Our Broken Pieces (The Pieces Series Book 1) Page 8

  “A party for what?” Molly was Lorcan’s younger sister and the girl felt that every steppingstone in life deserved a party and I wasn’t a party person. I attended galas and social functions because I had to as CEO of SFH, but that didn’t mean I liked to.

  “She got a new job and-”

  I couldn’t stop the weighted sigh that rushed out. “Jesus, Lorcan,” I groaned, “a new job?”

  Luckily, he also thought Molly’s penchant for throwing random parties was ridiculous, too. “I know, Gage,” he mumbled just as frustrated. “It’s completely stupid, but it’s not like I can stop her.”

  I met Lorcan in college, our sophomore year, when he had walked in on me screwing his steady pussy from behind. At the time, I hadn’t known she was his steady pussy, and I hadn’t been keen on fighting with my dick out. But instead of losing his shit, Lorcan had unzipped his pants and had rammed his cock into her mouth. We had used her like the cheating slut she was, and after that, we had ditched her, but had become friends. It was the only time we had ever shared a female, and our life-long pact to call dibs had been made the next morning, and we’ve stuck to it so far.

  Lorcan’s been my only real friend since then. I stopped talking to Chance the day he stood with Margot in keeping me from Mystic all those years ago.

  “Well, you can quit inviting me,” I suggested, getting back to the subject at hand.

  “Fuck that,” he scoffed. “If I have to go to these horrible parties, so do you.”

  “You don’t have to go,” I reminded him. “If it’s her birthday or she pops out a kid, fine. But a new job? A hard pass, my friend.”

  “Come on,” he pled. “How about if I make her promise not to try to set you up?”

  I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see me. Molly’s goal in life-besides living in a puddle of confetti-was to see me and her brother married off to one of her insipid, annoying friends. “Still a hard pass, my friend,” I repeated. “Besides, I’m busy this weekend. I gotta work.”

  “I haven’t even mentioned which weekend,” he deadpanned.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I threw back. “I’m busy every weekend. For the next few years, as a matter of fact. Actually, probably for the rest of my life.”

  “You’re a dick,” he announced as if I already hadn’t known this about myself.

  “Maybe,” I conceded. “But I’m a dick who doesn’t have to go to his little sister’s party and make nice with her annoying friends, so I’m thinking I’m okay with that.”

  “Dude, you don’t have to marry any of them,” he argued. “Just get laid and move on.”

  “No pussy in that group of friends your sister has is worth the stage-five clinging they’d do after I fucked them.” Ever since hitting my first million, I was careful about the women I fucked.

  Very careful.

  “Someone thinks highly of his bedroom skills,” he laughed.

  “Nah,” I chuckled. “It’s my wallet that’s the attraction. I’m not confused about that, Lor.” Even though I wasn’t a bad-looking guy, my wallet attracted more women than my looks or personality actually did. I wasn’t saying all women were gold-diggers, but most of the women who ran in my social circles were.

  “Fine,” Lorcan relented. “I’ll let Molly know you’re going to be a no-show.”

  “You still don’t have to go, you know,” I repeated.

  “I’m not as picky about my pussy as you are,” he snorted.

  I shook my head. “Good luck with that,” I replied before we said our goodbyes.

  It wasn’t that I was picky about pussy so much as I was about avoiding a scandal and internet headlines. These days, with technology, it was too easy to find yourself plastered all over the internet, never to recover again. I sure as fuck was not trying to end up like all those other poor bastards whose lives have been ruined because they couldn’t control their addictions, sick or not. I worked too damn hard to land anywhere other than on top.

  No woman will ever bring me to my knees.

  Not ever-fucking-again.

  Chapter 17

  Mystic~

  Two months at Cavanaugh Industries and I was already looped into the politics of office-life. I was also caught up in some stupid shit that could cost me my job, but the tradeoff was worth it. Or it would be worth it if I ever got my foot in the door to something bigger.

