It was pretty convenient, considering they had no idea how much easier it would make things for me. How much closer it got me to the woman whose worn panties filled up my nightstand, and spent every night wrapped around my cock.
They also weren’t aware I was already looking into their parents, an instruction I had received two years ago from The Brotherhood.
What started as a simple task turned into routine, and eventually an obsession.
Watch the father? Easy.
Keep tabs on the mother? Sure.
There are a few things in the world I don’t do well, and watching the Huntington-Russells was going to be easy. Or, at least, that’s what I thought.
I would never use naive to describe myself, but that’s almost what I was, walking into the estate through the back entrance at four o’clock in the morning, just as the evening staff was readying to swap with the morning staff.
I walked the hallways easily; the staff and security could be better sure, but I was also really fucking good at not being seen.
I snooped around and learned about the estate. Figured out which room the parents were in. And on my way out? I found something that I wasn’t told about, wrapped up in cotton sheets behind the final door on the top floor.
I always made sure I knew everything. I’ve always been calculated by design. So imagine my surprise when I found something I wasn’t expecting with a body made for sin and intelligence built for sparring.
Imagine the rage I felt when I realized something had been kept from me, something so deeply forgotten, treated like an afterthought, might be the very thing that could destroy me.
What I wasn’t told was that there was a daughter, designed by God himself to fucking ruin me.
She hasn’t slept in a room without me since then. And she has no fucking clue.
By the time I reached their father just a few days ago, to make good on my arrangement with the twins, he'd already taken something precious from them. Without hesitation or regret he bashed her head against the marble sink. I witnessed it myself: their mother, gasping her final breath on the marble floor, crimson pooling beneath her while her husband stood cold and unflinching.
I watched without intervening. I could have killed him then. But I didn't. Not yet. There was something greater at stake.
Their mother’s death altered everything. If their father died next, the estate would pass to his brother. Unacceptable.
The price for me to correct this? Martine.
Securing her was effortless. Sure, Ford hesitated briefly before agreeing to my terms, but Dex never even questioned me. Smart men, who've known me for over a decade, understood.
It’s not as if it’s that simple, but they’ve known me long enough to watch what happens when I see something I want.
I might be the devil's equivalent among the Brotherhood, but Martine will be safe with me, because she’s the final thread in a carefully crafted plan that's already begun to unravel.
She wonders now what awaits her, unaware of what I've already done. What I’ve promised I’ll do.
By the time this ends, I'll have taken everything from her.
And she’ll give it to me, willing or not.
Hayden Herron
Sophomore Year - 1996
I’ve done my best to ignore my Chosen, Dale. She looks exactly as I expect her to this evening, and yet there's nothing I find interesting underneath her poised, deliberate, and utterly flawless countenance.
She’s standing near the grand fireplace, the glow of the flames casting warm light over her skin. A dark bob of pin-straight hair, it almost looks sharp. Lips painted a shade of red meant to command attention, but instead seem slightlygarish on her skin. A gown of deep sapphire, clinging to a body sculpted for the hands of men.
She’s a Danton-Taft, the result of a marriage between a founding member's daughter and a politician. Just like my family, she’s old money and old power. And now, she’s been assigned to me.
It would have been a great match if I were known to be grateful for what's handed to me. But anything that comes easy is only half of the fun, and I prefer things I have to earn with either logic or my fists.
Her gaze flicks to me, unreadable but aware, studying me in that way women like her do. Deciding how much of herself she’ll need to give to make this arrangement work. Pity. I prefer them desperate and begging.
