Tap. Tap. Tap.
After all the sacrifices I’ve made to bring Roman to justice. After all the opportunities I showered them with, all I asked for was loyalty and trust, and they couldn’t even give me that?
My own fucking brother has turned on me, for a woman—the daughter of our enemy.
And I never saw it coming.
“You know, assuming makes you an asshole.” Dom’s words cross my mind, but what else can I believe? They’ve been lying to me, worse than that, purposefully deceiving me, for at least two months.
Does Dom want control? Is he willing to hurt me for it? Is this some sort of lateral move to knock me off the board in an attempt to gain power?
If so, I won’t fight him. He can have it. I live solely for what we’ve built together, for the possibilities of sharing in what we can do in the future. It’s enough for me. As ambitious as I am, it’s enough.
Have I not been generous enough? Supportive enough? Have I been more boss than brother? Is that why it is so fucking easy for him to betray me like this? Betray our parents?
“Jesus Christ.” Ripping off my tie, I unbutton my collar before snapping at my driver. “À la maison.” Home.
I glance out of the tinted window to a new world, one where I feel more alone than ever, with absolutely no one on my side. I search the street desperately for a kind face, a sign, a goddamn bird to let me know I’m thinking irrationally. And that’s when I catch sight of him—a familiar face, one of our first fucking Triple Falls recruits, turning the corner, chin dipping as he lifts his cell phone while I pass.
Dom is having me followed?
He’s the only one that knows of my whereabouts at all times.
My brother. My blood.
All the years of struggling, of self-deprivation, years of sacrificing, pushing away my needs, ignoring my wants, all the years I spent on the sidelines watching my brothers live fully while I worked tirelessly to build this dream alongside them.
And for what?
For what?
My cell rings, and I curse as I lift it, his voice coming out in a hiss the second I answer.
“You aren’t going anywhere, Ezekiel.”
“I don’t like your tone, Antoine.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he snaps. “We have business.”
“I’ll brief Palo. He can handle it.”
“Don’t test my patience, Ezekiel. Your plans are going to have to wait.”
It took me three weeks to get home. Three weeks I needed to get Antoine off my fucking back enough to escape his clutches and handle my own shit. Three weeks I spent digging further into the lies and deceptions I’ve been fed in bits and pieces by the hands of the men I trusted most.
And I’ve gathered enough by now to know it was all intentional. They’d even gone so far as to publicly humiliate her in front of a few chapters to try to get word back to me and throw me off their scent. A weak attempt at best that reeks of desperation, and I know better. Which also tells me they know I know. Since then, I’ve cut all communication with them in hopes of striking fear into them. And from the countless texts they’ve sent since, it’s working.
It’s always matters of the heart that bring men like me—like Roman, like fucking Antoine—down, and for that reason alone, I’ve steered clear.
It’s always matters of the heart that turn solid statues back into pawns to be easily flicked off the board. Love and emotions have always equated to weakness. And they knew it when they decided on her, chose her. I made sure they knew it. I advised against it at every turn but knew that eventually—when they grew into their most comfortable skin—there would come a time to make allowances for whatever partner they chose.
I was prepared for that. It was inevitable.
But this?
There’s no preparation for this.
Anger has taken hold now, and it’s the anger I can’t get control of as I head from the airport toward my clearing. For the first time as an adult, I want to strike my brother, yet I know I won’t forgive myself if I do.
It’s a good thing I left my heart scattered all over Paris because with it here, I’m liable to make a fucking fool of myself. But this anger, I’ve never felt anything quite like it. It’s a mixture of wrath that is limitless and liberating for the surge of power it brings that frees me from all liability from the damage I could inflict, and it’s fucking terrifying how good it feels.
Before I can face them, I need something, anything, a fond memory to reflect on so I don’t react so vengefully. Even weeks after that call, I’m still so fucking raw, aching in a way I know I’ll never be able to repair.
My only brother.
My friends.
Fucking Tyler, of all people, played along in this deception.
All of them. My club, my birds, my brothers.
Every single one of the Triple Falls originals. Men I trusted with my secrets, my life, my fucking fate.
They’ve all betrayed me.
All of them.
I’m completely and utterly alone in this world.
Slamming my car door, I head towards the clearing as rage surges through my veins. Any lies I’ve told or omissions I’ve made have only kept them safe, kept them from seeing the blood on my hands.
Just as I make it past the first row of trees, the sound of guitar music stops me. Pausing, I scan the forest, ears perking up for the source before I again stalk toward the clearing—the melody drifting into the woods becoming clearer as I reach the break in the trees. It’s when I get to the empty field that I notice the absence of life, the tables gone. I stand in utter confusion as the song starts up again, the repetition gnawing at me as I begin to absorb the lyrics. The source of the music is coming from Roman’s house, that much is certain. I start to walk toward his mansion under the cover of the trees before shooting a text off to the Ravens on his post for his twenty.
Charlotte.
Which can only mean one thing.
Cecelia is the source, and she’s home.
Making my way onto the grass—knowing my birds control the cameras—I come upon a large set of speakers pointed in the direction of the clearing.
