by Angel Payne
“Whatever you say, Mr. Newland.” Her gaze sparkled more brightly, already full of mischief.
I picked up my fresh drink and tossed it back in one gulp.
The whiskey burned twice as hot as the shot I’d taken in the limo, scorching my throat and stomach. That was good. Very good. Finally, pain to endure from somewhere other than my heart.
I contemplated a refill, but the emcee strolled on stage. He was some local news personality, known for his quick puns and vast compendium of Lake Michigan jokes—in short, a perfect leader for this vanilla cookie crowd. Thankfully, he kept the opening banter to a minimum and quickly called Killian to the podium. My part in the program was after his, and since the man was known for his merciful brevity, I’d hopefully be sprung from the torture chamber inside another half-hour.
Focus front.
Wandering eyes will only make it hurt worse.
Focus front.
“…and now, to tell us more about all that, is a man you all probably know. He’s not only a respected businessman in this fine city, but a man I am honored to call my friend. Please join me in welcoming one of SGC’s finest board members, Mr. Drake Newland.”
The crowd applauded politely as I approached the mic. Killian leaned in to my ear and dropped his own version of a threat.
“Whatever you’re doing, man, pull your head out of your ass. She’s disintegrating over there without you. They both are.”
I pulled back, funneling my shock to my gaze. “How the hell do you know—?”
“How does anyone not know, who cares about you guys?” He curled the enigmatic smile for which he’d been nicknamed, as camera flashes formed a lightning storm around us. For the benefit of those photographers, he also added a hearty smack on my back. I was the only one who knew he’d thumped hard enough to make it punishment. “Get your shit together, Newland. Life’s too fucking short to waste on misery.”
“Fuck off,” I muttered.
“I love you too, honey,” he gritted back.
My speech was well rehearsed, and I delivered it without a skipped beat despite my personal induction into the basket case club. The crowd was attentive and quiet as I talked about the new facets in Stone Global’s crown and how many exciting things were in the works for the company. The investors had their check books in hand by the time I’d finished—in Janelle’s eyes, a great excuse for hysterical clapping as I made my way back to the table.
“Ohmigod! You were amazing!” She gripped my arm, lunging in for an attempt at a kiss. I pulled back at once, inciting snickers from a few of the other ladies at our table. No way did I intend on embarrassing her, but I’d been fair and forthcoming about what the night would and wouldn’t be. Pawing, kissing, all but marking with the lipstick paint? Each on the hell, no list.
I backed the mandate with a firm glare, making her face forward and listen to the next speaker, a droning Old Man McGraw, with a rebellious pout. Rookie. She had no idea who she was dealing with. I’d just set the girl of my dreams free in order to preserve her honor and self-respect, and Janelle thought a pout would change my mind? It was so rich, I almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, I angled back over, cupping her nape in a move that appeared gentle. In truth, I pressed in my fingertips hard enough to snap her attention to me. “What?”
“Let’s go.” I mouthed it more than said it. I couldn’t arrange to teleport out of the damn room but could get as close as mortally possible—though Janelle’s glare again proved the fly in my stealthy ointment.
“Are you serious?”
Her whine was like fingernails on my mental chalkboard.
“Yes, dammit. I told you—”
“But we haven’t even had our main course.”
“You really came tonight for the food?”
Her cat eyes turned spiteful. “And do you really have to ask that?” She smoothed the napkin in her lap. “But since I’m not getting what I originally came to…eat…then, yes, I’m going to actually enjoy the food.” She tilted a little glance back at me. “Besides, darling, even a raunchy bitch like me knows it’s very bad form to leave before dessert.”
I let my hand drop. Exhaled heavily. As much as my skin crawled to admit it, she had a point. I’d just given Fletch the verbal Taser for barely respecting the event but had been more than ready to do the same thing.
I was a goddamn mess. Navigating blindly through a minefield—and unsure whether I even wanted to survive the ordeal.
“Fine,” I finally growled. “We’ll go after the meal.” Which turned out to be as nondescript as I’d anticipated, despite the legendary name on the doors outside. At least it filled the void in my stomach. If only fate would help out with the ache about eight inches higher. And twelve inches lower.
The waiter swept in, removing the empty plate from in front of me.
As I turned to thank him, I crashed stares with my best friend.
