by Tara Brent
Tristan wasted no time. He swiftly pulled an extra thick zip tie from his trench coat and bound Kershaw’s hands behind his back. He closed the door behind him and dragged Bradley to a chair in the kitchen, where he zip tied Kershaw’s ankles to the chair legs, and using a thick rope, tied his torso to the back of the chair. Tristan slapped Kershaw twice, forward and back with his right hand, before grabbing Kershaw’s cheeks with his left hand and shaking the man.
Kershaw jerked in shock, looking around wildly before settling his frantic gaze on Tristan, who was whistling Harry Chapin's "The Cat's in the Cradle" while pulling another chair in front of Bradley. Tristan sat in the chair backward, legs straddling the back of the chair while he leaned forward against it, drumming his fingers on his crossed forearms.
“What the fuck?!” screamed Kershaw, “Who the fuck are you and what do you want?”
Tristan stopped whistling and gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry,” he said coldly. “I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is Tristan Blackwood. You may have heard of me as I’m incredibly rich and remarkably gifted at literally everything I do. And yet, with all my intelligence and resources, your existence has eluded me all these years.”
“Wait, you’re her brother, right?”
“So I thought,” said Tristan, feeling adrenaline channeling through him like it was injected by a thousand massive needles. “Turns out, she was never my sister after all. So think, Kershaw, why would I show up here, in your filthy house, just because I found out that the woman I believed to be my sister is actually my mother?”
“What? How should I—” but then, Kershaw’s eyes went side.
“It seems something clicked for you,” said Tristan, his voice becoming frenetic. You’ve always kept your cool. Maintain it now as well. But wait, why bother? Why stay true to who you were? You’re not YOU anymore! “Memories flooding back, are they? Just goes to show that you weren’t blacked out that evening. Now,” he said, standing up sharply and casting the chair aside violently. He grabbed Kershaw’s face and pried his eyes wide open. “Look at me. Look like anyone you know?” But Kershaw merely shook in terror. Tristan’s lip curled. “Heya, Pops. You and me gots some catching up to do."
* * *
“Take a left here,” said Colleen. “Ok, we’re here.”
“This whole time, the man who assaulted you in your teens lived but half an hour away?” asked Bethany, shocked.
Colleen shrugged. “Neither one of us ended up drifting very far from home. I inherited my parents’ house, and he moved a few towns over. It isn’t especially unusual. What is unusual, however, are the people gathered about, all of whom are casually watching us most carefully.”
Bethany looked, and sure enough, everybody in the neighborhood was behaving very suspiciously. “I recognize them,” she said. “Yes! Not all of them, but a little while ago when I went to Tristan’s mansion, they tried to stop me.”
“I imagine they are likely to do the same once again,” said Colleen coolly.
“Almost certainly,” said Bethany dryly. “Hang on, I’m going to try something. It probably won’t work, but, may as well give it a shot.” She pulled out her phone.
* * *
“So Papa-Dearest,” said Tristan. “You and I are only, what, sixteen, seventeen years apart? I’m normally quite precise, you see, but presently, I’m distracted. But for your sake, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and say that the difference rounds to seventeen years. Sound peachy?” Kershaw was silent, staring wide-eyed at Tristan, too stunned and scared to speak. “I’ll just assume you agree.” Tristan reached into his trenchcoat and pulled out an antique revolver.
“Whoa whoa whoa,” said Kershaw, “what do you think you’re doing?”
“You know, I always felt entitled to just about everything in life,” said Tristan, ignoring the question. “I always thought that maybe I was the reincarnation of some great ruler like Ramesses II or Gilgamesh. But no. I got it from you. A man so entitled that even with so many people flocking to him willingly, he had to assault someone who had no interest in him. I was borne out of sin, not reincarnated out of greatness.” He gritted his teeth. I'm nothing but demon spawn filth I need to do this fuck the consequences this needs to happen this needs to happen I can't stop I can't stop.
