Page 65 of After-Hours Heir

“I think you do want to. Otherwise none of this would have affected you the way that it did.”

She moved to where he was sitting, and she slid onto his lap. He was fully dressed now. She was still naked. She looped her arms around his neck, and she made eye contact with him. “Why do you think you can’t change?”

“Because I know how dark it made me. I know it.”

“How? You keep saying things like that. You won’t explain it.”

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry but I don’t know how to talk about it. I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how. I can’t even remember what it was like to love my mother. I don’t remember her at all. I wasn’t a small child. I was eleven when she died. I don’t remember her. I don’t remember before.”

Her heart ached for him. He was so painfully sad.

“I had to get rid of every shred of pity inside of me. Because if I stopped and worried about the other boys… They were going to die anyway. I couldn’t stop. If you stop, then you could get beaten. If you got beaten you are at a greater risk.”

“How did you escape?” she asked.

“It was like gladiators. In the arena.” He was silent for a long moment. “It was a particularly hot day. The machinery in the factory was loud. There was dust in the air. The door was left open. And I decided that I was going to run. I knew exactly where guards were stationed. Mostly, there weren’t guards. Because at that point, they assumed that we were all broken. But not me. Because I didn’t let it. I let it make me hard instead. And so when the boss came through, I attacked him. We fought, and he wrapped his hands around my throat.”

He cleared his throat, his eyes intent on the amber liquid in his glass. “I pushed him. Into the equipment. I could hear him screaming as I ran, I didn’t pause to look back. He might’ve died, so be it. You should know that. Because there were conveyor belts and gears, and many boys were lost to the cruelty of that machinery. So if he did… I want you to know that I’m not sorry.”

She nodded, her throat feeling tight.

“Then I ran. Into nothing. The factory was in the middle of nowhere. It was in the Midwest. There was nothing, and nowhere to hide, for miles. I crawled on my belly until I was sure no one was coming after me. I ran as much as I could in the dark. At night. Finally, I found a town. I was able to get enough money washing dishes to buy a bus ticket. I ended up going to New York. I was seventeen.”

“Christos…”

“I saved money. And saved it. I ended up investing in an app for short-form videos very early. We made a lot of money. I began to look for other media to put money into. Eventually itbecame RedMedia. And I would love to tell you that I didn’t care what I did as long as it made money. As long as it allowed me to win. But the truth is I found something magical in it. In movies. TV shows. News. We were cut off from everything for so long. Knowledge is power. Whether it comes in the form of stories or headlines. I know because I was deprived of that knowledge for a very long time. It’s part of killing your spirit. If there are no books for you to read, nothing for you to watch, your soul begins to get dry. They count on that. They wanted it.” He nodded. “I used it. But I’ve always been glad to make the thing that I feel counteracts it.”

She moved her hands over his back. Soothing. Holding him.

“I don’t think your soul is dry.”

“How can you say that? After everything I’ve done to you?”

“Well, you need to learn how to use your soul, sometimes. But I have no doubt that it’s there.”

“What if I never learn to use it?”

“I think you want to. And I think that matters. I think it might matter most of all.”

“How would you know?” He wasn’t actually being rude. He was really asking.

“I suppose I don’t know for sure. I don’t know anything about this. I feel like you didn’t totally believe me, but you’re the only lover that I’ve ever had. So I can’t say for sure whether or not we are on the right track. Whether or not this will work. I don’t have experience to draw from.”

“I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve had sex. Obviously. But it’s never meant anything. No one has ever stayed with me. No one has ever come for me. I used to dream about my father realizing that he had done the wrong thing by selling me. I used to dream of him coming to find me. Saying that he loved me. Saying he was going to take me away from it.” He got a faraway look in his eye.

And she felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that you were failed by the person who should’ve taken care of you.”

“It’s okay. I need you to hear the rest of this. Because I need you to understand who I am. I need you to understand… My father did come for me. Five years ago. He came to me because he was destitute. His gambling debts sky-high. Selling his son didn’t pay his bills for very long. I don’t know what else he’d done in the intervening years to try and feed his habits. I don’t care. But he recognized me. When I achieved my success. He came all the way from Greece to throw himself at my mercy. Like I was a king. Like I was a god.”

“And what happened?”

“I made him beg. I made him weep. And then I gave him his money, and I sent him away. But only after I got to watch him wiggle and struggle like a mouse in a trap. Only after I got to enjoy exerting the power I had over him. Only then.”

She heard it then. The hardness. The ice. “I don’t want my son to look at me that way. I don’t want him to be like me.”

“We will never let our child suffer the way that you did. We can start there.”