Either they told her, or she figured it out and my place has been compromised. My place, my fucking place.
It’s then I know the reason for the music. It’s a summons from Cecelia.
A summons for Sean and Dom.
And it’s clear they’ve ghosted her.
Too late, too fucking late.
“Goddamnit!”
Furious beyond comprehension, I charge in my Italian leathers along the slick grass, walking the last fifty yards across Roman’s perfectly manicured lawn. I’ve never once been this close to his palace, and I vow I won’t ever be this close again.
The summer heat singes my scalp, only aiding in my irritation as I take long strides through the garden, the lyrics surrounding me deafening but clear in delivery.
This girl is in way over her fucking head.
Squinting due to the sun while burning up in my suit, I manage to make it to the deck and freeze when I spot her, topless, in a lounge chair.
Enraged, I stalk toward her and no longer recognize the little girl I saw in the library ten years ago. In place of the gawky girl lays the body of a woman in nothing but a bikini bottom, her tan skin glistening, face flawless, features serene. Sensing me, her lush lips lift in a siren’s smile just before she slides her hand over her perfect breasts, flattening her palm on her stomach inching toward her bikini bottom. My eyes follow as intended before she lifts her hand to shield her eyes. The hair on my arms spike despite the heat, and I immediately start to panic as the familiar feeling consumes me.
No. No. No. No. No.
An electric shock of awareness hits me, a jolt so powerful it renders me helpless, speechless, and utterly incapable as I fight it with everything in me when she speaks.
“Nothing to say?”
When I remain mute, her eyes slowly open and widen, and it’s
then I’m damned by the second jolt.
Years of reports on her progress—progress I’ve mapped as closely as any other mark until recently. Years of knowing her history, of seeing her growth in black and white. Years of refusing to look at pictures and apparently for good fucking reason. She was just a child when I saw her, and she’s anything but now as she lays beneath me, perfectly ripe and just within reach. For years I’ve denied digging too deep, but the details I’ve avoided rear their ugly head at me now as I stare down at my own demise, the only name in my mind repeating on loop as I clench my fists and try to will it away.
Helen.
Just as I allow myself the thought, she identifies me with the same shock.
“You’re the Frenchman.”
Gin bottle empty, I release it, and it cracks somewhere on the pavement. It’s full contents necessary to keep me subdued to the point that adrenaline is the only thing keeping me standing. I lean against the hood of my Jag as Dom’s headlights appear before they pull into the parking lot. Lowering my gaze, inhaling a drag off my cigarette, I wait until the car doors close and their boots appear in my line of sight.
“Before you say a fucking word, let me tell you how I want to hear this.” I can’t bring myself to look at either one of them yet, and I can feel fear and tension coiling away from them, which brings me mild relief.
This was never an intentional move to overthrow my position or take my place. After my run-in with Cecelia and the overwhelming urge that accompanied it, I had to drink myself to denial, especially after hearing her pleas for them.
But the truth is, there’s no relief.
Because it wasn’t just her devotion for them that shattered me, it was the fact it existed at all. They have the love of a beautiful woman, a woman who would risk it all for them. The same devotion I thought they had for me. And they’ve wronged her just as fucking badly. Tarnished her by passing her back and forth like the bottle I just emptied while putting her in danger. And in doing so, they ruined something sacred to me. As I unscrewed the cap to the bottle just an hour earlier, I had to admit to myself that she was the face of innocence I’ve been protecting.
“I want you both to tell me exactly when you decided to betray me and destroy my trust—both of you. Then I want you to tell me the details of how you did it, one by one. But first, I want to know how long you’ve been doing it.”
I look up to my brother first, his eyes flashing with rare fear. “Three months.”
I nod and nearly stumble when I take a step forward but manage to keep myself upright.
Three months.
Three.
The number of times I locked the door to make sure you were safe.
I can’t help my smile at the irony. “It’s always been my number.”
“Tob—”
“Three brothers I trusted here, which gave three chances for one of them to come clean. Three months.” I swallow and tear my eyes away from Dom to peer at Sean. He looks just as mortified as Dom, and it brings me no comfort.
“Well, allow me to inform you both right now, your sentence is three fucking times as much. Nine months. Let’s add another for good measure.”
“Tob—”
I glare at them both, and it buys me silence. “Say another goddamned word, one more fucking word. I end it all! All of it. I still have the power to do so, though you both obviously regard me as fucking useless. I’ll dissolve the whole fucking club in a matter of days. I’ll move to France permanently and live my fucking life. Because it seems, all I’ve been living for here is a lie.”
“We never meant—”
“Was that three words?” I ask, staring between them. “Or am I hearing things?” I run a hand through my hair, swallowing several times, my voice raw when I speak. “No exceptions. These are the rules. This is the time. Accept it and serve it, or you’re both out, and that’s me being generous. Take it or leave it.”
“Where?” The question comes from Dominic, and I can hear the remorse in his voice. It’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough.
“Where, you ask, dear brother? Where else? The place that made me. You’ve always wanted to go to France. Here’s your chance.”
