the one who executed it, it also brings money to the business.”
Elgin shakes his head. I imagine this sounds like a big, scary operation. How many people do you meet in your lifetime who unapologetically admit to killing people for money? This man makes a respectable living, and I’m here telling him I kill people.
“How big is the property here?” he asks.
Unsure where this change in topic comes from, I answer, “Thirty-three acres. Ten of which are behind the security walls.”
“Did you build it?”
“No. We purchased this property… forty years ago?”
“We?”
“It belongs to my family. Most of what we own is owned by the family as opposed to individually.”
“And you don’t think you’re the same as the mafia,” Elgin muses.
I laugh. “It’s a security thing. Van Doren Trust owns almost everything because a trust is protected from being liquidated in case of an accident.
Custodians control the trust, but even if something happens to one or all of them, the trust is protected and therefore, all the Van Doren assets, including property, businesses, intellectual property—” I wave my hand to indicate whatever else he can think of.
“That’s… smart.”
“Anyone with any significant amount of money or other assets should have a trust in place. Medical, legal, government—all will happily drain your assets if something happens to you and you don’t have protections in place.”
“And that’s terrifying. I’ll look into a trust.”
I grin. “Good idea, hockey player.”
Elgin has spotted the rose garden. He stares at it as we get closer. It’s been a labor of love over the last couple of years. It’s difficult to have stunning gardens when more than half the year is a hellscape for vegetation.
I don’t continue our conversation as we wander through the aisles. Instead, I watch him as he looks over the flowers. You don’t have to be a flower person to appreciate the garden. It’s soothing, beautiful, and smells good. What better place to escape to when you’re in need of a break?
There are a number of different seating areas. Hammocks, benches, couches… The garden is designed for multiple people to get lost in at the same time, but feel like they’re the only ones out here.
Elgin pauses at a bench and sits. I don’t know what it is about him on any given day that has me enthralled, but there’s something about the way he’s sitting there, surrounded by roses, that excites me.
In reality, I’m guessing my years of enjoying no one but my hand might be catching up with me.
I wasn’t celibate by choice so much as by circumstance.
It’s not easy to find a partner who’s okay with the lifestyle I lead.
I’ve never truly looked. Like my brother Noaz, I kind of thought that one day I’d be ready to retire from this life, and then I’ll find my partner.
Looking at Elgin, I think that maybe I stumbled upon him by accident.
He hadn’t been a thought when I brought him home, except that he was adorable as hell.
All drunk and wide-eyed. The way he was very obviously attracted to me and confused by his attraction had me keeping him close because it was fucking amusing.
It became more amusing when he was sober and still couldn’t shake off his attraction.
Suddenly, my attraction to him became a fun way to pass the time.
And two days ago, on a whim, when I told him the truth about what I did for my family, I realized that this is something more. This is no longer just for fun.
I’m keeping him. Elgin Bolingbrook is mine.
His gaze eventually turns back to me, eyes locking on mine momentarily. Since I’m still standing at the opening to this little hidey-hole among the flowers, I can watch the way his gaze travels down over my body.
My dick jumps when it stops at my crotch and doesn’t move.
Well, then. Clearly, I’m not the only horny one between the two of us.
I approach Elgin, unbuttoning my jacket to let it fall open.
His eyes flicker up to mine, but drop to watch my hands as I unbuckle my belt.
Unbutton my pants. Unzip them. I reach inside and pull out my cock, now fully hard since his attention has been on my junk for the past minute.
I move closer until I’m standing right in front of him, dick at face level. There, I pause, allowing him to look all he wants. And he does. He stares and doesn’t turn away. Minutes pass. I’m about to tell him he can touch me when he raises his hand.
Is he shaking?
His fingers touch my cock. Just the tips. He traces a vein along the underside that’s facing him, up to the rim of my crown. Elgin swallows, his hand wrapping around me and moving along my shaft. It isn’t so much to bring me pleasure as it is to feel.
It’s enthralling. He has his own cock. I know he’s touched it before. Any man who tells you they don’t touch themselves is full of shit. I suppose it’s different, feeling someone else’s, though. It’s new. Frightening? Intimidating? What is he feeling right now?
Elgin licks his lips. While I’d love to lie him across the bench he’s on and fuck his throat like I did in my office, I decide that maybe he needs time to look me over. Learn a dick other than his own. So I don’t say anything.
I watch him as he studies me. Feels me. Explores my shaft, my head, and eventually, my balls, which appear to be more intimidating than the rest of me.
He’s so enthralled with what he’s doing that he doesn’t see the way I’m smirking at him.
Especially as he gains confidence and touches me with more intent.
I’m not upset to do this for the rest of the afternoon.