To Murder Matt (11 page)

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S
everal days later, after trying all her numbers, he finally managed to get through.

She had been very quiet, and explained she was under the weather a little. He told her he would be dining at the Ritz that night and arranged to meet her there for drinks later that evening, if she wanted to come along.  She hadn’t confirmed yet.

On his desk, under a pile of papers, was a resume from a very intelligent woman called Priscilla Harris. He had briefly scanned her resume and was determined that if ever he was in a position to hire someone, she would be the first person he would call. Little did he know, she was going to change his life forever.

The table was empty as Dean arrived; he ordered himself a drink whilst he waited. Matt arrived a few moments later, looking very pleased with himself.

“Hello.” He shook Dean’s hand and sat opposite him. “You remember I was talking about a client interested in chartering several yachts for himself? I told him that he could go sailing for a few weeks then moor in Monaco, combine it with the Formula One. They could watch from the yacht, be in the best position, and I would throw in a few pit tickets too.”

Dean nodded. He had given the figures to Matt a few weeks prior and not heard anything back from him since.

“He agreed with the costings you gave me and they will charter ALL the yachts you outlined in your proposal for a three week period over the Monaco Grand Prix.”

Dean was speechless. He had expected Matt to knock him down, negotiate his over inflated prices, which he had bumped up to allow for a discount of twenty percent, and that would still leave him with a massive profit margin. Matt was now telling him they had taken his prices, without even batting an eyelid. He stood to make more than four hundred thousand pounds profit a week, for each week. Dean regained his composure and nodded at Matt as though he did deals like this every day. Matt had no idea how he had literally pulled his business from the shark’s mouth.

“Right, if you give me all the details, I will set it all up when I get back. Did you include your commissions?” Dean’s mind suddenly sharpened as he worked out mentally what he would have to pay Matt for his part in the deal. It could be a significant chunk of the profits. He hadn’t thought to prepare specific and exact terms before the deal was on the table. He cursed himself inwardly for being such a fool.

“No, don’t worry. I added my commissions on top of your prices. So the client is, in effect, paying me direct.” The relief Dean felt was palpable. He had been prepared to offer him two and a half percent of any deal, but this was working out better than he expected.

“Good.” He nodded again. “What would you like to order?”

“Actually sorry Dean, I can’t. Remember I told you about the heiress I met? I am meeting her here later. She is my latest woman. She is a wonderful woman, wonderful in as much as she has more money than I could ever spend. Once I marry her, that will become all mine, shared assets and all. Man of the house, if you get my meaning.” He winked. “I will be able to live the life I always deserved. Women do this to men all the time. I think it’s time us men stuck together and caught a couple of our own fish. Don’t you?”

“Oh congratulations! Am delighted for you. Anyone I know?” Dean was still reeling from the deal they had just made.

“Doubt it. Her name is Ellen. I told you about her before, remember?”

“Not really. Sorry,” he replied absently.

“Well, a recap. She has all the contacts I need, all the money and wealth, titles, estates, masses of land and property in various countries. Typical aristocrat, so up her own arse in tradition, and naivety, that she is easy pickings. Tell you what, I will put lots of business your way once I have control of everything she owns. Spending others’ money is always better than spending your own.”

“Hmm, suppose so.” Dean said unconvinced. Matt Laughed.

“I knew when we met, that we would see eye to eye.” He laughed again. Dean stood up.

“Well if you are meeting her I had better go. I have my own plans too.”

“Hey no. Stay. Meet her. You can give her the once over, and let me have your opinion. No stealing her, mind. I found her first.” Dean paused as Matt continued to talk. “She’s not much in the looks department. I am used to top models, and prefer blondes, but she is a thorough bred, so I am prepared to overlook that for now. Besides, once I have control of everything, I can have even more money to carry on with the models, afterwards. Keep her at home tending to the gardeners needs if she gets bored. At the moment, she is useless in bed. Lies there like an ironing board, has no technique, nothing. Hasn’t a clue.  She was a virgin, until I took her, you know? I have never met a virgin her age before. I haven’t been able to break her in at all. Talk about generations of sexual repression.” Dean sat down, as Matt looked up, and spotted Ellen entering the room.

“There she is. Play your cards right, and I may see if she has a friend for you. We could have a foursome.”

