Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
CADE
Jack should be free by now. He hasn’t called, but he couldn’t because they took him in the early hours of Sunday, around when I received the last text from Vi.
Violet.
Little fucking Violet Carter.
My brother’s ex.
She’s so fresh off being his girlfriend she’s still warm from his bed.
A bed where I’m pretty fucking sure she did nothing but sleep in for at least the last few months.
My walls are thick enough, but moans and cries have a way of seeping into you and those, for at least six months, were thin on the ground.
Growing rarer with each passing day.
Doesn’t make me feel less of a creep, though.
I really should know better.
Violet should be, by definition, off-limits.
Yet, here I am.
“She reached out to me.”
Fuck, all day, Enzo and I sat in a hacker haunt we know, one that’s underground and perfect for anonymity among others when we’re doing our own thing.
The firewalls and routings and VPNs are top-notch, and they come with the bonus of our footprints being muddied even more by the hackers around us, creating noise.
We’d never do it with our work, but this? Jack?
It’s a good place to have some drinks and catch up on gossip, keep our fingers to the pulse and watch events unfold.
I kept thoughts of Violet at bay. Sex thoughts, dark and disturbing thoughts where they belong, in the early hours of the morning.
Jack was snatched, taken, scared shitless, and roughed up a little. The photos sent to Enzo’s phone were perfection.
And I’m a complete shit. I know that.
Wanting his girl, doing this to him.
Ex-girl.
And he deserved the lesson handed to him.
But now I’m home, and I sit in the kitchen, coffee laced with rum next to me as I read over the texts.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
The question isn’t new.
I’ve asked myself this in different iterations since I first started noticing Vi. How appealing she is. Underappreciated by my dickwad brother. How I wouldn’t do that.
I’m ten years older than her.
Older than that in experience and in the lifestyle.
I should never have responded to her.
Never have read that email.
Left it all the fuck alone.
I check my watch.
Jack should be flying back. He has his phone, and he must know his accounts work.
I even set up an email alert and text to let him know he had a flight back.
I actively want this, and I’d like to try it with the right person. But I have no idea how to make it happen.
I read over that fucking text.
It makes my dick hard, my blood hot, and my synapses fire fast.
Does she even know the gift she’s handing? The door she’s opening and the key that comes with it?
She thinks I’m a stranger, and she’s just fucking doing all that.
The girl’s got some ovaries on her, that’s for sure.
The worst thing is I should be feeling a lot more guilty over this than I do. Guilty because even though it’s now Monday evening and I haven’t responded to her, I’m going to.
I pick up the drink and take a sip.
The reason I’m here in the kitchen and not in my room is I don’t want to tempt fate or my own lack of discipline. I don’t want to beat off to thoughts of her, to my own fantasies and to the ones she liked on those forums or letting my mind meander down the sketched-out paths she made to me.
My imagination is good. My libido better.
And the thing is, if I do it, the edging and holding relief at bay goes both ways.
I need her in a constant state of sexual need and yearning, and I… It’s the same thing, but from a different place.
To be the master, the puppeteer, the designer of her desires, whatever the fuck you want to call it, I need to be in a place where I’m keeping my own needs at bay.
It sounds strange, but the best sessions are ones where I carefully layer it, bring the girl to a place where she’s begging, where she’s mine, where she’s deconstructed so I can build her into something new.
I want to see her twist from sweetness to dark desire, from a girl whose sharp mind is on work to one consumed with me and the need to come.
I want to create the ultimate fantasies in life and in her head. An intricate dance of fear and lust and the hunt. Of expanding every single horizon she might have and yearn for, and then bring her focus down sharp onto me and my next move.
I want to own.
And while I want to chase, I want to have her tied down, blindfolded, and slowly taunt her for hours, building so carefully she’s shattering just from the sound of my breath, a word, my finger gliding over her lips.
And Vi wants this all without even knowing the extent of what she wants.
We’ll have to work that out. The contract of limits.
Safe word.
Because I intend to push at those limits, push through the soft ones and have her lick the edges of the hard ones, whimpering while she does.