  Mean Girl, Reagan Contreras ended up being my direct report, because I was lucky like that. She wasn’t my boss, per se, that title belonged to Lacey Stevens, but Reagan had more seniority on me and worked in one of the offices and not in a cubicle.

  After my first month at CI, Reagan had delegated a project to me, and it wasn’t until I was three projects in that I realized she was pawning her work off on me while she did...well, I didn’t know what the hell she did, but it wasn’t her work.

  At first, I had considered going to Lacey about it, but I quickly nixed that idea. While Reagan was using me to do her work, I had decided to use her to gain enough experience to move up, whether here at CI or somewhere else, I didn’t care. I just knew I didn’t want to do clerk work forever. I needed a challenge, and this was giving me that opportunity.

  Sure, I knew there was a risk of us getting in trouble over it, but I obviously must have been doing a good job for Reagan to continue to give me her projects to complete. She disguised the work as ‘mentoring’ and ‘team building’ but since I was often the only fool left in the building until ten most nights, there was no team involved in any of this.

  And while I disliked Reagan immensely, I wasn’t about to squander away this opportunity out of spite. Cut, nose, face, and all that jazz, you know.

  There was also the fact that, while Reagan didn’t know it, I had authored all the projects with my name and employee number, and had hidden them in the documents, so that if this ever came out, she couldn’t claim my work as her own.

  My desk phone rang, and I answered, “Cavanaugh Industries, Mystic Anderson speaking.”

  “Hey, chick. What’s the haps?”

  I smiled as I would recognize that voice anywhere. “Hey, Rowan.”

  Rowan Lewis was my best friend and the person who knew me best. We met our junior year in college when our Econ Professor, Professor Neilson, had told me his class wasn’t for weak people. Rowan had jumped to my defense and, later, jumped Professor Neilson’s bones. Our friendship had been forged from the passion of the young and we’ve been best friends ever since.

  “Look, I’m calling because I have to go out of town for a stupid audit, and so, I have to cancel Friday,” she mumbled miserably. Rowan was a corporate auditor and she was a vicious one at that. “I also promised Grayson lunch when I get back.” Grayson was her older brother, and the best thing since sliced bread. Not to mention, the man was easy on the eyes. If I didn’t love him like a brother, I’d probably stalk him like a lunatic.

  “That’s fine,” I replied. “MG handed off another project of hers, so I’m probably going to sleep here all week anyway. That includes Friday, too.”

  “Ugh,” she breathed out. “I know this will all help you in the long run, but I hate knowing that bitch is making you do her work under her sly, slick, and wicked ways. How the hell do you get her work and your work done, anyhow?” Rowan knew MG stood for Mean Girl and that was Reagan.

  I snorted. “I’m here until ten at night almost all week long,” I admitted.

  “Christ, Mystic, you’re going to end up working yourself sick,” she complained lovingly

  I didn’t think it was quite that dramatic. Work myself into sleeping twelve hours Sunday, maybe, but not sick. “Well, it’s not like I have someone waiting at home for me, Row,” I joked. “Work is the only action I’m getting these days.”

  Rowan huffed. “That’s because you’re too damn picky, Mystic,” she said, and not for the first time. “There are so many nice guys out there that would love to date you.”

  I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn’t see me through t
he phone. “Guys never want to date the chubby girl, Row.”

  “You’re not chubby,” she automatically disputed. “You’re curvy. And there are plenty of grown men who appreciate curves. We’re not in college anymore, Mys. Mature guys look beyond being a size two.”

  Of course, I couldn’t tell her the real reason I didn’t want to date. The simple fact was that what I needed from a man was unhealthy and I was too scared to ever voice the need to another partner ever again. It was a sick balance between knowing that I would never want to endure the horrors of being raped but wishing that I could find a man who could read my mind enough to know when no really means yes. And, deep down, even if I could manage that balancing act, Gage Evans already destroyed any part of me that wanted to try again.

