Beautiful Disaster (The Bet) (38 page)

Asphyxiating in this mire was something he was enjoying immensely. He was having far too much fun wallowing in anger and self-pity to want to come back up for air. He looked around him as he brought the shot glass to his lips. Scantily clad women grinded and gyrated to the ‘fuck me' song emitting from the bone thumping subwoofers surrounding the club. Like aficionados of some ancient Greek deity participating in orgy, they danced inhibitions away in a flurry of pheromone induced binge. They were the same people, the same type of boarding school/ ivy leaguers who were frequenters of this underground establishment.

Nicholas knew many. He had fucked many. Bred from money and infused with the innate knowledge that money and familial ties could get you anywhere in life, these people used that simple fact to their advantage and did whatever the hell they wanted. Mommy and Daddy would no doubt handle the repercussions. Right now Nicholas felt more at home here with them, than around a certain biracial girl he was determined to binge out of his system. Here, among the pretentiously rich he could be exactly what he had fought so hard against becoming.

Nicholas Grayson. Scion to the master of iniquity and degradation. It was a title he would one day bear. Why not start sashaying the honor now? Dad would no doubt be proud.

Here, Nicky, the pussy ass bitch he had turned into was locked somewhere far, far away in a dark room, no doubt pining after his lover. In his place was the doppelganger Nicholas Grayson, son to Charles Grayson, flagrant asshole and CEO of vise. Vise. Nicholas had several. Drinking....drinking was something he excelled at. Bourbon, scotch, rum, Hennessey, vodka---excellent educators who never failed in teaching him lifelong lessons.

His favorite one? When mixing vodkas and hard liquor, never, ever do so while under the influence of recreational drugs. The results could really fuck you up. Like now for example, Nicholas knew he was more than likely fucked up when he saw someone who looked suspiciously like the lover he was miserably failing in forgetting, heading his way. Leather clad hips swaying in that way that only a woman could make look undoubtedly sexy.

The resemblance was uncanny. The hair was the same, tawny curls framed her face in that 'just thoroughly fucked' look that Nicholas always prided himself on putting there. The facial structure was the same, oval face, short nose, and cupid arrow shaped lips. Same stature, rounded shoulders, dancer arms, with curves in all the right places that had Nicholas's cock straining at half-mast in his jeans.

She drew closer and came to a hesitant stop before him. Through a veil of thick sable lashes, she coyly looked at Nicholas.

The eyes were not the same. Nicholas couldn't decide whether it was disappointment or relief he felt.

"Wanna dance?" Beneath the fast-paced show of flamboyant laser lights and Nicholas's inebriated mind, Ellie's look-alike painted an alluring picture with her blue contact eyes.

"No," He tossed back the shot, jumped off the seat and grabbed her wrist. "I wanna fuck." Vise number two? Sex. In piss scented bathrooms, against the darkened corners of the club or in the backseat of his car. A blow job here, a hard fuck there, it didn't much matter so as long as he got off and Nicholas always got off. Fuck it if his partner did or didn't.

Nicholas was hell-bent on destroying whatever happiness he had remaining. His relationship with Ellie was something he was forcing down the drain. He knew this and he didn't care---tried not to care.

He took the look alike in the back alley. Nothing was too good for Ellie's doppelganger. Her mouth wasn't as impressive as Ellie's however. Her cunt wasn't the same either and instead of the tight compression of heat his dick had anticipated, Nicholas was sorely disappointed to find that he was fucking a pussy that felt as though an ocean liner had cruised through it.

Sickness gripped him then and he managed to pull out just in time to empty his stomach near the rusty trash cans a few feet away from where they had rutted moments ago. The fetid stench of waste brought on a second bout of chunk infested bile that had his eyes watering.

"Shit, you okay?"

"Fuck off." He brusquely shrugged off the hand that settled on his shoulder as another wave of nausea overtook him. As though trying to purge his core of everything Nicholas was feeling, his stomach clenched, fluttered and lurched as he continued to spew out his guts.