She desperately wants this fantasy but doesn’t know how to make it happen.
And she wants it with me.
The Ghost.
In real life.
Real time.
And it’s fucking music.
But to help her with it, I need her to panic and flutter with doubt. I need her to think this isn’t going to happen. Because realistically, the best way through the rounds of doubts that’ll plague her is for her to think I’m backing off.
Vi needs to believe this might not happen at all.
Fantasies aren’t just fucking and orgasms. Those are payoffs, the sweet treat at the end.
The carefully crafted buildup, the nuances played out to perfection, are the amuse bouche. They’re the meal.
And she deserves for her first foray into the world she desperately wants, the world I think she just might be built for, to be sumptuous, one for the ages, something she’ll never forget.
As much as I’m tempted to contact her, I don’t. It’s best to leave her floundering in her doubts.
The front door slams, and heavy footsteps stomp my way.
I close the texts, put my phone down on the table, and pull my laptop closer, opening something new on the computer and let it sit there like I’m working.
Jack has no idea what I do, other than ‘IT’.
“Fuck, Cade.” Jack swoops in, spies the rum and picks it up, drinking straight from the bottle as he collapses into a chair and looks at my phone.
He can’t get into it, and no texts from her or anyone show up right now, even if they come in. I set it that way.
I eye my brother. “You look like hell.”
He looks like shit, like he got a beating. The black eye Enzo requested against my better judgment is there.
It’s mild like he said it’d be, and Jack doesn’t act hurt.
Unless, of course, you count ego.
“I’ve been to hell and back. It was horrible.”
Somehow, I keep my features straight. “So I see.”
“Terrifying. Draining.” He waves a hand in the air and takes another swallow from the bottle.
It’s not the most expensive rum, and rum isn’t my be-all and end-all chosen drop, but it’s also not cheap. And the liquor deserves better than being guzzled like it’s a Pbr at an illegal dance party.
I do, however, let it slide. “Terrifying, huh? What happened?”
“What happened? I went to Vegas, man, and got punished for it.” There’s a bitter shine in his eyes, and I fight the urge to make a joke about his baby shiner. “Should’ve seen the girls. Almost worth it.”
“Don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“Dumped her ass.”
“So, this…whole new face thing. Got anything to do with the almost-worth-it girls?”
“Girl. And she didn’t tell me she had a boyfriend. Also, she’s a stripper and borderline hooker, so what’s it to him if she has a little fun on the side?”
I pull my computer to me and open up his account. I don’t hide what I’m doing.
Jack never thinks too hard about the fine line between IT work and hacking, and he knows I can hack. Fuck, I’ve saved his ass a few times.
No more.
“So, you fucked some girl—”
“Cade, this trip not only cost me a shit ton of money, I could’ve died.”
I eye him again. “You don’t look like you’re close to death. Rough around the edges like someone decided to teach you a lesson, but nothing more.”
“Nothing…!” He leans forward, takes another swig, then points the bottle at me. “Hell, Cade. I’ve been to hell.”
“Yeah, getting a body massage from Fat Elvis is a little much.”
His eyes narrow. “I didn’t get that, and I didn’t request Elvis. Why would I?”
“You tell me, Jack.”
“My ticket got canceled, there’s a bogus charge of pastel fucking boating clothes I’d never wear, and who the fuck knew they sold that shit in Vegas?
Preppy chic? Ugh.” He takes another swallow and sits back.
“And then there’s the gentleman’s whatever that never happened.
I shared a room with Marcus and Ben and Rohan… ”
“And you all fucked the same girl?” I shudder and pick up my glasses, sliding them on as I look at his accounts, and some of the real charges.
They might not have been monsters, but they spent money on room service in a casino when they could have drunk for free down in the actual casino. “I just hope everyone got their shots.”
“No one fucked her. Jesus.” Then he scoots his chair in, grabs my computer and turns it to him. His gaze slides over his account, and then shifts to me. “You did this. It was you, wasn’t it?”