“Now: regarding this pistol.” he continued, trying and failing to feign a relaxed tone. This isn’t you. You don’t get rattled. You don’t act out like this. You act rationally. What are you doing? “This is the exact gun used to kill Jesse James. Sold at auction for three hundred and fifty grand to an anonymous buyer, so, entitled prick that I am, I tracked down the bugger and paid him two million for it. In addition to its historic significance, it’s an old-fashioned revolver, right?” Tristan spun the chamber. “A classic six-shooter. Fun fact: did you know that one out of every six women has been the victim of rape or attempted rape?” With that, Tristan pulled out a box of bullets. He picked one out of the box and held it in front of Kershaw’s terrified face. “One in six chance. The same odds my mom had. You turned her into a statistic, so now, statistics will determine your fate as well.” He tried to load the bullet, but his hands were shaking. Was it fear? Nerves? You’ve come this far, don’t be chickenshit about it. He dropped the bullet, then hurriedly picked it back up. “On second thought, though,” he said, flustered, “I think the World Health Organization calculated that one in three women have experienced some kind of sexual assault in their lifetime. You got a finance degree, right, Father? I suppose you were decent at mathematics, weren’t you? So you should know that another way to write one in three,” he pulled out another bullet, “is two in six.” He spun the chamber and clipped it shut. He could feel his heart beating through his ribs and his hearing was dulled from the rush of blood in his ears. “So.” He pulled out his iPhone. “I’m setting the timer for seventeen minutes. One minute for every year between us. Your odds start at one third. I’m going to ask you questions, and when the seventeen minutes are up, I am going to point this pistol at you and pull the trigger one time. For every question you answer truthfully, I take out one bullet. For every lie, I add a bullet.” He started the timer. “Let’s get started. This one’s easy. Did you or did you not rape Colleen Blackwood as a teenager?”
“Listen, I don’t know what she told you, but I barely knew her, and we never—”
Tristan aggressively opened the gun and added a third bullet. “You were saying?” he screamed.
* * *
“Hi guys!” said Bethany, with Colleen in tow. “I know that you’re pretending to not be Tristan’s private army, but we’re old friends, you can talk to me, right?”
“What are you doing?” murmured Colleen.
“When I’m nervous and devastated sometimes I get goofy and derpy,” Bethany whispered back.
One of the agents, a tall and muscular woman, came up to her. “Ms. Ballard, I strongly suggest you turn around with Ms. Blackwood and leave immediately. You don’t want to be a part of this.”
"Oh no, I'm totally into elaborate revenge schemes. Also, if we let him do this, y'all will be all kinds of unemployed.”
“I think you know that Mr. Blackwood thought of that. We are thoroughly taken care of.”
“Where is she,” Colleen said to Bethany through her teeth.
"Huh, speak of the devil," said Bethany. At that moment, a Jaguar C-X75 Concept pulled up, followed by two hummers. Several more paramilitary types jumped out of the Hummers, and Honeywell casually slid out of the Jaguar, dressed like she was going to visit the Queen of England. She held up her phone. "I have 9-1-1 typed in already. I'm going to count to... let's say, eight before I hit send. Or are you going to let the nice ladies do what they came here to do?"
The agent who had been trying to stop Bethany scowled. “Stand down,” she said into a mic on her lapel.
“Thanks,” said Bethany. “But I still haven’t forgiven you for spying on me.”
“We both know you have more importa
nt things to deal with,” said Honeywell.
Bethany and Colleen sprinted toward the house.
* * *
"You're not doing so bad after all," said Tristan, giggling with anxiety. "Less than halfway to go and you're down to one bullet. So, next question..."
But at that moment, Bethany and Colleen burst in the door.
“No!” screamed Tristan. “Why are you two here?”
"Because we love you-you moron," said Colleen.
“Tristan,” said Bethany, running up to him and throwing her arms around him. “This isn’t you. You are better than this. You’re the most incredible person I have ever met. Don’t let all of this change you.”
“I’m not letting it change me,” he said, beginning to cry. “I now know who I am. I’m the son of a sadistic monster. I’m not special. I’m a mistake.”