Ah, what a great way to cap off his night, Nicholas thought despairingly, straightening to full height an eternity later. He brought the back of his hand to his lips and wiped as he clinically assessed the nervous Ellie look-alike with the wrong eyes.

Beneath the harsh orangey yellow tint of the streetlight, Nicholas was able to make out the carefully hidden blemishes that would've went a long way in fooling many---had managed to fool him for a bit. But no matter how much eyeliner and makeup smeared on that face, nothing could hide the awful stench of a two dollar whore. This woman reeked of it and suddenly Nicholas couldn't help the humorless mirth that bubbled deep in his chest. The laugh was on the brink of maniacal, it was a harsh laughter that hurt far more than it pleased.

"Tell my father I appreciate the sentiments, but maybe next time I suggest he sends a whore who hasn't been fucked by the entire city. The effect would've been far more damaging." Feeling incredibly disgusted with himself and life itself, Nicholas did not permit the floundering strumpet a word in edgewise as he walked away. Suddenly the need for a scalding shower and a warm bed seemed incredibly appealing.

A hangover greeted Nicholas the following morning, a norm in the last few weeks of his nightly excursion. He groaned as he rolled out of bed, nature summoned and so he headed to the bathroom. Bladder emptied, Nicholas showered, brushed his teeth and patted downstairs in search of Aspirin and a cold glass of OJ. A morning ritual he was beginning to despise. There were many things in his life Nicholas was beginning to despise he was at the top of that list.

Ah well, at least he was getting closer in becoming his father. Scary as it was, Nicholas was tired of fighting destiny. Who was he to fight something so innate?

He'd fought being like his father for years and what exactly had that gotten him? Self-loathing? Misery? An incredibly fucked up life? Ding. Ding. Ding. As the saying went “if you can't beat them..."

Entering the kitchen, Nicholas stopped short at sight of his uncle and mother seated around the kitchen island, their hushed conversation coming to a halt as Terran became aware of his presence. It was strange seeing his uncle in the cabin. Sure the man owned it, but Terran had never bothered to visit since Nicholas began to inhabit it. When he was in need of him, Terran would always call him to the manor. Nicholas figured it had something to do with his deceased aunt and the memories that undoubtedly came with being in the cabin.

Terran nodded subtly in greeting as Nicholas made his way to the sub-zero fridge, feeling his mother's gaze at his back the entire time. Nicholas knew the tension in the room made his mother uncomfortable and he took a sick sort of pleasure from that knowledge as he poured himself a glass of orange juice. Grabbing the bottle of Aspirin from the countertop, he downed four white pills before chasing it down with the juice.   

Setting the glass back down, Nicholas observed his mother from the corner of his eye. She looked as she always did, all but a little tired around the eyes. Nicholas could understand her fatigue, he was feeling rather peaked himself.

"Good morning, Nicholas," She addressed softly. " How are you feeling?"

Silence was her answer as Nicholas continued to stare. He hadn't seen her since the funeral, and all her attempts in consoling him were either ignored or rebuffed. He didn't need anything from her.

His daughter---Nicholas jammed his fingers through his shaggy mane.

'Fuck,' he inwardly cursed. He had been doing well too. And now, thanks to his mother, thoughts of Isabella pushed to the forefront of his mind and not too far behind Ellie Holbrook clamored for attention. He scowled and aimed it at his mother.

Sonya tried not to flinch as her husband's gaze embodied itself through the stone grey eyes of her son. Those eyes were as hypnotizing as a cobra's stare and just as deadly. Hatred for her husband couldn't have been more profound as it was now. Because of him---it was all because of him.

"Say hello to your mother, Nicholas."

"Hello mother." His smile was not quite in reaching his eyes. "'I'm as well as to be expected given that I've lost my child. And you, how is Jean-Paul treating you these days? Or is it Paolo, now?" His question was meant to be insulting and Sonya believed he had all rights, but it nevertheless still pained her to be spoken to in such a way.

