Sin The door shuts behind me. Something hits against the barrier; I ignore it. She's angry. Good. I flex my fingers. So far, things are going smoothly. In fact, it has been too easy. I frown. I can’t believe she allowed me to spank her. I’d expected her to run out of there screaming, maybe reach for her phone and dial for help... which, of course, I’d have stopped her from doing. It hadn’t taken much coercion to bait her, actually. I stab my finger on the elevator button. Max butts my leg. I glance down and he darts toward the stairs. Why not? My office is a floor above. And after that run in with that little spit fire... My cock hardens. The shape of that gorgeous arse is burned into my palm. For someone I’ve spent most of my life hating... Too bad her physical attributes are so enticing. I clench my fingers into fists. All a ruse to tempt me. Bet she’d dabbed on that infuriating perfume—jasmine and something more complex lurking below. Notes of p epper that had twisted my guts and had tested my patience. I hadn’t meant to lose control, honestly... but what’s done is done. I square my shoulders. Next time I won’t veer from my plan. I will not give in to my hate... It hadn’t been hate. Far from it. There had been something in the air between us. Something that had annoyed me, had squeezed my chest and hardened my balls until I couldn’t stop myself. Not again. One slip up... one more than I have allowed myself in any other project. Nope. I have to look past that enticing face, to the darkness that taints her. The darkness, so like mine. The fuck? I shake my head, prowl toward the stairs, hold the door open for Max. He darts ahead and I follow him up the stairs to the floor above. I shove the door open and he breaks out in a flurry of barks. No one in the foyer looks up. My staff is too well- trained to show any signs of recognition. I shove my office door open and he darts in, jumps onto the rug in the corner. When I’d brought him here the first time, he had headed for it and claimed it as his. I’d been mildly amused, enough to allow him to own it. "Stay," I stab a finger at him. He pants, tongue lolling, then places his head on his paws. I swerve right, walk into the adjoining room, as Damian throws his ball at a basket strung up in the corner. The ball bounces once, then rolls toward me. I pick it up, pitch it at him. "Wassup?" His long blonde hair haloes his face. "Isn’t it time you got that cut, Goldilocks?" He grins, "Jealous?" I frown, "Why would I envy your lifestyle?" "Oh? Let’s see." He holds up his fingers, "The women throwing themselves at me, the ability to hold a crowd with my magnanimous presence, the chance to travel the world while following my passion...?" He cocks his head, "Not to mention the fact that I have more than enough to invest in our new venture, and fly down at the least pretext."
"It isn’t a pretext, douche-canoe." "Speak for yourself." Weston turns from the window, jerks his chin. "I need to return in half an hour to pr ep for a very important procedure." Fucker’s the quietest of us, the most serious, the most accomplished. I lean forward on the balls of my feet, "Is that a surgery you’re talking about or your latest sub?" His lip curls. "What do you think?" "Not going there. What you do with your personal time is your own thing. We all have a dark side, but you, Weston, you scare me." Yeah, did I mention he’s the meanest? Still waters run de ep and all that. "High praise coming from the master sadist." He smirks. "That’s a back-handed compliment. I’ll go with the positive meaning of it... For now." I crack my neck. "I wouldn’t have called this meeting if it wasn’t important. I realize all of you can't wait to bugger off to whatever d epraved pursuits I pulled you away from." A chorus of snickers greets that. Like I said, assholes, each and every one of them. I stalk to the bar, pour myself two fingers of the whiskey and toss it back. "You gonna share?" Saint prowls over. "Get your own." "Why should I, when..." He snatches the glass from me, "... it’s so much more satisfying to take what’s yours?" He sets the empty glass on the bar counter with a thump. A slow burn builds inside of me. Saint has always managed to rile me up the wrong way. Bastard enjoys it, probably because we’ve been competing with each other since the day we met. On the first day of kindergarten, when he’d been knocking a ball around the yard in front of our school, I’d taken the ball from him and run. He’d pursued me. He hadn’t stopped since. Neither had I. No wonder he’d ended up a lawyer, and me a banker. Neither of us had much going for us in the good will d epartment. "Sore loser, huh?" "I am not the one holding an empty glass." "Because I won the last bet?" He smirks. "I won the three before that." "You were on a lucky streak." I drum my fingers on my chest, "You’re hurting my feelings." "Not since you decided to pursue Mary Jane Nokes in sixth grade." "You barely noticed her." I crack my neck. "I didn't... until—" "She succumbed to my charms," I widen my stance.
