The Token 8: Kiki: A Billionaire Dark Romantic Suspense

by Eros, Marata

  I give her the full weight of my gaze. “Perhaps because I don't want to. Novel concept, I know—however, very true.”

  Mick McKenna stands before me. He’s just a touch taller, wider, bigger—but not faster than I.

  He grins, immediately understanding my issue. He grabs my hand, and we crush each other in a good-natured embrace of who can hurt whose hand worse.

  Our eyes tighten, and his free hand slaps my back. Mick releases me and wraps his arm around Faren. I waste a glance on her.

  She’s beautiful: creamy skin that begs to be touched, fiery caramel hair that cascades down shoulders broad enough to visually narrow her waist but slim enough to appear fragile. She blushes under my scrutiny.

  “Sinclair,” Mick almost growls.

  I grin.

  Mick’s so territorial. “Just admiring the wife, Mick.”

  Faren's blush deepens.

  Chloe makes a disgusted noise.

  My eyes flick to Chloe’s face. Her face is cold with anger at my neglect of her.

  I throw a crumb her way.

  “Faren, this is Chloe. Mick, I know you're already acquainted.”

  Mick nods. He's not a part of the Chloe fan club.

  My parents are. They've imagined us married since primary school, but I'll never marry Chloe, or any woman for that matter.

  I've told Chloe that every way possible without actually buying a billboard advertisement.

  She makes me weary, but she has her uses.

  Faren gives Chloe a shy smile and says hi.

  Chloe looks as though she wants to squish her like a bug. “Are you Mick's physical therapist charity case?”

  My neck heats with my embarrassment.

  Mick's eyes tighten, and Faren looks crushed.

  The bitch.

  “Come on, Chloe.” I indicate the back door where we can argue with each other in private.

  “No,” she says, crossing her arms. “I'm not going anywhere until you answer my question.”

  I clamp down on my every emotion. “You're causing a scene.”

  I couldn’t care less about a scene, but I know she does.

  I'm just managing her.

  Chloe lifts a shoulder in dismissal. I lustfully glance at her skinny, windshield-wiper arms, thinking how very pleasant it would be to tear one off like an errant drumstick and beat her with it.

  Instead I inhale, look at Faren, and wince at her hurt expression. Mick's face says how he thinks I should handle it.

  “Don't insult Faren because you're angry with me.”

  Chloe leans forward, and although she’s tall, even with heels she's five inches shorter me.

  “It's that trollop from the parking lot. I watched you pursue her while you’re with me.” Her delicate chin juts out, begging to be grabbed.

  Hmm, and I thought I'd been subtle.

  I don't defend myself. Mick hides his anger badly, and Faren's eyes narrow on Chloe.

  Chloe shoots a frosty glare at Faren.

  “Is Chloe talking about... Kiki?” Faren guesses, astonished.

  I haven’t taken out engraved announcements of my intent to see her. So I've texted Kandace a few times.

  Or more than a few.

  She's a brand I've yet to try but yearn to. There are a hundred Chloes in the circles I travel. In my gut, I know Kandace King is something new, possibly rare.

  Of course, she's not a bit interested. Though today had a curious flavor. I’ll reflect on that later, once I’m out of my present miserable company.

  “Kiki?” Chloe's voice raises a few decibels.

  Ten made-up faces swivel in our direction.

  “Any louder, and you'll be declared your own cheering section,” I mention casually, taking another sip of my champagne.

  Mick says, “Chet can do whatever he wishes, date whoever he wishes.”

  Touché.

  Mick and I click crystal.

  “Yes,” I say, staring into blue eyes like ice chips, “Miss King is who we ran into a few minutes ago.”

  “What proper person has a name like Kiki?” Chloe sniffs.

  Faren comes alive, and I settle in for a Ping-Pong match. Faren is deft, having actually mastered a few atrocities in her life. I smile at Chloe.

  Faren steps into Chloe's airspace, though Chloe’s broomstick has been left behind. I smirk at my own humor, but it dies when I see Mick frowning.

