The Revenge Games Duet

by Kat T. Masen

  I bury myself into her side, sliding my hand into my favorite spot—the crevice just beneath her tits. Her scent is intoxicating, and I feel myself becoming instantly hard. “I am needy,” I tell her, rubbing myself against her hip. “I need you on all fours and your ass in my face... now.”

  She smacks me with the manuscript, bruising my ego only. I pull away and lie on my back. My head’s against the soft pillow, so I switch the television on until she yanks the remote out of my hands and switches it off.

  “I’m ready.” There’s a nervous smile on her face and a sudden burst of energy. Odd, coming from a distracted woman who was busy reading only moments ago.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.” She removes her tank exposing her tits. Fuck, they’re so fucking perfect I could cry. Seriously—tit heaven. “Oh, and I have something special.”

  “A swing?”

  “No.”

  “Anal beads?”

  “No…” she hesitates. “But I guess you could use it in my ass if you want.”

  She removes something from under the bed and places it in front of me. It’s a black box. I open it and find a vibrator inside. It’s blue with pink polka dots all over it.

  “Apparently, it has multiple speed settings and can get you off in less than a minute. Plus, it’s pretty, don’t you think?” she rambles on.

  I can hear the anxious tone in her voice. Something isn’t quite right, and rather than lead with my dick, I watch her with curiosity. She’s on her knees, topless with her eyes wide staring back at me. The corner of her lip is trapped beneath her bite while she twists the end of her hair around her finger almost fidgeting.

  “I can get you off in less than a minute,” I remind her, gazing longingly at her chest. “And your nipples are hard.”

  “Yeah, they’re sensitive.”

  “You’re hiding something.”

  She’s quick to open her mouth. “No, I’m not.”

  I know her too well, she’s definitely hiding something. But what? Then, it dawns on me.

  The day of the week. Monday night. The deadliest night of the week.

  “Wow, you think you’re gonna get off so easy?”

  “C’mon, you do this every Monday night, and then I have to deal with sour and jealous Logan.”

  “Funny, you weren’t complaining when you came three times in a row.”

  “No...” she trails off. “But still, why the hell do you watch? Who cares! It’s over with him now. I want no part in this.”

  We have this argument every Monday night. I know she’s already watched the episodes when her producer couriers them over. I don’t know why I can’t stop. It drives me fucking insane having to watch her fool around with Wesley onscreen.

  I don’t want to talk myself out of it, ignoring my raging dick and her half-naked body. With just one press of the remote the television comes on and I stare at the screen waiting.

  Emmy lets out a loud huff, falling back onto the bed and covering her face with a muffled scream. I ignore her overdramatic behavior and spend the next forty minutes with my stomach in knots, bile rising in my throat, and my blood pumping so fucking hard I’m on the verge of a migraine.

  It’s the episode when they went to London. I should seek solace in the fact she’d been fucking me behind his back yet, that doesn’t seem to make it any easier watching them with each other and the way the episodes are edited to make them so united.

  I switch off the television and stare blankly at the black screen.

  “You’re your own worst enemy,” she says stubbornly. “You can either sit there and sulk like you always do, and not talk to me for the rest of the night until you crack because, again, you’re your own worst enemy, or... you can turn around and keep perfectly still, quiet if you want to brood and I’ll just give you a show.”

  It piques my attention, yet I maintain my broody persona because I don’t want to jump the gun so quickly and look like a pussy.

  And speaking of pussies, there’s one staring at me when I turn around.

  She’s lying on the bed, two pillows propped up behind her, so her body is angled perfectly. Her long, lean legs appear even longer in that position. Smooth and irresistible. Her knees are resting against each other, but when she notices she has my undivided attention, she spreads them enough for me to see the full view.

  “I realized when we began our steamy affair you enjoy it when I try new things.”

  My lips remain still, desperately trying to hide my smirk. “Well, you didn’t like anal play.”

  “I didn’t.” She shakes her head. “I think we can both agree that I do now.”

  “You certainly do.” I lick my lips, crawling toward her until I’m close enough to smell her arousal. “So, what’s left?”

  “What did you tell me last week was a fantasy of yours?”

  This is a trick question.

  My male instinct tells me not to answer, yet I do because I have some sort of death wish.

  “A threesome?”

  She snorts. “Two guys and me?”

  “Is that a joke?”

  “Much like your answer.”

  “Fine.” I roll my eyes at her and continue to play this ridiculous game hoping I’d get a ‘happy ending’ soon. “Bondage?”

  “No, but I’m not opposed to it.”

  “Fisting?”

  “Oh, my God!” she yells, wincing. “No.”

  I give up in frustration because her naked body is begging to be fucked.

  “Honestly, do you know how much I say during sex? You’re catching me at a weak moment. I can barely remember my name half the time.”

  “Squirting,” she responds with a satisfied smile. “You told me you wanted to watch me squirt. Now, I can’t make any promises but this bad boy over here is supposed to do the trick.”

  With a wide grin, I lean my head in far enough to rub the tip of my nose against hers. Our lips are inches away from each other.

  “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “Uh-huh,” she says with a straight face until her mouth widens into a smile. “Talk to my vagina because the face don’t wanna hear it.”

