Fake You | MV Ellis: Boys Of Trinity Hall Book 2 Read online

  I refrained from clenching my fists, though I wanted to. I knew from bitter experience that my father wouldn’t take well to an act of hostility, no matter how minor.

  “And what about your beloved ‘Grampsie’?” His voice brought my mind back into the room. He was referring to my maternal grandfather.

  “What about him?” I leveled him with an icy glare.

  “How long do you think he’d survive without my patronage, at his advanced age? Months? Days? The care he requires doesn’t come cheap, nor do his whisky and golfing habits. Given that I currently foot the bill for all of that, as well as for your mother, you’d do well to mind your manners and do what the fuck I tell you.”

  I reached out for the first folder again, bringing it closer to my face, and squinting. “You said Kristina. This is a dude.”

  “You’d be forgiven for thinking so, but look again. Despite resembling a teenage boy from some angles, Kristina ‘Kik’ Sanchez, is in fact, all woman.” I flicked through more photos, most of which seemed to be of “Kik” leaving or entering the same building. Though it looked vaguely familiar, I couldn’t place where I’d seen it before, and due to the poor quality of the photo, couldn’t read the sign.

  “What is that place?”

  “A tacky theme bar called Rollergirl.”

  “She works at a theme bar? She doesn’t look like the kind of girl to waitress somewhere like that. She’s not exactly the typical T&A type.”

  “You’re more astute than I gave you credit for. Yes, she works there. No, she’s not a waitress. She has a performance act, for want of a better phrase. She’s there a few times a week. She seems to work most Wednesdays.”

  “So?”

  “Jesus Christ, are you trying to piss me off?” I was. Not that I could tell him that. “Today is Wednesday, you gormless guppy. Go there and scope her out.” What?

  “It’s my birthday.”

  “As you know, I’m well aware of this fact, though I fail to see the relevance of it right now.”

  “I’m going out with the guys to celebrate.”

  He gave me a look which conveyed the fact that he gave fewer than zero fucks about my plans.

  “Cancel. Or better still, go there for your birthday.” Really?

  “To a tittie bar?”

  “It’s not a tittie bar. The servers are fully—if extremely scantily—clothed. But even if it was, what would be the problem? A group of young guys in a strip joint is like a fat kid in a cake store. Unless you have something against tits, of course?”

  “You know I don’t.”

  “Nothing would surprise me with you. But now we’ve established that, I want you there tonight. Make the first approach, then take it from there. We have twelve weeks until the IPWS deal announcement, and I want her well and truly out of the picture, and the decks cleaned before then. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  Yes, you giant-fucking-douche-canoe of a manipulating piece of shit. “Yes sir.” I gave him a fake military salute, which as he turned on his heel to walk away, morphed into flicking him the bird. Fuck, I hated him. Hard.

  Chapter 2

  Kik

  My phone vibrated as it lay face down on the card table of the retirement home. I glanced around the room surreptitiously before turning it over discreetly to see who it was. Max’s name flashed up on the screen. Shit. I kind of needed to take the call. I ducked outside, hoping to catch it before it stopped ringing. I picked it up, out of breath, and surely just before he hung up.

  “Hey, Max.”

  “Hey, yourself. Why do you sound like you just ran a marathon?” I was trying my damnedest not to pant, and clearly failing.

  “Because I kind of did. I’m at work, so I had to duck out before picking up.”

  “When are you ever not? At work, I mean.” Tonight, hopefully.

  “Almost never. But anyway, the point is that I had to jog outside to answer. I kind of need to get back to it, too, so…?”

  “So why the fuck am I calling you?” Bingo.

  “Well I wasn’t going to say it quite like that, but now that you have, yeah, what’s the deal?” I braced myself for bad news. It wasn’t like Max was in the habit of calling me just to shoot the shit.

  “So you know how you wanted tonight off?” I noted the use of the past tense. Fuck.

  “Yeah, because I have assignments out the wazoo, and am so far behind, I’m almost ahead.”

  “Uh-huh. Well we’d booked Miss Peaches to cover you, but she has just been diagnosed with a kidney stone. She’s in the hospital right now, waiting to pass that shit.”

  “Ouch. I’ve heard that it’s more painful than childbirth. Times like this, I’ll bet she’s reminded that she might prefer dresses and heels, but she still has the junk to prove she’s rocking that meat sword.”

  “Jesus, ‘meat sword.’ Who even…actually, never mind. I can’t say I envy her that experience. It’s one time where you ladies have it better than us. Anyway, my point is that I have no act for tonight. So I was wondering if you could do your shift, like normal? Please. I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t desperate. I know you need the night off more than most.”

  “Man, really? I have to get some schoolwork done, or I’m going to flunk out. Besides, I was looking forward to spending more than like two minutes with Dad instead of having to take off, or getting back after he’s already asleep.” On the other hand, despite the need to study, I hadn’t been looking forward to missing the night’s earnings. “Can’t you ask Carl?”

  “Tried. He’s in rehab.”

  “Again?” Fuck.

  “Yep. Can’t seem to keep clean for more than thirty seconds.”