  “Kiki is my best friend. I don't appreciate you adjective choice, Chloe. Kiki isn't a trollop.”

  Go, Faren. I take another sip, emptying my glass. The waiter appears at my elbow. He glances nervously between the two women.

  Mick slides a hundred-dollar bill underneath the fresh glass he plucks from the ornate silver tray.

  “Privacy.”

  The waiter bows and backs away.

  We've thankfully not entered the main room. French doors close, and suddenly, all the curious faces stare at opaque, hourglass curtain sheers.

  “Is it so ridiculous that the truly wealthy of this town choose women within their own standing?” Chloe asks. “Or do we all have to stand in line behind the muddled lower class?”

  I don't spit my champagne but just barely.

  “All right, thank you for your thoughts, but I think you're a small doses kind of person. Now we're—”

  “OD-ing,” Faren says in a droll voice.

  “She's a whore. I read the papers. Kandace King is some kind of former stripper.”

  Silence consumes us. A clock sweeps through the void of noise and ticks at us like a woodpecker.

  “She's not a whore, you presuming, gold-digging, plastic Barbie,” Faren says. “She's a lawyer. But you know what? None of that's really important for you. What matters is Kiki has caught Chet's eye, and that just gets your diamond-studded g-string in a big knot.”

  This won’t end well. However fun it's been—and entertainment is scarce—I cannot let this conversation continue unchecked.

  Chloe smiles and I know from the tenor of her expression what will come.

  Chloe says, “All you poor women who trap rich men are whores. It's all you have to offer. There’s no refinement—it's just brute sexuality and crude machinations. Period.”

  “That's enough, Chloe,” I say in a quiet voice.

  “Better put this one on a leash, Chet,” Mick says, stroking Faren's arm. “Or a muzzle. Better yet, I volunteer.”

  Chloe laughs, a brittle sound like shards of glass falling like rain.

  “You're the talk of the town, Jared McKenna.”

  I watch my friend, a man who has done much for me, withdraw. He did not make his billions as I did.

  He worked.

  My fortune was ever-present. I’m a classic trust-fund brat.

  Though the skeletons in my closet run nut to nonexistent butt.

  “I'm not interested in your gossip,” Mick says. “My wife and I have others to chat with who won't insult us so readily.”

  “Everyone knows you married Faren because she was pregnant and you felt sorry for her. Why else would you marry a stripper with a psycho stepdaddy and lame hand? Who chooses that?”

  I thought Faren had been crushed before.

  I take Chloe’s elbow, feeling the two bony protrusions on either side, and my fingers become a vice.

  “Chet…” Mick sounds worried.

  As he should be.

  I don't always find my way back through my anger. Once loose, it is a maze without end.

  A pulse beats in my forehead, keeping time with a heartbeat that's begun to spin out of control.

  “Chet!” Chloe says, a thread of fear running through her.

  “Come now.” I jerk her behind me and slam out of the entrance without making the social carousel rounds at all.

  It won't matter. My money will appease them.

  After I fuck Chloe as hard as she can take it in the back of my Porsche, she'll wish she'd kept her yap shut.

  My cock stands at attention, fueled by anger, lust, and someth
ing much darker.

  THREE

  Kiki

  I move forward hard, making sure my knee doesn't extend past my toe. The lunge drives, and I check it at the last moment. The empty bar at my shoulders is heavy as I stand up straight.

  I plow ahead with the left leg.

  Pulling myself upright, my knee kisses my chest. A rolling drop of sweat wets my tight tee at the neckline.

  One more.

  Another.

  I temper my breathing, adjusting my hand position. I stand motionless for a handful of seconds then swing the weightless bar over my head and set it with the other empties on the seemingly endless trench that holds a fleet of them.

  I grab my hot pink towel and dab it across my forehead.

  I screwed things up so badly today. I guess it doesn't matter if I didn't want to date Chet. It just feels so bad that he caught me with my panties down.

  I assumed he wanted me. My bad.

  But he really wants the Ice Queen. Which pisses me off on principle. I mean—was I just some back-door dalliance?

