Heartless: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance Page 9

  It was from the disgust at just how much I wanted it to happen all over again.

  I wanted Lucian Morelli.

  I wanted his touch, and his hurt, and his hate.

  It was weird. Hardly believable, because I wanted something I hadn’t wanted since I was a little girl wishing on a fairy tale life ahead, with a noble prince on a noble steed charging into my world to claim me.

  This wasn’t a noble prince on a noble steed, he was an evil beast, charging into my world to destroy me, but that didn’t seem to matter. Not to me.

  I couldn’t want it. But I did. I wanted it with every little tingle in my veins.

  I wanted Lucian Morelli to fall in love with me.

  13

  Lucian

  Monday was usually one of my favorite days of the week. I was in my usual role, in my usual empire, lording it over every lowly person at my feet.

  I loved the ruthlessness of corporate business, takeovers and pursuit of official worldwide presence, laying so powerfully over our underworld presence below. Yet, I didn’t love it that day. The thrill was lost to me, underneath that same damn itch for some other pleasure. Jesus Christ, that damn itch could get the fuck away from me.

  Trenton Alto had been pushing for a meet up, keen to catch up with me as to the success of arms dealings and shipments of girls over the weekend. I’d satisfied him with nothing more than a grunt of approval over the cell when he’d called.

  I was in meetings all through the afternoon, listening to my CEOs giving updates, bored enough to simmer with frustration inside.

  I wanted Constantine blood and little else.

  It was late into the evening when I finally gave in to the inevitable temptation and called up Elaine’s calendar for the week ahead. She’d refreshed it, with a listing of Harriet in front of almost every activity that week. There was another ridiculously glossy charity gig on Wednesday for some low paid workers education fundraiser, and some Roosevelt social dinner on Thursday. Friday had a stylist’s appointment with some overpriced Hemmings designer dress shop and a girly afternoon in the aftermath.

  Then Saturday was simple. Simple but vague.

  Tristan.

  A touch base on dick status, no doubt.

  I had plenty of social events of my own to be attending. We had a Morellis casino night scheduled for Thursday. Me, Leo, Elliot, and Kit. I had a bullshit meal arranged with Hunter and his university friends, showing my face with fake handshakes as though I gave two shits for his social circle, and I had an evening with my parents on Saturday, touching base about Morelli Holdings and what a success I was making of it, as usual.

  I didn’t want to do any of them.

  Hunter sent me a text as I finally left the office that night. A simple news? and nothing more.

  I knew exactly what he was referring to.

  My response was a one-worder. None.

  His reply instant. Thank fuck for that.

  I opted for some sensibility at least, and went straight from Morelli Holdings to another of my business places. One I should’ve been attending more often, in an attempt to quell some of my spiking base level urges.

  Clark wasn’t around when I stepped into the bar at Violent Delights, but I didn’t head through to the back office to track him down. I went straight to a table overlooking the main stage and clicked my fingers for service. The slut on serving duties didn’t need to ask what I was drinking. She presented my mineral water on a tray, bending down low enough that I caught sight of her cleavage in her lacy little bra.

  I didn’t bother holding back, just grabbed a fistful of her blonde hair and tugged her over my lap, sending the tray tumbling along with my drink. The bar was quiet apart from the smash of glass on the tiled floor, only a few submissive sluts hovering around on the dancefloor, and some dirty couples playing their games in the booths. They turned to stare, every pair of eyes in the place seeking out a sight to behold, but I hardly even noticed, just kept my attention fixed on the whore over my knees.

  Her position was for me, not for the onlookers.

  “Take it,” I growled, and she whimpered. She knew.

  My palms were hard and heavy, landing over her miniskirt in a few painful blows before I tugged up the fabric and ripped down her panties. Her ass cheeks were already pink and asking for more, and I gave it. I gave her slaps laced with rage, focusing on the blonde of her hair and little else. Elaine. Her thighs were pale, asking for torment. I delivered it. Her pussy was wet, and begging for my fingers. I delivered them.

