15. Diego
CHAPTER 15
DIEGO
Resting my back on the headboard of my bed, I smile while listening to her frantic screams. She bangs her hands on the door, her shrieks comical. You never know with a car thief, so I installed a big lock outside the bedroom to make sure she’ll stay put. I’m enjoying the series of successes the day has turned into.
A big smile spreads across my face as I think about how well the courthouse went and how perfect everything is falling into place. The gossip rags have already started to report on the humiliated heiress and her affair with her stepbrother, but this is just the beginning. There’s a long way to go until her debt is paid.
Rifling through her phone is an easy task since it’s not password protected. I’m not sure if it’s out of stupidity or arrogance at first, but it quickly becomes obvious there’s nothing incriminating here.
I check her messages, trying to find anything remotely suspicious, maybe something between her and her father that can further my plans, but all I get are messages from a friend named Lyla. She’s more careful than I gave her credit for.
Her social media is another dead end. It looks like she never cared much to keep it updated. I get irritated by how deliberate she is with what she shares. She’s just twenty-two, but I can’t find one silly drunk post anywhere. Something tells me that Maeve is a liar.
Where’s the phone she uses when she’s stealing cars?
Every picture, every forced smile, every interaction. I analyze it all, but I come out empty-handed. Only the most dangerous people can live a lie so deeply like this, and suddenly, my wife becomes more and more interesting. There’s more to her than I gave her credit for, which will only make her suffering that much better.
I scroll through her pictures, and for a while, I’m bored. And hungry. Aside from the random sunrise or ballet gear, all she does is take pictures of donuts and cakes. She’s barely in any picture until I stumble onto the most delicious thing I could have found.
My thumb hovers over the picture, unable to look away. The sweet Maeve Sinclair has a hazy look on her face as she faces the mirror, her dark brown hair messy as she poses for a selfie completely naked.
“Maeve… Maeve…” I say to myself right when she throws something at the door in the other room.
Never mind the mess the real Maeve is making. I can’t take my eyes off this version of her, making a seductive face to the camera. She’s looking over her shoulder, her ass a perfect peach and her waist small. Her body is pure temptation, and it doesn’t help that I know how she feels around my cock.
There are only three pictures I care about. One over the shoulder, another one full frontal with those perky tits on display, and in the last one, she’s grabbing her nipple with a silly face as if she wasn’t able to kill a man with one look.
My jeans are uncomfortably tight, my cock painfully hard, and I grip it trying to take the edge off even though nothing but Maeve can do it for me right now. She keeps screaming, her voice going hoarse, and I remember the delicious noises she made when I was deep inside her. My cock bobs free as I open my pants and quickly wrap a hand around myself. Her pictures and her smell still all over me will have to be enough.
I look at my Jacob’s ladder, my grip intense, and I remember sinking into her piercing by piercing. She took it a hell of a lot better than I imagined she would. Everything about her has been different from my expectations, and it seemed like she only wanted more of my dick rather than being repulsed by it.
My eyes hungrily move over every inch I can see, filling in the parts I can’t from memory. I replay how hot and wet it is to fuck her until she cries around my cock, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. A bead of sweat goes down my temple, and I move faster and harder. Fuck, jerking off never feels this good. I’m obsessed with her body.
Maeve screams, and I come all over myself. I don’t understand how there could be so much when I just came all over her, but she makes me fucking crazy. This is definitely one issue I didn’t expect—that she would have this much effect on me.
“Christ.” I shake myself off, throwing her phone to the side before going to the bathroom.
The closed door muffles her screams, and I can think again for a second. I wash my hands and face before I toss my clothes to the side and start the shower. This is about revenge. It’s about destroying the Sinclairs. It has nothing to do with how badly I want to be inside her again or how I might like to see her leaking cum from all of her holes.
My mom was a ballet teacher, and fate was cruel enough to put Maeve in her path. Maeve’s father decided my mom was good enough to be wife number two, and in six months’, he romanced her off her feet and convinced her he was the most wonderful man in existence. Presents, trips, love declarations. My mother was a romantic, and she never had the chance to live that with the piece of shit my father was. She thought it was her second chance in life. I never trusted him, though.