  I slap the side of her thigh which causes her to squeal, then straighten my back. My woman is about to give me the show of a lifetime.

  I realize then that she’ll do anything for me, as silly and boundary-pushing as it may be. And so, I will do the same for her.

  Tonight, after all is said and done and I’m completely covered in her juices, I will sign the dotted line on the contract that’s been sitting on our dining table for weeks. A contract that causes this huge divide between us every time we try to discuss it.

  Our own reality television show.

  Eight episodes.

  One season.

  All us—completely raw and unscripted.

  WESLEY RICH

  The words are coming out of her mouth but they don’t make any sense. Farrah continues to talk while standing in front of the mirror—wearing only her pink lace thong—applying fresh red lipstick onto her fake pout.

  “I mean really, Wes, did you honestly not see that Emerson was fucking Logan behind your back?”

  I saw. I watched. I felt completely helpless after my own actions.

  Despite our somewhat turbulent relationship, Emerson had a way of standing her own ground. She got what she wanted indirectly even if I didn’t know it at the time. I had controlled her wild spirit as much as I could over the years, but even then she had a way of making me feel like I had zero control over her.

  And perhaps—that’s why I proposed marriage.

  Yeah, I loved her.

  She was convenient.

  We worked together, and it was either her or some Hollywood bimbo like Farrah who would end up as my wife. At least Emerson was hot and intelligent. She had an annoying family though, who I had planned to get rid of. Distance her from them as much as possible because I couldn’t stand them stealing her attention away from me. That and her br
other’s a fucking moron.

  “What do you care anyway, Farrah? You sucked my dick, hell, you even shoved it up that tight ass of yours. Let it fucking go already.”

  The shrill in her laughter is disturbing. “How can you let it go? You got played in front of the whole world!”

  This bitch is riding my tail and it’s time to cut her loose. I don’t need anyone else shoving my failures in my fucking face.

  “You’ve always been jealous of Em. The whole world saw that,” I respond too eagerly.

  Her face remains stiff. Emotionless from the Botox injected into her once-youthful skin. I know she’s threatened by the truth. Finally, it’s enough to shut her up already.

  Moving to the bed, she crawls toward me until she’s straddling my body with her tits against my chest. They’re massive, an eyesore, great for a tit-fuck but not as good as the real deal.

  Not as soft as Emerson’s.

  Don’t torture yourself.

  “Funny, Wes. I was never jealous of Emerson Chase… I just don’t like her. In fact, I despise her. Enough to make sure that big dick of yours got in trouble in Amsterdam.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Let’s just say it was my idea those two whores visited your hotel room, and maybe, it was the network’s idea to break the two of you up. You know, for ratings and all.”

  My memory jogs back as quick as it can to that night.

  Some boys and I had been at the club, drinking hard and hanging with some girls. It was innocent until the last drink when things got blurry and I lost control of my actions. I remember being in the room with these women and on the biggest high ever. Yeah, I’d sniffed coke before but that was years ago. These women came to my room with the goods and I caved. I don’t know why I did.

  “Are you telling me it was a setup?”

  Farrah laughs while caressing my cheek. “Sweetie, Emerson isn’t right for you. So, you fucked two whores? Even if I didn’t send them to your room you would’ve fucked someone else anyway.”

  I never cheated on Emerson. Okay, like when we were first dating I scored some head from some random women, but I hadn’t cheated on her since we moved in together. It was only when I had my suspicions about Logan that I let Farrah fuck me. Purely because she offered and I needed a release.

  “Get off me,” I demand, angry and uncontrolled.

  “Why are you so worked up? The whore moved on to Logan.”

  “Why?” I ask loudly. “Because this would have never have happened if you didn’t fucking get involved. You’re telling me it was a setup and you expect me to fucking act like my whole world didn’t fall apart?”

  I push her off me, her body losing balance as she tumbles off the bed and onto the floor. With a yelp followed by small cries, she manages to stand up examining the bump on her head from hitting the table.

  “You’ll pay for that Wesley Rich.”

  “Fuck off, Farrah.”

  “You’ve got a choice...” she composes herself and fixes her hair with a calm smile planted on her unreadable face, “… you can tell the world that the baby inside me is yours and not Jeffrey Marsh’s or, I can take a snap of this beautiful bruise and share your dark little secret.”

  “What the fuck are you going on about?” I spit out with frustration.

  “That Wesley Rich is an abusive drug addict who tried to hurt me when the cameras aren’t around.”

  “You wouldn’t dare...” I warn her.

  She walks to where I’m standing and wraps her arms around my waist. Her naked torso disturbs me because underneath the plastic lays a cold and bitter heart. One so dark and twisted that nothing else could taint it.

  “Try me, Wesley. When I don’t get what I want, everyone gets hurt.”

  I have no choice—again.

  My life is being dictated by a woman driven by greed, money, and power. Jealous of everything that brings me happiness. Out to destroy anyone in my life who I love.

  A replicate of my mother.

  The person I hate most in this world.

  A Note To The Reader

  Bad Boy Rich can be read as a standalone book. However, if you fall in love with Wesley Rich and want to know how he became an asshole, check out Kicking Reality.

