Reckless Intentions: CH. 1

CHAPTER ONE: WHEN HE WAS BAD

CONTENT NOTE:
This chapter contains a scene of physical violence.
Reader discretion is advised.

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THE HARRINGTONS WERE AMONG the most prestigious families on the East Coast, and right now we were sitting at a dinner table that had gone eerily quiet. I was sitting across from my boyfriend, Jack Harrington Jr. He looked as bewildered as everyone else, except me. My "confused" face could probably win an Oscar. Jack Harrington Sr. finally broke the silence.

“Uh, everyone, I need to say something.”

His face was pale—it had been that way ever since we sat down for dinner: Cornish game hen, fingerling potatoes, and rice pilaf.

“Sweetheart, what is it?” Catherine asked.

I took my wine glass by the stem, took a slow sip, and placed it back on the table, watching him sweat.

“I don’t exactly know how to say this,” he said, “but there’s something I’ve been keeping from all of you.”

I could feel the panic radiating from everyone, especially Jack Jr.

“Dad, you’re scaring me,” said Olivia, the youngest of the three Harrington children.

Tonight was supposed to be a special occasion: Jack Jr’s twenty-second birthday. Instead, the night turned into something else.

“I—I’ve...” He stopped himself, unsure how the next words would land. “I’ve been having an affair.”

And as soon as the words escaped his lips, the room erupted in pandemonium. I sat there, taking another sip of the dessert wine. This was only the beginning. How far was I willing to go? I didn’t know. What I did know was this—Jack Harrington Jr had no idea what he was getting himself into the day he decided to do what he did. And as for—no one holds a better grudge.

ONE WEEK EARLIER

My name is Alex Baker, and up until about an hour ago, I was living the perfect life. Literally—in all the ways a life can be perfect, I was living it. School, friends, boyfriend—well, that was until the last item on that list decided to blow it all to hell.

I’d been stressed for the better part of two days. I just found out that in a week, I’m supposed to be in the Hamptons for the summer. My boyfriend’s family is rich—the kind of rich where they have multiple houses on multiple coasts. And while I’ve met them, I don’t exactly fit in. Thinking about it is stressing me out, and instead of comforting me, Jack Jr is off to the registrar to drop a summer class. We were originally going to spend the summer at my family’s house, but my parents decided a summer-long cruise was the best way to kick off their retirement.

If Jack’s birthday wasn’t tomorrow I’d probably try and find a way out of it.

I don’t come from money, so excuse me if I don’t know the difference between a salad fork and a dinner fork. Why can’t one be used for both? Anyway, the moment the thought crosses my mind, my phone pings. Lying on the bed, I reach over and grab it. It takes a moment for my vision to focus, and when it does, I see a text from a number I don’t recognize.

“Go to the men’s locker room.”

“Who is this?”

No response.

It seems like spam, but some part of me forces me up off the bed. I’m already spiraling about this summer, so maybe a walk will do me some good.

The walk across campus feels strange. Most people are either done with finals and packing up or still trying to cram at the last minute; either way, the quad is a ghost town. The gym is about a five-minute walk from Stevenson Hall, just past Sutton Hall. There’s a bunch of engineering students trying to get a robot to do tricks like it’s a Golden Retriever.

The gym is quiet inside. I look back at my phone. No new texts.

Was this some kind of scavenger hunt? Or was I about to be murdered and making it easy for the killer? Ugh, if I end up as a Dateline special, they better not say my smile “lit up the room.”

On the other end of the gym is a door that leads to a hallway connecting the auxiliary gym, training rooms, and locker rooms. If this turns out to be a dud, at least I’ll have gotten my steps in. I push through the double doors and hear what sounds like a shower running at the far end of the hall.

I slowly make my way down the hall and approach the locker room door. I place my ear against it. It’s definitely a shower, but there’s something else. Voices? I can’t quite make it out. Are they using the noise to plot a terrorist attack? Is this how the CIA recruits people now?

Get it together, Baker.

I slowly ease the door open. As I do, I notice a baseball bat propped up against it. I’ve heard of this: you prop something against a door that doesn’t lock, and when it opens, the object falls as a homemade alarm. This bat was poised to fall on a stack of metal trays. I catch the bat before it can make a sound.

Who the hell had gone through this much trouble to conceal their activities? Was this some kind of drug deal? Or worse—an actual murder?

