Author's Note: This is Chapter 5 in a series. The plot line involves betrayal and revenge among a group of friends, starting in college and into early adulthood. Some of the backstory is referenced in this chapter, and as with the rest of the series I've tried to make each chapter readable on its own. However, I think you'll enjoy Chapter 5 more if you read either Chapter 3 or 4 first, or the complete series. I'll submit the final chapter soon. Happy to receive constructive criticism, both positive and negative, or to hear ideas for future stories.
Summer Forqurean sat in the muted light of her office, the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds in thin, pale slats that cut across her face, her expression serene. But beneath the calm exterior, her thoughts were a labyrinth of carefully constructed plans and simmering frustration. Two of them were already undone, their lives dismantled piece by piece. She had watched Brennan Bjorklund and Courtney Rothschilds' humiliation and destruction with a quiet, almost clinical satisfaction, as if she were observing the dissection of some intricate organism.
She thought about what she had done to her two friends and looked over to the mirror across from her desk. "What I did was too much," she thought. But her reflection stared back with an intensity that felt almost accusatory. Summer recognized that the attractive young woman in the glass was the only one who fully knew the depth of her secrets. Her lips barely moved as she spoke, the words echoing in her mind more than in the air. "No, they deserved it. They showed no remorse. If they had only shown a shred of regret it might have been different. But they never did. There's only one more to go."
Summer's friend, Camden Tallis, her 'best' friend, now lingered in her thoughts, an unresolved stanza in her symphony of vengeance. "This third project will be my last," she whispered quietly. "Then I can get back to myself." Summer needed closure. Camden would have to be brought to her knees just as Brennan and Courtney had been. But it gnawed at Summer that she had not yet been unable to come up with a plan, a complete plan for Camden's project. She needed something more, something that would pierce Camden's armor and leave her exposed, vulnerable and humiliated. The frustration was a slow, insidious thing, creeping into Summer's every thought, but she knew she couldn't rush. It had to be perfect, a strike that would resonate not just in Camden's life but in the lives of everyone who thought they knew her. She reminded herself that patience was her ally, that the right opportunity would present itself, and when it did, she would strike with the kind of calculated cruelty that would echo in Camden's mind long after the final act was over. So Summer waited, letting the anticipation build, savoring the thought of the final, devastating blow that would bring Camden down, either with a crash, or with a subtle, inevitable unraveling that would leave her hollowed out and destroyed.
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In the dimly lit club a haze of smoke and neon cast an ethereal glow over the patrons. The stage, gleamed under the spotlight, a small universe unto itself. Courtney Rothschild, along with four other young women stood in the bright light, her fingers curling around the cool metal of the pole. The music began, a slow, pulsing sonorous beat.
"At least I'm not petrified the way I was the first time," Courtney thought. The spotlight made it difficult to see the faces of the patrons. She knew some watched with admiration, others with lust, and some with judgment. "I shouldn't be here. This isn't where I belong," she thought, forcing herself to smile. "But I know I have to. Please God, forgive me."
Taking a deep breath, her body responding instinctively to the sound. Her movements were fluid, a blend of strength and grace. Each spin, each extension of her limbs, was a carefully crafted expression, a silent language of the body. "Just pretend they aren't there -- that there's no one watching," she told herself, repeating in her mind advice that her roommate Skyler, her de facto mentor, had given her.
From a table, ten feet from the stage two men watched the performance. "Gie that a gander, Declin -- that hen in the middle," one of the men commented quietly to his companion in his distinct Scottish accent. "Have a keek at the long nips," he said grinning, nodding toward Courtney.
Declin leaned back in his seat, his gaze had already been fixed on the young woman with the bright blue eyes and dark straight hair. She moved with a lithe, feline grace, her body a testament to her youth and vitality. Her skin glistened under the lights, every sinew and delightful curve highlighted in the stark contrast of shadow and illumination.
Declin sipped his whiskey, the burn of the alcohol a counterpoint to the coolness of the glass. He slowly stroked his short dark, grey-streaked beard. He felt a feeble pang of guilt, a dissonance between his familiar overwhelming desire and a peculiar latent protective instinct; the guilt surprised him, it was an emotion foreign to him, and as quickly as he felt it, the feeling dissipated.
"She must be about the same age as my daughter in Glasgow," he thought with satisfaction. Courtney spun gracefully, her hair flying outward in a cascade of dark shimmering silk. "What had led her to this place," he wondered? "Was it necessity, or some other force that had shaped her path to this place?"
"So whit dae ye think, Dec? Oor choice is obvious, aye? She's a braw lass.
"It is, and she is," Declin agreed. "All five young ladies are excellent but...she's in a class by herself."
"Place looks like a doss from outside. But the talent here, her looks, pure top class, eh. That figure... her tits and bum are jist how I know ye like 'em. I'll go see to it."
Declin smiled at his assistant. "Guess you've gotten to know me pretty well, Richard. I'm glad you suggested we stop off. We have today and maybe tomorrow for some entertainment before getting down to business." As was his routine, Declin traveled with his primary assistant for most business trips overseas from Scotland. He typically made a point of indulging himself with one or two carefully chosen young women on each of his journeys. This was his first trip to New York in a long time.
It felt good to be back home in the U.S., though the sensation was tinged with a strange undercurrent that combined pain and perverse pleasure. He couldn't shake the thought of his estranged brother who lived here, the one he had shared everything with--from secrets to competitive jabs during their tumultuous teenage years. Their bond had at been intense but had ultimately devolved into a rivalry, a competition far beyond that normally experienced by siblings. In due course, enmity had ultimately come to overshadow all other aspects of their relationship, each brother trying to both outdo and damage the other.
"Why did I do it?" he asked himself rhetorically. The memory of it was vivid, a razor slicing through the fog of his thoughts. "How could I have had an affair with my brother's wife?" The enormity of the betrayal failed to trouble him. "The bastard would have done the same to me given half the chance."