"which, you have to admit, was a bloody given." He stabs his finger in my chest. "Don’t provoke me, you chutiya." "Settle down children." A new voice sounds. "Would have thought you'd have found a more mature way to fight out your differences by now, huh?" I turn to the entrance of the room. A tall, broad shouldered man, stands inside the doorway. He has dark, closely-cropped hair, a scar down one cheek, and a tattoo peeking up his neck, enclosed in a priest’s collar. "Edward." I st ep toward him, Saint at my heels, "Didn’t think you'd make it." "And miss the chance to redeem the souls of the most debauched men on this planet?" He clicks his tongue.. My grin widens, "Life treating you well, Father?" I grip his shoulder. "Not as good as it’s treating you sinners, apparently." He surveys the room, taking in the furniture. The conference table that had been converted to a pool table, the de ep-set leather sofa, the fir eplace, the wet bar, the floor to ceiling bookcase. "You like?" He angles his head. "Nice one, Sin. Almost as beautiful as the woman I ran into who was in such a hurry to get away that she took the stairs going down." Edward hates elevators because... reasons. I knit my eyebrows, "Tiny, curvy, pink hair and a face so cute you take an instant dislike to it?" "Dislike is not quite the word I’d use, but if that’s what you want us to believe." He raises his shoulders. "Huh?" I tilt my chin up, "You’re a priest, not a mind reader." "You’re a cut-throat entr epreneur, not someone who’s the best judge of character." "Present company proves your point accurately." I lower my brows. Edward chuckles, pats my shoulder, "Good to see you too, Brother." "Now that you pussies have the touchy-feely stuff out of the way, can we get down to business?" A massive monster of a man prowls through the entrance. His blonde beard catches the sunlight, the sparkle rivaled by the golden brown of his hair, and his tan that seems to clothe him in a perpetual amber glow. I groan, "Don’t recall inviting you here, Arpad." "Which is why this is the place I need to be." "Right, are we starting or what?" Weston asks from his perch by the window. "Is this a reunion?" Damian drawls, then bounces his ball on the floor of the office. "If all of our meetings are going to be such a waste of time, count me out." Saint swerves past me and heads for the door. The fuck? Asshole needs special treatment, apparently. He’s not getting any from me. "You walk out of here, Saint, and I promise I'll cut you out of future deals."
He takes another st ep. "You’re going to regret it." He twists his head and shoots me a look, "I regret being here already." "Get your arse in gear, you tosser." Saint turns on Arpad, who merely stabs his thumb in the direction of the room. "Surely, you want to find out what he’s up to? If you miss this, your curiosity is going to haunt you unless you commit industrial espionage and break down his plan of action." "Hmm." Saint leans his hip against the door frame. "Right." I pivot, then walk into the room, "Sit down everyone. Didn’t call you here to mess with your time." "Yeah, it’d better be worth it." Saint growls. I glare at him. He smirks. "Go on then." "How long has it been since you had a decent night’s sle ep, huh?" His features close. "What’s it to you?" I glance at the doc, "And you Weston, have you spent a single day not wondering about what happened to the disaster we left behind that day?" Silence descends on the room. I toss my head. Figures. They are like me—larger than life, big egos, razor sharp minds, the best in their fields... Yet here we were, in search of that one thing that has eluded us since the incident that changed us all. I fix my gaze on Edward, "How many times a day do you ask the Lord to forgive you for your sins?" Edward’s jaw firms. "Rhetorical questions, Sinner?" "Takes one to recognize one, Father." Color bleeds from Edward’s face. "Shit, I didn’t mean that." "Sure, you did." Edward sucks in his cheeks. "That why you called us here? To rehash the mistakes of our past?" "What’s your plan?" Saint stalks into the room, drops into the nearest armchair. "You are too smart, Sin, It’s the one thing I hate about you... Possibly the one thing I admire about you too. You’ve managed to emerge relatively unscathed from the incident, put your life back together, the first of us to earn a million." And a billion... many times since, but who’s counting, huh? I widen my stance, "What do you want in return?" "50% of whatever profit you are proposing," Saint growls. "Hold on a second." Weston strides forward, "I am a surgeon, that doesn’t mean I’m going to settle for less than my proportionate share of the profits." "And I am the most in demand Angel Investor in Silicon Valley." Arpad drums his chest. "That’s because Jace decided to turn his attentions to philanthropy,” Damian smirks. He’s referring to our mutual acquaintance JK aka Jace.