Baker, you listen to way too many true crime podcasts. Even so, I still take the bat.

The locker room isn’t anything to write home about. It’s just a row of dented lockers, a few worn benches, and a wide-open shower area tucked into an alcove. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, casting everything in a dull, washed-out glow.

For a second, I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath. The place smelled like feet, corn chips, old gym gear, stale sweat, and sweaty ball sack. It was the kind of odor that settled into the walls and never really left.

The sounds became clearer as I crept closer. A muffled thump. A breathy gasp.

Was that—

Yeah. That was definitely moaning.

I slowed my steps, gripping the bat a little tighter.

Someone was having sex in the locker room.

But why? There are literally dorm rooms for this. And if they were trying to be discreet, they were doing a terrible job.

“Mmhm, yeah, fuck me!” says one of the voices.

“Yeah, whose pussy is that?” the other responds.

“Yours—mmhm, fuck, this is your pussy!”

Wait a second. One of those voices sounds entirely too familiar. The moment I round the corner, I don’t have to guess. The sight is impossible to look away from. It’s Jack and one of the guys from his inner circle—Tyler. My boyfriend is fucking Tyler. My boyfriend is cheating on me. The realization hits hard, knocking the air from my lungs. I stand frozen, unable to tear my eyes away.

I roll back to the other side of the wall and clench the bat close to my chest.

“Oh fuck, yeah,” says Jack. “Fuck, you feel so good!”

“Yeah, yeah, mmhm—fuck! Fuck!” moans Tyler.

Oh my God. What do I do? Do I beat him with this bat? I’m listening to my boyfriend fuck a guy who isn’t me.

I’m listening to my boyfriend do this to a guy who isn’t me.

Tears stream down my face.

What the fuck?! I want to scream, I want to yell but I don’t do any of that. I just stand there and listen.

“Oh, shit, I love your cock,” says Tyler.

“You’ve got the best ass,” says Jack.

Tyler’s got the best ass? I flash back to two nights ago, the last time Jack and I had sex.

“Alex, you’ve got the best ass,” he had said. And now he was telling Tyler—who was supposed to be dating Marco.

Two timing sonofabitch.

Do I confront them? What good would that do? And what do I do now? My parents are on a ship somewhere.

“You like the way I fuck you?!” Jack asks.

“Yeah, daddy, I love it!” Tyler says between moans.

I peak around the corner again. Tyler’s hands are flat against the tile, Jack is behind him, his hands on both of Tyler’s hips as he drives his cock into his ass.

I still don’t know what to do. So I do the only thing I can think of. I take out my phone, open the camera, toggle to video, and start filming the whole scene. The fucking, the dirty talk, the way their skin slaps together. Jack’s cock sliding in and out of Tyler.

Jack—how could you?

After about ten minutes, they’re still going strong. I stop filming and slowly start to walk away. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe my boyfriend, who tells me he loves me every chance he gets, is fucking one of his best friends behind his back—and behind mine.

You think you know somebody.

When I get to the door, I stop. I look at the pile of trays and tilt my head slightly to one side.

“I’m getting close,” says Jack.

“Me too,” says Tyler.

I look at the bat in my hand.

Fuck your nut.

With that, I toss the bat onto the trays. The clanging reverberates in my ears. I hear them scrambling and swearing. Then I push the door open and leave.

As soon as I step into the hallway, my phone pings again: “Library, in the stacks.”

“Library, in the stacks.”

“Who the fuck is this?!” I text back.

I don’t expect a response, but I get one.

“A friend.”

Friend my ass.

This time, I walk to the library with purpose. The library sits across from the gym, and the stairs leading to the stacks are right there when you walk in. I weave through the rows of shelves until I spot someone at the far end of an aisle. He glances at me, then starts walking. Keeping to the opposite side of the shelf, I follow him.

On the other side is a large window with a clear view of the front of the gym. The guy stands by the glass, watching intently.

“Hey, who are you?” I ask.

“Come look,” he responds.

The answer was cryptic as hell. But because I seemingly have no sense of self-preservation today, I find myself trailing after him anyway.

Peering through the glass, I witness Jack and Tyler as they bolt out of the gym. Though their clothes are on, they carry the unmistakable frantic energy of two people who were just interrupted while fucking in a locker room.

“I’m Everett,” he says.

A beat.

“Alex.”