  I stretched her until she was tense and hissing out curses, then slammed my fist in up to the knuckles. I made her gasp and writhe, her belly squirming on the solid bulge in my pants.

  Elaine.

  I wanted Elaine. I imagined my little blonde Constantine toy, trussed up in chains as she took my fury. I imagined her self-hurt thighs being nothing compared to the unleashing of my torment as I drew pretty lace patterns on her flesh with my whip and crop.

  I kept on stretching and slapping the girl on my lap, soaking in the view of her pale blonde hair around my fingers. Yes, she was hurting, but yes, she was liking it. My pretty bitch Elaine would like it, too – masochistic little fuck doll with beautiful, scared eyes.

  I flicked the serving girl’s clit as she squirmed, panting, driving her wild until she was moaning. Then I stopped. I was done with her pleasure.

  I forced her to her knees, my hand still twisted in her hair as I unbuckled my belt, craving the release before hurting her a damn sight more.

  But no.

  The eyes staring up at me didn’t belong to Elaine Constantine.

  The tremble of her lip wasn’t Constantine fear.

  My cock was straining but didn’t want the woman at my feet. My mouth was watering, but it wasn’t for the girl ready to give me hers.

  I pushed her away from me, leaving her as a gasping heap on the floor without giving a fuck for any shards of glass lying down there. She winced with just the one piece slicing her finger. Lucky for her.

  “More mineral water,” I barked, and she squirmed for a few seconds, gathering her breath.

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Sorry for dropping your drink, Mr. Morelli, sir.”

  She didn’t challenge me. Nobody here ever would.

  The smashed glass around my feet reminded me of the crash of mugs on the floor in that shithole of an apartment when Elaine lost her grip. I could smell it. Smell her. Taste her.

  Fuck, it was her, her, her. Always her, her, her, slamming through my filthy skull.

  I downed the mineral water when it arrived, struggling to focus on the bodies in the room around me. Surely, they’d have to do. I tried to concentrate on the cracks of whips and the wails of pain around them. I tried to stare at the submissives bound up in chains and feel even a shiver of desire to see them writhing in agony in my hands.

  But no. No, no, fucking no.

  There was only one blonde bitch I wanted in chains in front of me. There was only one woman’s wails I wanted to hear.

  I was a man who always took what I wanted from life, whenever I wanted it. I knew nothing but my own success, no matter what the cost. I climbed any mountain, no matter how steep or how tough, no matter how fucked up the mountain climb could be.

  I wanted to climb Elaine Constantine and tear her apart on the descent.

  I wanted to own her. Hurt her. Destroy her.

  That precious woman belonged to me. I needed to see her again. Soon.

  I didn’t even wait to see Clark before I up and left Violent Delights for the night. I was on the cell to Trenton before I was even out through the door and onto the sidewalk.

  “What, boss?” he asked, and I told him.

  “I need two keys, and I need them right now.”

  “What kind of locks?”

  “An outer apartment door and an inner apartment door.”

  “No problem. Where?”

  “Meet me downtown, at the backstreet apartment block at the rear of G
aol Street, under the shitty overhead light.”

  “Downtown? You serious?”

  “Just fucking get there,” I said.

  “On my way, boss.”

  My chauffeur was waiting outside the club, but I didn’t want to arrive at that dive in a car that didn’t belong there. I summoned a cab, getting far too accustomed to the cheap, stinking leather as we headed to the shitty side of town.

  Trenton was already waiting when I got there. I slammed the cab door shut behind me, and my manager of the underworld didn’t wait for my approach, just met me on the sidewalk.

  “What the hell are you doing here in this dive, Lucian? Just let me know who owes what, and I’ll chase it down.”

  “This isn’t about money,” I said, “I just want those two keys.”

  He looked at me blankly. “Why the fuck would you want keys for this shithole?”

  My stare must have been bristling with malice to mask my humiliated shame. “Why the fuck would you dare to question my business? Just get me the fucking keys.”

