The Bullion Brothers: Billionaire triplet brothers interracial menage by Tania Beaton Read Free Book Online

called him by his name.

    His name was from the Bible. It was the name of one of the three kings, the wise men. The Magi, some people called them. I liked the sound of that, ‘Magi.’ It was like ‘magic.’

    Standing in the pool of light at the bottom of the stairs with his shaggy, curly blond hair, he looked somewhat angelic. At least, he had, until he turned to look up at me and I saw his eyes and twisty smile. I felt like my insides melted and splashed out of me, and cascaded down the steps.

    It was then that I realized he could see straight up my skirt. I knew that I should move, to close my legs or pull my skirt tighter. It was kinda hard not to. But it gave me a dark sensation, a thrill that I never forgot. It was so very wrong. And I wanted it, again and again.  

    The Asshat was in the kitchen. I overheard him telling my Mom, “His mother was cruel and callous to give him that ridiculous name.” His eyes darkened as he overheard his father.  

    His blond curls bobbed as he came slowly up the stairs. An electric tingle ran from my stomach down into my panties as he came nearer. That tingle I had only felt a couple of times before. Times when something good somehow felt really bad, or when something bad felt really, really good.

    He muttered in that whisper of his, said what was cruel was for his Mom to die so soon and in the way that she did. As it slipped out under his breath, I got the idea that he blamed his daddy for her dying. I didn’t really know why I thought that.

    So nobody used his name and he certainly never threw it around. He was always introduced as ‘Baz,’ and that was that.

    That first night they stayed over in our house, he shared my room. There wasn’t another room spare, although he could have slept on the couch in the living room. The Asshat slept in Mom’s room, of course.  

    In the darkness he whispered to me, and told me, “She gave me the name and I keep it special.” He shone a flashlight in my face. “You heard him diss it, so he never gets to use it.” In the darkness, the anger glowed in his eyes. “Ne.Ver.”

    “I want you to call me by my real name,” he said, “But only when we’re alone. Never when there’s anyone else, anyone at all who might hear it, you understand?”

    “Even Mom and your Daddy?”

    His voice was hard, “Especially them.”

    And that was when he told me what it was. The word crackled through me, like the tingle on the stairs and with the same charge.

    Balthazar.

When Mom told me that we had to move in with Balthazar’s daddy, she said that their ‘big apartment’ was much better than our little house. I didn’t see why. It was way high in an apartment block downtown. A house seemed much better than that.

    You had your own door on to the street and you didn’t have to wait for an elevator to go out or to come back in. You could open all the windows and we had a yard out back with grass and some flowers.

    Balthazar’s Daddy’s apartment had what Mom said was a view of the river. That meant that you could see a couple of cranes and a big bridge, way off in the distance and through the smog. To call that a view of the river was just not right because you couldn’t see any of the water at all.  

    So, the next four years Balthazar and I both went to Lincoln High. As soon as he could, he upped and left, and we lost touch. Well, I lost touch with him, I guess. I don’t suppose he gave a thought to keeping in touch with me.

A bright patch in those days was the Sundays in summer when the Asshat took all of us up to the public beaches in the Hamptons.

    Balthazar just had to walk on the beach and there would be half a dozen kids around him in minutes. Most of them were girls. They touched his arm or his chest. When he talked to them they tilted their heads. Touched the sides of their necks or played with their hair.

    Seeing the easy way he made friends, with girls especially, always it lit a glow inside of me. A glow that