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Chapter 2
BASS
One Month Later
The moment he summoned me, on a day other than our scheduled weekly meetings, I should have known something was wrong. It was stupid of me not to realize that he was planning something, scheming in his usual manipulative way. Though I could have never guessed things would go this far. However, I underestimated what he’s capable of.
I drove out to my father’s estate, my knuckles white from how tightly my fingers were gripping the steering wheel, my mind blurring with ire as I mentally prepared myself for what was to happen tonight, just like it does every time we meet. Why would this time be any different? I was already overcome with rage and I hadn’t even stepped foot in my childhood home, but that’s what being in the same room with my old man does to me, because Stephan Silver is anything but a doting father.
To my father I am nothing but a vile of his own blood, the prodigy that will continue his bloodline and unfortunately for me, being his only child, I have no choice in the matter. He’s made sure of that. To the Silver’s there is only one thing that holds importance in life. Legacy. You are only as important as the mark you leave in this world, and so far every Silver man before me has left an irreplaceable, permanent, and tainted stain. A flaming, iron brand of sorts.
Regardless of what happens, tonight, without hesitation, I’ll be getting blackout drunk like I do every night after my meetings with him, Thursday or not. God I fucking hate these forced reunions, but not as much as I hate the man that demands them.
Footsteps echo through the hallway of my father’s estate, It reeks of entitlement, malice lurking in every corner, the threat of everlasting misfortune looming over those who dare enter the threshold. Nothing good has come from setting foot in this house. It’s why I left as soon as I was old enough to move into the boarding rooms at the academy. Then as seniors we moved into Ace’s beach house preferring privacy and anonymity, well as much as we can get being who we are. Yet every week I’m forced to step foot here, to meet with my father away from Wesley Servite’s influence.
Wesley has been at the helm of ourcausefor as long as I could remember. Why he was chosen and not his older brother Warren, or my father, or even the mayor Malcolm Smoak, I have no fucking clue. The youngest of the four men, is sitting comfortably in his iron throne, yet this game is so much more dangerous. Here they don’t fight for power or prominence, nor for wealth or control. Their game is one of chess; kings, knights, and pawns. Only here, there is no Queen, at least not one that doesn’t serve a dispensable purpose, for those are the only welcome into the patriarchy.
In this dangerous game of chess my father and his associates play, there are different ranks, various positions that must be given in exchange for loyalty. The kings sit upon the highest points keeping watch on the actions of those stuck in the gilded cages they had built, each in their own way the ones who hold all the power. The knights are those who serve, protect, and relinquish their power to the cause. My best friends, my brothers, and I, well we’ve always believed we were the knights, those who worked tirelessly to be accepted and to show our dedication to our future.
It’s why we were brought into this world, to continue our families' legacies. Those at the top only stay in power one of three ways - out of respect, out of loyalty, or out of fear - and it was always our job to ensure it was out of fear. Things were different just a few months ago, we never once would have questioned any of it. We simply would have continued to serve, to demonstrate our dedication and ensure our purpose was served, although at the time we didn’t even utterly understand what it meant.
However, now we can see it for what it really is, I see us four for what we’ve become. Pawns. Puppets on strings, being played, manipulated, all with the bogus ideals that have been drilled into our heads.
Loyalty. Honor. Silence.
The fearless follow, the restrained become soldiers, the cruel, well their purpose is best served as kings. That’s what we needed to be, so that’s what we became. Only in the last few weeks, ever since a pair of unapologetically rebellious and reckless sisters appeared on our doorstep, it’s become clear things aren’t what they always seemed.
Now she’s all I can think about, she’s all I want, all I need, and for someone who has never indulged in the decadent yet forbidden fruit, that’s one hell of a dangerous thing.
“I told you he’d be here,” my father says from behind me as he enters his study, breaking me out of my daze. “My son is ever so punctual.”