  I still wanted to be taken in the worst way, however, I didn’t trust myself or anyone else anymore in that regard. No matter how much I wanted to be possessed by a man, who would stop at nothing to have me, I thought I’d had that in Gage, and being proven wrong had very nearly destroyed me. Piece of me were still missing, ten years later.

  “Well, chubby or not,” I replied, returning to our conversation, “I’m just not up for the song and dance of a first date.”

  “Screw a first date then,” Rowan laughed. “Just go out and get laid, if nothing else, Mys. I mean, sometimes a girl has just got to have her needs met. Preferably, all night long.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, Rowan, I’ll get right on that.”

  “You need to get on something,” she retorted. “Preferably something with eight inches.

  Now she was really reaching. “Eight inches is a rather lofty goal there, Row.”

  “Not even,” she argued. “Ten inches is a lofty goal. Eight inches is reasonable.”

  I shook my head. This girl. “Okay, I’m done with this conversation,” I announced. “I am not going to discuss penis sizes with you while I’m at work. And, for the record, eight inches is way more than average.”

  “Riiiiight,” she chuckled. “We’ll table this for when I get back and we can have a girls’ night.”

  I laughed. “Have a safe trip, Row.”

  “I will,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Love you, Mystic.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I didn’t like lying to Rowan, but my drought was a lot longer than she believed. Over the years, I’ve given her stories of one-night stands that never happened, but it was because I knew she’d flip if she knew the truth. If she knew it’s been close to six years since I’ve had sex, she’d insist on knowing why. And, for the most part, she’d be right to be concerned. Even chubby girls could find sex if a man lowered his expectations a bit. Everyone knew it was easier for women to get laid than men, no matter what the girl looked like. Men were suckers for pussy. Especially, the kind that came without strings or next day phone calls.

  And while I missed sex, I didn’t want to fake it. I didn’t want to meet that moment of disappointment when foreplay morphed into sex. I didn’t want to have to pretend to cum or even enjoy it. Sure, there were rumored sex clubs and I could always look into one of the million dating sites on the internet, but I didn’t want something that was orchestrated.

  I wanted the real deal.

  Because I knew what the real deal felt like.

  I wanted unleashed, and I wanted it to be genuine. I didn’t want a guy playing a part as if my sexual desires were a fantasy to be played out. The dark needs in my soul were not part of a fantasy. They weren’t roleplaying opportunities. They went beyond spicing up the bedroom.

  My desires were one of the realest things about me, and as much as I hated to admit it, they weren’t something I thought I’d ever get over. At least, not without the help of a real professional, or medication.

  And I knew I’d never get over Gage Evans, no matter how hard I’ve tried over the years.

  I looked down at my desk, at Reagan’s latest project, and decided to go back to what I could actually control. This experience would eventually help me get to where I wanted to go, and if my journey was taken alone, so be it.

  At least I wouldn’t be damaging anyone else.

  Chapter 18

  Gage~

  It was a Saturday morning, and while I never slept in, it was still too early for my mother to be calling me. It could only mean she missed me. Whenever she misses me, she calls at crazy early or late hours, knowing that’s the best time to catch me for conversation.

  There were so many times, over the years, I wanted to tell my mother the truth about my father, but she was truly, blissfully unaware of my father’s philandering and she was happy.

  Always happy.

  I wasn’t brave enough to tear her world apart. Besides, it would come down to my word against my father’s and I wasn’t sure which side my mother would pick. I wasn’t ready to lose her over my father, and if I threatened her marriage, that might very well could happen.

  I answered the phone. “Hey, Mom.”

  She let out a soft sigh. “Gage, honey,” she replied. “How are you?”

  “I’m well, Mom,” I told her. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied. “I miss my only son, though.”

  I hated that I went out of my way to avoid her because I really did love her, but guilt was a monkey on my back I couldn’t shake. I was always on the verge of telling her the truth now that my father didn’t have a hold on me any longer, and I was always worried I was going to blurt out his secrets, ruining my mother’s happily crafted life. “I miss you, too.”