He is part of a select circle of people that Arpad and Damian have become close to in LA. "Tosser got married and decided to retire." Damian bounces on the balls of his feet. "More power to him." I snort. Losers, all those who follow their hearts and get in volved in that emo shit. The result: they lose their killer edge, become soft at their edges. Not something that I’ll ever fall for. Especially since there is one goal on my horizon—to bring down the man responsible for my ruin. Arpad tilts his head, "Jace and I were never in competition. Besides," he cracks his neck, "I hold the record for maximum ROI in a quarter amongst all of us. So," he flexes his fingers, "I stake the claim to the biggest share of the profits." "Don’t you want to hear what Sin’s proposing?" Damian aims the ball in my direction. I snatch it up, bounce it once, then balance my foot on it. "I’ll tell you, on one condition." Saint scowls, "Baron?" I widen my stance, "Fucking Baron." Arpad’s jaw hardens, "Bastard always manages to insert himself into our conversations without being present." "He is annoying that way." Edward concedes. Saint jerks his chin. "The seventh wheel, but clearly, whatever we are planning, he needs to buy into it too." I tilt my chin up. "He’s in." "You spoke to him?" "In a manner of speaking." I’d had to follow the security protocol he’d laid down, which in volved old fashioned snail mail, and an unsigned typewritten note, to a PO Box. Apparently, physical mail leaves less of a trail than communicating in a clandestine electronic method. "He’s happy with whatever we decide." "Fucking Baron." Arpad snaps his fingers, "Always knows how to use his time most efficiently, while the rest of us are working our asses off." "Not you" Saint snickers. "You’re too busy sailing around the world in that dinghy of yours." "It's a sailboat." Arpad curls an eyebrow. "And PS, it’s called generating passive income, baby." He spreads his hands, "What can I say? I have a knack for investing in exactly the right start ups... Speaking of which..." he stabs his finger at me, "... you going to tell us what it is?" "FOK Media." "FOK Media?" Edward blinks. "What’s that short for?" Arpad smirks, "Full of Kink?" "Funny Ornery Kangaroos, maybe?" Damian rolls his shoulders. I shake my head. "Oh, wait, let me guess." Saint snaps his fingers, "Fill or Kill?" "An obvious guess," I make a mock gun with my fingers, point it at him. "But no, it’s Full of Kindness."
Silence descends. Saint snickers, "You’re joking?" "No." Not completely. I begin to pace, "After our last unmitigated disaster," I turn to Weston, "because of which we had to sell off our shares, divest our portfolio—" "Hold on." Weston raises his palms, "I made you a profit. We dumped the shares before the stock market tanked." "Maybe..." Weston frowns. "Your sins turned out to be damn profitable for us, this time." I lower my chin. "As long as you don't r epeat them." Edward tilts his head. Weston raises his hands, "I never should have been caught on that sex tape... Besides, everyone who is anyone has one of those. And it hasn’t affected business, has it?" Weston ste eples his fingers, "On the contrary, it’s brought in a flurry of new patients. Seems the sight of my arse inspires confidence, as much as my success rate in surgeries." "Win-win situation..." I prop my fingers on my hips. "So we are ploughing in the profits, forming a charity that will invest in a cause—" "—that gives us legit write offs." Saint drums his fingers on his chest. "But what’s the real business?" Arpad widens his stance. I scan the room, "We invest in start-ups, in upcoming artists, in musical talent, medical scholarships, we cast our net wide." "And the returns?" Saint widens his stance. "Twenty-five percent of their income streams for the rest of their lives." Weston hums, "It’s ste ep." "It’s fair." I set my jaw. "It does good." Edward’s tone is considering. "I concede that much." Not that it matters to me. My soul is going to rot in hell, but it’s not a bad idea to have side benefits. I'll also say whatever it is these assholes want to hear to get them to agree. "If it weren't for the incident, the Seven of us wouldn't have k ept in touch. This..." I jerk my chin, "shared venture would be a more positive reason to ke ep us together." "All the more reason to walk away from it," Saint grimaces. "If I see any more of you guys, I'll end up resembling one of your ugly faces and that's not on my wish list, no offense." "None taken." I bare my teeth. "But." He pauses. "But?" He drums his fingers on his chest. "You have my interest, I'll give you that." Fucking cunt. Damian scratches his jaw, "And we do this meeting... What? Yearly?"
