by Harper Sloan
"Uh, seriously? Why would I take my clothes off if my father is in the room? You two are so jacked up."
Ivy squints her eyes at me. She hates it when I talk back. And she really hates that I refuse to do certain things when my own father is in the room. I'm sorry, but owner or not, there is no way I'm getting naked when The Ram--what Daddy dearest himself makes me call him--is in the room. That's just a whole level of icky that I don't want to deal with. It's bad enough that my mother has been teaching me how to take my clothes off and seduce men for years.
"Don't be an ungrateful brat, Emersyn. This whole place will be yours one day. These girls all see you and wish they could have parents that would hand them the world!" she screeches in my face. "Do the trick. And do it right this time or I'll have The Ram come in here and set you straight."
"Whatever," I mutter under my breath and roll my eyes.
Reaching up, I grasp the pole with both hands, careful to place them so that I have the most support for my small frame. Luckily, I was blessed with a body that makes this somewhat easier. I'm short, but what I lack in height I make up for in legs. My mother always said that I was lucky to have such great waist-huggers. Jesus, it's a miracle I'm not completely screwed up with the douche twins as my parents. After centering my body, I give a slight bounce, lifting my body horizontal to the stage, and use my momentum to spin. I hook one of my legs around the pole, using the heel of my five-inch stilettos to keep my balance.
"Come on, Emersyn. Use those abs and curl up. That's it. Now, grip it again with your hands before you spin out."
I can hear the pride in Ivy's voice from the fact that her daughter has mastered the trick she seems to think she's made famous. Really, I just climbed the damn pole with my legs and ground my vagina on the rod. It's gross. And I hate every second of it.
Right before I'm about to end the trick and land on my feet, I feel his eyes on me. Shawn. My father's head of security and, as I've been told by my mother and father...my future. The Ram's been grooming Shawn right alongside me so that he can marry his daughter off and sit back to enjoy his douchebaggery. Really, those two combined have a level of douchiness that could clean a vagina better than Summer's Eve.
I've hated Shawn since the first day his perverted eyes basically undressed my ten-year-old body. He is fifteen years older than I am, and there is nothing that makes him craving me as a young girl okay. It only continued to get worse the older I got. The Ram didn't even blink when I told him that Shawn had tried to force himself on me one day. He literally laughed in my face and told me, 'Well, Emersyn, do you blame him?'
Shawn would maybe be a somewhat attractive man if it weren't for the fact that he looks like a mob lord. He's a good foot taller than my five-foot-five frame. Solid muscles and so much chest hair that, when he wears his signature V-necks, it puffs through the opening like some disgusting fur rug. All he's missing is the thick, gold chains. He's attractive enough. I'll give him that much. Strong jaw, full head of black hair, shaped brows, perfectly doctored nose, and full lips. He's--minus the fur--the picture of male perfection. However, he repulses me.
I don't know what makes me do it. Maybe it's the fact that Ivy seems to think I have no idea what I'm doing. Maybe it's the fact that I hate what is going to become my life when I take the stage. Or maybe it's the fact that king douche himself, Shawn, is standing in the corner, rubbing his dick through his slacks. But I take over the stage in moves that I'm sure Ivy has never even dreamed of. I climb to the top of the ten-foot pole before doing the death drop to the bottom, ending in a split then using my hands only to climb back to the top. I use every ounce of my upper-body strength to work that pole. It becomes an extension to my body as I effortlessly dance. By the time I do my last spin, my body is pulsing with power.
I might hate my life and what I've been forced to live, but if this is all that's left for my future, then I'm going to own it the best I can. That is until the day I can find my out. Find a way to escape this madness before I lose hope that there is something better out there for me.
I won't let this break me. I'm stronger than that. I'm Emersyn Rose Keeze, the Princess of Syn, and one day, when I break free of this life, I'll be a better person because of what I have had to overcome. I won't let this define me.
"Well, well... Was that for me, Emersyn?" His voice makes me want to puke. Thick, deep, and full of sexual undertones. He makes no secret that he wants me with an unhealthy desire.
