Page 23 of Tease Me


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“I’ll get over it.” I pick up a pen that someone had left lying around and twist it through my fingers like a surrogate cigarette.

Dacre frowns. “You’ll miss your chance to fuck over Peter Waldgrave.”

I hadn’t considered that. Peter Waldgrave deserves to die. The old fucker needs to be fucking tortured until he’s begging for mercy. “You can do that when you move to the top at Letterman International. Take over Dacre Industries, then move on to Waldgrave. Just do me a favor and give me a front-row seat when you burn the fucker to the ground.

Anger and disappointment settle on my chest as I watch the one chance of getting my own back on that bitch and her cunt of a father go up in smoke. I like to think I’m more of a man to accept defeat than one who keeps going, knowing they are going to fail and bring the only people that give a fuck about them down along with them. Fucking bastard has got one over on me again and I hate him for it. “I’m going to bed,” I say, taking my own can with me.

It takes me forever and a fucking day to fall asleep. My body is craving a smoke and every time I close my eyes I see her. I should have hurt her when I got the chance. I had the bitch in my arms. She was naked and blind, completely unable to put up a fight. I should have made her scream until she begged me to stop and then I should have hurt her some more. I slam my fist on my pillow. I should never let myself fall for her. It’s a lesson I learned the hard way and I’ve never let myself do it again. I shy away from any meaningful connections. Friendships, relationships. Mercier and Dacre are the only two people I fucking give a shit about. Knowing that I’ve made the decision to get them out of this is the thought that finally allows me to fall asleep.

I wake a few hours later to the sound of Dacre’s distinctive British voice screaming obscenities that only a Brit would make.

I stumble out of bed and drag on some shorts before heading out of my room.

“You oily, fuck-faced wanker. I demand you put it down right, the fuck, now, you maggot infested cockwomble!”

I step into the middle of an argument between Dacre and some guy I’ve never seen before in my life, apparently over the side table which both of them have grabbed a side each. “What’s going on?”

“This Jizzbucket thinks it’s okay to come and steal my fucking shit, that’s what.”

The guy, a suited bespectacled man who looks to me in his mid forties and indeed, does look like an oily fuck faced wanker, drops his side of the table. Physics takes over and Dacre stumbles backward, dropping the table leg on his foot and expending another row of foul mouthed expletives.

“I informed Mr. Dacre that I’ve been sent here by the senior Mr. Dacre to let him know that now he’s secured himself an internship with the prestigious Letterman International, Mr. and Mrs. Dacre no longer need to subsidize him and have decided they are going to put this house and all the contents up for sale. I’ve been ordered to come here and take everything away for cleaning and cataloguing before it goes to auction.

I’m tired and already cranky after a night of barely any sleep. The asshole doesn’t stand a chance. I barrel into him, sending him flying to the ground. “Like fuck you are. You can’t just come in here and take our shit.”

He pulls himself up and adjusts his glasses. “That’s just it, sir. This shit isn’t yours. It belongs to Jonathan and Mary Dacre.”

As he speaks, another couple of clowns arrive through the open front door. “I suggest you let us do what we came to do or I’ll call the police and let them deal with it. You’ve got twenty-four hours to pack your things and find alternative accommodation.”

Dacre grabs my arm before I can punch the fucker’s lights out. I follow him to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, man. I opened the door and door and the fucktrumpet barged in with a legal document. This has nothing to do with the internship. They are fucking paying for my education, it makes no sense they’d turf me out before finals.”

I ask a question I’m not sure I want to know the answer to. “So what is it about?”

“I don’t know but I can hazard a guess.” I stare at him, waiting for him to continue. “Either he’s finally found out I’ve been using his money to sub you and Mercier for so long, or he’s found out about her.”

No need to ask who ‘her’ is. If the Dacres’ know about Sin, we’re all screwed. I’m jonesing for a smoke and my body is itching for the nicotine fix. I should have planned better, but then again, this has been thrown at us out of the blue. “They don’t know about Sin. They’d have us out of their apartment.”

Dacre gives me a look of panic that I feel in my own gut. We both whip out our phones and hit dial on Mercier’s name. Dacres’ connects first. He puts it on speaker.

“Hey man. Don’t worry. I’m not fucking her.”

I don’t know what Dacre has said to him, but a weight lifts from my chest and the bitterness I’ve been swallowed up in resides a touch.

“You with her now?” Dacre asks, glancing up at me.

“If you can call me making lunch and her staring at the TV being with her, then yeah, sure.”

Dacre lets out a long breath. “Call me if anything happens.”

There’s a pause. “Like what?”

Dacre raises an eyebrow to me in askance. Do we tell Mercier about being evicted? He’s a loose cannon at the best of times and he absolutely hates people being in his room. He’s never once since I’ve known him had a girl in there. He prefers to go to their rooms and fuck them there. Not even Dacre or I have seen what lurks in his room. In all honesty, I’d prefer not to know. I nod my head. He has a right to know what’s happening.

“My father has cut us off. We’re being evicted. I don’t think he knows we are in his apartment yet, but you need to keep an eye out for trouble. We’ll box your shit up and put it in storage for now.”

“Please tell me you are joking with me.” He’s adopted Dacre’s British accent, a weird habit he does when he’s nervous. Normally it’s as funny as fuck. Today it isn’t.

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