Nothing about what I did says The Ghost. I’m not that stupid. And I’ve taught him lessons before. Back in his pre-Vi days when he was heading right off the rails.
I’m not about to admit to paying the guys to beat him up. That’s one thing I put my foot down to Enzo with. I’d pay cold, hard cash. I don’t want to owe anyone I don’t know a favor. Shit like that gets out of control.
But the rest? Why the fuck not?
I lean back. “Hell, yes, Jack. It was me. ‘Dumped her ass’? You didn’t do that, she did.”
His mouth opens and closes. “How…? Keep away from my girl, Cade.”
“She’s not your girl. And I’m not near her. Do you see her? You left her here, man. On your anniversary, and you brought your own relationship crashing down.”
“I’ll get her back.”
“Jack…” I pull off my glasses and rub my eyes before shoving them on the top of my head. “I don’t think you will. You ignore this girl for how long? And then you finish off the relationship in an asshole move.”
“You don’t—”
“Asshole. Move. Violet’s a great girl, and you posted pictures to her cloud of you fingering the stripper.”
Thunderclouds slam down on his expression.
“I saw them, Jack. And she didn’t deserve to, at all. You were a dipshit, and you needed to be held accountable.”
“I called you for help. I called her, and she hung up.”
“Good on Violet. And I was busy. You’re a grown-up. You need to be able to take care of shit.” I cross my arms.
He scowls. “You’re my brother, you’re meant to be on my side, and you’re meant to help me.”
“You did this all to yourself. I only helped it along. And why were you there alone? There were other seats on the flight I bumped you from.”
He takes another swig and points a finger at me. “You did that, too?”
“Your friends couldn’t spot you the flight money?”
Jack doesn’t answer.
“Or is it they know you?”
“No. They’d already left.” The sullen tone tells a different story, so did me hacking the flight logs, and they were on the plane he was meant to be on. The snatching and roughing up took place after the flight was meant to leave.
“You paid for the room, Jack. They didn’t.”
“They don’t have money.”
I look at him. “And you do? You don’t even have a fucking job. And an allowance I set up for you doesn’t make you rich, it doesn’t make you anything. What it’s there for is to provide you with cushioning while you search for a footing, a job.”
“You took the side of my ex. That’s wrong, Cade. What, are you fucking her?”
“I haven’t touched her.”
Yet.
Jack pushes back his chair. “Maybe I fucked up a little, but everyone gets to do that, don’t they? Except you never did or do. Just me, and then you punish me. You’re meant to be on my side, I’m your brother, Cade.”
“I’m on your side, but I don’t support self-destruction. I don’t support poor decisions.”
“No, you like to gloat.” He slams the bottle down. “I thought…I thought you’d be supportive, not constructing my demise. You know what? If you, my own brother, can’t support me, then maybe we need time apart.”
If that’s a threat, it’s empty. “You’re more than welcome to move out.”
Jack goes still. “You don’t think I’ll do it? You don’t think I can look after myself?”
“You said that, not me.”
“Maybe I’ll move out. Marcus wants me to move in with him.”
I shake my head. “Marcus wants his rent reduced, Jack. He didn’t even help you get out of Vegas.”
But Jack isn’t listening. “At least Marcus won’t stab me in the back.”
“How are you paying rent?”
“I can stay a few weeks for free.”
I laugh, I can’t help it. “I’m sure he’ll love having a grown-ass toddler man living with him for ‘free’.”
I air quote free.
“Fuck you, Cade.”
Jack storms off to his room, and I sigh, finishing restoring Jack’s funds.
Maybe I’m being too hard on my brother.
Sure, Jack’s been behaving like an asshole, but he’s my brother. I love him. I want to support him.
Or maybe there’s guilt that Jack tapped into my attraction to Vi.
I don’t know.
If I separate the two, I can see they co-exist, independently of each other. I can desire her and want the best for Jack. Even if that best looks like punishment.
Loving Jack doesn’t mean a free pass. Because I think the most loving thing for him is toughness.
Jack needs tough love.
It’s time my brother learned to stand on his own two feet.