King of Havoc - Dark Romance

Chapter 12 - Damon

    Checkmate.

    I knock down the black king with the white queen.

    Is this what's going to happen to me?

    I'm becoming addicted, wanting to recreate that first high. The first time I saw her.

    With addicts, it's impossible to recreate that feeling, but with me, it's as if it's getting stronger. More potent. More lethal.

    I tell myself that I will get tired of her. But deep down, I know that Jessica is special.

    The harder she engraves herself under my skin, the more persistent I become about ruining her for anyone else.

    I have no idea what this fucking obsession with her is all about. But I know one thing. I'm seeing it through until the end.

    My father, Samuel, stops at the entrance. He's wearing a black suit with his dark hair styled back; he doesn't look like he has aged over the years, which is another quality he goes on about our genes.

    He always says that the West family has to dress well in front of everyone. It shows we are better in every way, including how we act. Every moment and every word should reflect precisely who they're dealing with.

    His eyes narrow at me.

    "Come with me. It's time we discuss business."

    Great, the king of hell wants something from me. Here we fucking go.

    I knock the queen down on the board, imagining how Jessica will fall under my thumb. She might be playing a smart game, but I always win. Always.

    I tilt my head and shrug my shoulders; it's impossible to figure out his exact angle with anything.

    We make our way through the house toward his office. The house staff we pass bow their heads at my father like he's some fucking deity.

    I stand at the entrance as he makes his way to his desk. His strides are confident, like he thinks of himself as a god, and he may as well be to the rest of the world. He owns the city and everyone in it, including me.

    Fucking Brittney and her parents sit in the leather armchairs placed around the room, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and walk the fuck away from here.

    I know what this business discussion is about. He's making our engagement fucking official.

    "Sit," he commands.

    I follow his instructions like the good lapdog I've been trained to be. Growing up, I used to be scared of him. But the older I got, the more that feeling turned into hatred. I'm a big boy now; he knows he can't hurt me to get what he wants.

    But what he can do is hold his position of power over me. If I want to keep this position in life, I need to kneel at his feet. Once that prick fucking dies, I'll leave his shit behind me. Bury it six feet under. Leave it somewhere untouchable.

    He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

    "It's time we make this engagement official. You're both eighteen now, so it's the perfect time to show a united front."

    My mind fills with anger—fury. This isn't something Brittney or I want. We both can't stand each other, which won't change if we get married. If anything, that will make those feelings stronger. I look over at Brittney; her eyes are focused on her lap.

    She's supposed to speak up. Delay this. She knows that's not something I can do. But she can. We've got a fucking deal, but it seems like she's choosing to go against it.

    A mistake on her part.

    I know something about her that would destroy her prim in proper life. But she also knows something about me that would tarnish my reputation. Do I want to risk her retaliation? No, but that never stops me from threatening her with it.

    The next best thing is to steer this conversation in the right direction. Make a play.

    "I know this arrangement is important, but I've discussed it with Brittney, and she needs more time. She's only turned eighteen; surely, this can wait."

    "Is that so," he says, turning his gaze to Brittney.

    She fidgets in her seat, turning her hateful gaze in my direction. She knows I've thrown her under the bus, and she can't do anything about it.

    "Damon, dear, you must have misunderstood. Brittney doesn't need more time. She's ready for this. We've discussed it thoroughly, and she understands her role," Mrs. Dobsin says. Her gaze is firmly on Brittney, who doesn't look in her direction. Her expression looks defeated. I'd feel bad if it was an emotion I gave a fuck to give. "Isn't that right, Brittney?"

    "With all due respect, Mrs Dobsin, but I remember the conversation correctly."

    My father's mask is firmly in place as he looks impassive. But I know him better than anyone, and his rage is barely contained beneath the surface. He doesn't like it when things don't go according to his plan, and I've just thrown it off. There's something I'm counting on in this play.

    "Mom... I."

    "Brittney, is this true?" Mr. Dobson speaks up. "I know this plan has been known since you were kids. But you can have more time if you need it, sweetie."

    And there it is. Brittney's dad has always been the more supportive parent. He does whatever it takes to keep her happy. The same couldn't be said for her mother. She's as cold as fucking Antarctica.

    "If Brittney needs more time, then let's set a date for a few months from now. But there must be a date. This can't be indefinite." My father says, taking back control of the situation. He can't help it; the asshole needs to control everything.

    Am I the same? Yes. But I'm nowhere near the asshole he is.

    "We will be discussing this, Brittney. I'm sorry we wasted your time here tonight, Samuel. I'll ensure Brittney is ready."

    "Mom, I'm... I'm," her words die in her throat as Mrs. Dobsin cuts her off.

    "Enough. You've embarrassed me enough tonight. Let's go before we waste any more of Samuel's time."

    "It's quite all right, Heather. This is a big change, one she must be prepared for," my father says.

    Mr. Dobsin stands shaking my father's hand while Mrs. Dobson grabs Brittney and yanks her out of the room.

    I'm left in the room with my father. He lets his mask shred. He's never kept it in place with me; I'm the only exception. His face turns into a deadly sneer.

    "I know you're playing a game, you ungrateful shit. Everything you have is because of me. Every opportunity, every privilege. Remember that."

    He stands and reaches for his belt. I don't know if it's from habit or not. I don't care. I stand to my full height and raise one brow. Who does this asshole think he is? I'm not a scrawny little kid anymore.

    His hands fall to his sides as he keeps his deadly gaze fixed on me.

    "Play a game with me again, son, and I'll ensure it's the last thing you do." 

    With that, he storms out of the room.

    Little does he know, I love fucking games, and I always win. This game is no different.

    Down will fall the mighty King.