High ceilings, bare walls, and large double framed windows surround me as I stare out into the yard ahead. A large black wood desk sits at the far end of the room with antique bookcases lining the walls. Portraits of the Silver men, generations among generations of our selective bloodline, hang upon the far-right wall, their eerie silver-eyed gazes watching me, judging me, threatening me. God I fucking hate this room. It’s nothing but a reminder of what I’ve been cursed with, the burden I carry with me every second of the day, and where everything bad has happened to me. It’s where I received my first broken arm, where every week I gain either a black eye or a gash along my back. Where week after week I’m introduced to yet another immoral scheme my father and his associates have cooked up.
Never a dull moment in this room. Fuck if these walls could talk.
“You’re right Stephan, he is indeed the most compliant of the bunch,” another voice calls out from behind me. I turn and come face to face with my father and an unlikely face. Thomas Carlyle, diamond mogul, billionaire businessman, and the world largest fucking bigot. A racist, homophobic, conservative, and the most entitled prick ever to have existed.
He stands in his usualmy shit doesn’t fucking stinkstance, and his blond hair cut short in a typical I spent twenty plus years in the military style. Out of all my father’s associates, this man is truly spiteful.
“To what do I owe the pleasure gentleman?” I scoff, faking my best impression of someone who gives a shit.
“Ever so polite son, it is obvious your father has raised you well,” Carlyle mutters, as he steps toward where I stand beside my father’s desk.
“Obviously,” I mock, my comment coated in sarcasm, but either the old fuck doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it. My father however, makes it clear to me he’s unimpressed.
“My pride and joy,” my father says, as he walks over to the wet bar located to the right, pouring us each a glass of his prized Macallan Single Malt Whiskey, handing Thomas a glass but leaving mine upon the table for me to grab myself. Ever the gentleman. “He’s had a few hiccups in recent times but nothing that won't be settled.”
The look in my father’s eyes is one of warning. Don’t fuck this up. Whatever this meeting with Thomas Carlyle is about, it’s of importance to him, which only gives me more of an incentive to fuck things up. “Yes well my father is capable of making sure I walk a straight line in his very own footsteps.”
“How I wish I would have had a son, to mold, to ensure my family legacy and livelihood continue.” Carlyle drops back into the leather chair across from my father who has now moved to sit behind his desk. He reaches into the top left drawer, pulling out a box of his favorite Cuban cigars and offers one to Carlyle who immediately takes the lit cigar and brings it to his lips. “I was however burdened with a daughter, one who’s only legacy is spending all of her dear daddy's money.”
Well I guess he’s not wrong there. Suddenly, the door of my father’s study is abruptly swung open revealing a petite framed blond, dashingly dressed in a long, dark green gown with a low-cut neckline and a high slit that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her golden blonde hair is curled in loose curls that fall like a blanket of sunshine over her bare shoulders.
“Speaking of the devil,” I murmur, under my breath.
“You do remember my daughter Kinsley,” Carlyle says, as the cheating bitch waltzes in the room, with her perfect devil may care attitude. The privileged brat settles beside her father, sitting upon the arm of his chair, revealing the smooth skin of her legs under the dress. I notice my father can’t help but look down at her legs crossed over one another. Fucking perv. She’s young enough to be his daughter. Kinsley notices, as she settles in hiking her dress further up as she tauntingly looks up at me. Her gaze remains glued to mine as she tries and fails to give me her most seductive smile. It might have done it for me once before, actually more than once, but now, all she does is make me sick.
Kins and I had something going on once, we were on and off for almost two years, and surprisingly things weren’t horrible. Sure she was needy, jealous, and always insecure, but I mean she had reasons too. I never claimed to be hers, never accepted to be her boyfriend or entered a monogamous relationship with her. However, I always laid things out in the open, letting her know there was no way I’d enter a relationship in high school. Everyone knew it, I was a certified playboy, a manwhore if you must, and that’s exactly how I planned to keep it. Until one day I tired out of her incessant whining and gave in. We lasted all of six months before she went and ruined it. I stayed faithful in those six months, remained monogamous, yet she’s the one who went and fucking cheated, therefore ruining her chances with me.
