Burn With Me

Burn With Me

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Isaac

Alcohol swims through my veins, wreaking havoc wherever it goes. Its destructiveness fogs over my mind. And for the first time in forever, it’s enough to numb the pain—though just barely.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Paris asks. It’s not like him to be so fucking prudish at a party. Why he’s gotta choose tonight of all nights to be responsible is beyond me.

I don’t even bother with a response. Instead, I just let the bottle in my hand go flying in the direction of his head. The responding inhale of breath and the shattering of glass against the backyard patio a split second later is the first part of my reward.

The second part is the dark curse that spits from his lips. “Are you fucking serious?” I hear him say. “I know you’re in a shit mood, but you’re lucky I don’t knock your dumb ass out for that.”

Shit mood is putting it lightly. Rather than getting drunk off my ass and taking my fury out on my best friend, I’d rather find my shitstain of a father and wrap my hands around his neck until he’s long gone from this Godforsaken world.

The sound of footsteps on the stone walkway of the garden estate echoes up the hedges into the secret alcove and a looming, dark figure appears. “What is he doing now?” Shepherd’s deep baritone reaches my ears, but his question makes me snort.

My head rolls back on my shoulders, and I realize that I’ve closed my eyes, so I open them and look up into Paris’ angry blue gaze as he bends over the top of my chair, looking ready to follow through on his threat.

“He’s being a fucking dick,” Paris snaps, answering my question and glaring me down all in the same instance.

Another snort escapes my lips. “What?” I ask, the image of him wavering in my vision. “You want me to say ‘I’m sorry?’” I shake my head. Sober me might have. Drunk me, however? Drunk me is a fucking asshole that just wants to lob another fucking bottle at someone’s head.

Paris continues to glare down at me. “If you’re gonna be like this, why don’t you crash here or find your own ride home?” he asks. “Because I’m two seconds from being done with you tonight.”

“No, let’s just take him home.” Shep’s words get my ass moving.

Pushing myself up from the lounge chair, I waver on my feet before regaining my balance. “Fuck no,” I argue. “I’m gonna go back to the house and get laid.”

“Yeah?” Paris looks me over as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You really think that’s gonna happen, whiskey dick?”

“Fuck you!” I throw out the curse, but I don’t mean it. I know I’m just talking through my ass. He’s right—with the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed, there’s no doubt I won’t be able to get it up for shit tonight. Fact is, I don’t even want to get laid. I just don’t want to go home. Not when I know that fucker is there.

Paris sighs and lowers his arms before moving towards me. “Come on, Isaac,” he says. “Let’s just go back for the night. We’ll even crash on your floor if you want.”

Shep moves in to my right and grabs an arm, lifting it over his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything to Paris’ offer, but I know he’ll do it. I lower my head and inhale. Fuck, I really don’t want to go back. I don’t want to do this shit.

“Isaac?” Paris repeats my name.

“Shit.” I hiss the word through gritted teeth. “Fine.” I don’t know if the two of them are relieved or what, but the second they get my drunken approval, Shep and Paris practically whip my ass out of the garden and start making our way up the steps and around the big mansion towards the parking lot.

Before I know it, I’m being pushed into the backseat of Shep’s Hummer. The engine roars to life and the sound of the two front doors snapping shut reaches my ears. I lay down long ways on the backseat, one foot propped at the edge of the seat and the other flat on the floorboards. I throw one arm over my eyes to block out the street lights as they pass over my face with every passing mile.

I’m so quiet, Paris must assume I’ve fallen asleep because after several minutes go by, I hear the creak of leather on his side of the vehicle before he starts talking in a low tone. “He’s real upset about the wedding shit,” he says. “He hasn’t gotten this drunk in a while.”

My teeth grind together at the mention of it. “It doesn’t help that Damien’s back for the time being,” Shep grunts from the driver’s side.

Paris’ seat creaks again. “What do you think he’s going to do?”

“Isaac or Damien?” Shep prompts.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Paris replies. “Isaac?”

“Don’t know.”

“And Damien?”

“Don’t know,” Shep repeats. A man of few words—he’s my damn favorite right now. I wish Paris would shut the fuck up. I can feel myself sobering up, and it’s not a good feeling. The more time that passes, the clearer my head gets. The more I remember what’s waiting for me through the doors of the Icari estate.

Paris and Shep grow quiet for the rest of the drive and after a while, I feel the familiar slow of the car as we come to a stop in front of the gates of my childhood home. Shep’s window rolls down and he leans out, inputting the code he’s known for years. There’s a pause as he waits for the gates to slide open and then we’re on the move again.

I don’t sit up until the car comes to a complete stop and Shep turns off the engine. “You good?” Paris glances back at me as I turn and look up to the three story mansion I’ve both revered and hated for fucking years.

Although it’s well past midnight, there are lights on. Of course there are. For a man like Damien Icari, business never sleeps and neither does he.

“Yeah,” I deadpan. “I’m just peachy.” Then before Paris can ask another stupid question, I slide to the edge of the seat and open my door. “Let’s go.”

The three of us make our way to the front door and head into the house. Already, my father’s men are hard at work—it’s like that shit never stops in this house.

Two months, I think. Two months and I’ll be free—relatively speaking anyway. At the very least, I’ll be able to escape to Hazelwood University with Paris and Shep.

