Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Dark
I lean back in my leather office chair and glare at the phone in my hand.
Could today be any more of a goddamn headache?
My father-in-law won’t stop breathing down my neck about our meeting tonight.
He had his secretary text me, email me, and leave a voicemail when I didn’t confirm I’d be wherever he ordered me to be, like I’m his little bitch boy.
In case you were wondering, I’m not. It’s been months of this bullshit.
It also doesn’t help that Penelope, my wife, just hired a new assistant in the New York office, where I work for her daddy’s company.
The assistant wasn’t instructed to screen my calls.
Now I gotta cancel my plans to accommodate this rich prick.
Clenching my teeth, I punch out a text to Penelope.
Me: This new hire isn’t gonna work out.
She’ll need to find me a new one. I don’t have time to train an assistant.
It’s too much work. My last one left in tears, as did the one before that, and the one before that.
I’ve gone through what... six? No, seven new assistants in the past six months.
When I met what’s-her-name this morning, she smiled with too much teeth, like they all do, eager to please. I don’t like it.
Penelope: Make it work, Darling. She’s more qualified than the rest.
I grind my molars at her snarky response.
Darling. Darling. Darling.
Jesus fuckin’ Christ, I hate that endearment and the placating tone that accompanies it.
I’m Dark to everyone that matters—my pops, Kali, my kids, my club, all of ‘em. But here I am, sitting in a high-rise office, with a million-dollar view of the city, and I don’t give a single shit about it.
My heart, my head, my everything isn’t here.
It hasn’t been for months. It’s with Kali.
The love of my goddamn life, who’s sharing a bed with my father.
Hell, she married the man. It’s a long story, one that I don’t care to relive.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I blow out a breath and chuck my phone onto my desk. It slides across the glossy surface but stops just before nose-diving off the edge.
Fuck this life. Seriously.
Fuck everything.
Bursting out of my chair, it slams into the floor-to-ceiling windows as I rip off my expensive suit jacket, throw it on the desk, and stab my assistant’s call button.
“Yes, Mr. Drake, how may I help you?” The new woman answers far too cheerfully for my liking.
“Come into my office,” I bark.
In three seconds flat, the blonde with bouncing curls that caress the top of her big tits enters my office in a dress far too tight, and I don’t even think. I do. Rounding my desk, I prop my ass against the sleek front, unfasten my trousers, and pull out my half-hard cock.
The blonde’s eyes round and her glossy pink lips part in surprise as a startled little squeak eeks out of her throat.
Yeah. I get it.
I’m unprofessional.
I’m sick.
Ask me if I care?
I don’t.
I have nothing to live for anymore.
What is she gonna do? Walk out? Quit? Sue the company?
I don’t give a damn.
Not my company. Not my problem.
I’m just another puppet for my father-in-law, my club, and my wife.
I don’t know who I am anymore. Once, I had something worth living for.
I worked my ass off for over twenty years to infiltrate high-class circles and tear them apart from the inside out, to rescue women and children from trafficking.
Sure, I made a fuckton of connections and money along the way—for my family, myself, and most importantly, my club, the Sacred Sinners—and what do I have to show for it?
Not the wife I want.
Not the job I want.
I haven’t been on my bike in over six months because I’m too busy meeting a constant stream of wealthy pricks who have no clue what everyday people go through.
I’m tired.
So tired.
Not caring what the outcome might be, I jack my cock until it’s nice and hard and wait to see what this new woman, far too young for me, will do.
Throw a shoe at my face?
Scream?
I don’t care.
I really fuckin’ don’t.
I ruin everything I touch, so what’s another thing?
When what’s-her-name wrings her fingers in front of her, I bite my bottom lip and nod to the floor at my feet.
Whether or not she does what I need, I suppose she can keep her job since Penelope won’t be finding a replacement.
Suck me off, don’t suck me off, I don’t give a damn, but I need an outlet, and fucking Penelope isn’t that.
Lately, her moans grate on my nerves. Her voice grates on my nerves.
Sure, she’s beautiful. But beauty is only skin deep.
My impatient heart thrashes as I wait for what feels like an hour, though it’s no more than a minute, for this woman to make up her fucking mind.
Ever so slowly, the blonde steps forward, lowers herself onto the shiny marble at my feet, rounds her lips, and takes me into her mouth.
Warmth envelops my cock, and for a few minutes, pleasure dulls the ache in my chest, and I don’t have to think about anything but my fingers in her soft hair, her mewling moans, and fucking her throat.
It’s heaven.
It’s hell.
It’s more than I deserve.