It’s no secret that I harbored little love for my father while he was alive, or that I’ve done my best to avoid as many of his business affairs as possible. Rand is also well aware that I don’t care for someone challenging my authority on the matter, either.
“I’ve provided the funding. The connections.” All the promises my father insisted I deliver, up until the bastard took his last breath.
“It’s your presence. Or, and I mean no disrespect, lack thereof.”
Groaning, I step away from the mirror and clip on a set of cufflinks. “Is it my face they wish to stare at? Then, perhaps we should do away with the masks. That’ll be my first order of business.”
“Lucian …” Rand’s voice carries the weary exhaustion of a man who’s had to wrangle two generations of Blackthorns. “They meet once every quarter. It’s always been about strengthening your alliances.”
“Is that what it is? So, we’ve moved away from the carnival fuck-show to something more respectable, is that it?”
With a huff, Rand shifts his gaze. “While I don’t agree with your father’s decisions to invite female subjects to mingle at these gatherings, I do think there is some validity in them.”
“You’re saying you support the purpose behind this group?”
One thing about Rand is he’s never one to respond impulsively, so when he stares off for a moment, I know he’s chewing on the question. “If it’s mutually beneficial to both parties, I see no harm in it. It’s no different than these BDSM sex clubs, and bear in mind, these subjects seek out the group, not the other way around.”
“Do you think I sought out the group, when I was thrown into that hellhole institute for weeks?”
“Of course not. But respectfully, Sir, you were a bit reckless in your … pursuits. Your father felt an intervention was in order.”
“An intervention? Is that what he called it?” There’s no point arguing with Rand over what happened to me. He doesn’t know the details of my time there, the punishments I personally suffered at their hands, and never will. “I saw a man beaten to within an inch of his life because the amount of money he requested warranted it, according to the group. The difference between BDSM sex clubs and Schadenfreude comes down to desire. If given the money without the punishment, none of them would choose the torture.”
“Likely not. But nothing in this world is free, I’m afraid. If you’d prefer, we can arrange for a dinner party in lieu of the carnival fuck show, as you so eloquently put it.”
The thought of a dinner party would be my idea of torment. “You know how much I love social engagements.”
“A masquerade, then. We’ll hire a crew to brighten up the atrium a bit.”
“If it’ll get them off my back ...”
“May I speak candidly?” Rand has never meant any disrespect, even on the occasions he has challenged my authority.
“Have at it.”
“They’re afraid your commitment has never been as staunch as your father’s and grandfather’s.”
“Well, they’re not wrong. But what’s the worry? I never had a choice growing up, why would I suddenly have one now? Because the dictatorship has ended? All my father’s death afforded me was the same damn shackles he and every generation since my great grandfather have worn without fail.”
“You know I understand, perhaps more than anyone. But this is your legacy, Lucian. If you won’t stay committed for your father, then do it for the son you were never given the opportunity to raise.”
“I wouldn’t have subjected him to my curse. I would’ve set him free, given him choices.”
“And forgive my being frank, but you know better than I do that the organization would never have allowed such a thing.”
They want me because I know things. Secrets they’d kill to keep buried. I only know such things because my own father made me privy to them. The day he introduced me to their little society was the day he slung the albatross around my neck.
“You would’ve undoubtedly been a better father than your own. But that is no longer your choice. Just as this is no longer your father’s.”
Odd to hear him liken my situation to death. Rand has always seemed to favor the organization above all other things. I’ve not yet determined if that’s of his own will, or what my father pounded into his skull all these years.
“What an absolute tragedy.”
On the way to my office, the unmistakable sound of Chopin fills the dark