Dean looked up to get a first glance of Matt’s woman, and saw Ellen who was winding her way through the tables towards them. His blood froze. His eyes narrowed in shock. It was
his
Ellen.  Ellen looked as shocked as he was, and stumbled when she saw him.

“Dean Montalban Smythe, meet Ellen Woodward.”

Dean looked at her with a mix of such emotions. He didn’t know whether to hate her, or feel sorry for her. She had found herself a true cad and blackguard. She had chosen Matt over him.

“Pleased to meet you Miss Woodward.” He signaled to Ellen with his eyes to not reveal they knew each other, and she, whilst puzzled, followed suit and politely shook his hand.

“Dean, do join us for dinner.” Matt smiled with such charm.

“No. No. I had better finalize the contracts. I shall talk to you in the morning.  I had better leave.  A pleasure to meet you.” He looked and nodded seriously at Ellen, who blushed furiously.

Dean walked out of the Ritz in a state of shock. He was unable to say anything to Ellen at this point, because his whole business rested upon the deal going through with Matt. He was horrified at the knowledge he had on Matt, and what Matt really thought of Ellen. How he was going to use her and bleed her dry. Only a few days ago, she had been saying she wasn’t ready for a relationship, and yet here she was, bonking some greasy French guy with no class, no breeding and even less money than he had. He didn’t have a good family name, or a line of ancestors to be proud of. He may as well have been an onion seller off the market. He was a trumped up ex-racing driver, who was putting more than a million pounds sterling of business his way. At this moment in time, he had to remember what was more important to him, the money, his business, or a woman who had already chosen someone else, over him.

His blood boiled and he raged within. There was no choice. She had already rejected him. She would have to lie in the bed she had made for herself and he would be there when she came to him for help. Until then, she was on her own. She had made her choice and much as it tortured him to say it, it wasn’t him. Dean buttoned his jacket and put his hand in his pocket to see if he had the cab fare to the station to catch his train home. Until the money came in to his account at the end of the week, he was literally living off fumes.

Finding only enough money for the train, he pulled up his collar and walked briskly across the road to Green Park tube station.

S
he awoke to the feeling of a hand on her breast. She opened her eyes as Matt bent down to kiss her fervently. He felt her stiffen.  She had inadvertently fallen asleep when he was out.

“Come on now. That is no way to greet your brother!” He wrapped her hair around his hand and pulled her head back. She tensed against him, her eyes full of hatred. His lips met hers, they seared into her flesh, and he nipped her lips and tore the delicate skin. Blood started to seep from the small tear. He licked it and tasted the salty sweet richness. His passion inflamed with the speed of a match to kerosene and he was instantly hard. His hand moved up her thigh and lifted the silky material of her skimpy negligee, the negligee he made her wear, for his pleasure. A negligee she hated, almost as much as him. Her skin was smooth, and warm to his touch. She closed her eyes and tried to block him out.

How many years had he brainwashed her to be his, to never disobey, and to please him? 

All her life, and he controlled her mind, utterly.  He was all she had known. The only love she had and she didn’t know how to escape. He had done a programming of her mind, that went so deep and so far into her past that it would take years for a psychiatrist to find it, undo it, and for her to even think of escape.

“Look at me, dear sister. You know I like your eyes. I need to see your eyes looking at me at all times. You know this.” She reluctantly opened her eyes and he smiled at her. “You only have eyes for me, don’t you? Only me.”

Grabbing the flesh of her mound he pinched her hard, and then slipped his fingers inside her. She was dry to his touch, but that didn’t bother him, he would get her going shortly. He knew her body better than his own. He owned her. Her eyes stared blankly at him, until he tut tutted to gain her attention.

“Pay attention dear, you don’t want me to punish you, do you? Be a good girl and open your legs a little more for me. That’s a good girl. Now you are getting it.” She slowly gyrated her pussy on his fingers as he had trained her to. The power he felt when he controlled her in this way, was often as good as the taboo incestuous sex they shared. He felt his pulse quicken at the thought of causing her pain, just a little to start, then he would work his way up. He leant forward and smelled along her neck, smelling her delicate skin, savoring her perfume like a diner at a Michelin restaurant. She smelled of her, her own scent, and the scent he had loved over these years. The scent that had become his elixir for life. The intoxicating scent that drove him on, deeper into her. He came alive when he was inside her. She completed him.