  It would be impossible to portray a Hollywood megastar without the cold, harsh reality that behind the scenes, this industry can be all shades of fucked-up.

  So here is, in my sweetest voice possible, a warning that you’re going to love him. Then hate him. Then really hate him.

  Sex, drugs, and a messed-up childhood.

  All the traits of the ultimate Bad Boy.

  Playlist For Bad Boy Rich

  These are some of the songs that inspired me and made my characters come alive for Bad Boy Rich.

  I Want It That Way by Backstreet Boys

  Miss Independent by Kelly Clarkson

  Help! by The Beatles

  Creep by Radiohead

  Cuz I Can by Pink

  Somebody To You by The Vamps ft. Demi Lovato

  Sway by Bic Runga

  Dusk Till Dawn by Zayn ft. Sia

  If I Knew by Bruno Mars

  In The End by Linkin Park

  I Need A Doctor by Dr. Dre ft. Eminem

  Too Good At Goodbyes by Sam Smith

  You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette

  Nobody Knows by The Tony Rich Project

  Can’t Smile Without You by Barry Manilow

  Prologue

  My fingers trace the rim of the glass, slowly gliding against the smooth edge and eyeing the amber liquid with a desperate thirst.

  The noise outside the room travels through the house—loud, blaring rock music and incessant laughter from people I don’t care to be around. The same people, crowd, pathetic excuses for human beings latching onto me for my fame and money.

  In the end, that’s all I’m worth.

  The flat screen is perched on the wall, teasing me with an image of her face. A memory which lingers and became my living nightmare. My mistakes, my regret, and every wrong decision I have ever made lead me to this moment.

  Alone. Just me, myself, and the demon who torments me.

  It’s not just her face taunting me with its incessant beauty which used to be mine, it’s his face—the man who stole my life.

  And now I’m here with my only companion—a bottle of aged whiskey—watching the happiest couple in Hollywood.

  Mr. and Mrs. Carrington.

  My mind is cruel, torturing me to watch what could have—should have—always been mine.

  But it’s too late.

  She’s gone.

  No longer mine.

  My eyes divert toward the glass table beside me, where a large pile of papers sit with a note on top. Contracts. Everything that still ties us together.

  Wesley, let’s just end this, sign your share over, and I’ll pay you whatever you want. We both need to move on.

  The desperation in her voice sparks a twisted game in my mind. Emerson needs me. Together, we are the unstoppable couple rising to the top of our industry. As long as my name is written on the contract, we are legally bound.

  My hands wrap around the glass, raising it to my lips, and consuming the whiskey in one go. It no longer burns or clouds my vision.

  No. It tastes like sweet, beautiful—revenge.

  Chapter One

  Milana

  It has been the week from hell.

  A series of unfortunate events that should have come with a warning.

  It started off with some moron from overseas trying to hack into my bank account. I had no clue it had happened until the bank notified me that my account was temporarily suspended. No big deal except I was in the middle of ordering a foot-long sub and was asking the lady serving to pack on extra olives and meatball sauce. Great—when you have money to pay for it. Unfortunately, I have no cash in my purse and a card that won’t work. It’s embarrassing, mortifying and I can go on. I walked away hungry with a very annoyed sandwich artist mo
uthing off profanities even after I explained my situation.

  From then on, things went downhill. The photocopy machine decided to be my arch-nemesis. A paper jam alert in some secret crevice gave me a paper cut when I went in to retrieve it. My computer did this update thing, and I lost all my contacts in the process. Then the icing on the already screwed-up cake—my boss tells me she’s retiring. Since it’s her law firm, I will be jobless in just two short months.

  It was a shitty week.

  There had to be a bottle of wine calling my name. Until I found out that the truck carrying the latest shipment of alcohol broke down outside of Anchorage, and the only thing that Billy, our local grocer, has stocked in his store is beer.

  I don’t care for beer.

  Mama, as usual, is my knight in shining armor. She knows exactly how to make me feel better, and it involves her world-class lasagne—five types of cheese are melted in between a bolognese sauce that’s so saucy it makes you drool just staring at it.

  Though, I should have known it was a ploy. I smelled the rat that followed the delicious meal.

  “I’m going to put the house on the market.”

  The lasagne that sits on the plate in front of me suddenly loses its appeal. With my fork sitting firmly between my fingers, I place it gently on the edge of the plate and raise my eyes to meet Mama’s. I’m sure this is some sort of joke, a prank to tip me over the edge after a bad week. I’m mentally scrambling to check the date. No, it’s not April Fool’s Day. Not that Mama is the type of person to pull pranks.

  My brother, Flynn, silently chews on his last bite. Upon his final swallow, his expression mirrors mine as we stare in confusion, awaiting her explanation.

  Mama pushes her chair out and walks to the counter, where she retrieves a yellow envelope that has been sitting around for weeks. She carefully removes the contents and places them in the middle of the table. It’s a brochure—Rose Meadow Care Facility. I flick through the brochure, pages of people sitting around with smiles on their old faces. Mama is only fifty-five, and this place appears to be a senior citizens’ gateway to death.