Puppet Master

Kieran POV

This fuck-ass brunch was going about as well as I expected.

Father sat at the head of a twenty-person table, looking like the picture of perfection while his stuffy ass colleagues and business partners chirped about boring shit I didn’t care about.

My black suit was perfectly tailored to fit my body, and I looked the part of the perfect son of a millionaire… Everything except for my face, of course.

I’m certain my nose ended up broken last night given the bruising around both of my eyes, and my eyebrow split after a harsh right hook from some guy twice my size. I probably could have used a few stitches, but these butterfly strips hold the wound together well enough to avoid making the trip.

Hospitals weren't my thing.

“Son,” my father spoke my name with enough disdain for me to notice, but not enough for his colleagues to bat an eye. “Have you considered my proposal?”

“No.”

His nostrils flared at my short and sweet response, but an easy smile played on his mouth, before he chuckled softly, “No worries. You’ll come around some day.”

Emilio Decker was a snake. He was cold, calculated, and as dark as they come. Growing up in his shadow has been nothing short of a nightmare, and more than once, he’s roped me in to his illegal business activities.

The very thought of everything I don’t know makes me sick, but not enough to dig any deeper. I don’t want anything to do with my father, and the moment I start digging is the moment I intertwine my life with his.

For that, I choose to stay ignorant of the life he leads, focusing on my own instead.

He'd already tossed me aside for someone better.

“Keep telling yourself that,” I mutter, earning glare from nearly black eyes.

“He’s still young,” my father’s partner, Sebastion, chirps with an easy smile. “They all come around.”

“The second my son saw the number of zeros in the bank, his tune changed immediately,” another voice added.

Yeah. Fat chance. I could see millions in cold, hard cash and I still wouldn’t dip my foot into my father’s world willingly.

Two more hours passed, four courses, and more expensive scotch than most see in their lifetime was drunk before I was finally free.

I checked through my messages.

Malcom: Still breathing, hot shot?

Malcom: How’s the nose? You’re gonna be less attractive than me if you keep breaking your face.

I let out an annoyed tch.

Kieran: In your fuckin dreams, buddy

Then, I saw the thread with Bambi. To say I was pissed off last night was an understatement. She canceled on me at the last minute. Not the other way around.

Women trip over themselves for a chance to breathe the same air as me, and yet she’d canceled with ease, and didn’t bother speaking directly to me during that dinner.

But my anger vanished entirely after she called out to that cook, putting Axel in his place. The guy was openly a douche, but no one dared speak against him.

Bambi did it with a straight face before continuing to do her job as if it hadn’t happened in the first place. That’s some shit I can respect.

Kieran: You work tonight?

Tossing my phone onto my childhood bed, I tugged at the collar on my suit, loosening my tie. I fucking hated all this proper shit. The façade that my father puts on. It’s all bullshit.

Emilio Decker makes the boogeyman look like a fuckin’ fairy, and my little brother is following in his footsteps like the good little obedient dog that he is. It’s disgusting and makes my stomach churn.

I fight, nearly to the death, but everyone who steps into that ring knows what they’re doing and agrees to it. My father’s choices are all one-sided, and the victims usually have no idea of the demon that’s lingering on the edges of their lives.

Bambi: I usually don’t work on the weekends. Last night was an exception.

Bambi: I’m sorry about canceling at the last minute.

Bambi: That was rude.

Bambi: Are you wanting to reschedule?

Holy shit.

Kieran: You couldn’t have put that all in one message?

Bubbles popped up and disappeared.

Bambi: My hands move faster than my brain sometimes (Hands emoji covering a face)

No apology again. That was something I hadn’t expected. Most girls fumble over themselves with a million empty apologies like it’s all a man wants to hear.

Kieran: So are you busy?

Bambi: I am, but it’s something that can wait.

Bambi: What do you have in mind?

Kieran: Pick you up in twenty

I changed into a pair of basketball shorts and compression tee, leaving my stuffy suit in a heap on my bed. That pisses my father off enough for me to want to piss on the damn thing just for good measure, since I know he’ll come in here and gather it for dry cleaning.

Heading down the grand staircase, I’m grateful that my father is nowhere to be seen. Mother is off at some retreat somewhere pretending to be detoxing while drinking her weight in mimosas and fucking some poor, unsuspecting pool boy.

“Kieran.” My father’s deep voice cuts through the silence, and instantly my teeth ground together.

So much for being nowhere to be seen.

“Father.”

“Face me when you speak,” he snarls, and like the almost-obedient dog I am, I spun around, meeting his harsh gaze. Discomfort slithers down my spine whenever I look into his soulless eyes.

Somehow, I’d managed to have blue eyes, where mother, father, and my little brother all had a deep shade of brown that mirrored black.

“I raised you better than this,” my father shook his head, disappointment lingering in the air around us.

“You didn’t raise me at all.”

I spoke as if I wasn’t terrified of the man before me, but it was a lie I told myself every time I was around him. When I get to my car, all of that built-up confidence washes away like the tide pulling back out to sea.

“I’ve allowed you to have your little fun,” he takes a step towards me. “Let you go to college, go out with your friends, build little relationships, but,” another step. “You can’t run from your responsibilities forever.”

A wicked smile played on his lips, “You’re lucky Aeros isn’t a fucking disappointment.”

“Are you done?”

“Enjoy your freedom while you can,” he stops moving towards me. “It’ll all be over before you know it.”

I don’t indulge him with an answer, turning around, and leaving with the soft click of the door. I don’t want him to know how far he’d slithered under my skin.

As soon as the door shuts on my car, my palms slam against the steering wheel.

“FUCK.” I roar. “FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.”

My chest rises and falls shakily, and I want to scream. Emilio Decker was like a puppet master, and I was the fool at the end of the strings. It never mattered how far I moved away from him, he had the ability to drag my ass right back in.