  “What about that chick with the hula-hoops? The crowd always eats that shit up.”

  “Fifi. People do love her, but she’s already booked. Honestly, like I told you, it’s you or nothing.”

  I sighed loudly, kicking a pebble around the parking lot with the toe of my sneaker as I considered my options. They were slim to none, as ever.

  “Okay, I’ll do it, but you owe me. Big time.”

  “Thanks! You’re the best, you know that?” I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. I was the best.

  “Yeah, I do, but enough talk. I hope you’re prepared to put your money where your mouth is tonight. I have to go.”

  “Deal. See you later.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “See ya.”

  “Ciao.”

  Once I’d hung up, I fired off a quick text to Dad. He’d be disappointed that we wouldn’t get to hang out and eat pizza together, for the first time in like, one hundred years. But, on the other hand, he’d never say that to me. He knew how hard I worked, and how much I gave up to keep our heads above water, and he felt terrible about that. Not that he needed to. He’d done nothing wrong, and he definitely had nothing to be ashamed of. Everything I did, I’d do a thousand times over if he needed me to, though I hoped things wouldn’t always have to be this hard.

  * * *

  I zipped myself into my spandex “tux,” and did my final preparations before going on stage, stretching and limbering up as fully as I could. If there was one thing I didn’t have time for in my life right now, it was an injury. It would diminish my earning capacity not just at Rollergirl, but at my other jobs too, and there was no way I could afford that.

  I hated the outfit more than any other I owned, but I had to admit I looked damned good in it, in an androgynous kind of way. The cut made my already not-very-curvy hips look literally straight up and down. And not that I was anyone’s idea of well-endowed, but it also made my bee stings look more like pecs than tits, which all added to the effect. People thought I was a young guy, most of the time anyway, by accident or necessity—and even more so in this costume—and I was okay with that.

  I’d always looked young and fresh-faced for my age, but team that with the short dyed-blonde hair, and the fact that I really didn’t hav
e a stereotypical curvy Latina figure, and I had the perfect androgynous thing going on.

  However, kind of like Miss Peaches and the kidney stone, that costume always made me remember that, despite outward appearances sometimes, I definitely peed sitting down. After three twenty-minute sets in that one thousand percent man-made fiber, snatch-burning monstrosity, I’d most likely have a flaming case of thrush to prove it. The thing couldn’t feel any worse if someone filled it with industrial-strength itching powder, poison ivy, and live piranhas.

  As I came off stage for the last time that night, I tore it from my body like it was flea-infested, and just about resisted the urge to tear at my nether regions like a dog digging for a buried bone. I reminded myself that not only would it make matters worse, but I had my super-strength thrush cream in my backpack, so the itch would be gone in no time.

  As I moved to put my street clothes back on, the door to the dressing room flew open and in stumbled a drunken frat boy I’d noticed in the bar between my sets. He was built like a tank and had the most intense and heavy vibe of anyone I’d ever come across. And the shapeliest, fullest lips. They were…not important, of course.

  There was group of five of them, but apart from the guy who seemed obsessed with my girlfriend Rocky, he was the only one I could really pick out of a lineup. I didn’t know what it was, but something about his dark and brooding presence—even as he appeared to get increasingly wasted as the night progressed—drew my attention to him time and again.

  Weirdly, every time I’d furtively glanced his way, I’d found him also looking at me, which I was sure was no coincidence. I’d wanted to say something to my girlfriend, about it, but she seemed to be dealing with her own drama with the other Richie Rich guy, so I hadn’t gotten the chance.

  As I stood there glaring at the one in front of me, and he did the same—unblinking, and unmoving—I had a strong sense of what a deer in the headlights actually felt like. Rather than fight or flight, I seemed to have lost control of my limbs. Time sprawled out between us, and he was as still as I was, though seemingly unfocused—possibly due to alcohol consumption more than anything else.

  It was the weirdest situation, and totally unlike me. I’d usually come out the gate swinging, and ask questions later. In the end, it was me who came to my senses first, thank God. I was beginning to wonder if I’d had a stroke.

  “Did you not read the sign on the door that said, ‘Staff Only’? Or are you some kind of weirdo? My act is over. You can’t just follow me offstage like a skeevy creeper. Seriously? What the fuck are you even looking at? Scram! You’d better get out of here before I start screaming the place down and have management call the police on your dirty ass.”

  It was only as the last words were out of my mouth that I remembered that I was still mostly naked. I’d managed to get my thong on before the master of the universe barged his way in, but that was all. I was still vulnerable.

  “You’ll do no such thing if you know what’s good for you, Kristina.”

  What the fuck? How the hell did he know my name?

  “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me. You’ll keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Who the hell are you, and how do you know my name?”

  “All in good time, Kik. All you really need to know right now is that we have mutual… ‘interests’… and that I’m watching you.” He blinked slowly, eyeing me as I struggled to assimilate the information he’d just delivered so menacingly.

  “Oh, and if you breathe a word of this to anyone, you’ll find out the hard way that I mean business.” With those words, he turned on his heel and left the room, letting the door bang closed behind him.