Veronique knew she had to be completely emotionless, as any sign of emotion would cause him greater sexual pleasure. She imagined a far off empty beach, just her, sitting calmly by the ebbing and flowing clear blue ocean. She remained silent, knowing that fear would excite him, pain would excite him, and any sound or look, would excite him. If she could just go to her safe place in her mind, it would all be over soon. Mentally, she had already left, and her body was sleeping on the beach in the warm sun, bees were buzzing by, clouds were floating lazily in the sky, birds called to each other and there was the sound of the ocean; the sound of the ocean made it all bearable. In her mind, she was all alone. There was no shame, no guilt, and no disgust here. If Marie had touched her, she would be in a frenzied wild desire, but Matt’s touch left her cold. She hated him.

Matt knelt between her legs, and began to kiss from her knees up to her pussy. He tongued her roughly, grunting as he tried to get his tongue deeper inside her.

Suddenly he stopped, he paused for a moment, tasted the musky saltiness of another man’s semen, and then in a rage he screamed at her and then reached up and crushed his fist hard around her head. Veronique was dragged back from her reverie.

“You fucking whore!” Matt slapped her so hard, that her ear started ringing. “You are nothing, but a dirty little whore. You have been whoring yourself out with another man.” He hit her again, then pulled her off the bed, and started throwing her around the room. She felt onto the marble floor, and banged her head, with such force, that she was momentarily stunned. He picked her up with one hand, and slapped her again with the other hand causing her to see stars.

“Who is he?” He dragged her onto the balcony by her hair, and still, she was silent. He punched her in the stomach with his full force, and she doubled over in pain. He pulled her up by the hair, and undid his trousers He rammed his penis into her mouth. He looked down. He didn’t like to see her face all bruised like that, it ruined her perfection, but this was all her fault. She had asked for it by her behavior.

“Suck it, you fucking bitch!” He thrust himself into her swollen and bleeding mouth. Her lip was all torn and her eye was blackening and bruised, a swelling around a cut on her cheek. In a way, he felt a perverse pride that he made her look like this. He knew her face would be sore, and throbbing, and that was all he needed, to empty his balls into her. He came hard and held her head fast, as he pumped his seed into her mouth and down her throat, then withdrew and let several strings of come hit her open eyes, her hair and her face. He grunted loudly.

“I told you, look at me when I speak to you.” He held her face and looked at her, eye to eye, his face close to hers. He spat at her with his full force. The saliva trickled down her bruises, but she showed no reaction, no emotion, and her one good, non-swollen, eye was glazed and lifeless.

“Say thank you.”  She was quiet, as though she hadn’t heard him, and he slapped her hard again. “I said, say thank you.”

Veronique tried to enunciate the words, but her jaw was sore and stiff and she was unable to speak due to the pain. He grabbed her face again, and opened her mouth, then rammed his flaccid penis inside.

“Suck, you bitch.” As she began to suck weakly, he began to urinate in her mouth, the hot amber liquid streaming so much that she began to choke. Matt started to laugh as it ran in torrents down her bruised chin, and down her breasts to the floor. Matt stopped as quickly as he started, then wiped his penis on her hair. He stroked her tenderly; oblivious now to her bleeding cuts and bruises.

“Now pretty yourself up. We have things to discuss. I’ll be back later.”

When he left the room, Veronique painfully stood up and staggered over to her bathroom. She felt sick. Her skin was crawling with revulsion and her head was aching from where she had hit the floor. She looked in the mirror at the reflected stranger. Nobody would ever believe that this happened to her, and by her brother of all people. It was a family secret, her dirty little secret. How could she tell people that he had done this to her, every day since she was five? She was a grown woman, a successful professional woman, things like this didn’t happen to people like her. They happened to victims, weak people, not people like her. Outwardly everyone thought she was the luckiest person alive, from a once wealthy family. She had everything she had ever wanted. A doting mother, an even more doting and protective brother; everything was idyllic. Idyllic until her mother had left to marry a man who didn’t want kids. She had arranged for her older brother to care for her and would send money home for him to do so, more money than they needed. Since that time, Matt had taken his hatred of women out on Veronique. Every pain and suffering he had, he made sure she had too; both perceived and real.