#Blur (The GearShark Series Book 4)

by Cambria Hebert

  The look he gave me was a direct order. A challenge. I was supposed to act like him, to be like him.

  My eyes tore away from his, and my palm slapped onto the table as I grabbed some money. I went into autopilot, shoving the dollars wherever I could. At one point, I leaned forward and shoved my face between her tits, and she laughed and gyrated against my face.

  “Lap dances,” my father called out a little while later and leaned back in his chair with the cigar between his lips.

  The girl with the no-bra bra crooked a finger at me in the center of the room. I stood, dragged the chair with me, and when it was in the center of the room, I sank into it.

  She basically dry-humped me in the seat. I grabbed her tits, and when she rubbed them across my lips, I licked them. I grabbed her ass and squeezed, and I tilted my hips up when she dry-humped my lap.

  In truth, my stomach was churning. The shot and half a drink did nothing to make this enjoyable; it did nothing to distort what I was doing or seeing.

  The sound of my father grunting had me looking around the woman. The girl with the see-through nightie was in his lap. His hands were on her hips as she ground down on top of him. His head was bobbing as he sucked at her chest.

  I started to get up. This was just too much. Hands grabbed me from behind, pushing me back into the chair. The next thing I knew, I was being serviced by two dancers.

  My tie disappeared. My shirt was ripped open, and the belt on my dress pants was abandoned to the floor. I squirmed in the chair. Disgust and humiliation warred inside me. I just wanted this to be over. I wanted to get through it.

  In frustration, I made a sound, grabbed the girl straddling my lap, and squeezed her hips and ass. She gave a squeak, and I knew she’d likely have fingerprints on her ass, but I was beyond caring.

  “I think it’s time he gets his gift,” my father said, the girl still in his lap.

  You mean, this isn’t it?

  Fuck.

  All three girls assembled in a line in front of me.

  I stared at them, wondering what the fuck was happening now.

  “Pick one,” my father all but demanded.

  I gave him a look.

  “Pick one, or I’ll choose one for you.”

  My temper flared. All my shock and numbness was starting to boil.

  “You.” I flung a hand at the girl in leather. She looked the roughest of the three. It’s who he’d want me to pick, a test within the test.

  “Exactly who I would have chosen,” he mused. “Have fun.”

  She grabbed my hand and pulled me through a curtain in the back. The room here was much smaller, like a small box. There was a small bed with a mountain of pillows and a chair in the center of the room.

  The light in here was red, giving everything a warm cast. She shoved me down in the chair and then straddled my lap. Her hips began to rotate, and then her lips descended upon mine. I kissed her back while she rocked in my lap, until my heart felt like it was going to explode and my fingers shook with anger.

  Abruptly, I grabbed her face and pulled her back. Holding her jaw, I stared up at her. “How much did he pay you to have sex with me?”

  “Ten thousand.”

  Wow. It was impressive and insulting all at once.

  “I’m not having sex with you,” I declared. “Would you want to have sex with your father in the next room?”

  “I’m here to get paid,” she replied, rocked in my lap again, and started kissing my neck. Her hand was large, her nails long as she held my head back so she could scrape her teeth down my throat.

  “Yeah, well, I won’t tell him we didn’t actually do it. You’ll still get your paycheck.”

  She sat up, her eyes mildly surprised. She didn’t climb off me, though. Instead, she ripped open the leather vest and flung it away. Her large breasts spilled out. She took my hands and placed them on the flesh.

  “Doesn’t work that way. Not tonight,” she said, grinding some more and pushing her tits into my hands.

  “Why’s that?”

  “There’s a camera behind me. No sex, no money.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I gasped.

  She smirked, unbuttoned my pants, and shoved her fingers into the waistband of my boxers. “You got one fucked-up relationship with your father. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in here, but a father wanting to watch his son have sex? That’s a first.”

  “He’s watching?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she slid between my legs, landed on her knees, and pulled my pants and boxers down to bare my totally soft dick.

  She looked at it and then glanced up at me. “I don’t turn you on at all?”

  “Not in the least,” I spat.

  She shifted in a way that made me think she was using her body to block the fact I wasn’t rocking a raging boner.

  “Look, I’ll make it good and quick, okay? I know what I’m doing.” She picked my cock up and started massaging it in her hands.

  I wondered how many other dicks she’d touched this week. Tonight.

  “I’ll put on a show for your old man. I’ll get paid. Then you can go.”

  Her lips wrapped around my cock, her head began to bob up and down. I fisted a hand in her hair, giving it a tug. She made a sound like she liked it, so I pulled her hair again. Her nails dug into my inner thigh. I figured it was payback, but I didn’t care. I leaned back and let my head tilt up toward the ceiling like I was enjoying myself.

  My father wanted to watch me have sex. He was so desperate to prove to me I wasn’t gay he was willing to set up dates, get me drunk, bribe me with my future… and pay some ho ten grand to screw me so he could watch.

  This was beyond sick. It was demoralizing. Humiliating.

  Did he really think this made me a better man? Was this the person he truly wanted me to be?

  He would rather I be some depraved womanizer than be gay?

  No.

  No, no, no.