“I know who you are,” he says, still looking out the window even though Dumb and Dumber have already gone their separate ways.

“So it was you who texted me?”

“I needed you to see it for yourself,” he says.

“Why?”

I’m not sure why, but I feel like I should be in more shock than I am.

“Because he did it to me, too,” he says.

“What?”

“Two years ago—we were engaged.”

“The fuck? He never told me he was engaged.”

“Then I’m betting he didn’t tell you I caught him fucking my best man after the wedding rehearsal dinner.”

My face is a mixture of shock, awe, disbelief, and that expression penguins make when they see an orca coming.

“I’m still trying to process all of this,” I admit, the shock finally starting to settle into my bones.

Everett looks at me, his expression unreadable. “Are you planning on crying over it, or are you actually interested in a little retribution?”

I focus on him, leaning in closer as my heart begins to race.

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

“You have choices, Alex. You could go back there, cause a scene, and tell him he’s a piece of trash... or,” he lets the word hang in the air between us.

“Or what?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“Look at yourself. You’re arguably the most brilliant person on this entire campus.”

“You’re telling me the play is to just carry on? To pretend I didn’t just witness my boyfriend fuck his buddy in some rank locker room—a guy whose peak comedic achievement is spamming ‘that’s what she said’ jokes until my ears bleed?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he says. “I never got the chance to get him back, now I’m more motivated than ever to get back at him.”

I let that sit for a moment. He’s right about one thing—I am brilliant. I can’t believe Jack did what he did and who knows how long it’s been going on. Such a self entitled prick.

“If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do it my way.”

“What do you mean?”

“He thinks he can just go around destroying people’s lives? Well I say we destroy his,” I say.

“I am a computer science major, we could fail him,” he says.

“Small potatoes.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not talking just about Jack Jr—I’m talking about his whole fucking life.”

We get started the next day. For the whole week, Everett and I are practically glued at the hip, meeting in coffee shops and empty study rooms, hunched over laptops and scribbled diagrams. Since Jack is too busy fucking Tyler all over campus—in his car, in empty classrooms, probably in that same locker room again—he doesn’t even notice that me and his ex-fiancée are plotting his downfall.

“So once you get inside the estate, we get me into the system,” Everett explains during one of our sessions, his voice low even though we’re alone.

He slides a flash drive across the table toward me.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a program I wrote—you plug that into the central server and I’ll be able to remote in. I’ll have full access to everything. I’ll be able to watch the cameras on a close circuit feed; no audio but everything else.”

“Central server?” I ask, picking up the small device and turning it over in my fingers. “What is this? Alexander’s Eleven?”

“It’s in the sub-basement, just off the kitchen,” he says, ignoring my joke. “There’s a door marked DATA. You can’t miss it.”

I pocket the flash drive—so small, yet so potentially destructive.

“When do you leave for the Hamptons?”

“Tomorrow,” I say. “I get to spend a whole summer with that cheating piece of shit.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Trust me when I say, I’m not the one who’s gonna need it.”

When I get back to my dorm room that night, I don’t just toss the drive in my bag and call it a day. I plug it into my laptop and access the command prompt, my fingers flying across the keyboard. I’m not a computer science major like Everett, but I know my way around code. And I know that whatever this drive does, I need to be at least one step ahead—I need to understand exactly what it does and how it does it..

So I read through the code, line by line, parsing through tables, code, functions and variables. It’s good work, I’ll give him that. But there’s a few places in the code where I see opportunities for improvements so I make a few adjustments here and there, nothing crazy, just a few minor modifications or enhancements—yeah that sounds better. Luck is good and all but sometimes you need an insurance policy, ya know, just in case.

Jack returns to the room a few hours later, dropping his gym bag by the door. The irony isn’t lost on me; he’s probably coming from another rendezvous with Tyler.

“We better get some sleep,” he says, already pulling off his shirt. “Tomorrow’s a travel day.”

I close my laptop and smile at him. “Looking forward to it.”

THE NEXT DAY – ONE HOUR BEFORE DINNER – HARRINGTON ESTATE

I’m sitting in the living room of Jack’s family’s Montauk estate. Most of the doors and windows are open, and the breeze skimming off the Atlantic feels perfect this time of year. Jack Sr is on the pool deck, dressed in cruise attire and reading the Wall Street Journal.

The Harringtons are the wealthiest family on the Eastern seaboard, and I’m about to watch their world burn.

