The Starkest Truth (A Breaking Insanity Novel Book 2) (4 page)

IT WAS A private, small, narrow room with brick red walls, and dim lighting. The space managed to look like an odd contradiction of warm and cold simultaneously. At a table of twenty people, I could feel all eyes on me, watching me intently.
 

Eric and I sat closest to Casper and his partner Timothy. They were the reason we made a weekend trip to the Upper Eastside of Manhattan. Casper and Timothy were to be married tomorrow in what I assumed would be a very lavish affair—it was evidenced by the invitation that came in a black leather box adorned with two Swarovski crystal bows.

Casper was supposed to be Eric’s best friend, but I couldn’t believe they were genuinely friends. With the way Eric worked, I surmised he kept Casper around to help him with the charade to appear normal to the general public. Eric claimed he never hid in plain sight, and I used to believe him.
 

Something always bothered me about Eric. He’d shared a lot with me about his past, but not everything. There was so much more about him I’d yet to discover, and I didn’t know if I wanted to know.

I could clearly brand myself with the label of a hypocrite, because I hadn’t told Eric everything about me—certain things should remain buried.
 

The collective stares from the table, directed at me, became more obvious. Becoming uncomfortable, I stared at the table and folded my hands in my erratically shaking lap.

Seamlessly, while in the midst of a conversation with Casper, Eric took my hand and placed it between my legs. He directed my fingertips to touch the moisture lingering on my thighs. Without looking at me, he brought my fingertips to his lips, slipping them inside his mouth. After removing my hand from his mouth, he licked his lips and sank his teeth into his bottom lip.

Feeling suddenly faint, I closed my eyes slightly. I couldn’t find my breath again until he placed my hand over his heart.

“Congratulations, you two,” Timothy said, bringing me out of my fantasy.

Eric gave him a nod in appreciation.

“It was a simple affair,” Casper answered. “City hall, I think. It looked like a city hall to me. A small town one. It was me—and who was that other woman who served as a witness?”

“Janet,” Eric answered with a slight curtness.

Casper nodded. “It is his second go round.”

I glared at Casper with every inch of the anger I suddenly felt toward him. “You knew at the first dinner and—”

“I was one of the few who knew they were divorced.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “After all, I’m supposed to serve as his loyal confidante.”
 

If Casper had said something at the dinner Eric invited me to many months back, many things could’ve been avoided. Casper appeared to be under Eric’s spell like many others who became acquainted with him; my mother wasn’t immune, either. Sometimes, his irresistible influence produced side effects that could be likened to insanity. Most of the time, they produced fear.

“That was a shitty thing to do to me,” I shot bitterly at Casper.

The entire table quieted, bringing about the stares again.
 

Casper threw his head back and laughed. The guests followed suit and began to relax. “How is married life treating you? Seems you’ve inspired quite a few changes in the man. He’s calmer, if that’s possible.”

“It’s not possible,” I muttered, calling Eric’s silent ire. If the things Eric did while he was with me were the mold for calm, I considered myself very lucky not to have met the Eric that the not-so-dearly departed Estelle and Tamala—his ex-wife and ex-girlfriend, respectively—knew.

A woman next to me touched my arm, and it forced me to jolt up in surprise. Shocked by my reaction she put up a fake front and an even faker smile. “How did you pull that one? He’s simply gorgeous.”

“I’m…not sure how to answer that,” I responded dismissively.

She attempted to draw me into a conversation, but I was too enamored with Casper and Eric’s conversation—reminiscing about their days in Austin—to respond. Casper recounted the day Eric came into his life, when he was around nine years old.
 

Eric once told me he was born in Dallas and raised in Austin. In the midst of that time, his mother ran away with him. He never stated exactly where they went. Only that his father had found him, and his biological mother had died under suspicious circumstances. Most of his past was held under lock and key and only revealed to me in pieces.
 

The din at the table became too much to endure, as did the questions taking over my thoughts. I excused myself from the table and left the private room. The restaurant crowd made sure there was barely any space to move. The distance to the ladies’ room was too far away.
 

I quickly made a beeline for the exit, only to be faced by foot traffic. I had no idea where I was or how to get back to the hotel. The helplessness consumed me. The blinding rush hit my body, extracting my energy. Holding my head and trying to shut out the scene and the noise, I leaned against the closest building.
 

Finding the will, I quickly stepped up to the curb in an attempt to hail a cab; I wasn’t successful.

“You’re too quiet, honey.” I recognized the voice as the woman who sat next to me earlier. Standing on the curb beside me, she lit her cigarette. “Do you want to share a cab? I think we’re staying at the same hotel, aren’t we? The W, right?”

I wanted to get rid of her with a lie. I changed my mind, because I knew she’d have more success hailing a cab than I did.
 

I nodded to her.
 

Within seconds, she proved my assumption correct.

She threw down her cigarette and put it out underneath her stiletto.
 

“Did my question bother you?” she asked, sitting alongside me in the backseat of the cab. “I hope not. He has a reputation. His loudmouth friend makes sure everyone knows about it. He says the women Eric gets with are never the same after. Is that what’s wrong with you?”

I immediately regretted getting into a cab with her.