  It was wrong to come here. Wrong to allow myself to be led by him once again. I was stupid to believe if I just passed his test, my life would be mine again.

  It wouldn’t.

  Not ever again.

  There would always be another test.

  Another stripper. Another blowjob. Someday he’d expect a wife. Grandkids he’d never actually want to see. He expected me to be absolutely fucking miserable… just so he could look good.

  “Get off me!” I growled and shoved the woman off.

  She stumbled and fell back onto her ass as I stood.

  Quickly, I tucked my junk into my pants and fastened the buttons. My shirt was still hanging open, the tie on the floor. Inside my chest, my heart raced, my stomach lurched, and the numbness…

  It lifted like the fog on a rainy Sunday morning.

  I’d rather be someone he hated than someone I didn’t recognize when I looked in the mirror every day.

  “You’re gonna have to get your paycheck somewhere else tonight,” I spat, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Wiping away the stench of her kiss. “Go sleep with my father since he’s so hard up for some action.”

  Beyond the curtain, I heard a curse. I barged out, the curtain swinging wide with my deft movements. My father was at the table, a tablet in front of him. There was a cigar in one hand and a drink in the other.

  The son of a bitch was kicked back watching the feed of me about to nail a slut. He was enjoying this.

  Our eyes locked. My temper flared.

  Get back in there, he silently demanded.

  “You are a sick fucking pervert,” I spat. I was impressed because I didn’t yell. In fact, my tone was similar to his.

  Guess I learned something from him after all.

  “If you think I’m going to stick my dick in some girl you paid and let you watch just to prove to you I’m a real man, then you’re the one who needs fucking therapy.”

  He tossed down the cigar and the drink to stand. “Don’t you talk to me that way.”

/>   “Or what?” I spat. “You’ll take my car? My bank account? My college education?”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “You already did.” I spread my arms wide. “I’m still here. And I’m still gay. Nothing you do is going to change that.”

  He lunged forward and punched me in the face. I was ready this time. One free surprise punch, that’s all this man would ever get from me. My head snapped back, and then I swung, catching him right in the jaw.

  He looked at me with shock rippling over his features.

  I enjoyed the look.

  “Keep your money, your cars, and your fancy school. I don’t want any of it. It’s dirty money. Blood money. From here on out, I’m going to live life the way I want to, not the way you declare.”

  “Dylan!” he roared as I headed for the curtain.

  I stopped. Turned back.

  “My name is Arrow.”

  “You little son of a bitch!” he growled and lunged at me again. His hand wrapped around my throat and squeezed. Oxygen stopped flowing down my windpipe; my airway seized. I stared at him with wide eyes, scared but refusing to struggle.

  If he wanted to kill me, I’d let him. Hell, it might be easier that way.

  “Get out of my house. Out of my life. Get out, you faggot, and don’t you ever come back.”

  Tears burned the backs of my eyes. I told myself it was because I couldn’t breathe, not because he just disowned me.

  My body was tossed back, and I stumbled, falling into the thick, heavy folds of the velvet door. I gasped and wheezed. I was absolutely reeling. Beyond shock. Beyond disappointment.

  I pulled up to my full height and gave him one last look, searching, desperately searching for the man I’d always thought he was. I wanted just a glimpse, even just a nanosecond of confirmation he ever existed.

  His upper lip curled as he stared back. Disgust was the only thing I saw.

  I stopped searching. He wasn’t there.

  Out in the main room, I felt the stares of a thousand eyes. I kept moving. I didn’t look back. The bouncer opened the door before I even got there, and I ejected myself into the night like an emergency flotation device.

  The night air was cold. Clear. Brisk.

  I inhaled deep, sharp lungfuls, letting the stinging cold bring back some feeling. I stood there for long moments, still stunned, not knowing what to do.

  I had nothing. No car. No money. No place to live.

  I could call my mother. She’d come get me. She’d find me somewhere to stay.

  In that moment, I blamed her as well. This was her fault, too. I was here because… because she wasn’t strong enough. Because she married that asshole and made him my father.

  Something whispered in the back of my mind she wasn’t really to blame, but I didn’t hear those whispers just then. All I heard were the loud screams of rejection and anger.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed my brother. His voicemail picked up.

  “Hey, um, Lorhaven?” I said, realizing I sounded like the wreck I was. Pull it together. “You were right about Dad. He’s a world-class asshole. I, uh, need somewhere to stay. If you could call me back… Yeah, thanks.”

  I disconnected the call. He was probably driving tonight. He drove every night. I’d go to him. He’d know what to do.

  Unless he rejected me, too.

  The thought was sobering. Like a kick to my nads.

  It didn’t matter. I didn’t have a choice. Jace was my last option. My last hope.

  He was all I had left.

  They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. Like a mirage or images, a slideshow of the highlights and even the lows of your existence.

  As I walked, as I put distance between me and that strip club, a movie played in my mind.

  It seemed stupid and silly. Melodramatic and even kinda corny, but the images stayed. They replayed on a loop that didn’t have an off button. I watched them because I didn’t have any choice. My brain was a TV without an off switch.

