Chapter 14 #4
Upon feeling Galahad’s perfectly slick and wonderfully hot tongue upon millions of his nerve endings, Wayward let out a loud
moan . . . which was quickly smothered as Galahad pressed a hand against his mouth. Galahad glided his tongue back and forth
over the tender flesh, each continuous motion rippling pleasure through Wayward’s body.
Wayward fumbled at his belt; he was so hard that he was hurting within the confines of his pants. Still nursing at his chest,
Galahad reached down with his hand and expertly freed Wayward’s cock from its captivity. Wayward gasped as it sprung forth,
already slick from excitement.
Galahad smiled at Wayward. “Look at that. We don’t even need lube.”
With a grunt, Wayward lifted Galahad onto the bathroom counter; his thick veiny thighs, tanned and swarthy, contrasted with the cold white marble.
Leaning against the mirror, Galahad propped his meaty legs up on the counter and thrust his pelvis into the air, revealing to Wayward his pink hole, puckered ever so delicately like a bud waiting to bloom.
“C’mon, daddy,” the holy man said. “Fill me until I’m full.”
“What are you doing to me?” Wayward asked, dazed and dizzy.
“Fill me with your lucky seed,” Galahad demanded.
Wayward pressed his cock head against Galahad’s hole. “Fuck. Yes, I will.” He was ready to enter him.
“But first . . .” Out of nowhere, Galahad produced a small metal box, which he held between their faces. He opened it with
a click.
Inside there was a small heap of that sparkling silver powder. The way it shimmered at Wayward gave him chills.
“Go on,” Galahad whispered. “Have a little bit.”
Wayward hesitated.
“You don’t need to ask Lola anymore,” Galahad purred, pushing the powder toward Wayward’s nose. “You have me now.”
At this, Wayward recoiled. How did Galahad know about that?
Wayward sobered immediately, feeling the weight of his Sunfang phone in his pocket. Then, without another glance at Galahad,
he bolted out of the powder room.
Still naked on top of the sink, Galahad snapped the box shut and reached for his robes, an unholy mania on his face. For once,
his chaos had been stymied.
Rushing back to the party, Wayward was still buttoning up his pants when he heard live drummers pounding a hypnotic beat like
a call to battle. Clearly, Roses was about to give her annual speech . . . and make the announcement that would change his
life.
He found a mirror, one of many hung on the compound’s walls for good feng shui. His hair had been mussed up by Galahad, so he licked his palm and smoothed it down. He took a few deep breaths, steadying himself, and turned toward the main hall, only to crash into someone, knocking him to the floor.
“Oh, sorry!” Wayward said, helping the elderly man up. Then he recognized him. It was Mr. Tung, the senior board member of
Sunfang Global who had challenged him about his South American initiative. Wayward stiffened a bit.
“Leaving so soon, Mr. Tung?”
Caught, Mr. Tung gave him a smile of deference. “I already know what your aunt is going to say. Might as well get home to
my grandchildren. I’m sure you understand.”
Wayward nodded. “You were an important ally of my grandfather’s, and then my aunt’s. Perhaps we can set aside our differences
for the sake of Sunfang Global.”
“Our differences? What do you mean?”
Once again, Wayward remembered overhearing this man call him a cocksucker, whose ascension at Sunfang was making Big Boss
Sun turn in his grave. But knowing now that his grandfather’s grave was actually empty, Wayward felt emboldened.
“You told me, Mr. Tung, that I would never be president of Sunfang Global. As it turns out that I will, I hope that anyone
in your position will understand that I intend to reshape this company—with or without your help. But I’d prefer your help.”
But Mr. Tung surprised him by chuckling. “Oh, Wayward. You are referring to our little spat in the boardroom? I was simply
doing what I was told by your aunt. That is how I have always served this company, by doing what I’m told.”
Wayward was floored. After shadowing Roses for years, he thought he’d figured out all of her tricks. But it turned out that
she could still play him the fool. By presenting a false “common enemy” in Mr. Tung, Roses had weaponized Wayward’s own ego
and quick temper against him.
Yes, Wayward had been manipulated right into Roses’s hand. What exactly was the extent of the Sun matriarch’s power in everything that was happening? And how could he defend himself against her seemingly endless manipulations?
“Mr. Tung,” he managed to say as his hand gripped the Sunfang phone in his pocket. “I’ve always wondered something. How did
you manage to pull off your lobbying efforts in South America back in the eighties?”
The elder man shrugged. “Money works.” He then grinned. “So does phone tapping.” Mr. Tung reached out and patted him on the
shoulder, full of condescension. “Anyway, Wayward, I will not be in your way as I am retiring very soon. I am getting off
this ship before it sinks.”
Wayward cleared his throat. “What makes you so sure that I will fail?”
“There is one thing I think we can both agree upon. Your grandfather was an abhorrent man. And this abhorrent DNA of his is
woven deep into the fabric of Sunfang Global.” Mr. Tung cricked his neck with an awful crack. “But you are a naive, American-born
whiner with a backbone like pickled jellyfish. You are incapable of being abhorrent, and that is why you are going to run
this company into the ground.”
With that, the elder man turned and exited. Clenching his jaw, Wayward stared after him.
As the drums continued to roll, Bessie and Kat stood in the throng of guests in the main hall. Wayward suddenly sidled in
next to them.
“Jefe!” Bessie exclaimed.