“How confident are you about this?” I say into the Airpod.

“One hundred percent, I used to watch him hit on guys all the time,” says Everett in my ear.

“Okay, I’m going in.”

“Wait—where’s JJ and the rest of the family?”

They just went down to the beach, it’s now or never,” I say.

“Fine—go.”

I cross the room and make my way to the kitchen where Mrs. Fuentes, the housekeeper, is polishing flatware. When she’s not looking, I open the door just outside the kitchen that goes to the subbasement.

“Okay, you’re looking for a door that says DATA,” says Everett.

“I see it,” I say.

“This entire house is wired, if I can get in the system, I’ll have access to cameras, alarms, lights—the works.”

The door yields as Everett continues his technical monologue, his voice a steady hum of jargon that I mostly tune out; honestly, the primary appeal is just having a digital sentinel watching my back. Following our clandestine meeting in the stacks, he’d meticulously prepared a flash drive designed to grant him full, unfettered master access over the Harringtons’ entire home network.

I plug it in where he tells me and the screen on the server starts to read and write code all on its own. When it’s done, I take the drive and head back toward the stairs.

“Sentinel is now online,” he says.

“Sentinel?”

“It’s my call sign.”

“How about I call you Nerd?”

“You can but you’d have to guess where Mrs. Fuentes is,” he says, mocking me.

“Fine,” I yield.

“Do you want a call sign?”

“Do you want a boot up your ass?”

“Hmm, Bootlegger it is.”

“Can I leave now?”

“Oh yeah, there’s no one in the kitchen,” he says.

“And where’s the mark?”

“Still on the pool deck.”

“Good. Time to make my move.”

I leave the subbasement and make my way across to the downstairs guest suite. Catherine, a quintessential product of the Bible Belt, possessed a moral compass that ensured I wouldn’t be spending a single night in Jack’s bedroom under her watch.

I change into the white Speedo, grab a robe and towel, and head out to the pool deck.

Jack Sr sits in one of the lounge chairs. The moment I drop the robe and towel onto the chair beside him, his eyes snap upward.

“Hey, Mr. Harrington,” I say, adjusting my Speedo.

“Uh-um, how’s it going?” he stutters.

“Perve,” Everett says in my ear.

I pull out the distraction device and set it on the table.

“Heater on?”

“Huh—what?” he asks, still tripping over his words.

“The pool heater. Is it on?”

“Oh—right. Yeah, it is.”

I walk to the pool’s edge and steal a quick glance in Jack Sr’s direction. His gaze remains fixed firmly on me. Honestly, it’s almost pathetic how easy this is.

I descend the steps into the pool and glide through the water for several lengths. The heated water feels like silk against my skin as I move.

After about ten minutes, it’s time to kick things into gear. I swim to the edge and hoist myself out of the water. The Speedo has slipped down a few inches, just as I expected.

“Yeah, that water was nice,” I say.

“Yeah, you looked good out there,” he replies.

“Yeah?”

I reach for the towel, and robe, oh dang, I didn’t bring my shorts,” I say.

Jack Sr looks at me, almost dumbfounded.

I drop the Speedo to my ankles and grab the towel, being sure to take my time before I wrap it around my waist. He’s a nice long look at my ass. Let’s see if he bites. I pick up the speedo.

“Does the dryer work in the pool house?”

“Uh, er, yeah, I believe so. We can go check,” he says, starting to get up.

“Oh, I can look. I don’t want to impose.”

“No, I insist,” he says, adjusting his pants.

I follow him into the pool house and toward the back, where the laundry room is. He checks the machine.

“Everything seems to be in working order,” he says.

When he turns around, I have already ditched the towel.

“Oh damn,” he says.

“You know, I saw you checking me out,” I say.

“Whoa, um, Alex,” he says, words choking as they come up.

“Yeah?” I ask, stepping a little closer.

I fling the Speedo over and he catches it.

“Can you toss that in the dryer for me?”

“Alex, what’s this?”

“Nothing, just a boy…admiring a man.”

I look down at the obvious tent in his pants.

“C’mon, you telling me you weren’t thinking about it this whole time?”

A smile creases across his face.

“And what exactly would my son make of this?” he whispers, his breath hitching.

“Maybe he’d like to watch.”

I bridge the remaining distance, a predatory grin spreading across my lips as I watch him unravel.