  A little laugh pops out as I think about my wording. Back door.... yeeeaaahhh. Liking that.

  I look up at a noise by the door as one of the elite move through the gym entrance. The Millennium Tower boasts a fine gym for residents. It’s also available for select members of the public.

  They have to pay through the nose for the privilege though.

  I turn, giving the treadmill the Glance of Hate especially reserved for it.

  Sighing, I hustle over and get on. I set the incline to eight and pick my pace, also eight.

  Eight-minute miles might run Chet off my mind.

  *

  My body's pissed. I flat-out pushed too hard. I was punishing myself.

  The weekend's here and I want to party, celebrate my end-of-the quarter push to finality.

  Instead, I'm licking my wounds in the shower. Hot water runs down my tits as I soap and lather everything.

  I can't get Chet out of my mind, even with enough exercise to make every part of me ache.

  He makes me hot and bothered—I can't deny it.

  But he's Mick's friend, and I don't want to bust that up or strain my friendship with Faren.

  For the first time, I don't know if I would be calling the shots, the one in charge in our relationship. There's just something about him... and it's not the cash river he's floating on. It's like there's a secret spring welling up inside him, always rushing underneath the surface. Am I the only one who sees it?

  I don't know if I want to be eaten up by that river.

  I grin, and water runs into my mouth. Actually, he probably would be okay to do that.

  My smile gets wiped when I think of how he pounded Thorn. Chet's a dangerous guy, and Thorn would shit a turtle if he knew who I'm thinking about while my soapy hands are between my legs.

  My hands between my legs.

  I rinse green tea soap from my right finger before I work my clit. My breaths come in pants as I stroke myself.

  My shame that Chet is the main star of my fantasy isn't enough to stop my frenetic pace. I split my pussy, plunge a finger inside, and bring it back to the pleasure button.

  I think of Chet's mouth on me instead of my finger, his teeth nibbling at my sensitive bits. I press a foot against the wall of the shower, spreading myself further.

  My pussy pulses hard at the thought of his lips against my hot, wet flesh—his cock inside me as I spread myself like a defiled flower.

  Another dip of my finger, and an orgasm like the mother of all orgasms crashes over my body.

  My palm hits the glass blocks of the shower wall as I slide to my knees. The water beats against my back.

  It swallows my tears and runs down the drain.

  My pussy throbs in pleasure, having chosen a long time ago.

  My tears are for choices that suck.

  *

  My mood is shit as I throw on hot pink sweatpants and huff around my condo. I'm like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof. I keep trying to escape something too high to jump off and too hot to cling to.

  I throw my waist-length hair into a hair tie and strap the mess into a knot that parallels a turban.

  Plunking down at my kitchen table, I check my cell: 7:01.

  Kiki has nowhere to go.

  Chet's mouth blazes in my mind. My crotch gives a little sigh.

  God.

  I dump my chin into my palm as I scroll through my messages. Seeing one from Faren, I tap it and read.

  The cell buzzes in my hand with an incoming call.

  My eyebrows knit.

  Why is she calling...?

  I hit the phone icon to answer.

  I hope everything's okay with Shane. I chew my lip while I think about the carrot-top cutie. I dig being an aunt, though I bitch about it at every opportunity.

  Faren probably sees through it.

  “Hey!” Faren says, breathless.

  “Is everything okay?”

  After a pause, she says, “Why wouldn't it be?” Faren sounds puzzled.

  “I saw I'd missed a call...” I didn't know how to say it.

  “We're not talking enough if you immediately think something's wrong when I call.”

  True. “Is Shane okay?”

  “Yes, he's perfect. Well, he's got a sniffle so he's in bed an hour early. Hot plans for tonight?” she asks with a smile in her voice.

  I open my mouth to answer, but Faren interrupts, “Oh my God!”

  I pull the phone away. “Scream it, why don't ya?”

  “Sorry.” Her voice drops to a conspirator's whisper. “I saw Chet today.”

  Me too. “So?”

  She breezes on without noticing.

  “And he was with this dumb bitch—” I begin.

