Free Aston's Story (Vanish #2) by Elle Michaels

 
    1.
     
    I’ll take whatever the hell I want. Money, power, women. Auna.
Her perfection is something wholly unparalleled, exquisite, precious,
unfathomable. Angels weep at her feet. And she’ll be mine. Her skin, something
crafted from satin and feathers, I can’t keep it from my thoughts, even while
I’m supposed to bully this two-bit dealer trying to fuck me. What he doesn’t
understand is his macho facade shows transparently to me. I’m not driven by
balls, though I don’t retreat from their show.
    Christ, I need a fix of her. I’m agitated, I can feel it in
my skin. I need a release. I’ve arranged a night with her after, a special
occasion in the poolhouse. I purchased this vintage, hundred years or more old
wine, I can’t remember exactly what year. Something I know she’ll appreciate.
She loves wine. She’s told me. I can provide an answer to her every whim.
Anything she desires, so long as she’s mine.
    Focus, Aston.
    I plug my palms into my eye sockets, grind them against my
vision, then sigh as I lower my hands. He’s still there, and he’s still
grinning. Al’s fucking smile is the most infuriating image I’ve had the
displeasure of viewing. It’s smug, but with a dose of self-awareness, like he
wants to be perceived as a douchebag. Like it’s his thing.
    I sigh. Goddamnit.
    “Look, Al, the package hasn’t shown up, my sources with
badges tell me they would’ve found it, so something’s not adding up.”
    Al leans forward, placing his elbows into his knees, rubbing
his hands together in the space before him. He pulls a breath in between his
teeth. “Aston, it’s like I told you, buddy. These guys, real professionals.
Black masks and machine guns. Zipped in, zipped out. We got fucked in the ass
on this one.”
    I’m grinding my molars against themselves listening to his
story over and over again. We, he says. Right, like I was a part of his
mistakes. Admittedly, there are few downsides to being the son in a billion
dollar family. If I wasn’t, though, I could’ve been in there, watching the
package, making sure not to play carelessly, making sure I didn’t get fucking
robbed.
    I’m worked up. Auna warned me about that. Stress ages in
double time. She already looks out for me. She knows me. I crave her. I have to
finish with Al.
    “You got fucked in the ass?”
    “As uncomfortable as that is, it’s what happened. Pegged as
fresh to the game. It’s a lesson. We’ll know better on the next one.”
    “Next one?” I’m about ready to punch him. He assumes I’ll
accept any financial loss like my family’s complicitly backing this operation.
Or really, what’s worse, he thinks I’m soft from the money. I know he calls me
a pussy behind my back. Everybody does, who isn’t rich like me. None of them
understand the responsibilities of wealth, the familial obligations, the
technicalities that keep you from accessing the lump sum of your trust.
    I’m on an allowance. My youth didn’t exactly encourage
confidence, so now I’m spending my twenties with my fortune tied up behind red
tape. It pisses me off, the way they don’t trust me. I’ve always been a bit of
a black sheep, billionaire bad boy, scourge to the family name. The Moore clan
was begging for a wayward son, between all their stuffy pretentions and their
elitist isolation, it was inevitable one of us would embrace something real.
    If I’m being honest, though, I wouldn’t have thought it
would be drugs. I’m twenty five now, and the college antics of my youth evolved
into some unconventional business investments for a trust fund kid to strike
out on his own. I embrace it. Sitting here, in the back of the strip club, it
feels refreshingly real, exciting, sexy. Drugs and women, a classic combination.
    But Al’s doing his best to spoil the flavor of it all.
    “Without the sale of the first, there is no second one,
jackass,” I tell him.
    He scowls as he leans back in his chair. “Don’t rock the
boat we’re both