"I'm sorry about…"

"Not as sorry as I am mother," he tipped the glass to his lips, took a small sip before continuing. "Please spare me the sentiments."

Sonya looked away then, eyes suddenly dampening, unable to take Nicholas's cold gaze any longer.

"Your father's mask does not become you, Nicholas." Terran reproached with a scowl.

Nicholas settled his glass down. "Yes I am aware of that, but fear not uncle I am in works of refining it."

"Your father is a monster, Nicholas, do not think for a moment that he is the sort of person you want to emulate." The caution in Terran's voice was lost on Nicholas.

"Be that as it may, Terran he is a powerful monster whose empire I will inherit in less than four years. His power is something I have found myself coveting these past weeks." He said this as if discussing the weather, although the significance of those words had Terran scrutinizing his young charge. "That sort of power can move mountains." And I will have that power, the unsaid words hung in the air.

"I've never known you to be so jaded."

Nicholas shrugged noncommittally. "It's a newly acquired skill."

"That sort of power corrupts." Sonya said quietly.

Nicholas turned a deprecating smile to his mother. "I am no virgin to corruption mother. I've lived the entirety of my life in it. What can a little more do? It isn't as if I had anyone to teach me better." The last statement did as expected and Sonya noticeably flinched.

"Don't turn into your father, Nicholas. As Terran said, he is a monster who deserves to be locked away from proper society. He has done many things, many horrible sordid things that will make you---"She brought a hand to her mouth to keep the tears at bay.

"Your father's perversion has possibly given us a way to destroy him." Terran said gravely, a firm believer in directness. His nephew was no longer a child who needed to be nurtured and coddled, if he was old enough to sire a child of his own, than Terran believed him old enough to take part in the grave discussion that would sentence his father to life behind bars.

After his meeting with Lancaster Teegs, a longtime friend of Terran's and a highly respected judge, Terran knew the probability of finally seeking vengeance and justice for all the wrongs Charles had committed, was extremely high. They had stockpiled a variety of evidence that were so damning Terran knew that even the attorneys Charles kept on short diamond studded leashes could not get the bastard out of this. And if the evidence weren't enough the testimonies of past victims and witnesses would be their trump card.

Interest suddenly peeked Nicholas permitted Terran to elaborate. He listened as his uncle recounted the events that had led to his mother now taking refuge in the manor. They showed him the condemning evidence as Sonya quietly spoke her piece. Hands helpless held before her, she told her son of years of oppression she had had to live under Charles's unrelenting thumb. She told him of the stipulations she had to adhere to in order to keep them both safe.

"---I was scared, Nicholas. I have been a prisoner of my fear for so long now. I do not wish to live in fear of your father any longer."

So this was what it felt like to be cast in a state of complete numbness, Nicholas silently thought as he looked down at the pictures in his hand, the little few Terran had kept from the police in order to show him. He knew he should have felt something. Maybe shock? Or even a little sympathy for the woman who had given him birth? She had after all gone through earth's version of hell just so he could escape Charles tyranny. That had to garner some form of sympathy, right?

Wrong. He was numb. There wasn't anything there. Nicholas felt absolutely nothing---except for maybe the sick sense of joy in knowing that what was once his father's would soon be his. He could practically taste the power that would come from being the sole owner of an empire.

Nicholas took one last look at the image in his hands before carelessly tossing the pictures on the island top.

Ellie’s Nicky would've stated to the police that Charles had never molested him. Ellie's Nicky would've felt sympathy for his mother and what she'd gone through. Ellie's Nicky would've put family and love first and worked his tail off to try and rectify whatever wrong his father had wrought. But the sad truth was Ellie's Nicky was a soft-hearted bitch ass punk who'd died the very same day his daughter died.

The Nicholas that remained now was the Nicholas he wanted to be. This Nicholas was a Grayson through and through. His father's son. The joyful fruit of Charles loins. This Nicholas certainly had no qualms about fucking his old man over. This Nicholas would not pretend to empathize with his mother. This Nicholas had a vendetta.