“I don’t care where you came from!” said Bethany. “Do you think I arbitrarily fell in love with the youngest child of the late Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood? Do you think I love you because you think you’re the second coming of Odysseus or whatever? No, I love you because you are unspeakably smart, you’re fun, caring, you are kind to animals, you accept people for who they are, and yeah, you can be selfish, but we all are on some level, it’s just that you may have earned it more than the rest of us! You’ve built an empire! People like to say that you just take credit for other people’s creations by throwing money at everything, but we both know that’s nonsense. If you gave up your fortune tomorrow, gave up your companies, and even changed your name, you’d still find your way to the top within the year. That is who you are. I don’t care and never have cared about your money. I care that you’re brave, ambitious, intelligent, and loyal.” She laughed, despite her tears. “If you went to Hogwarts, the sorting hat wouldn’t know what to do with you, because you embody the finest traits of every house.”
“Oh for god sake,” muttered Colleen. “How can you ruin such a beautiful speech with such an absurd ending?”
“Actually,” said Tristan gently, “the fun, peculiar way her mind works is what made me fall in love with her. But look at me.” He stepped back, arms spread wide, pistol in hand. “I’m a disaster. I’m here with a gun looking to pull revenge on my rapist father. I’m not worthy of your love, Bethany.”
"That's for me to decide," she said and kissed him hard on the mouth. As she did, her phone rang.
“Okay wow, way to kill the moment,” she muttered. She clicked for it to stop ringing and went back to kissing him. It buzzed again. “Okay seriously?” she answered it. “What? I’m in the middle of—wait, seriously?! All right, shoot, okay, I’ll be there.” She closed her phone. “Trinity’s water broke, they’re rushing her to Norwalk hospital.” She looked at Tristan, frazzled. “I... I have to go. This can’t be my choice. It has to be yours. Choose right. Choose us.” She turned to Colleen. “Are you coming to the hospital, or staying here?”
“The miracle of life is patently disgusting, so, I think I’ll stay here,” she said calmly.
Bethany left.
Colleen crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. She stared into Tristan’s eyes. “I’m with you regardless of what you choose. Sink or swim, Tristan. So what’s it going to be?”
Chapter 16: Christmas Eve, One Year Later
Bethany smiled as she lay in bed, naked and awaiting her paramour. Typically, she was a Christmas purist, wanting the fun winter vibe and cool air in her face. However, as the forecast for Christmas in the tristate area was quite literally lukewarm, she caved to Tristan’s request that they spend the holiday together on his private island.
She reflected on the past year. For better or worse, it had been a wild ride.
To everybody's relief, Tristan saw reason and left Kershaw's house shortly after Bethany's departure, dropping off Colleen at home before joining Bethany at the hospital. Once he got through Christmas itself, he turned himself into the police for this stunt with his biological father. Luckily, he never actually used the firearm he had brought with him, and since he had quite literally the world's finest lawyers at his disposal, it wasn't hard to drop all but the most rudimentary charges. A few weeks of probation and mandatory therapy was a small price to pay, particularly since Bethany would have made him seek counseling anyway.
As to Kershaw, they just left him to rot in his life. Tristan and Colleen considered doing everything they could legally do to destroy him, but in the end, decided he wasn’t worth their time or effort.
Tristan also decided to give up his companies. He put Honeywell in charge of everything, but as vengeance for her meddling, insisted that her salary for the first year be a whopping one dollar.
And so Bethany waited, excited for whatever shenanigans her beau had planned. And in typical Tristan manner, he did not fail to disappoint.
"Ho ho ho!" he said, stomping in dressed as Santa. Only, he did so in his very Tristan way: rather than a red Santa costume, he, of course, wore a black one.
“Well then Merry Christmas Santa!” said Bethany. “I’m especially fond of the beard.”
“It’s surprisingly comfortable,” said Tristan.
“So I see you have a sack of toys there. Don’t suppose there’s anything for me?”
“It’s all for you,” he said. “Everything is for you.” He began unloading the exquisitely-wrapped presents under the tree. “No peeking ‘til Christmas morning,” he warned. “With one exception.”
He pulled off his fake beard and wig along with this hat, though he kept the rest of the Santa costume on.
“Oh? What’s all this?” asked Bethany, laughing. But her laughter cut immediately short as Tristan got down on one knee. “Oh god,” she whispered, not even realizing that she had just taken heavenly father’s name in vain.
