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Pascal
“This constant taxing is insufferable,” he spat, rounding the bench and smacking the moron about the head. “Why must you be so inefficient?” Thomas scowled, a glare good enough for the gods to bow down to. Unfortunately for Thomas, he himself was above such creatures. If they existed.
He was not entirely sure they did.
“Oom, you cannot come in here and attempt reorganisation.” He very much could. And would. This restructuring of his club was inexcusable. “It is not even yours anymore.”
His cane was at the boy’s throat before he could utter another word. Not his? It was entirely his, as were all the other ventures the young upstart had had the audacity to use his money for. He scoffed.
“Remove that last sentence from the air before I gut you for it,” he snapped, rallying yet more pressure from the end of his cane. Thomas, moronically, sneered a little and pushed into it, one hand daring to grab for the ebony. He was so disturbed by the unhinged imagining that he twirled the thing away from Thomas, landing it across the back of his legs and sending him crashing to the floor. “Have you become dense in my absence?”
Thomas groaned and looked across the room at Lilah, presumably searching for help. It was help she would not give. His beloved little minx had become overly exuberant in the last few years, taking clients from Roxanne to fuel her debauched little mind. He was surprised she was even in Rome at all given her love for New York.
He looked across at her, watching the look of utter contempt she held over the situation. Apparently she was bored. Enough so that she was filing her own nails.
“Lilah, please, deal with him,” Thomas drawled. Deal with him? Deal with him? Was it not enough that he had been forced to come here because of juvenile delinquency, let alone now having to be insulted by his nephew?
He threw up his hands in despair and turned to leave the room. Perhaps he should disown the boy, certainly remove his damn name from the idiot. Thomas Van Der Braack? Horrendous. If not beautiful in its own right, certainly given the amounts of respect the boy was garnering around himself.
“You know, you could just stop coming back here,” Lilah said behind him somewhere. He sneered at her voice, annoyed at the reasoning that was, as ever, perplexingly accurate. “He doesn’t need you. You trained him well.” Bitch. “Are you terribly bored with those happy ever afters you asked me for?” Hmm. How to answer? One wrong word and this would cause cataclysmic reactions, something that made his already dangerously injured skin twitch.
“I am simply looking after my assets.” She raised a brow. “Your assets.” The brow climbed higher, a snarl gracing her lip. “Claire’s assets, then.”
Still she looked on, her back leant against the wall, until she moved forward and made her way to the door waiting for him to open it. He did, somewhat respectfully, and then watched as she waited on the steps and looked about the city.
“I think you’ll find they’re still Alexander’s assets,” she said, boredom in her tone.
“They are not,” he snapped in reply. Alexander was having none of his assets. The man was becoming quite maddening of late. And preoccupied with something he would not divulge. She turned to look at him, a wry smirk in her gaze. “I have my assets entirely wrapped up with my own lawyers. You are being obtuse.”
“But he has you entirely wrapped up in his fingers, so – his assets.” Not for much longer if the man carried on ignoring him rather than being a true dominant. She smiled wider, as if something were amusing. “Or mine, I suppose. Maybe you were right. I haven’t let you off the hook yet, have I? Which means he hasn’t either. And I am your lawyer.” She looked back out into Rome’s stream of sun, her head relaxed as she gazed upwards and dropped her glasses into place. “Not that you don’t enjoy beingonthe hook in the first place.” Pascal very much did mind at the moment. He was vexed. Annoyed with being disregarded, as a pet would be. Pet he was not.
She chuckled about something and walked her elegant little self down the steps, heels clipping the pavement and her waist synched in beyond all fathomability. It was an appealing sight. Overly so. One he may well have to follow on his knees rather than deal with the reprobate who he could still hear groaning in the office.
He shook his head of the lust and spun around, slamming the door in the process. Alexander’s behaviour of late was entirely unacceptable, which made this order of whom to, and when he should bow down or not perturbing. From either he or Lilah. And to be dismissed and ignored, as if he were no longer a necessity? Control was becoming somewhat lost.
The same would not be happening in his own clubs.
He looked at the office door. Vexed by a variety of issues and undeniably in need of rectifying at least one. Sharply. Before the boy became a tyrant and overthrew the masses.
“Thomas,” he bellowed, glaring into the room as he passed it. “Follow.”
He was not entirely sure whether the boy would or not. He was becoming quite the rogue. Lilah was correct, he had trained him well. He even looked the part now. Tall, trim, his eyes threatening anything that moved within his vicinity. Although, he did so with the correct amount of sophistication now, rather than the untrained moron of a few years hence.
“Oom, why must you continue with this-“ Pascal span so quickly theboy faltered a few steps backward in response, hand immediately held out to stop the onslaught. “If you endeavour hitting me with that again, I will retaliate.” Hmm. He narrowed his eyes at the boy, wondering what that might entail. With Thomas it was unknown as yet, enough so that he gripped a little tighter to the ebony. “I am not the boy I was, Oom.” Indeed he was not. “Do not make me show you how much so.” This last sentence caused the glare he was holding onto to break into a smile for some sanctimonious reason. Pride perhaps, maybe some egotism that he hadn’t quite yet accepted. Either way, he snapped the damn smirk from his face and turned back to the corridor, aiming for the dungeon where perhaps rational conversation could begin.
“Follow.” It was the only word he had. One the youngling would obey, regardless of his excessively boisterous stance in this society.
Thomas did indeed follow, sulkily, with a huff after every step. So he carried on until he had reached the gates to the last place he wanted to go again. Too many memories. Too much pain now that it was empty of Alexander. He shivered and waited for the imbecile to open it for him.
“Open the damn door yourself.” His brow raised. Himself? This was arguably the most moronic sentence that had left Thomas yet. Another huff sounded as the boy finally found some wherewithal and stepped around him to push on the gate. Better.
The smell of the dank room filled him with joy, annoyingly, causing some sentiment to infringe on this discussion. He scanned around, looking for his own blood on the walls. It had been some time since he was in here. Some six months ago, he believed. Yes, the fourth of July. What fun Alexander had had with his skin. His ass twitched, and a small snort filled the air around them. He was not sure which orifice it came from. Nor cared. The point was that it had not happened enough since. Barely at all.
“You will behave appropriately,” he mused, moving to the far side of the room and running his cane along the dangling chains. “Have you entertained a woman yet?” Thomas was quiet. He rolled his eyes at the boy’s inability to fuck women successfully. Regardless of gay or not, Thomas would learn to fuck anything that moved, as was his job. “Thomas you are not turning my clubs into the gay districts of each new one you acquire, let alone the ones already in situ. Everyone needs compassion in their needs, not simply the male of the species.”
He turned slowly to look at the boy, who was no longer a boy at all. Where was Ruebin? Perhaps if he dressed the little runt up as a girl it would help matters move more swiftly. “Do you not have the ability to simply fill the hole without thought to the sex of the body around it?” This appeared to cause a smile. It was not helpful. “I am trying to higher your purpose, Thomas.”
“My purpose is fine. You have seen the accounts, they are full to brimming.”
