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If I was a dark horse then Jayson was a broken prince. The prettiest of us, his golden playboy hair got him into more trouble than even a rich boy like himself could get out of.
A ruler of a world crackling in excess and he was still the one everyone wanted.
America's golden boy.
Not to mention the dude looked like a Greek god or some shit. Pair that with blue eyes and a jawline that could cut glass, and the girls dropped their panties after two seconds of brief as fuck eye contact with the man.
It also didn't help that his parents were loaded. Considering that they could afford to pay off nearly anything their impulsive reckless god of a son came up with for entertainment for the evening. His panty-melting smile and charming twin dimples getting him into more trouble than even he could talk himself out of.
And knowing Jayson, nothing was off the table when it came down to it. The guy might looked like innocent fun to the untrained eye but I knew him for the demon-haunted, twisted bastard he was deep down inside. The pretty boy facade was just a shell waiting to be cracked.
With Jayson, no one ever really knew what was going on in that head of his.
SMASH.
The sound of glass shattering filled the rooms, and my head snapped towards the window so fast my neck cracked. I looked up just in time to see the window whip open, Tristan's sun-kissed face peeking in through the polished glass.
“A little help would be nice,” he muttered as he tried to shove his legs through, shards of glass tangling in his midnight black hair.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Jayson yelled, jumping off the couch. “How did you even get out there? Your place is on, like, the twentieth floor? Are you crazy?” Jayson continued to stagger in disbelief, both of our hands shooting out to help him inside.
Stumbling, Tristan righted himself, the remaining glass shards falling off his Armani suit like glitter. His pants were half unzipped and his top shirt buttons were busted off. I glanced up and noticed his lips were puffy, the glass having cut him square across his left cheek, and a drop of blood trailed down his neck before disappearing underneath his collar.
He looked like some sort of fucked up bloody dark angel.
“Mr. Hathaway happened,” Tristan snapped. Frustration wreaking off of him in waves.
“Turns out his two o’clock meeting got canceled for the day. Came in right as I was dicking his lovely wife doggie style atop their William and Sonoma kitchen counter.”
“So what? You decide to scale the building like some sort of suicidal ninja?” I growled, “Real slick escape route.” I blamed my increased heart rate on the weed. Tristan's self-destructive tendencies certainly seemed to be escalating as of late.
“Don't be ridiculous,” Tristan scoffed, “I used the balcony trellis.”
Impatient, I watched his movements become cold as he shrugged out of his suit jacket before tossing it on the gray leather couch without a second glance. Tristan never made himself comfortable in his own home. Almost like he refused to leave any mark on the impersonal soulless cage.
“We have bigger issues at hand,” I muttered. Tristan ignored me as he made his way across the apartment, his long legs eating up the space as he headed straight to the modern mini bar beside the kitchen. Silently, Jayson and I watched as he poured himself much more than two fingers of scotch before downing it in a single go.
A dark beast, Tristan liked to cage his emotions before wrapping them in thorns. The man's mind was nearly impenetrable. His eyes were two dark shutters forever closed to the world. It made for a good business partner, but sometimes, it left me wondering what ran through my friend's mind. To know just how dark and perverse he truly was.
He tilted his head towards mine, a silent nod of encouragement. Tristan liked to pretend he called the shots, but we all knew who ruled the show around here. Although I let his king complex slide most days only because I knew the guy needed to blow off steam somehow, at least pretend he had some measure of control over his life. With a father like his, the days sure felt longer than what was worth it most of the time.
But the real reason I let it go was because he was my brother.
Not by blood, although some days I wondered, but in every way that matters in this fucked up world. The three of us had been inseparable since grade school. Jayson, Tristan, and I. We created the rules. Sometimes we destroyed the rules. But we never forgot where the line was.
And today, a line had been crossed.
Only this time I didn't know by who.
“It's missing,” the words slipped out past my ground teeth. Tasting like the kind of vomit you can't hold in. The kind that leaves a nasty aftertaste in your mouth.
It was missing and I didn't know where it was.
It was fucking missing.
To say I was panicking would be an overestimation of my ability to feel. Slightly irked, to the point where a cold sweat broke across my palms, was more of an accurate assessment as to my current state.
Judging by the way Tristan nearly choked on his liquor and Jayson actually managed to stop speaking, I know that my feelings of not-panic were not completely unwarranted.
