A New Me

Lester's POV

I don't know how long I'll keep this up—starring myself in the mirror each time I get the chance.

I can't shake off the feeling that part of me is lost to a fatal accident, which almost had my life claimed. Four months ago, I woke up in a hospital room having zero memory of what happened before the accident.

Feed up with the person in the mirror, I turn the tap on, patting my face with the running cold water.

The bathroom door opens. A lady I know next to nothing about sashays in, naked.

Although I failed to recollect memories regarding that day, I haven't been able to forget the dangerous feeling I woke up with; the one that made me a whole new person, a prurience.

Feebled by the dark curiosity of mating different women, my body count exceeded the number of months I'd been hospitalized.

She wraps her hands around me, her perked breasts press hard against my back. Her palms move slowly up to my chest.

I take a white towel, looking at the mirror as I pat my face dry; indifferent by her moves. 

The funny yet, frustrating, side of my recovery story is that these girls don't turn me on, not even my fiancee.

The erotic feeling in my head is the reason I get turned on, but these girls don’t tame it, as if it's the consequences of escaping death. Or it's part of the recovery.

I don't get it.

“I saw the cheque.” Her voice is sultry. She kisses me on the back, but my feelings remain constant. “Thanks a lot. The money means a lot.”

I have a habit of giving out cheques to the women I sleep with. It's my little way of being appreciative for the services rendered.

My phone ringtone goes off in the suite, a necessary distraction I need to ruin the moment.

“Get me my phone,” I say calmly, drawing out a brown drawer to get my prescribed pills.

“Sure do.” She gives my back a long kiss before sashaying back to the room.

As prescribed, I throw in two tablets, swallowing them with some tap water.

The phone rings again just as the girl brings it to me, and I answer without hesitation.

“Is the pack house on fire?” I tease Cade, my beta, over the phone. 

“It’s worse than that,” he says, his voice serious. “Your father is on his way to the new site. Thought I'd let you know.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” I cut the call and set my phone beside the faucet.

After the accident, the idea of a secluded getaway away from the pack house took root. Because of the secret surrounding it, access to the site is tightly controlled until completion.

In less than two minutes, I'm in a dress I hate the most, suits.

I dash out to the bedroom suite, heading to the door.

“One moment.” The girl scurries before me and extends her hands. “Your tie—”

I hold my hand up. “Don’t.”

The last thing I wish for is to get caught with one of the girls I take my sexual pleasures out on. Their lives and my reputation would be on the edge if the relationships go public. I can't risk it.

“Sorry.” Her voice is low and less sultry. She brings her hands down and sidesteps to pave the way.

 I resume stride to leave the door, my hands on my tie, adjusting it.

I walk down the hallway, ignoring the fearful stares I've endured since turning nine. No one ever learned to look past my red hair and red eyes.

My driver spots me approaching the black Range Rover and steps forward to hold the door. Once I settle in, he slips behind the wheel and drives off.

Sixteen minutes later, the jeep arrives at the site.

I step out and head toward the unfinished building, trading greetings with the workers as I make my way upstairs to the living room where my father is.

He's standing by the window, gazing out. 

“Hi, Dad, ” I say, standing behind him.

“Why do you suddenly want a house outside the pack?” He's still looking out the window.

I walk towards him. “I know it's sudden, but after being an alpha king for four months, I realize I need a place outside the pack house to chill out.”

I stand next to him and look out the window as well.

“What you need is a wife. Speaking about a wife…” He turns and faces me. “Verona is worried about you. It breaks her heart each time you procrastinate the wedding.”

I scratch the back of my ear. “Worry about your relationship, and stay out of mine.”

“When did you learn to talk like a fool?” he asks through greeted teeth, and instantly closes the gap between us. His warm breath caresses my face. “In fact, I want you wedded this Friday. Make it happen before the end of the day.”

He turns, backing the window. He's stomping out, angry.

There, he goes again, dropping orders on me like I'm one of his subjects. He doesn't hide the superiority he unleashes on me, even when we're outside; the reason why people who know our father-son-relationship call me “his lapdog”.

“I can't.” I thwart his order for the first time, and it feels kind of good. I turn to where he stands frozen. “I can't marry her. She's not my mate, and you know it.”

I was willing and ready to marry Father’s choice, until the accident. It's best to call off the wedding than make her cry each time I sleep with another woman.

He faces me again. His eyes spark with anger. “But you love this girl!”

“I don't!” I rub my temple, frustrated. “I mean, I used to.”

“What changed?” His voice is low, edged with confusion.

“Don’t know.”

“You're not marrying anyone but that innocent girl. Get that into your thick skull.”

He stomps out, giving me the space I hoped for.

After watching his car drive out of sight, I take the stairs down, then head to the master bedroom, and then to the closet.

Inside the unfinished closet, I take the stairs down. They lead to the main purpose of the building, an underground residence where I can stall the girls I make out with.

I plan to explore sex in a different way that might satiate my cravings.

Anyone is welcome to see the building, except what lies beneath it. It's meant to stay hidden till death denies me ownership.