  I saw myself running across a bright-green soccer field. I felt the wind rush through my hair and the way my jersey molded against my body as I ran. I recalled the joy and endorphins rushing through me as I worked with my team as the crowd cheered. Soccer was never my favorite thing in life, but I would miss it. I would miss the comradery. The sense of normalcy it gave.

  The images faded out, and a new one took its place. My mother and me and Lorhaven sitting in the living room on a large fur blanket. The sound of muted Christmas carols played in the background and a crackling fire popping and hissing as heat from the flames brushed over my cheeks. I was smaller. My hands were chubby, and I still remembered the innocence in the way I felt. All was right then. The three of us spent a lot of nights during the holiday seasons roasting marshmallows in front of the large fireplace in the living room.

  The picture of my cherry-red BMW broke into the Christmas scene. What a sweet ride it had been. A sixteen-year-old’s dream.

  Then I was walking down the hallway at school. The bright-blue lockers lined the walls, and people stood around in groups, laughing. I was smiling, smirking at something my friends said, and people would call out my name, slap me high-fives, and wave from the other end of the hall.

  People liked me. I was never the one who wasn’t liked. Even when I felt like the kid on the outside looking in, I wasn’t, not to everyone else. I seemed to fit in with every crowd, something I’d always taken for granted—probably because I didn’t realize just how much of a blessing it was.

  I didn’t know why the inside of my mind was like a reel of home movies that refused to shut down. It served as a distraction from the scene I’d just lived through back at the club, but it also brought me further down, almost as if the memories were taunting me with things that would never be again.

  I walked for several miles, toward the turf Lorhaven drove on. He had a reputation there; he was well known. All I’d have to do was say his name. Someone would find him. I was anxious to see his face. I wanted to hear him say it would all be okay, and I wanted him to sympathize with me about the total douche our father was.

  I pulled out my cell and checked the time. It was getting late, but not so late he was probably done driving. By the time I got there, maybe he would be. Maybe I’d catch the end of his race. I always liked watching him drive. I liked sitting shotgun, too. It was a rush and something I envied.

  Hell, now that I seemed to have a hella lot of time on my hands, maybe I’d take up driving, too. If I was half as good as my brother, it would be an accomplishment.

  The sound of a purring engine cut through the dark and the loudest places in my head. Headlights bounced on the pavement around me, stretching past and down the road. I glanced around, squinting into the bright light.

  I couldn’t tell who it was, only that it wasn’t Lorhaven because his car wasn’t blue.

  I expected them to drive right by. Instead, the car downshifted and slowed so it was right beside me. I kept walking but glanced over.

  The Mazda’s dark-tinted window rolled down, and the passenger looked out at me. “Yo!”

  “Hey, man,” I said, still walking.

  “You lost?”

  “No,” I said. “Going to meet my brother.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s your brother?”

  I glanced over again. “Lorhaven.”

  I heard some voices inside the car, but not what they were saying. Between the engine and the music they had thumping, it was impossible.

  The car stopped. The door popped open. “Get in!”

  My steps faltered. “What?”

  “Get in. We’ll give you a ride.”

  “You know where he is?” I asked.

  “Won’t be hard to find him. There’s a big race not far from here.”

  So they did know him. Enough to know he was a driver.

  “Cool, thanks,” I said, accepting the ride and sliding into the backseat.

  There were four guys in the car, two in the fro
nt and two in the back. It was a tight fit, but I managed to squish in next to the window.

  Once I was in, the car tore down the street, and I felt eyes on me. I glanced over to the guys beside me. There was something familiar about them, something I couldn’t quite place.

  “Hey, thanks for the lift,” I called up to the driver.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me. He was a bigger guy with a black beanie on his head. He looked familiar, too.

  “So you’re Lorhaven’s brother? Like no shit?” the driver said.

  “No shit,” I replied, still feeling the stare of one of the guys in the backseat. I glanced at him again.

  “That guy is a piece of work,” the passenger up front said.

  “You know him?” I asked, gruff. I didn’t take too kindly to people insulting my brother, and that sounded like an indirect insult.

  “Hey, aren’t you that guy from the parties over in the old Bleaker building?” the guy in the back said.

  It dawned on me where I’d seen him before. In the crowd at the parties I started going to after my “date” with Giselle. I’d seen both guys in the backseat, and I was pretty sure the driver, too. It was possible I’d seen them all, but I hadn’t gotten a good enough look at the other guy in the front.

  “Yeah, I’ve been to a few. You guys go much?”

  “Every weekend,” the guy beside me drawled. “That’s our turf.”

  I nodded, and an uncomfortable sort of feeling prickled the back of my neck. Of course that building was on someone’s turf. I’d never really thought about it before. In this part of town, everywhere was part of someone’s “turf.” I had no idea how many there were, only that there was more than one.

  And usually all the different groups hated each other.

  I swallowed. This was Lorhaven’s turf I was on… wasn’t it?

  “You’re the one who hangs out in the back,” the other guy on the end said. “Ain’t that right?”

  “I hang out by the keg,” I replied, trying to keep it light.

  Had he seen me with the guy I met up with there?

  He shook his head. “No, you’re always there dancing with that guy. I’ve seen you disappear with him a few times.”

  I swallowed.