“Bethany Ballard,” said Tristan, opening the jewelry box in his hand, “will you marry me?” In the box rested a gorgeous black rhodium engagement ring complete with a gigantic blue diamond as the centerpiece and smaller musgravite gems all around the ring itself.
“That is the most beautiful ring I could have possibly imagined,” said Bethany. “But we both know that even if you had proposed to me with one of those decoder rings kids used to get in their cereal boxes, my answer would be the same.”
“I’ll take that as a yes then?” smiled Tristan.
“A thousand times yes!” she exclaimed.
Tristan leaped onto the bed, jumping up and down in joy, before settling on top of her and kissing her passionately. He slid the ring onto her finger.
“It’s almost as beautiful as the girl it fits on,” he said
She beamed at him, then admired the ring. “I admit,” she said, “It’s better than the decoder ring would have been.” They both laughed. “Okay Santa-Man,” whispered Bethany, “let’s get you out of these clothes. I need my Tristan now.” She removed his preposterous coat and let him slide out of his heavy pants; she was already naked save for the soft, thin sheet covering her.
“I actually want to propose something else,” said Tristan.
“But you already proposed!” she pointed out.
“Ha, not what I meant. Come on, follow me.”
The two of them, both naked, made their way outdoors. The night sky was perfectly clear; the milky way glowed above them with no competition from the new moon. They made their way onto the soft sand where Tristan had made a path with roses on either side, culminating in a cozy blanket. “Lay down,” he said gently. Bethany obliged. He kneeled before her and kissed her back and forth between her two thighs before meeting in the middle. Bethany gasped and bit her lip as he worked her.
"Oh, oh, OH!!!" the rush of having just been proposed to on top of his exceptional skill had her reach her first orgasm inside of thirty seconds, but he was far from done. If anything, her cries of ecstasy merely spurred him on. He continued to lap away at her while she stared half-dazed in pleasure at the stars above. The warm tropical breeze danced across her breasts and the sounds of crashing wave
s were the soundtrack to their lovemaking.
After her second orgasm, he shifted on top of her and slid in with ease despite his girth. Even after two powerful orgasms, his mere entering her nearly sent her over the edge a third time. He worked her slowly, passionately, and romantically, whispering sweet sentiments in her ear as he entered her completely and withdrew entirely. He gingerly picked up his pace but was never aggressive. This was different than normal; they were engaged now, committed for life, and with every long, gentle yet powerful thrust, he was reminding her not only that she was his, but that he was hers.
“Oh right there, right there, right... YESSSSSSSS!!!!” She squealed, finishing yet again. That was all he needed to hear.
“Oh my GRRRRRRRR!” he exclaimed through gritted teeth, his pace tripling as he exploded within her.
And then, silence but for the waves.
“I love you, Bethany Ballard-Blackwood,” whispered Tristan.
“And I love you, Tristan Blackwood-Ballard,” replied Bethany.
They cuddled together. “I think we may live happily ever after,” said Tristan. “Thoughts?”
“I don’t think we will,” said Bethany. “I know it.”
~The End~
Book 2: Curvy Indulgence
Chapter 1: Kira Ricci
I guess I should start at the beginning for this to make any sense. For the past six years, I’ve been a wedding planner. Before that, I was... well, we can get into that later.
I had a tough couple of years at first. San Diego isn’t quite as snooty as L.A., or New York, but we have our share of “Society” folks who can be pretty full of themselves. They tend to cluster in enclaves like Rancho Santa Fe, La Jolla, Del Mar. And of course, Coronado Island. Which isn’t really an island, it’s a peninsula that juts into San Diego Bay and encloses it on the West, with the city and mainland on the East.
But Coronado Island sounds much more exclusive. Which is just fine for the Old Money crowd populating the astronomically pricey homes... and mansions... which are mostly on the ocean side, south of the North Island Naval Air Station. The seven and eight-figure real estate runs down the strand, to the iconic Del Coronado Hotel. They say the hotel is haunted. I wouldn’t necessarily dispute that.