The water pressure feels good on my muscles, but it doesn’t wash away my thoughts. We lived two years with the Sinclairs. Two years of charity functions and high expectations. Two years when I was separated from my friends and brought to Maeve’s private school. We were never happy, always nervous, always afraid. It never felt like home for one minute, yet my mother still tried her hardest to make it all work.
To teach that bitch ballet and be a mom to her and a doting wife. None of her efforts mattered, mine didn’t either, but Cornelius never made a secret of his dislike of me, at least when it was just the two of us. All the pretending ended when my mother got the cancer diagnosis.
She was too sick to carry on being the ideal wife and surrogate mother, and very quickly, he realized she was no longer of use to him. Because they had an ironclad prenup, he couldn’t even be bothered to pay her for her struggles or help her get well again.
Three months, three measly, terrifying months before he tossed us out. She was shocked, but a part of me knew it was coming. He would only tolerate us as long as we could serve him. Her husband told her to leave, sick, having to pay for cancer treatments she couldn’t afford, and without anything in her name. She fought bravely for eleven years until she died three months ago.
But she might have survived if I had gotten her better help sooner. I became the man I am today to help her and make sure someone can pay for her care. It worked until it didn’t, and I won’t let someone like Maeve Sinclair tell me she would be ashamed.
The last of my naivety died while my mother cried in the car without anywhere to go. All our belongings were packed to the roof, and we had nowhere to sleep that night. I promised her it would be okay and I would fix things for her. From that moment on, I became enraged and destined for revenge. One day, I was going to end the Sinclairs.
Working doesn’t make you rich, but crime does. There was no right or wrong for me, just justice. I then became Cygnus, the biggest criminal organization in town, but it was too late. Not even corrupting my soul was enough to keep my mom alive, and she died fading away in bed when she was the most active person I’d ever known.
Meave Sinclair is mine to own and destroy, but she’s just the appetizer. Her father is my main course, and I won’t stop until Cornelius pays fully for everything he’s done. Maybe then my mother can rest in peace, and I can start to move past this.
Once I’ve ruined his daughter as he did my mother, I’ll paint the streets with his blood.
Turning off the water, I grab a towel. Maeve is quiet now. That’s disappointing. I like hearing her scream.
Her phone lays on the bed, her pictures calling to me. The urge to look at her more and touch myself again is so strong I shake myself in disgust. It’s fucking sick how much I want her. I hate her and everything she is. To think she was out there playing little princess with the world on her feet while we were struggling makes me ill, but God, do I want to fuck her. She’s going to pay for making this more complicated than it should have been.
Pulling up the pictures on her phone once more, I ignore her perfection as I text them to myself. Then I send them to one of my men.
Me: Print this and make sure to put it at the theater door for the next rehearsal of Swan Lake. Right beside the show’s poster.
The weight in my stomach lessens as I put everything back on the right track. I didn’t marry Maeve to be inside her cunt every night, but for revenge.
Everyone is going to know exactly what kind of slut Maeve Sinclair is, and the stunt at the courthouse was just the beginning.
Come Monday, Maeve will be back on the stage.
Tucker: Hot. Will do, boss.
My hand tightens around my phone, a flash of anger tightening my gut and making me surprisingly violent.
Me: I didn’t ask for your opinion.
She likely thinks her ballet career is over. That must have been her plan when she was running and hightailing it out of town, but she doesn’t realize that her position in her esteemed company is part of how I plan to ruin her. I’m about to tuck my new phone and spank bank into the closet when it pings with a text.
Aunt Maura: Don’t let your father forget about the garden party this weekend. Be there at 2.
No hello or goodbye. I met Maura once years ago. She somehow managed to be a bigger bitch than her brother in just a few hours. While I’d love to never see that hag’s face again, this opportunity is too delicious to miss.
I slip her phone into my pocket instead, wondering if any other interesting opportunities to hurt her might come up, and then I start making plans.