"Monthly." I firm my lips. "Monthly?" Damian scowls. "You are aware of my schedule.” "You have a private jet, bitch." He glowers. "This way, we meet each month, in person, to evaluate the risks." Saint smirks, "You’d think you want the strength of the group behind you or something." I do, but not in the way he thinks. Makes it easier to ke ep track of what they are up to. Sure, I have eyes on them, but there’s only so much you can trust what the hired help gets you. Best to meet them face to face, read their expressions, study their body language. Deciphering the unsaid, yeah, that’s my specialty. "And the meetings will be in London." I thrust out my chin. "No fucking way. Why London?" Arpad growls, " I hate this bloody city." "I proposed this plan. I get to dictate where the meetings happen." I curl my lips, "And it will be on my home turf. Anyone who doesn’t agree can sod off." I scan the space. "No? It’s settled then." I thrust my chin forward, "Besides, London is the center of the universe." The moody, overcast weather the city wears for most of the year suits my temperament fine too. "Bloody anglophile." Arpad grumbles. "Filthy Frenchman." I snicker. "Children, please." Edward walks up to me, grips my shoulder. "For the first time, you’ve had an idea that I am comfortable putting my weight behind. I’ll put half of my investments behind it." I frown, "In return for?" "50% of profits." My jaw drops, "What the—?" "Kidding." Edward chuckles. "One seventh works for me. Though I won't say no to more, since my share of profits will be donated to the good of my flock." "You’re in a good mood, Father." "I feel in fine form." His lips twitch. "Who have you been taking lessons from?" The smile switches off. He blinks, "No one." "So, there is... someone?" He shakes his finger under my nose, "Now, now. You can’t trip me up. I take my vows seriously." That much is true. The guilt in his eyes though, had I imagined it? Nah, not likely. I survey the room, "Don’t go getting your knickers in a twist people. I can assure you that, unlike Father here, I don’t have an altruistic bone in my body. This way, we own these people until the day they die, not to mention
ongoing revenue streams.” "Self-perpetuating assets? Works for me." Arpad stretches, yawns. "We done now?" "Hold on." Saint prowls over, "How do we choose what to invest in?" "Prospective applicants present their projects, and—" "We get them to pitch to us." Arpad lowers his chin. "That’s good." "You bet it is." He walks up to us. "It’s a good idea, Sin, for once." Right. "The next meeting is in my offices." Saint growls. Of course, he’d want the last word. "Sure." I tilt my head. His eyebrows knit. "If there isn’t anything else..." he stalks to the door. "I am not done yet." "FOK Media is taking on an agency to help with the marketing." "Oh?" Saint swings around. "Who heads the agency? Someone you’re shagging?" I glower at him. "Interviewed her earlier. She’ll manage our social media presence, and start seeding PR stories, get the ball rolling." "Definitely shagging her." Damian scratches his chin. "Did you think she’d have merits of her own?" "Does she?" Weston’s mouth quirks. Not only. "At least she's not an employee. That's something." Arpad drags his fingers through his hair. "You have something to say to me, dipshit?" He holds up his hands, "Hey, I am not the one with a hard on for her." I frown. How dare he talk about her in that fashion? He drums his fingers on his chest, "If she's not an employee, at least it doesn't open us up to further legal issues, when you pursue her." "That is not going to happen." I grind my teeth so hard that pain slices up my jaw. "So you’re not interested in her?" Saint scratches his chin. "No." His eyes gleam. "I can pursue her?"
A growl rips from me. Anger twists my guts. Only when my hands knit in his collar, do I realize I've crossed the floor to him. He smirks. "Someone's edgy." I draw my fist back, "Shut the fuck up." "Wanna try to hit me, Sin?" His tone is pleasant. It wouldn't be the first time. Fucker knows how to get under my skin good. I smooth my palm down his collar. "Nope, old chap." I pat his shoulder. "Actually, I do need your help." "Hmm?" He frowns. "Summer will be shadowing me for the next seven days to get in-d epth information for the social media strategy." "Oh, yeah?" He snickers. "Is that a euphemism for what you have in mind?" I ignore it, "She also has a sister." Saint straightens, "Oh?" "Who’s unwell, asswipe." He tilts his head. "And you want me to what? Play nanny?" Damian pipes up. "Technically that would make him a Manny." "What?" I shoot him a sideways glance. He shakes his head. "You should ke ep up with the trends. Not that this is something new or anything. Oh, wait." He snaps his fingers, "Not that you would be aware of that either, huh?" "I leave those pursuits up to you, Pretty Boy." I turn to Saint, "Can you send your chauffeur to pick her up and move her to my Hampstead Heath apartment?" His eyebrows knit, "You're taking care of her family? What next? Pay off her debts." I narrow my gaze. "And what will you be doing during this time?" Saint curves his hand, makes a pumping motion. "None of your goddamn business." I turn to the man on my right, "Doc?" Weston straightens. "The sister also has a heart condition, and considering that's your specialization, will you check her out, find out how bad it is?"