“Where’s the tall Southern hottie?” Kat asked, glancing around. “He was fun to look at.”
“What happened?” Bessie asked.
“I was being schooled by three very different people,” Wayward replied. “This damn drumming is making my head hurt though.”
As if in response, the drums abruptly stopped. The trio turned toward the grand staircase, where a microphone stand was being
set up as Roses emerged from within the crowd.
Roses took the mic off its stand and ascended farther up the steps, so that she stood above her guests. Though there was already
a respectful silence for her, she took a moment to scan the crowd. When her eyes landed upon Wayward, she smiled.
Roses began speaking. “Friends and family of the Suns, esteemed colleagues and partners of Sunfang Global, thank you for joining
us as we ring in a new Lunar New Year!”
She was met with polite claps.
“If you have joined us before for this little celebration,” she continued, “you will know that I like to keep these remarks
brief. But tonight, I do have an announcement to make.”
Curious murmurs flooded the room. Already some were following Roses’s line of sight, which pierced through the audience straight
at Wayward, who felt a growing number of eyeballs upon him. He stood a little straighter.
“Whenever I look at this young man, he seems to look more and more like my father, the founder of Sunfang Global. But my nephew
Wayward is very different than Big Boss Sun in many ways, and they are specifically ways that will point us toward a bold
and new future.”
Bessie looked over to see that Wayward, despite looking ever so collected, was nervously tapping his right hand against his
thigh. Discreetly she reached out and took Wayward’s hand into hers. Wayward squeezed her hand back, a small smile forming
across both their lips as they stared straight ahead.
“And that is why I am proud as both his aunt and his mentor to announce that Wayward Sun has been promoted to the new president
of Sunfang Global!”
There were gasps of surprise and rapturous applause as everyone in the room turned to Wayward.
Instantly Wayward was shoved away from Bessie by countless hands clamoring to shake his, to pat him on the back, to hand him drinks as the partygoers all competed to see who could congratulate him the most heartily.
But despite the adoration, Wayward could not forget the revelation from Mr. Tung. Roses had played him perfectly into this
moment. He looked across the room at his aunt. She gave him a small nod.
He nodded back. Two can play your game, he thought.
That was when he heard a strange sound, a sound that quickly amplified until it even overpowered the roar of his well-wishers.
It sounded like someone screaming. Where was it coming from? It seemed to be from all around, but mostly from above.
Wayward looked up, and that was when he felt wetness upon his face. There was a sudden loud crack. The high ceiling above
the party suddenly split apart, and a deluge of water poured down upon everyone at the Lunar New Year party.
The heavens themselves had somehow opened up inside the Malibu compound.
Silently April Sun and Cristiano Baccay were walking through her mother’s guava orchard when they heard it. They both turned
around to witness their mutual act of destruction.
A piercing scream like the vengeful shriek of a demon was emitted from the Malibu compound as its internal water system collapsed.
It was followed by an uproar of humanity. The party guests’ frantic movements could be seen from the windows, backlit like
shadow puppets.
April laughed. Finally she had gotten that scream out of her.
She felt as though she was dreaming within a dream, as though she had been cut out of reality like a paper doll.
“You’re crazy.” Cristiano was sniffling as he said this.
She looked over at Cristiano and saw that he was crying. “Why are you crying?” she asked, confused.
When he didn’t answer, she leaned against a guava tree in her mud-caked couture and closed her eyes, unable to process his
emotions. When he began to apologize to her, his words were like faraway echoes that she could not understand.
And when she felt her husband pushing himself onto her, April did not know to resist.
As her guests ran for cover and her iconic family home turned into an indoor Niagara Falls, Roses Sun numbly accepted an umbrella
from a soaked Teddy, but she did not move from her spot on that staircase.
Yes, water was the symbol of good luck, and now there was a deluge of it. But even Roses had to wonder as her house imploded
after the public announcement of her audacious plan, was there such thing as too much good luck?
And that was when, within the always-doubtless Roses, there was planted . . . a seed of doubt.
Shivering in her ruined leather jacket outside of the Malibu compound, Lola Sun was about to mount her Harley-Davidson to
beat the other fleeing party guests when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned so abruptly that she nearly collided with
her suspiciously dry middle aunt.
“Auntie Iris?” Lola said, cocking her head in confusion. These two Sun women rarely spoke. “What’s up?”
Iris Sun-Kwok had indeed escaped the waterworks inside, as she had been standing outside this whole time, specifically waiting for her youngest niece. “Lola,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice cloaked with a hushed urgency. “I need your help with something.”
Lola frowned. “I’m busy with my own things.” She began to slide on her helmet.
Iris slammed a firm hand on the seat of the motorcycle, refusing to let Lola leave. “Niece, I know exactly what you are up
to, and you too know what I’m up to. But what if I told you that neither of us is ever going to be successful? That already
we are being outmaneuvered?”
Lola put down her helmet as a squad of soaked socialites rushed past them. “What are you talking about?”
Her aunt took a deep breath. “Yes, our family has always had our struggles. We may fight and plot and manipulate among each
other, but ultimately, we Suns survive and perpetuate because we have always kept it all within the family. But this new chaos
is not of us.”
Lola slowly nodded. “And your point is . . .?”
Iris looked around, then reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper with a handwritten sentence on it. Wordlessly,
she handed it to Lola.
Help me investigate Galahad Chu.