Loran

 

 

 

I'm so badly prepared, I don't even have proper food for her. After her climax, my toy almost collapsed into my arms, managing just in time to pull it together and straighten herself up before I had to tell her to. Again, she looked at me with those expectant eyes, awaiting commands like a trained puppy.

When I asked her if she was hungry, she shyly nodded, and it wasn't until I left the basement to rummage through my kitchen that I realized I have very little to offer her. However, she happily accepted the bag of potato chips and the very basic sandwich I provided for her.

I leave her alone once again because I have things to attend to, and ordering food is but one of those tasks.

I head up to the second floor to the bedroom that serves as my office when I'm here. When you're in my position, work never really stops, vacation or not, slave in the basement or not. I'll have to make sure that none of my responsibilities are neglected while she's here.

I'll also have to think of a plan for afterward, when I'm done with her. I can't possibly kill her, but if I just let her go like that, I'll be in bigger trouble than I ever was. One thing is for certain: she can never know who I am. She has seen my face, but she has no way of knowing my name, and I intend to keep it that way.

I jump at the sound of my cell phone ringing. I didn't expect any calls today, and when I pick it up to see who's invading my dark space, I knit my eyebrows.

"Joel," I say, greeting my older brother with the same tone of annoyance he deserves. "Didn't expect to hear from you today."

"Trust me, I wish I didn't have to make this call," he says, clearing his throat. "I'm in trouble, man."

I sigh. "What else is new?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I already owe you big time. You don't have to rub it in every time we talk-"

"Yes, I do," I cut him off. "Because your memory fails you often enough. You don't just owe me, brother. You wouldn't even be able to make this call if it wasn't for me."

He groans. I know the facts pain him, but I'm the only one who can force him to face the truth, the harsh reality that I took the blame for something he did and still came out on the other end as the winner. His wealth and standing is only based on our family's fortune, and by now it's just a fraction of my own. He knows it, I know it, my not-so-beloved parents know it. But no one ever speaks of it.

"Dude, I'm aware of that," he says. I hate it when he calls me that. Even if we were closer than we are, I'd still despise this word. It's the vocabulary of a low-life. "Listen, they are after me again, and I fucking need your help."

"They?"

"Investigations," he says. "I thought they had dropped the case, but it looks like they're still not done with that bullshit."

I let out a deep sigh. How is this even possible? And why would they still go after him?

"Why are they on to you again?" I ask. "What the hell did you do, Joel?"

I can hear him inhale in exasperation.

"What makes you think I did anything, I-"

"You must have," I insist. "And I won't – no, I can't - help you if you're lying to me. You can lie as much as you want to our parents or your poor wife, but you can't fucking lie to me, if you want me to help you out. Again."

He sighs.

"I wasn't even doing anything wrong," he begins. "It was just a little fiddling, just a little something to save us some money."

I groan in anger. That fucking idiot. Sales tax evasion was what got him in trouble to begin with. When he talks about 'saving money,' it's safe to assume that he's been messing with his taxes again, either his own or those of our family's company. Oh, I fucking hope it's not the latter.

"Really, Joel? How can you be that fucking stupid?"

"It was different this time!" he insists. "It wasn't even illegal - or so I thought."

"Don't tell me over the phone," I say. "We'll have to meet."

"Yes," he says, sounding relieved. "Yes, sure. That'd be great."

That'd be great? I sure as hell hope he has more than that to offer. I've taken the blame for him more than once, and I'm beginning to think that my failure of a brother is merely using me to compensate for his own deficiencies.

"Can you come over today?"

"No, I can't. It'll have to wait until after the weekend."

"What?! But it's very-"

"Monday - or not at all, Joel."

He groans angrily. "Fine. Monday. Lunch at Clark's?"

"Your treat," I say, ending the call. I don't need my useless brother buying me lunch. This is merely a matter of principal.

He's three years older than me, married, with a child on the way. Yet I'm the one who constantly has to clean up his messes. He's always been bad at what he does, a terrible business man. The only reason he‘s in the position he's in, as the leading CEO of our family's corporation, an endeavor started by my late grandfather, is the fact that he's oldest. My father never even questioned his decision to make Joel heir to his position, even though he has been given plenty of reasons to do so.

His biggest blunder was listening to the wrong guys, men he met while out on one of his drunken gambling tours. Sales tax evasion is a serious offense, and it's even more serious when it's done on such a large scale, as he's done for years. When he got caught, I was the one who helped him out. I took the rap for his misconduct, especially in the eyes of my parents. It was a secret agreement between the two of us. We silently signed over a few major accounts into my name, and I could quickly turn most of the money into innocent income through money laundering. I'm not saying my methods were any more legal than his, but they were definitely smarter and cleaner. The prosecution was led to me, but they were too slow to act before I'd cleaned my accounts. I almost despise how easy it was.

But of course, the investigators have been on to my brother ever since, and I told him more than once to be fucking careful in the future. What I meant was for him to continue business without using any sketchy measures, but he apparently took it to mean just conducting his deeds on a smaller scale.

I rub my temples, trying to get him out of my head. I can't focus on his bullshit right now. There are more important things I need to take care of.

My toy.