“Good dick makes us do the strangest of things, doesn’t it?” she asked, appearing to care very little about whether or not I responded to her. “Since he married you, I’m sure everything is okay. Or not. He married that other girl. The one who committed suicide. I heard she had a lot going for her before Eric. A senator’s daughter, wasn’t she? I think Casper said her biggest problem was that she used to binge drink at parties before she met Eric. Casper said she got heavily into drugs and some weird sex scene after. She committed suicide earlier this year, didn’t she? Shame. I’d watch out for that man if I were you. Don’t want to turn into her, do you?”

“What is this?” I asked, slanting my eyes at her.

“What do you mean?” She fluttered her eyelashes, failing at her act to appear clueless.

“I’ve been here before. The jealous woman stating things about Eric to make me doubt him because you want to fuck him scenario. He’s mine, and you’ll never have him.” Moving away from her, I directed my gaze out of the window. I hoped she would catch on to the cue of my body language and end the conversation. With trembling hands, I found my earbuds and put them in. She caught the hint and ceased trying to speak to me. The loud music didn’t help to drown out my thoughts.
 

She planted a seed inside my head about what occurred between him and Estelle. Eric was caught in another of his lies. It brought about an anger that spread like a poison throughout my body.

I’M A MAN of discipline and control. Spontaneity is reserved for sex and unimportant people who fuck with me.
 

I called the people amongst the table friends, but they aren’t. My life needed a balance between the light and the dark—the normal and abnormal.
 

They aren’t friends—they are caricatures of the life I’m supposed to have, and most of the time, they are underlings. Unlike most who felt the need to hide who they were, I didn’t. I wasn’t going to fake a mild-mannered personality to make people comfortable or believe I’m incapable of murder. Now, it doesn’t matter who I am. People see the face, the body, and the imprint of the huge cock and proceed to believe whatever the fuck they want to believe.

Things changed when serial-killers became celebrities. It’s expected that the meek, quiet guy is secretly a monster. You usually hear: “I always knew there was something wrong with him. He was too quiet and kept to himself too much.” Not very often do you hear. “That cocky bastard, I knew he was capable of murder.” Nope. It would usually be: “That cocky bastard probably has a small cock and mommy issues.” It’s vindicating to prove people wrong—to shock them with sides of myself they didn’t want to see or couldn’t comprehend.

Mind you, I could turn on the charm when needed, but it’s hardly ever needed. The charm is used only if the asshole revolted them. To everyone else who, by their nature, is useless to me…? They get the full extent of the asshole I naturally am. Oddly enough, it’s the cocky bastard that draws people in. I knew which persona to play with each person, and I was never the same person with every woman. It’s a talent.
I’m a personality chameleon.
 

Women say they want the nice guy, but fantasize about the asshole. In truth, they want a little of both, shown at the perfect time, in the perfect dose. Funny thing, I never had to enact the charming version of myself before Nikki. Being that way with her—it did something to me I didn’t care for.
 

The clear separation between a magnetic individual and a contemptible person was beginning to disintegrate, which was a very, very bad thing for a man like me.

“Is this one real?” Casper asked under the conversation of the others at the table.

I gave him a half-smile and sipped my wine.

“Fine. Fine.” He waved his hand at me, a little hurt I wouldn’t share. I usually told him about the ones who didn’t matter, which included almost every woman who had come into my life. “Keep your secrets.”

I nodded to his husband. “I didn’t expect you to actually marry the guy. Correct me if I’m wrong,” I continued without an answer because I didn’t need one, “but weren’t you fucked out of your mind over a man who refuses to admit he’s bisexual?”

“I don’t know what he is,” Casper sighed, “and believe me, I’m good at figuring those things out.”

I curved a brow at him. “His cock was in your ass. More than once. What is there to
figure
out?”

He snickered into his dessert, having trouble keeping my eye contact.
 

I studied Casper, finding an answer to a question I hadn’t asked yet. I didn’t need to. He was very obvious. “You’re still fucking him, aren’t you?”

“He comes around every other weekend when his frigid wife is unable to appease his dirty little fantasies.”

I pointed a glance at Timothy.

“We have an arrangement.” He leaned across the table and whispered to me, “He’s old—older. His dick is volatile. Funny you should judge; it wasn’t until your interest in the newest Mrs. Brenton that you stopped sharing your cock with every beauty queen you came across.”

“So tell me”—I effortlessly avoided his snide comment—“why are you still his boy-toy?”

“Quid quo pro, my friend.”

I darted my eyes to him. He knew better; if I didn’t like the conversation, I changed the topic. And if that person wanted to avoid pissing me off, they would follow along. Casper was different. He was the only person alive who knew me the longest, and he knew things I didn’t want him to know. It wasn’t because I personally told him. Through the process of deduction, he knew there had to be a tragically fucked up reason for the transformation from Ethan to Eric. I was gentler with Casper than anyone else until I met Nikki. No matter what went down around me, he never played the part of the pious friend, and he never annoyed me. I had never utilized him to his full potential; the things I asked of him were never to shave away at his emotional stability. Well…not too much.
 

Right now he was being used as an information broker for the dumbfuck lesser known as Preston.

Tracing the rim of my glass, I glanced over to Nikki’s empty seat. “You never cared before.”

“Well, I care now,” he replied. “She’s returning you to someone familiar. Someone I’ve missed.”