"No, Shawn. That was so that Ivy would shut up and let me get off that damn stage. Definitely not for you." I roll my eyes, feeling the power of his glare beating into my naked back. "Leave the dressing room. Now."
His hand reaches out and forcefully grips my forearms, pulling me back to crash against his chest.
"Let go of me, asshole. You know The Ram won't like it if you bruise up his fucking Princess of Syn. How will you explain that one?"
"You little brat. You think you have the control here? You think that little princess shit means anything to me? The Ram will pat me on the back for putting you in your place." His warm breath against my neck makes me want to vomit. God, he's disgusting.
"Fuck you," I spit.
"Gladly, Emersyn. Fucking gladly."
I'll give him credit. He proved me wrong that day. I put up a good fight, but anything that had been left of my innocence was stolen from me that day, and even though I knew I would eventually get out, something broke inside me. Whether it was the belief that I could overcome this life, the knowledge that I had in thinking I could escape unharmed, or the fact that every second I'd lived leading up to being roughly raped in the back dressing room of my family's strip club delivered home the fact that I'm nothing but trash.
Don't get me wrong. I know I'm worth more than this life I unfortunately was born into, but something about that day will forever taint a part of my soul. I've worked so hard to keep my mind closed off from the filth that surrounds me. The mother who thinks of me as some fucked-up version of herself to relive her life through. The father who looks at me, his own flesh and blood, as an object to make him money. And the man they've promised me to. This life that has been predetermined since they found out my dad's top dancer and piece of ass was having his daughter. The name I was born into, Emersyn, Locus City's Princess of Syn, the hottest and seediest strip club in south Florida. Since that fateful day The Ram forgot to pull out of Ivy, I've been destined to take the stage. And like it or not, it's all I have, and it's going to be my ticket out of this hell.
Chapter 2--Maddox--Past
"Babe," I whisper across her skin, pulling the sheet back as I kiss down her naked back. "Time to wake up."
I continue softly kissing down her spine, enjoying the fact that, even in her sleep, her body is responding to me. Goose bumps dance across her creamy skin, and when my breath dances across her body, she shudders slightly.
"Not yet. I'm too tired," she whines.
I let out a soft chuckle against the small of her back before nipping her ass with a soft bite. She moans but continues to doze.
"Mercy, baby, it's time to go or we're going to be late. It's my last weekend here before I ship out, and as much as I would love to spend that time deep within you, we have places to be." Even if those places aren't any I particularly want to be.
She starts to protest, but I dig my fingers into her ribs and laugh when she starts squealing like a pig and all but falls out of the bed to get away from me. God, she's beautiful in the morning. Her almost-white blond hair is a mess of soft curls, most likely from my grabbing handfuls of it all night. Her porcelain skin is glowing, my whisker burns showing up around her neck, tits, and thighs. Her sapphire eyes are bright with mirth. God, it feels good to see her like this. The last couple of weeks have left a sense of impending dread thick on my skin, but seeing her like this gives me hope. Hope that we aren't drifting apart. That, even though I'm leaving, we're going to be okay. Enough hope that I can ignore that dread that still won't vanish.
Mercedes Hutchens has been my girlfriend for the last four years. We were friends before that for a few years, and when I decided to take a chance, she became my girl. And now, my fiancee. Yeah, I'm a lucky son of a bitch.
It's been hard on us though. I'm deployed more than I'm home, and I'm about to leave again. I know it's even harder on her. Especially since I can't tell her where I go when I leave her sitting at home hoping and praying that I'll return to her. She knows as much as I can tell her. My team, which is made up of seven of the baddest motherfuckers from all over the United States, goes in hot to the deepest pits of hell. We have days to prepare, sometimes for months, but one thing is always clear. We don't fucking speak about shit.
I've been doing this shit since I turned eighteen and got the hell out of my house. And more specifically, got the hell away from Diana Locke. There isn't anything about my mother that isn't toxic. She's hated me since I was a snot-nosed brat. Not my brother, Mason The Perfect, but me--just for being alive. Forever reminding me that everything I touch is tainted with the blackness she sees in my eyes.
