Empire of Sin(Empire #2)(33)

I believe her. I do. As a matter of fact, I think he used that tactic on me.

A fire burns inside me and it takes everything in me to continue listening to Gwen talking about a horror movie she watched last night. It takes everything in me not to unleash that fire on him.

On the man who’s been manipulating me all along.

The asshole.

By the time Gwen leaves, I’m fuming. No, I’m about to let all the destructive energy consume me.

I can’t even concentrate on the system I’ve been carefully building for days. The codes keep blurring in front of my vision no matter how much I take deep breaths and clean my glasses.

My phone vibrates and I retrieve it with a jerk. I know who it is before I even check. The only two people who know this number are the clinic where Babushka stays and the asshole who unapologetically exchanged numbers with me after that first time in the supply room.

Knox: In five minutes, I’m going to fuck you.

I’m so tempted to send him a middle finger emoji, but I think better of it.

I’m going to do it in person.





12





KNOX





There’s been tension in my bloodstream for days. Maybe even weeks.

Since the day I fucked Anastasia and she disappeared on me, leaving only her virgin blood and a black butterfly behind.

Back then, I resisted the urge to find her, because fuck that. I don’t chase girls. They always fall into my lap and bombard my phone with calls.

But during those weeks, I couldn’t touch any of those girls and Dan started sending stupid messages in the group chat we have with our friends in England. Two of whom are Ronan and Aiden, my brothers-in-law.



Daniel: Breaking news from the Empire State. Knox’s dick is broken.

Aiden: Now, this is interesting. Tell us more.

Daniel: He hasn’t shagged for weeks.

Aiden: Bit weird that you even know of his shagging schedule, Sterling, but okay.

Daniel: That’s not the point here, fucker. It’s that he. Hasn’t. Shagged.

Cole: Agreed. Kind of a record for Van Doren.

Ronan: Did someone mention my dear brother-in-law?

Daniel: The one whose dick is broken, yes.

Ronan: I take back the dear part and also the brother-in-law part. I know no one whose dick is broken.

Aiden: Should we start to pretend he doesn’t exist in public, Astor?

Ronan: Eventually.

Cole: What’s the exact story, Dan?

Daniel: Nothing specific, just the fact that he refuses to shag. Real question, should I take him to the doctor? Trick him into it maybe? Because he needs his dick checked.

Aiden: Or you need to be less obsessed with his dick, maybe.

Daniel: You shut up. Any suggestions?

Ronan: Hookers, a solution as old as time and just as efficient. No doctors are needed, Danny boy.

Cole: Does Teal know you’re talking about hookers?

Ronan: For her brother, not me, and fuck you, Cole.

Ronan: Un-fuck you. Don’t bring it up to Teal.

Cole: Screenshot shared as we speak.

Ronan: You fucking bastard…

Daniel: Hey, motherfuckers. This is about Knox and his broken dick.

Aiden: He’s probably fucking someone behind your back.

Daniel: What? Why would he do that?

Aiden: Let me take a wild guess. Your unhealthy obsession with his dick, maybe?

Ronan: Or maybe Knox just lost his balls.

Cole: RIP.

Knox: I’m right fucking here in case you forgot, arseholes.

Aiden: Even fucking better.



Needless to say, it’s become a running joke in that fucking group chat that I’m contemplating muting until someone else becomes the joke. The most likely candidate—Ron.

Point is, this whole mess is because of Anastasia.

Deep in the back of my mind, I recognize that this is headed to the unhealthy obsession level, that I shouldn’t allow myself to be sucked into such a bottomless pit.

Which is why I have to fuck her out of my system, once and for all. That’s the plan, anyway, when I walk into the supply room.

But I’m greeted with light.

There’s never light when I take her against the wall and wrench one orgasm after the other from her. Anastasia hates it, I realize—the light. She’s more comfortable in the darkness, like me, where we can be ourselves without thinking about our identities, where we are, or the consequences.

It’s on now, the supply room’s white neon light, and it highlights the dullness of the space. The unorganized piles of papers lying around that should be in the archives.

It also puts focus on the tiny woman standing in the middle of it all, arms crossed and foot tapping on the floor. A red flush covers her cheeks and her lips are pursed in a stiff line.

I know I should probably focus on her obvious displeasure, but my gaze is stolen by the undone third button of her blouse and the hint of her lace bra and creamy breast. I would’ve never pegged her as the lacy type, but she is and it’s a fucking turn-on.

“Do you have anything to tell me?” she asks in a tone as rigid as her posture.

“I love the view.”

She follows my gaze and bunches her hand in her shirt, then jerkily buttons it. “You’re such a pervert.”

“Let me turn off the lights and I’ll show you how much of a pervert I actually am.”