  As soon as he’d gone, I slumped down into the gross cracked-leather couch that had probably been there since before I was born. I concentrated on regaining my breath while I tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened.

  I couldn’t get my head straight. The guy had been looking at me like he wanted to eat me whole all night, and I couldn’t honestly say that the feeling wasn’t at least a little mutual. Then he’d what…? Threatened me so weirdly and obliquely that, had he not addressed me by my name—my real name, not only my stage name—I would have just dismissed him another drunk, or high frat boy freak who was too lit to know what he was even saying. But he’d called me Kristina, so I knew it wasn’t just crazy talk. “Mutual interests.” Those were his words. What the fuck had he meant?

  Chapter 3

  Drew

  I’d decided to do exactly what my father had said, and organize my birthday drinks at Rollergirl to get the ball rolling. The sooner I could put an end to the situation with Kristina Sanchez, and move on with my life, knowing my mom and Grampsie were safe from my father’s threats, the better.

  It was kind of a seedy hole, but I figured as long as we had booze, we’d have a good time. The fact that it was staffed by hot girls on skates, wearing short shorts and shorter tees was an added bonus. I could barely keep a straight face when I let the guys know, though, especially when Fox and Kane tried to act like they didn’t think I’d taken total leave of my senses. Getting caught up with one of my father’s crooked schemes amounted to sheer madness, so maybe they weren’t too far from the truth.

  On a normal day, I’d avoid anything he was doing like the plague. But Victor Cavanagh was nothing if not smart, and ultimately, a master manipulator. He knew exactly which of my buttons to press to get what he wanted from me. He was well aware that I’d do just about anything for my mom, so he had me by the balls when he threatened her. Same with Grampsie.

  I gave zero fucks about my personal safety when it came to my father, but the two of them—and to a certain extent, my sister Bella—were my Achilles heel. Not that Bella needed my protection from him. Despite her errant ways, my troubled older sister was by far his favorite child. And although part of me thought he was probably bluffing, another part of me knew that he was every bit evil enough to do exactly what he threatened. If he didn’t get his way, he’d throw both Mom and Grampsie to the wolves, and not look back.

  Surprised as they were by my choice of venue, everyone seemed to quickly embrace the idea for what it was—good cheesy fun, and bound to be a source of entertainment, no matter what. Everyone except Xavier, of course, who, if nothing else, could always be relied on to play the asshole card at any given time. My birthday was no exception. Not that I would have expected anything different from him, because there was no card, and he wasn’t playing. He just really was an asshole.

  We’d known each other since we were in short pants in prep school, and his MO had always been the same. The dude was a born-again douche. Mostly I ignored his shit, and this was no exception. I let him throw his weight around a little when he first found out, but I didn’t back down. I suspected that was why we’d been friends for as long as we had—and the same reason he didn’t have many other friends from our school days—nobody else knew how to deal with his shit the way I did.

  As it had turned out, it had been an “interesting” choice of venue for more reason than one, not the least of which being that while I scoped out Kik/Kristina, Xavier seemed to have something weird going on with our skating server, and it was making him crazier than usual. Not that I could blame him—she was hot with a capital “Holy-Fucking-Shit.”

  I wasn’t sure what was going on between the two of them, or if anyone else had noticed, but if Xavier was too much on a normal day, Rocky, our waitress, seemed to bring out his not-at-all-inner psycho even more. The guy was a literal sociopath around her.

  In truth, I really only had half an eye on him, as I was way too focused on Kik to overly concern myself with whatever it was that Xavier had going on. Plus, if I knew him, I’d find out soon enough, anyway. I decided to just wait it out and mind my own complicated business, for once, instead of worrying about his shit.

  When the announcer introduced Kik—even having seen photo
s of her prior—I totally wasn’t prepared for what I was about to witness. Not the least of reasons being that my father hadn’t thought to mention the nature of her act, assuming he was aware of it. She was a pole dancer, and Jesus Christ, she could do some shit with her body that had me cross-eyed both with wonder at the possibilities, and with the strain of trying not to come in my pants.

  That was the other thing about the photos my dad had shown me. The grainy black-and-white long-lens shots didn’t do her looks justice at all, especially as her face had been partially obscured by a baseball cap in most of them. Turns out she was fucking stunning, but in an almost androgynous, not classically beautiful, totally not my usual type, kind of way.

  And as if that fact wasn’t weird enough, I was all kinds of confused by her act. The pole dancing part made some kind of sense until you took into account the fact that she was wearing a tux, and with a name like Kik, the short hair and slightly unisex features, seemed every bit like the teenage boy I’d first assumed her to be. I didn’t get it. Was male pole dancing a thing? And even if it was, why would a chick pretend to be a dude pole dancer when it was more of a female thing anyway? I had no idea what the hell was going on.

  Still, regardless of all that, I couldn’t take my fucking eyes off her, whether she was on or off stage. I’d spent the night getting steadily drunker, and trying to work out how I was going to carry out my father’s instructions. Meanwhile, I was watching her like a hawk—probably not very subtly—if the fact that she’d glanced at me a handful of times throughout the night, and each time, I’d been staring at her right back, was anything to go by.