Mason and I, we are not close, and we probably never will be. She's made the perfect Stepford son out of him, teaching him everything she knows--including how to hate me. Being the heirs to our mother's family's oil business makes them just about the most powerful assholes in Texas.
My sperm donor of a father--Diana's words, not mine--ran out on her two months after I was born. Ever since, I've never understood the deep hate she has for me. Hell, I was a baby. There isn't really much I can do about her husband running out on her. Mason was five when I was born. The silver spoon was still attached to his mouth, and he's so far up my mother's ass that I'm convinced she never cut the umbilical cord.
So I got out and away from that life. With Mercedes's blessing, I joined the Marines, where I've been in control of my own life since the fateful day I left it all behind.
Sure, I can't give Mercy a life as glamorous as it would be if I would have stuck with Locke family tradition, gotten my Ivy League education, and started working for Locke Oil. We live in a small, one-bedroom apartment and drive used cars, and the rock sitting on her finger is about a tenth of the size she deserves. This might not be the life she envisioned, but I consider myself lucky to have her by my side and that she is willing to settle for less.
We're happy and that's all that matters. Yeah, right, that voice of dread reminds me. You don't believe that--not with how she's been so closed off lately.
"Why must we go over there, Maddox? You hate your mother." Her lip comes out in a pout that makes me want to nibble on its plumpness.
"Because, baby, she made it very clear that my presence is required for whatever reason, and with my trust shares in the company being turned over to me this month, I'm not crossing her in any way. Who knows what the troll has up her sleeve? But I'm not chancing that she takes our money."
Mercedes smiles at the mention of my trust. I've been waiting until the shares of the company, something my grandfather made ironclad, are unlocked so that I can have my mother or brother buy me out. I know she's been stressed about having to pick up a second job with me leaving. I hate that she has to work so fucking hard, but at this point, we don't have a choice. She doesn't have anyone other than me.
"All right. Will...will your brother and his horrible wife be there?" She avoids my eyes.
I hate that she has to fear my brother's wife. I've never understood her dislike for Mason's wife. From what I can tell, Josephine is the polar opposite of my mother and brother.
"I'm not sure, babe. Don't worry about them though, yeah?" I lift her chin and kiss her deeply before jumping off the bed, throwing her naked body over my shoulder, and taking her to the bathroom. If we're about to suffer through family time at the Locke mansion, then we might as well get satisfied first.
Yeah, life is pretty damn perfect.
My skin starts to crawl the second the gates open to my family estate. I can see Mason's shiny, black Aston Martin parked in front of the house. Every time I see his perfectly polished car, I have to fight the urge to run my keys along the frame. Luckily, that bastard is nowhere in sight. God, I hate being here.
I pull my fifteen-year-old truck to a clanking stop behind his car and I feel humiliated of what I can't give Mercedes. She should be in the best money can buy, but here she is, pulling up to another reminder of what I failed to give her.
"Let's get this over with, Mercy. I'm ready to get the hell out of here already."
She gives me a soft smile, but her eyes are telling me everything I need to know. There's a mixture of worry and fear dancing across the surface and something else I can't quite name. Shame washes over my body, but I choke it back and climb from the cab. Once I walk over to her, I help her down before we turn to face the Queen Bitch of Texas herself.
"Well, well...if it isn't my wayward son. Maddox," she bites out in way of greeting. Her eyes are already glossed over. I'm guessing she decided to hit the bottle early today.
"Mother." I have to stop myself from bowing at her feet.
"Mercedes. Pleasure, I'm sure." She gives her a calculated, wicked smile before turning her attention back to me. "Your brother is waiting for us in the study, and do hurry. We've been waiting."
"We wouldn't want to keep your precious Mason waiting now, would we?"
