by CJ Warrant
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Publisher’s Note:
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination.
Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.
Solstice Publishing - www.solsticepublishing.com
Copyright 2018 – CJ Warrant
Sweet Redemption
CJ Warrant
For my sister, Theresa
Sometimes a Prince will show in the most unexpected places.
Chapter One
Markus
My knees hit the cold grey ceramic tile with a crack. I grunted out in pain as my head hovered over the white toilet bowl, puking out the contents of my late night debauchery. The acrid flavor of booze and whatever the fuck I ate in the last six hours coated my mouth and throat. What the hell was I thinking of, partying on a Monday night?
As the heaves left me, I spat once and flushed the toilet, but not before I closed the lid. I hated seeing that kind of shit, even though I created it.
I collapsed against the black and silver wallpapered wall, exhausted. One knee up and an elbow to that knee, my hand supported the weight of my lulling head, which felt like a twenty-pound bowling ball. My stomach ached, but the acid burn down my throat eased up. A good sign.
I looked around the pristine upscale hotel bathroom and cringed. How long could I keep up this pace of self-destruction? Would I be alive in another year? I knew that answer. Fuck no.
On shaky legs, I stood and stripped out of my rumpled vomit-stained pants. I opened the glass door to the shower and turned on the water.
Hot, wet and so soothing to my numbed senses, I stood under the jet stream and let the water wash away all the filth.
Shit. I wish it could wash away the past and the biggest mistake of my life.
Almost sleeping with my brother’s wife was a big fucking screw-up in my life. But for all it was worth, that bitch lied to me. Brittany and Bryce weren't separated and hadn't filed for a divorce. Under her manipulating sharp tongue, I lost not only my twin brother’s trust but also the close bond we shared.
Though, in my defense, I hadn’t seen or heard from my brother in over a year. And the way Brit slept around, I figured what she spewed had to be true. Yet, there was no amount of excuse to remove what I did that cursed night. Aside from my bad judgment to believe that bitch, I should have never touched her.
The hurt and rage on Bryce’s face when he had walked in on us said it all. The only way to make amends was to leave. So I left the family’s firm and the only town I had ever called home.
Our grandfather had built the law firm from the ground up, to where it was today. The man had handed it down to his son and should have been passed to Bryce and myself. Last I heard, the firm would be turned solely over to my brother. He deserved it.
It has been almost two years now since I left Chicago, but the pain from my betrayal still left a black hole in my chest.
Damn it. I missed the sweet summer air of Lake Michigan, the bustling sounds of the city—I missed my brother too—so much, but I couldn’t go back. Especially not after the way I had retreated like a fucking coward.
I dipped my head under the hot spray and let the pelting water ease the tension from my scalp.
A breath of cold air seeped into the shower. I turned my head slightly and out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of blonde.
Before I could fully turn around, two slim arms wrapped around my middle and tightened. Cool skin—fake double D breasts, pressed against my heated back, rubbing up and down.
“You feel so good, Markus. You’re so hot.” Clarissa cooed as her fingers slid down my chest and cupped my flaccid dick. “And so addictive. I can’t get enough of your cock.”
“Oh really?” I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my tone. Normally, it wouldn’t take much to get me started, but tonight I knew it was a bad idea hooking up with Clarissa.
Though, I couldn’t speak for my dick, which had another agenda as her fingers began to stroke with purpose. I turned fully around in Clarissa’s arms, studied her face through the veil of spraying water between us. My hands stayed at my sides as I contemplated if I had enough of the bullshit. Was a fast hookup with no commitment for the future was what I wanted out of my life?
Hell no, but my dick was in the mood and I didn’t fight the need.
Clarissa held up a condom package. “Fuck me, Markus Landry,” she purred like a stroked kitten. She released my dick and slowly raked her fingernails down my shoulders, then across my nipples, pulling a hiss from my lips.
The sudden pleasure at the slight pain her nails caused had me leaning forward. My hands cupped her well-defined ass and lifted her slightly, as her left leg automatically wrapped around my waist. We were hip to hip so I could rut against her.
“What do you want, Clarissa?” I growled out, wanting her mouth around my dick so she could finish me off fast.
She wrapped her arms around my neck and groaned. “Fuck me, Markus. Fuck me hard and good.”
“No.” I loosened my grip and she slid down my body until her knees hit wet tile.
“Then let me suck you,” she said as her eyes strayed to my length. The tip of her tongue danced across her lower lip, hungry and wanting.
I gave her a single nod, my approval, which she keenly began sucking me off as though she was starved. I took a hard hold of her hair and watched her swallow me whole, all the way to the back of her throat.
With a firm grip at the base of my shaft, her tongue laved every inch of my hard flesh with eagerness. My hips began to pump, filling her mouth with assured strokes. Between the heat of the shower hitting my back and the way Clarissa attacked my cock with gusto, I eased into euphoria and knew I wasn’t going to last long.