He kicks back against the hood of his car, his face crestfallen. “Where will you be?”
“Wherever the fuck I want to be.”
“You’re fucking serious?” Sean asks, and I cut my gaze to him.
“You put everything I’ve worked for, that we’ve worked toward for fifteen years in jeopardy to get your dick wet. So, you tell me, Sean, am I serious?”
“That’s not—”
“You going to lecture me about love, Sean?” In a flash, we’re nose to nose, and I clench my fists tight, my nails digging into my skin to keep from striking my brother. “Because if that’s where you’re going with your line of thought, you don’t know the first fucking thing about it.”
“We do love her,” Dominic speaks up, and it’s like a kick in the chest.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I’m hollow. “Nothing matters to me right now, and you’re going to have to convince me to care again if you want to keep what we built because at this point, I really fucking don’t. I really,” my voice cracks, “I really fucking don’t care.”
“I know you’re hurt, man,” Sean says as I step away, his profile backlit by the headlights closing in as Tyler pulls up and jumps out of his truck, scanning the three of us before his stare lingers on me.
“You too? You too, Tyler?” I rasp out, my heart shredding as I look between the three of them. “After all we’ve been through?” I swallow again and again and slap away the weakness clouding my vision as I look on at Dom, whose eyes fill before he darts them away. “You fucking look at me!” He locks his gaze to mine. “This was for Maman and Papa, Dom. We were so close, brother. Why?” I croak as Dom expels a pained breath, his eyes spilling over.
Tyler steps toward me, and I shake my head, stopping him.
“Tell me, brothers, word for word, how you deceived me for three months. Tell me every single thing you did, every purposeful lie you told, every move you made to betray me this way, to keep me in the dark, and then,” I rasp out, “tell me how you love,” my voice cracks again as my eyes drift to Dom, “tell me you love me.”
Faltering, I cup my face, and Tyler grips my arm, ducking his head beneath it to keep me upright. Tossing my cigarette down, I lift my eyes to my brothers. “I suggest you tie up whatever lingering club business you have and do it quickly because the time doesn’t start until you touchdown in Paris. And don’t worry, I broke it to her gently that you won’t come calling anytime in the future, and if you so much as contact her, we’re done.”
“Tob—”
“I can’t even fucking look at you!” Dom gasps as I push past him and stumble forward. Tyler catches me as my mask slips fully while I bleed out in front of them. Needles thundering in my chest, Tyler manages to get me to the passenger door of his truck and hoists me inside, taking off just before I pass out.
For eight months after, I felt like an outsider in my own club, the only place that ever felt like home. For eight months, the remaining men whom I trusted, whom I loved like brothers, looked the other way when I walked by—disappointed in me, in my actions for sending Dom and Sean away, as if I were the one in the wrong.
And during those eight months, between checking on their welfare and progress in France and keeping close tabs while protecting the woman they deceived me with, I resisted temptation to try to uncover the mystery for myself in what they saw in her. A true to life Helen of Troy capable of breaking apart the kingdom I built with my bare hands.
For eight months, I closed in on her father, making my last moves to ensure the minute my brothers got off the plane, their final act to regain my trust was to aid in bringing Roman down.
I had absolutely no intention of ever laying eyes on her again. But when I could no longer handle being an outcast in the club I built, I went back to the place where it all bega
n—to remember why we started it, to try and forgive them, make peace with their mistake and reclaim the place back as my own.
As I breached the trees, intent on gaining perspective, only to hear her calling for them, I knew without a doubt if there was a God, I’d pissed Him off somehow, arranging my life the way I had without consulting Him with my plans. And the most brutal kick in the teeth was seeing her drenched in moonlight, calling desperately for them. It was then I knew I was too far past the point of His redemption.
The proof shone down on me—by way of her—the minute I again set my eyes on temptation. Her innocence taunting me, crippling any decency I had left in me to the point I wanted to erase it and set fire to her love for them. Because she wasn’t innocent, she’d singlehandedly destroyed everything by existing, and the evidence was glinting around her neck.
The minute she pushed back against my anger, just as furious, lips parting, eyes wide, I knew that I was being taunted for what I’d denied myself a hundred times or more. After years of resistance, of shoving compulsion aside, for them, for us, of keeping all the weaknesses I was susceptible to at bay, I wasn’t going to deny myself another fucking minute.
And with one taste of her, I discovered freedom.
The same freedom I feel now when I open my eyes to see her mouth surrounding me, her deep ocean eyes full of silent demands.
My strongest temptation and undoing. The only woman capable of satiating me. My nemesis and equal, my torment and love.
Unraveling with her has never felt so fucking good.
Wrapping my fist in her hair, I revel in the stretch of her lips around my cock and the moan vibrating in her throat.
My trésor has never been easily sated, no matter how often I do my job. She chokes on my girth undeterred and bobs her head, jaw clenched in determination, earning a groan from me. I sink into the feel, the perfect pressure of her wet mouth, propping my hand behind me for a better view. She releases me just as I thrust up, her lips lifting in a sultry smile as she fists me in her hand.
The Finish Line Page 28