He leans in, waiting to see if I pull away. When I don’t, he kisses me. The kiss is deep and full, sending a rush of warmth through me as I melt into it.

I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist getting lost in the kiss. I reach down between us and grab his cock. It’s rock hard and already leaking. I lean over into his ear.

“Are you gonna fuck me ?”

He swipes the table clear, and lowers me into the counter top. I part my legs and lift my ass off the counter.

“C’mon fuck me!”

He doesn’t waste another moment. He drops his pants, his thick, veiny cock flushed at the tip. He spits into his hand and slicks up his cock then positions himself before pushing in.

Damn.

I wasn’t expecting the pressure, but damn. He doesn’t take his time, he’s a man on a mission. He knows beach time isn’t going to last forever so he fucks me—really fucks me. And if I’m being honest, he fucks better than his son.

I feel like I should feel bad about this, but for some reason, I don’t. Jack did this to me, Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

“You like it rough?”

Then I remember Tyler from the locker room.

“Yeah, Daddy, make this ass yours,” I say.

That really riles him up because now he has both my legs hooked over his elbow and he’s really giving it to me. Thrust after thrust. He grunts as he slams into me.

“Mmhm, fuck!” I cry out. “Make me your little bitch!”

“You gonna be my little bitch?” he asks.

“Yessir.”

“You gonna be my little faggot!?”

I answer with a moan.

“Say ‘yessir’, faggot!”

“Yessir”

I feel like his thrusts are going keeping.

“Holy fuck, you’re so big!”

“You like big dick, dontcha?”

“I love big dick,” I say between moans.

“Shit—I’m already close,” he says.

“C’mon, fuck me, don’t stop,” I say. “Fuck me just like that!”

He rammed his cock into me so hard I nearly see stars. My eyes rolled into the back of my head.

Fuck. He was entirely too good at this.

“Yeah, Daddy, just like that!”

I grab my cock and start jerking it. I can tell he’s about to lose his edge. As soon as I’m right on the cusp I squeeze his dick, the pressure was just perfect and he was cumming, I felt the warm load burst inside of me.

The animalistic sound he made, grunting and groaning as the last spurt shot into my ass sent me over the edge and I started cumming, ropes of it, across my stomach and chest.

“Holy shit,” I say. “Damn, what a mess.”

He pulls his dick out of me and as soon as he does, his load follows behind him. Dripping out of my hole and onto the floor.

“We should clean this up, eh?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back,” hopping off the counter and over the puddle of jizz.

I grab my phone and play back the video.

“”You gonna be my little bitch?” he asks.

“Yessir.”

“You gonna be my little faggot!?”

Then a loud moan from me.

“Say ‘yessir’, faggot!”

“Yessir”

I stop the video and look him, on the floor wiping up the jizz that seeped out of my ass.

“What the fuck is that?”

“A video, silly.”

He stands up.

“Give me that, right fucking now!”

Then:

“Dad?” it’s Jack Jr “Where are you guys at?”

“I guess they’re back,” he tries to run toward me but I’m already on the pool deck slipping into the robe when Catherine steps outside.

“Alex,” she says, “have you seen Jack—the other—my husband? It’s always weird when they’re both here.”

“Yeah,” I say, innocently. “He went into the pool house,” I say.

“Well, get changed, dinner is just about ready.,” she says, walking off toward the pool house.

Hope she doesn’t smell the sex in there.

A few minutes later, Jack Sr comes into the guest suite, I’m lying on the bed naked.

“What game are you trying to pull?” he says almost a whisper.

“I’m not trying to pull anything,” I say.

“Is this about money?”

I sit up, my cock flopping over to the other leg.

“Why do rich people always assume people want their money?”

The sheer heat from his gaze feels like it could sear straight through my skull. I hold his look with a defiant glare, even as a flicker of genuine unease begins to creep in at the sight of his escalating fury.

“Well if you don’t want money, what do you want?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” I say, a little too gleefully. “At dinner tonight you’re going to announce to the family that you’ve been having an affair.”

He looks at me intently.

“Like hell I am.”

I stand up and walk over to my suitcase.

“You will do exactly as I say or tonight’s home movie is gonna be you and me and a little movie I like to call ‘Wealthy CEO fucks his son’s boyfriend in the pool house while his family is down at th beach.”

His expression softens.

“Alex, be reasonable,” he says.