Without much encouragement, I moved faster until my balls tightened and a familiar charge at the base of my spine jacked up my back and I unloaded down her throat. I tried to pull back, but Clarissa wrapped her arms around my waist and sucked me dry.
I bowed forward, my hands landing on the tiled wall. She finally released me and stood, wanting a kiss for her earnest efforts but I pulled away, not wanting any more of her touch. I rinsed off and then stepped out before Clarissa got any more bright ideas to prolong this moment.
Yeah, I’m a total prick.
“Hey, what about finishing the shower with me?” She sounded petulant. Clarissa hitched a hand to her hip and then jutted her tits out as though she used them for balance. Fuck, I hate whiny women. Granted, I was about to walk away, leaving her unsatisfied, but didn’t I mention I was a prick?
I stopped and frowned down at Clarissa, who stood waiting. “Thanks babe, I needed that. Now that you’ve had your fill, I have to go. I think it’s best you do the same.” I turned around and left the bathroom.
The last thing I heard before I retreated to the bedroom to dress was, “You fucking bastard.”
Yes, that was me. A fucking bastard.
***
Not able to sleep when I got home, I paced the living room. I knew it was a huge mistake hooking with a Clarissa again. Even though she was a good piece of ass, I knew she wanted more—like most single women in the social circle I occasionally hung out with. They saw me as wealthy single man, who could offer them the world. Marriage, wealth and a level of prestige.
I grabbed a beer from the fridge, because why not add more alcohol to my twisted state of mind? I took a long pull from the bottle. I gazed out at the skyline of Los Angeles, wishing I were somewhere else. Beautiful, but nothing gave me joy like sweet home Chicago.
Home.
The solid mass of raw pain implanted deep in my chest seemed to grow as each day passed. It was a constant reminder of how fucked up my life turned out to be. I had to finally admit it was a massive mistake that I left. Ran like a fucking pussy was more like it.
Remembering the night Bryce and I brawled outside the Christmas party our father had thrown for the clients of the firm. It was the last straw for my brother and the pain I’d caused him. I had no choice but to leave.
Letting go of my family—the connections I had in Chicago—was the toughest thing I had ever done. No matter how fucked up my parents were, they were still my family. The pressure Dad had put on my shoulders since I was a kid never went away. Even two thousand miles away, that man had influence over me.
I always had to prove to be better than everyone else, especially against my own brother. Mom had dampened some of the conflict when we were kids, but not by much. To the day I left Chicago, Markus Landry Senior pitted his sons against each other like some familial blood sport.
The hypocrisy in my family had me chuckling cynically. Picture it. A loving and doting mother, a father who was there at every level of his sons’ achievements…it had been nothing but bullshit. I knew it and so did Bryce. The only difference between my brother and I was that I went against the grain where my father was concerned. Whereas Bryce flowed along with what our father wanted. Never argue because it wasn’t worth verbal torment.
I had questioned the jealousy that rose inside me at times. But no matter what, I was damn proud of my brother’s accomplishments. It wasn’t our fault that our dear old Dad pitted us against each other. The old man's verbal brutality wore down our bond until there was barely a thin string holding us as brothers. Then I go fucking around with his fiancé and that eviscerated the last bit of connection I had with him.
I slugged down the rest of the beer and checked my Rolex. It read 1:22 a.m. It was 3:22 in Chicago. I wondered if I called home, if the P’s would pick up?
I let out a huff of laughter. If they pick up at all, Mom would start reprimanding me for my inappropriate timing, even after nearly two years of not speaking to me. Then she would have promptly hung up.
I turned away from the window, not caring what was out there. As I retreated to the kitchen, I let out a long sigh when my cell phone rang. Who the fuck was calling me this late? I pulled the phone out of my pants pocket and stared down at the screen.
I was hesitant to answer. Not recognizing the number, but it was a Chicago based area code. I tapped the green circle anyway and answered. “Hello.”
“Markus?” I knew the voice right away. It was Beth Monroe, Bryce’s girlfriend. She was the only one who ever called me by my full name.
“Bethie?” I said with a thin smile. Back in college, she made the best damn chocolate chip cookies ever. So it was no surprise to hear that she opened up a bakery in the South Loop called Sweet Cupids. Beth was a sweet girl then—still was. She was perfect for Bryce and I hoped he was happy with his new life.
“Yeah, it’s me. I…” Her words faltered on a soft hitch, which had my spine stiffen.
“Is everything alright? How did you get this number?” I asked. Pressure started to grow at the center of my chest and expanded fast when there was a pause on the other end of the line.
“Brian gave me your number—Markus, listen to me.” She sounded serious, but Beth always had been.
“Okay. What do I have the honor of this phone call?” I couldn’t keep some the sarcasm out of my voice, and instantly regretted it. Beth had always treated me with respect. She didn’t deserve my animosity. “Sorry Beth. What is it?”
There was another pause before she spoke, which twisted my gut tighter. “I’m calling to let you know that your mother died tonight.”
For a second, I wasn’t sure if I had heard her correctly. “W-what did you say?”