  Her voice lightened as she said, “Well, I’m going to be in Chicago next week for a conference, so why don’t we do lunch?” My parents still lived in California and my mother still traveled for business. Sometimes work brought her to Chicago.

  An automatic denial was on my lips, but I held it in. “Alone, Mom,” I replied, instead.

  “Now, Gage-”

  “No, Mother,” I said, cutting her off. “I am not going to sit through another lunch where you invite a friend and her conveniently single daughter.” My mother’s grandmother clock was ticking, and she wasn’t being subtle about it at all.

  “That was one time, Gage.”

  One time too many.

  “Call me when you know more and I’ll make the reservations for lunch,” I replied, ignoring her defense.

  She let out a sigh. “Fine,” she relented. “I’ll call you.”

  I smiled because I couldn’t help it. I was a right bastard, but I did love my mother. “Okay. Talk to you later, Mom. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she said automatically right before hanging up.

  Now, while I was sure my mom’s friends had lovely daughters, my father’s introduction to sex had fucked me up so badly, my dick didn’t get hard for sweet and innocent. It got hard for the darker pleasures and I hated that development as much as I hated my father.

  The first time I ever fucked Mystic Anderson, it hadn’t been her tight virgin pussy that had made me cum. It had been the dark, disgusting images of holding her down and making her take it that had finally made me nut off. And it’s been those sick images that have been doing it for me all these years later.

  I had sworn Mystic Anderson was dead to me the day it had sunk in that she had really left me, but over the years, I couldn’t keep the memories at bay.

  She was every-fucking-where.

  She was there whenever my dark desires surfaced. And, even though, it had taken a couple of years, she had still been there when I had finally started fucking other girls. I had stayed the fuck away from girls with brown hair and brown eyes, but it hadn’t mattered. Mystic was all I saw when I was balls-deep inside a woman.

  She was there because no other woman had ever been able to come close to being what Mystic had been to me.

  What she still fucking was.

  The sad thing was that, while I had come across a few women who would have loved to be taken roughly, I hadn’t wanted to cross that line with them for mo
re reasons than just my image. Mystic had really done a fucking number on me, and marking another woman had always felt wrong, no matter how much my dark needs had wanted to.

  I resorted to cage fight training to unleash my aggression, and even then, that didn’t do much, other than take the edge off.

  Mystic was there in my head all the goddamn time whenever a woman was getting naked for me. While I knew her name and face, the second my dick made contact, every face turned into Mystic’s. Every moan was in the sound of her voice. Every pair of tits morphed into Mystic’s. Every pussy I had sunk into was a joke until I imagined it was Mystic’s.

  My dick may have had its share of pussy, but in my mind, I’ve only ever fucked Mystic Anderson. The trick had been to remember that it was all just a fantasy. Had I really, genuinely, believed these women to be Mystic, I would have torn them apart.

  The day I’d gone looking for Mystic and Margot had told me she was gone, I had lost my shit. And no matter what I had threatened, Margot wouldn’t tell me anything more. She wouldn’t tell me where Mystic had gone or why. I never thought I’d want to kill anyone other than my father, but that day, I had wanted to wrap my hands around Margot’s neck and snuff the life out of her. After all, with every word, she had been killing me. And Chance had been no better, which only proved that teenage dick really was a slave to willing pussy.

  The nail in the coffin had been when I had gone to Mystic’s house and her father had told me she was gone and that she had gone willingly. At first, I hadn’t believed him because there’s no way Mystic would have left me. I believed, at the time, our love and need for each other had transcended everything and everyone else.

  Boy, had I been fucking wrong.

  Her dad had explained, in excruciating detail, that Mystic had been communicating with a fashion design blogger and had convinced Mystic that she would mentor her. All Mystic had to do was move and register for an elite fashion program.

  It had all sounded like bullshit at first because Mystic was never a fashionista. She never cared about fitting in or keeping up with the latest styles. And why wouldn’t Margot just tell me that? Granted, it could have been because Margot knew I’d go after her, but still. I never would have denied Mystic a future. I’d just denied her a future that hadn’t include me.