  He came to his senses, backing down with a sure, sorry, yeah, before stepping right up to the main door.

  Trenton had many useful skills, picking locks was something he majored in. And when you’ve been picking locks for decades, you tend to amass a neat collection of skeleton keys. Trenton had bunches of the things.

  “Looks like a sixteen,” he said before pulling a ring of keys from his pocket. He selected one, slid it in the lock and the door was open. Just like that. Once inside, he worked the key free from the ring and dropped it in my palm.

  “Next?” he asked, a smirk of satisfaction on his face.

  I led him upstairs and down the hallway to apartment seven.

  “A number three, no doubt about that,” he said and twisted the key free from its ring and dropped it into my hand without even trying it.

  I slipped the key into the lock and it turned with silent ease. My skin prickled and so did my balls as I pushed that door open, hoping with some twisted little part of me that Elaine was in there, curled up in bed. Of course she wouldn’t be in there. She was probably in her own sad little part of the Constantine compound, passed out with a drink in her hand and snow falling from her nostrils.

  I stepped inside and sure enough, the apartment was empty. Dark. Pathetic.

  Worthless.

  I flicked on the light and remembered the blonde bitch standing there in the hallway amongst her friend’s tacky little trinkets, looking so damn stunning in her fear.

  Trenton was still hovering when I turned back to face him, no doubt still trying to gauge what the fuck was going on.

  “You can go now,” I said.

  He stared at me, tipping his head.

  “How long have I been working with you now, boss?” he asked. “Twelve years, right? At least twelve years.”

  “Long enough for me to know you need to keep your thoughts where they belong. In that thick skull of yours before I crack the fucker open.”

  He knew I wouldn’t do it without severe motivation, not like I’d have done with anyone else standing in his place. We’d been acquainted for long enough to know each other’s traits and ways. I relied on Trenton Alto, even if I didn’t want to. He knew that.

  “Twelve years, and I still know fuck all about just how you work. You’re one hell of a mystery, Lucian Morelli. Even by Morelli standards.”

  I managed a smirk at him. “Stop trying to figure it out. You’ll be better off for it in the long run.”

  “No doubt,” he said, and walked away.

  The door swung closed behind him, and I stood in silence as I breathed in the space. There was the shitty tapestry opposite me, in its garish blues and its cartoon whale by a ship. The picture of grinning idiots was on the far wall by the kitchen doorway, and I stepped up closer, wondering which of the fools was the friend of Elaine’s.

  The kitchen floor was cleared, broken mugs cleaned up nicely into the trash can. There was no sign of blood on the carpet from another self-harm attempt in the aftermath of me walking away.

  I sat myself down on the couch in the living room where I’d ripped her dress from her, staring at the empty space on the floor.

  I wondered how often she was in here, drowning out whatever bullshit in her life she was so determined to bail out on. Then I wondered about that, too.

  What was it about Elaine Constantine that she despised so much? What had made her so fucked up in the head?

  It was none of my business, not worth so much as a scrap of my time. I shouldn’t have been within five miles of the place, let alone sitting on some loser girl’s couch thinking about the woman whose last breath should have been long gone, taken by my own hands.

  It was well into the early morning hours when that twisted part of me gave up for the night. I wasn’t even aware I was waiting for her, until I realized she really wasn’t coming.

  Of course she wouldn’t be coming. Why the fuck would she be coming to that hovel of a place when she had Bishop’s Landing to float around in? Fuck knows why she was there in the first place.

  I flicked off the light and headed on out of there.

  I hated myself for my excuses for wanting her pussy, because that’s what I was doing. Lying to myself. Lying to myself about just how much I wanted her pretty little slit.

  Fuck it. Fuck it all.

  Fuck my own fucking bullshit.

  I called up her calendar all over again as I waited for another stinking cab to pick me up. Wednesday night. The shitty education fundraiser was glaring out at me from my cell screen. Fucking hell.