She snarls before slapping me across the face. I don't even feel it anymore. Years and years at the receiving end of her mental and physical abuse is enough that I can pretty much expect to be slapped a few times every time I'm in her presence. Mercedes's hand flinches in my hold, but I squeeze it to let her know that I'm okay.
"Don't you dare speak about your brother that way, Maddox. At least he is making something of himself. He isn't off playing G.I. Joe for some thrill. He isn't fucking trash." She gives me a few beats of her ice-cold glare, her eyes so dark brown they look black. Just like mine. "Eyes of the fucking devil," she used to say to me.
"Forgive me. I wouldn't want to upset him, Diana."
"You bastard. Know your place when you're in MY house. I will be spoken to with respect, and so will your brother. And try not to ruin anything while you're here. In fact, you should just not touch anything. God forbid you taint our lives longer than necessary."
I give her a tight nod before following her through the white marble maze of her house. We reach the study and she takes a deep breath before opening the doors.
And there he is--the saint of our mother's world.
"Well, well, Maddox. You decided to come up from the slums to grace us today, I see." He laughs to himself before lifting his glass of amber-colored liquor to his lips.
His hazel eyes go to my left and I watch as he takes in all that is my Mercedes. I want nothing more than to bash his head in for looking at her that way, but I grind my teeth and steady my breathing. The quicker we get this over with, the better.
"Sit, Maddox," Diana says.
"I'm not a fucking dog," I growl.
"Yes, because you've proven otherwise with your deplorable behavior so far today."
"I'm here. I haven't done anything other than show up, and if that's deplorable, Mother, then I deeply apologize," I say. Mercy gives me a soft squeeze, reminding me to keep my cool. "Right. What was so important that I was required to stop by?"
She glares at me for a few moments before clearing her throat and looking over to Mason. I'm one hundred percent sure that Mason is the one running this farce now.
"Your brother and that terrible wife of his have decided to divorce. Unfortunately, this is going to put some strain on him for the foreseeable future. His money, the company money, is going to be frozen so that gold-digging little shit can't get her hands on it. That also means your shares in the company. Until we can get everything in order, that is."
"What the fuck!" I yell. "You can't do that. You don't have control over my trust."
Her eyes light and she laughs. "That's where you're wrong, dear boy. We had a clause put in that, i
f we feel like you're unstable or that your life and those you are surrounding yourself with are unstable, the shares in the company that would have become yours at twenty-five go into my control until I deem you stable enough to release them back to you. And honestly, Maddox, with you about to leave again--for god knows what and where--I don't feel like you have the best interest of the company. If you cared about the company and the trust you've been given of twenty-five percent of Locke Oil, then you would be doing the right thing and not playing little war games." She turns back to Mason, and not for the first time in my life, I want to grab her by the back of her hair and teach her a thing or two about who is in control of my life. "But that's neither here nor there now." Her smile is nothing short of pure evil.
"It really is a shame, brother, that you don't pay more attention to the paperwork that the family lawyers send over to you," he laughs, his eyes going back to Mercedes.
I try to remember what he's talking about but keep coming up blank. Shock and outrage that I'm once again being quite literally fucked by my own family is making it hard for me to concentrate.
"Think hard, little boy. Remember when Jefferson brought you all those papers to sign? Prenuptial agreements for your precious Mercedes to sign in light of your engagement."
I growl at Masons mention of Mercedes. They can treat me however they want, but I won't let them hurt her.
"Oh, did I make you mad?" He throws his head back and lets out a hardy laugh. "You really are a complete jarhead now."
My vision is starting to darken and I can feel the energy coming off me in waves. I want blood. I want to smash the smug-looking grins off their faces. The ones that tell me, once again, that they have won. I'm powerless when it comes to them and I fucking hate it. The last thing I need to be stressing about before I'm shipping out is this bullshit. I need my head clear. I need to be focused. And with just a five-minute conversation, they've blown that all to shit.
"I want to speak to Jefferson." My voice sounds foreign even to my own ears. The rage inside me is coming to a spilling point, and it's taking everything I have in my not to go apeshit.