“If I wasn’t being reasonable, I’d make you tell them it was me, but I’m not gonna do that because I’m a nice guy.”

I slide on some shorts and dig around until I find a shirt that matches. I pick up the Airpod off the dresser and place it in my ear.

“It’s Jack Jr’s birthday dinner,” he says. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Well we can watch the video again if you need a refresher.

“You deranged little bastard, I will fucking—”

I cut him off before he can finish the sentence.

“The only thing you’re gonna do is exactly what I tell you—”

He snaps, silencing me as his hand bolts upward to constrict my throat in a bruising, suffocating grip. I gasp for air.

“Ugh—” it’s the only sound I can make as I try and fail to pry his hands from around my throat.

It’s like one second he’s standing there and the next he’s pressing me deeper into the mattress.

The pressure is violent and painful and my lungs burn as they desperately search for air. I try to push him off me but he’s too strong.

“Where is that fucking video?”

I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears and the edges of the room start to soften.

“Where is it, you little shit!”

I try prying his hands again. A panicked sound escapes me. Holy shit, he’s not letting go.

“Alex—what is that! Shit! That fucker is unhinged—hang on!”

Everett’s voice sounds so far away now. Panic rises and surges through me.

I try to yell but the words die in my throat. And then I see tiny white spots in the corners of my eyes.

Just then the sound system turns on. A zoned speaker system wired through the entire house most likely for when they host parties here.

“Oh—right. Yeah, it is.” It’s his voice from the pool deck. He recognizes it immediately and lets go of me. I choke as I gasp for air.

“Touch me again, you sick son of a bitch and I’ll play this at your next shareholder’s meeting,” I say still choking.

“You’re twisted.”

“No,” I say. “Just heart broken.”

Jack Sr backs out of the room.

“You okay?” asks Everett.

It takes me a moment to collect myself. I can’t believe he snapped like that.

“Alex?!”

“I’m fine,” I say, leaning on the dresser looking into the mirror at my reflection.

My neck is red and bruised. Dark purple fingerprints bloom across my throat like some fucked-up necklace.

“Shit.”

“What is it?”

I touch the marks with the tips of my fingers. They’re tender and real. He could’ve killed me if he wanted to and maybe he would’ve, if Everett hadn’t been listening. The thought should scare the absolute shit out of me. A normal person would already have their bags packed.

Instead, I feel something low in my stomach. Something warm and sick—something that sorta turns me on.

“Alex?” Everett sounds genuinely concerned.

I crane my neck from side to side, checking out the bruises in the mirror. Jack Sr’s hand was so much bigger than mine. Strong enough to crush my windpipe. Strong enough to—

“Nothing,” I say, but my voice comes out rough. Damaged.

I miscalculated. Jack Sr isn’t just a cheater with a guilty conscience. He’s unstable. Dangerous. The kind of man who strangles someone and then what…pretends it didn’t happen?

The kind of man I just let fuck me in a pool house.

“Everything okay?” Everett asks through the earpiece.

I don’t answer. Because I’m still looking at those bruises, and part of me; the part that’s spiraling, the part that’s broken. The part that wants to see what Jack Sr will do next; it wants to push him further.

Because unlike Jack, his father isn’t just another secret waiting to be exposed, he’s a faultline–and in one terrifying moment, I realize, I don’t want to avoid the earthquake; I want to cause it. And in the wake of that realization, I ask myself this question:

How much of a person can you take before there’s nothing left?

Jack spent his entire life surrounded by people who excused his behavior—they protected him from the consequences of his actions—that’s not love—that’s absolution. But now, he’s betrayed the wrong person. He’s betrayed the one person who ever truly loved him.

And where I should be feeling fear I feel something much more nefarious. I don’t think I was always this way, there was no version of me that was this reckless, but maybe the betrayal introduced us. And it was scary and exhilarating and arousing.

I touch the bruises on my neck one last time and think to myself two incredibly twisted thoughts.

I’m going to bring down Jack’s life right in front of his eyes even if that means I destroy his entire family in the process and secondly, and I cannot stress this enough, I’m gonna fuck Jack Sr again and I’m going to keep fucking him until he consumes me.

And that—those two thoughts might be the most dangerous thing that’s happened since I arrived in the Hamptons.

TO BE CONTINUED…

RECKLESS INTENTIONS RETURNS IN AUGUST 2026