  It was listed in a whole host of local media reports as I searched the location, Work Truths Inc. and their quarterly auction.

  Fuck!

  My fingers moved quickly, running ahead of me on the screen, giving a fuck about nothing but hunting down the Constantine bitch. I checked in for a gala seat, at a table in the centre of the venue, keying in the name I was coming to know so well.

  Terence fucking Kingsley would be hitting the auction, and this time he would be there for the world to see, as well as the one woman I wanted to claim from it.

  14

  Elaine

  Maybe Harriet would save me from myself.

  I sat there alongside her at Work Truths’ quarterly fundraiser and stared across at the tables around us. Faces I knew. Bishop’s Landing faces, and Regent Country Club faces, and celebrities hitching along for the tabloid ride. I was wearing a tight burgundy dress that showed off my cleavage, determined to at least make it as a family success in one paltry area. Better make the most of it. Even the looks department would bail on me soon enough if I carried on shoveling powder up my nose.

  Harriet kept shooting me kind glances, knowing just how much I was struggling. I hadn’t told her the full extent of the Lucian Morelli bullshit, but I’d told her enough. Enough for her to know that I was on dangerous ground, and it wasn’t the Morellis themselves that were the main threat. It was me, losing my crazy mind over the evil prince at the heart of them.

  I hadn’t snorted a single line of coke since the weekend. My palms were sweaty, and my foot was tapping under the table, fighting the withdrawal. But I was resisting. Hell knows how, but I was resisting.

  There were a few seats still empty at our table, and my stomach was jittery from nerves as well as the withdrawal. Sure enough, I looked across the room to see my mother air kissing the surrounding tables and waving to all her ‘friends’ as she made her way closer. My heart shriveled in my chest as she looked at me, coldness glaring out from her eyes under her smile.

  She hated me. She was ashamed of me. She’d given me up as worthless.

  The little girl part of me wanted to leap up and run to her, and beg her to hold me tight. I wanted to tell her I was trying to give up my ways and wasn’t going to take drugs again, I promise, I promise.

  Please, Mom. Please love me. Please.

  But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t run to her. It would hurt too damn
much when she pushed me away.

  She sat herself in the seat opposite Harriet and me at our round table, placing her champagne glass down in front of her. I knew who was going to be joining her. Lionel Constantine. My uncle. My father’s brother.

  The uncle that had been staying in my mother’s bedroom for a long, long time.

  The uncle who made his marks on me, when I was too young to know what marks were.

  Shh. Secrets.

  Our family was built on secrets. Secrets and lies.

  Even the very sight of him gave me shudders. He gave me a nod as he dropped himself into the seat beside her, and I felt my jaw tense. Cocaine screamed a fresh new tune to me, begging . . . begging . . .

  He was wearing a tuxedo with a navy-blue bowtie, and his brows were heavy and laced with gray. He was attractive even though he was fading fast. I just wished he’d fade a whole load faster and say his farewells for all time.

  I was almost considering giving up my efforts and bailing out for a line of coke, but Harriet gripped my hand under the table before I could move. Her eyes spoke more than her words ever could. She shook her head, just a little, and I took a breath, forcing myself to stay in my seat.

  I barely had a second to gather myself together before I heard Mom’s voice lashing out in its usual iciness, quiet enough to keep her spite to our table alone.

  “Nice to see you actually turn up for something, Elaine.”

  “I’ve been busy,” I told her, praying that the event started up soon to stop her bitching at me.

  I could read exactly what she was thinking. She was thinking I was a druggie disgrace and wishing I would fuck off and die quietly somewhere to save any more humiliation to the family name. That’s the thing about my mother – she was determined to keep the Constantine glitter over the drudge of our slimy ways. It was more important to her than any of us could ever be.

  I didn’t dare cast my eyes at Lionel again since he reminded me so much of a nasty, seedy version of my father, and always had done. It always made me feel sick, especially when I let thoughts of him creep inside me.