  “I know. She called you a trollop,” Faren says.

  “Really?” I say, unable to stop laughing. “Damn. Who the hell uses that word anymore?”

  “The hoity-toity.”

  I wag a finger she can't see. “Hey, aren't you one of them now?”

  “I'm immune,” Faren says smugly.

  “I don't think so.”

  “Mostly immune,” she corrects.

  “The rich aren't a different species or something. And there're degrees of wealth. Mick's rich, but there are the born rich and the made rich. Mick's made—Chet's born.”

  “Rich is rich,” I say, unconvinced. What I am convinced of is that Chet's been playing me. Like I’m some kind of conquest he finds challenging.

  It doesn't change where I want his mouth.

  “What's the sigh for?” Faren asks.

  I didn't realize I'd done that aloud.

  “I—it sucked is all.”

  “Listen, that Chloe bitch was hard as nails. She went on about me in front of Mick. It was so bad Chet left early. She made a scene, and he got her out of there like his pants were on fire.”

  Probably are. Gives new meaning to hot pants. “Did he say anything about me?” I sound like I'm all needy and shit.

  “No, but I don't think he liked Chloe calling you a trollop.”

  I bite my lip again. “I'm not some virgin. I'm a former stripper from the wrong side of the tracks. The illegitimate daughter of a French mob boss.”

  “That's quite a list,” Faren says.

  “Don't play coy.”

  She snorts. “Stop making a tally of what you think is wrong with you. You're Kiki! You’re the sole reason I have Mick.”

  “Not all.”

  “A lot. Now listen, you can cheerlead with the best of them. Why are you letting this get to you? My mom would say ʻconsider the source.ʼ”

  “Oh yeah? Well that source is a rich, blond, perfect model. That's who belongs with Chet. That's who he was with, Faren.”

  “He might be with you if you'd text him back.”

  “Chet's not the right dude for me,” I say.

  “Mick thinks he is.”

  News to me. “I thought you were the one trying to se
t us up? When your water broke and Chet took me home… god, it was ten degrees of awkward. It was like the silence had words. I'll never forget it.”

  Or the way his large hands had commanded the car as we left Mick's mansion in Redmond. He took every highway twenty miles over the speed limit to get downtown.

  It was dark when he took me home, but I still should have recognized his car today in the lot. I wasn't looking for it, unguarded.

  “It's called chemistry, Kik.”

  “A penis is a penis is a penis.”

  “Ah-huh.” Faren clucks.

  I huff. “Listen, he has blondie. He can do her anytime. He doesn't need a former exotic dancer who doesn't match him or his life. I'm like what doesn't belong or something.”

  “Not true. Mick says Chet's never been rejected by anyone.”

  I lift my palm in defeat. “Of course! He's Moneybags Sinclair. He can have any chick with a pulse and a pussy.”

  “God, Kiki...”

  “It's true.” I cross my arms, my shoulder hiked against the phone.

  “You've made my point—Chet could have anyone. So he must want you. Think it through.”

  I sit there for half a minute. My shoulders drop, and I catch the phone before it falls. I grip it tightly. “So why does he want me?”

  “Exactly,” she returns like a volley. “He doesn't want-want, Chloe. She's just… she's just easy.”

  I smirk. I bet she is.

  “The next time he texts—answer. Give it a try. Promise me.”

  “Why am I listening to you?” I ask, but I'm smiling.

  Her answer steals my grin.

  “Because I listened to you.”

  FOUR

  Chet

  “Chet!” Chloe squeals like a pig. It could be because the side of her face is being flat-palmed against the leather seat.

  “You know what I need. I've been utterly clear. Now spread your legs and give me what I need.”

  “Not like this! I'm better than this. Not in the backseat.”

  So much better in the backseat. “Oh yes in the backseat. Your bad behavior toward my friends will not be abided. You deserve the punishment I feel honor-bound to mete out.”

  I stuff a finger in her pussy and find it wet and ready.

  As usual, the ill-treatment is exactly what Chloe needs. Her dark, shameful secret is a need for degradation.