“Your mother had a heart attack two days ago, and fell into a coma. We tried to get a hold of you, but your last cell number was disconnected. Bryce finally tracked Brian down late last night and got your number from him. Markus, the doctor told your father that your mother’s brain scan showed no activity. So your father, in compliance with your mother’s living will, had her pulled off of life support.”
My legs gave out from under me and I collapsed against the square island in the middle of the kitchen, my head smacking against the edge of the granite countertop as I slid down to the floor. The pain lanced through my skull, but the news of Mom’s death ripped my heart and lungs right out of my chest.
“Markus?”
“Yeah.” My voice cracked in response. Was I crying? Swiping my hand across my wet face…Shit. I was crying. Even with all the pompousness and arrogance, she was a good mother. She didn’t deserve to die. And now, I could never say what I wanted to say to her. I’m sorry, Mom.
Apologize for leaving. Sorry for not calling her back and not being there to say goodbye. Just so damned sorry for…everything.
If it were my father who died, I wouldn’t waste a single fucking tear for the man. By all accounts, Markus Sr. should be the one lying in the morgue. The hatred I had for the old man burned so deep with such passion, I could drown from it. But my mother? This was unfair.
“Your father is requesting that you come home right away for the funeral arrangements.”
Requesting? Yeah, right. That man never asked for anything. He demanded it.
“Can you and Bryce handle it?” I choked out the words as numbness started to spread out through my body. Flashes of memories of the strong woman I knew her to be hit me hard, which added another layer of grueling agony to my battered heart.
“Yes, sure. But Markus?” Beth’s voice pulled me out of his dark reflection.
“Yeah?” I wiped another runaway tear.
“Your father wants the wake to be held this Friday,” Beth said.
“Fine,” I bit out.
“Okay. When do you think you’ll arrive? Bryce and I will pick you up at the airport.”
“I’m going to drive in,” I said quickly. I wasn’t sure where that idea came from, but I knew I needed to clear my head and a drive home…home, would do it. I hoped anyway.
“Driving?” Beth asked, surprised. “Why?”
“Need to clear my head.” And the last thing I wanted to do was to walk in with tears in my eyes in front of the old man and give him something else to use against me.
There was a long pause before she spoke again. “I understand. Call us—me, when you get here.”
“Beth?”
“Yes, Markus?”
“Why didn’t Bryce or Dad call me?” The silence on the other end of the phone spoke volumes. “Don’t bother answering. I get it.”
“We’ll get through this. Together.” Beth said those words like a pledge. I loved her optimism, but she’d never endured a Landry crisis before, and this topped the heap—no. My mother’s death obliterated it.
“See you in a few days, Beth.” With that, I hung up.
With my ass still on the floor in the kitchen, I leaned back against the island, contemplating what I needed to do first. Driving would give me time to reflect, but there was nothing I could do to bring back my mother.
I stood and looked down at my hands. The empty bottle of beer was still tight in my grip; I chucked it hard and fast against the wall. Glass exploded on contact. Shards were everywhere. Thanks to the island, it took most of the glass from the blowback.
Fuck. I walked out of the kitchen and began to make some calls.
Chapter Two
Markus
“Damn it,” I hissed in frustration as I stepped out of the small one-car garage with a m
onster sized headache brewing at the back of my skull. This was what I got for not listening to my instincts. I’m a dumbass.
I should have just settled on the idea of taking the plane home. No. Instead, I decided to drive and now I was stuck in a town the size of a postage stamp.
Valentine, Oklahoma, which was barely six blocks wide and six blocks long. The town surrounded by miles of snow laced cornfields—which by the way, there shouldn’t be any snow in the middle of April, damn it. One gas station and two stoplights, what was not to love? You couldn’t get any more rural than this place.
Anyway, who would name a near desolate town Valentine? I wasn’t feeling any love right now. Not with a pierced gas tank from something sharp I accidentally ran over.
I knew I was screwed with my timeline to get to Chicago early, if this mechanic couldn’t fix my Porsche. I had two days left before the wake. Two days before I had to face my family. My brother.
What didn’t I expect from April weather. Though, I was glad to have taken the southern route to Chicago; the weather turned blustery and snow accumulation was growing between northern Texas to Oklahoma. The snow, wind and ice were like playing Russian roulette while driving these roads. And I had a punctured gas tank to prove it. Luckily, I didn’t get into an accident with another vehicle, or hurt someone, or worse.
I hoped that the mechanic named Mike could work miracles and get my ass back on the road soon. Just in case, I scrolled through my cell phone for possible flights out of Oklahoma City’s Will Rogers Airport, which happened to be two hours away.
Mike lumbered out of the garage and frowned at me. The big man rubbed the back of his neck as though he didn’t have the words to explain. “Well…” Damn, this wasn’t good. “It’s gonna take time.”
“How long?” I asked with gritted teeth, hoping he’d say an hour or two because I wasn’t eager on staying any longer in this town.