Blood Rites

By: Amity Cross

I met the right people, or the wrong if you wanted to look at it that way, at a young age and found my talent for talking shit was well received. It made me money and lots of it. Not that I needed it, coming from a rich, titled family, but millions became billions and soon I’d be giving daddy a trust find, not the other way around.

I was a bad boy well on the way to becoming a very bad man. They didn’t call me the bad boy of High Society for nothing.

“Consider this a down payment, Mr. Jones,” I said, fixing my sleeves. I made sure my cufflinks were still secured and brushed my jacket with an elegant hand. Appearances were everything. “I expect it will be no trouble acquiring the other twenty-five thousand?” I glanced down at Jones, who was holding his stomach, a pained expression on his ugly fucking face.

He shook his head while he rolled around on the floor like an animal. “No, no trouble, Sir.”

Turning on my heel, I gestured to Hawkes who unlocked the door, the bag of diamonds firmly in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. My mood was quelled for the moment, a nicely aimed fist had done the trick as usual.

Stepping out onto the street, I pulled out my mobile phone, Hawkes following me like a bad smell. The European Summer was in full swing, but someone had forgotten to give London the memo. What I wouldn’t give to piss all this shit off and fly to Greece for three months. Nothing but sailing, beaches and plenty of beautiful women to sink my cock into.

Turning, I went to stride down the street, but I collided with a woman walking the other way. She smacked into my chest, dislodging the phone from my hand. I grasped her shoulders, steadying her before she bit the dust too.

The phone clattered to the ground and I cursed loudly. The woman bent to retrieve it, her long fingers curling around the annoying piece of metal and straightened up. She was tall and slender, wearing a black sundress printed with red flowers with a neckline that drew my gaze straight to her tits. Her chestnut hair was loose around her shoulders and I caught the scent of cherry blossom in the air.

My gaze met hers as her expression fell, but I wasn’t sure if it was because she’d smashed the screen on my phone or she thought I was hot. Her? Well, she was fucking stunning.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed, looking utterly forlorn. “I didn’t mean—”

“No bother,” I said, cutting her off. I reached for the phone, my fingers brushing against her skin.

She glanced up at me and her cheeks flushed a sexy shade of red.

It was like a goddamned romance novel, but by the way my cock was reacting at the slightest touch from the mystery woman, I knew that I’d do anything it took to fuck her. I hadn’t felt anything like it in my entire life. Big brown eyes, pouty red lips, flawless ivory skin… I could lose myself in a woman like her in more ways than one.

“What’s your name?” I asked, flashing my best smile.

She flushed again. “Lorelei.”




I glared at my mother. She was at it again.

I sat in a fancy tearoom in Kensington, an assortment of cakes and tea in fine china before us and couldn’t understand how she could be so…insufferable.

“You’re not getting any younger, Lorelei,” she was saying. “All the eligible bachelors will be gone by the time you make up your mind.”

“Mother,” I hissed, my gaze flickering to the other patrons and the staff. Rich heiresses and wives that had nothing better to do than gossip and spend their husband’s money.

“It’s the truth, darling. We need to secure your future.”

“My future?” I scoffed, totally fed up with the same old argument. “Your social standing more like it.”

“Lorelei,” she scolded.

“I have to get back to work, Mother.” I stood, gathering my purse. Brunch with my mother always ended one of two ways and this was one of them. The other was very, very similar.

I strode across the posh tearoom, disapproving eyes following my progress. There were more pressing matters to worry about in this world than who I did or did not marry. The rumor mill was going to have a good time with this one.

I let the door of the tearoom slam closed behind me and breathed deeply. Freedom, sweet bloody freedom!

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