“Isaac.” I freeze at the bottom of the staircase leading up to my room, and at my side both of my friends do the same. Slowly, I pivot back to face the man that called my name.

My father steps out of his office dressed in a three piece pinstripe suit. It’s so cliché it almost makes me laugh. A fucking modern mobster hiding behind his businesses is still just a mobster.

“Come.” That’s all he has to say and I’m no longer even somewhat intoxicated. It’s like he sucks all of it right out of me. I’m stone cold sober.

I inhale sharply and shoot a look at Paris and Shep. “Go on ahead,” I tell them. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

Loyal friends that they are—and knowing friends—they each glance between my father and me, silently asking … but I just shake my head. No doubt, all he wants to do is remind me to behave myself when his new wife arrives tomorrow.

I turn down the hallway and follow my father back into his office. The door shuts behind me and I feel like I’m being locked in a prison cell. My father waits until he circles his desk and takes his seat before speaking.

“There has been a change of plans,” he states, reaching into the right side drawer of his desk and withdrawing a small metal box. He pops it and withdraws an uncut cigar. My eyebrows lift slightly. Of all things, I didn’t expect this.

I rock back on my feet, feeling my mood slowly shift. Slowly improving. “Has she rethought the marriage?” I can’t help but ask.

My father’s gaze shoots to me, a glare of warning in its depths. “She. Has. Not.” The vehemence in his words leads me to believe otherwise, but I keep my mouth shut as he snips the end of his cigar, puts it between his lips, and lights it. Smoke curls up from the flaring red end as he shakes the match and the flame goes out.

“Her daughter, on the other hand, is not as accepting of the union,” he continues. “She’s apparently refusing to come and Emilia is attempting to persuade her.”

Smart girl, I think snidely.

“Then she won’t be arriving tomorrow?” I ask.

“No.” One word and yet it holds all of the obvious irritation he’s barely restraining. “I’ve spent months seducing Emilia Summers, and she will be my wife,” he goes on after a moment. “This is merely a setback. From what I understand, she’s not close with her son. He hasn’t spoken to her in three years. I hadn’t considered that her daughter’s opinion would mean that much to her.”

“Of course not,” I say with a nod. Just as much as my opinion matters to him—which would be not at fucking all.

“There is some good news, however.” My father inhales another puff of his cigar and leans back in his chair. “The girl will be attending Hazelwood next fall.”

The slow snake of dread crawls up my throat. My mind runs a million miles per minute, trying to piece together the meaning behind his words before he says them.

“In two months time,” he continues, “Emilia’s daughter will be a student at Hazelwood. My relationship with her mother is of the utmost importance in the coming year, Isaac. I’ll need someone to watch her.” He lowers his head. “Very carefully.”

My jaw unhinges and drops. “You’re joking.”

Dark brows lower over his eyes and my back straightens automatically. Fear is always something my father has been a master at invoking. Even now, grown as I am, it’s an effort just to keep my gaze level with his. “She’s nobody,” I say quickly, bypassing the earlier comment. “A spoiled socialite probably attending Hazelwood with the thought of finding a husband of the same class. There’s no need to watch her.”

“That is not for you to decide, Son.” I swallow reflexively when he ashes his cigar into a crystal tray on the side of his desk. “If I say you are to watch her, then that means you are to do so. You do not question my judgment here.”

My teeth grind down into each other, my jaw locking tight as I withhold the slew of curses that threaten to spill forward. “When?” is all I manage to get out after several seconds of utter silence.

“At the start of the semester,” he answers. “You will move into a location I have provided. You will live with Emilia Summers’ daughter. You will watch her and you will report back to me. With Emilia staying with her over the summer at some resort in Macau, I’ll have to push back the honeymoon, but it won’t matter.”

A thought fills my mind, and though I don’t want to make this meeting any longer than it has to be, I can’t stop the question from coming forward. “You’ve planned the Summers’ Industry takeover,” I begin. “Why do you think it’s necessary for me to watch the daughter? What could she possibly do to stop it now?”

My father watches me with a careful gaze. Thankfully, though, it’s not angry. He ashes his cigar once more and then sets it within the tray before leaning forward and steepling his hands together to rest his chin upon them.

“I do not like wild cards, Isaac,” he states. “Emilia was predictable until now. She’s left her daughter alone for months at a time with little more than maids and cooks to look after her. It could be cold feet. It could also be her daughter’s influence. I want to know. A businessman must plan for every contingency, my son. Remember that, and make sure you keep an eye on her.”

“Yes, Sir.” Saying the words is the start of my dismissal. I turn and head back into the hallway. Once I’m out of his presence, my body takes on a mind of its own. My hands clench into fists and my upper lip curls back from my teeth. All of the expression I couldn’t reveal in his presence comes to the forefront.

Businessman? Fucking right. Damien Icari is no businessman. On paper he may be a genius—an inventor, the CEO of one of the fastest growing conglomerates in the world. Few know of its illusion, and I am one of them.

Emilia Summers is a fucking idiot for not seeing what a conniving bastard my father is. No woman in her right mind would marry Damien Icari if they knew what he really is—what our family really is.

Insidious.

Deviant.

Criminal.

And she just walked right into his trap.

end of excerpt