Or perhaps, by this time, former best friend. The ire in Fletch’s eyes certainly confirmed as much, though his voice conveyed nothing but pleasant cordiality while leaning in and murmuring, “Mr. Newland…a moment, please?” He quirked a sociable smile to my right. “Well, good evening, Janelle. Interesting running into you here.”
The woman’s eyes lit up like it had just become Christmas morning. “Interesting is only the start.”
He sidestepped her grappling-hook hand, continuing the megawatt smile around the table. “Jim, Audrie, how are you? And Mark, I heard about that round you knocked out at Medinah last week. Very nice swinging, buddy.” He had something charming for everyone at the table, making sure all eyes stayed focused on our exchange.
Bastard.
He had me in a corner and knew it.
I disguised the clench of my jaw behind a tight smile while excusing myself from them all, including my ‘date’. My gait wasn’t so subtle, defined by wide, furious steps as I followed Fletch to the foyer.
“Nice move, asshole.”
“Learned from the best.”
I stood stock still, refusing to rise to his bait. This was just the start of the assault. I had to conserve resources. This clash was going to take every ounce of strength and control I had. This man knew me better than anyone—every back door into the fortress, every goddamn button to push, and exactly how hard. I had no doubt he’d do it too—if he had to.
He spun around to face me. His wingtips stuck out from his slacks, reflecting the muted hallway light. “Janelle?” he spat. “Really?”
I snorted out a laugh. “That’s your opener, huh?”
“Shut up. Shut the hell up.” He looked like he was tempted to stab a finger out to punctuate but knew that’d just piss me off. He wasn’t out for that. He wanted deeper pain. “Of all the people, D.” His voice dropped to reveal a savage pain of its own. “Do you know what that did to Talia? What it’s still doing to her?”
Remorse razed across my heart. Of course I knew. And had known, with every punch of Janelle’s digits into my cell. But I’d gone there, anyway—perhaps to just prove that I could. Maybe reverting to the old Drake would erase everything about the new. Everything of the man I’d become from Natalia Perizkova’s love.
Idiot.
I knew it now—but like hell was I admitting it, especially to Fletch. “That’s not of consequence to me at this point.” My voice, like my heart, was on robot setting. I had to throw up the shields. Had to protect whatever the hell I had left of a heart and soul.
Fletcher stumbled back by a step. His face scrunched. “‘Not of consequence’?” he shook his head slowly. “Who…who are you? I don’t…know you.”
I jerked my shoulders, supposing it passed as a shrug. “Also not my concern.”
“Not your—fuck.” He stared harder, lips curling, stare stabbing. “I dragged you out here to try connecting with my best friend. My brother. Where did he go? What the hell has gotten into you? You’re tearing us apart, Drake. You’re tearing her apart.”
I screw
ed together enough fortitude to lift an equally indicting glare. “And that’s what you’re there for.”
“Oh, that’s what you think? Then you’re wrong. So fucking wrong. Drake…I don’t know how much more she can take.”
“Stop.” I got it out as a command—barely.
“We’re not whole without you.”
“Stop.”
“Fuck you. I’m not going to stop.” He pounded forward again. “So sorry if this is too much, sugar plum. If your delicate sensibilities can’t bear to face the messy-icky you’ve made.” Yeah. He was going after every button on the panel. “But it’s not too late to clean it up. Come home, dammit, and clean it up.”
I jammed my hands into my pockets. Jutted my jaw.
Fought the temptation—to say yes.
To give in…
And fuck up every truth her father had uttered.
“I can’t.” I battled to shove a shoulder over, to jerk my whole body around. “I…can’t.”
“Yes, god damn it. You can. Drop off the hussy and come home to us, Drake.”
Just as quickly, I spun back around. Lifted my stare, praying it looked openly defiant. “I’m not going home with Janelle. I’m staying at my place in Mount Greenwood, if it’s any business of yours.” I watched it all sink in to him, weighing his shoulders in shock and defeat, before adding, “I’ll come by when you two aren’t home and pack up my stuff.”
So much for defeat. His stance filled out with rage, powering into his new charge at me. “Fuck this! Fuck you.” He stopped short, battling to collect himself. “I want to knock your fucking head off, you heartless prick.” When I took that in silence, unable to argue, he tore forward by another step. “Why are you doing this? ‘Our one.’ That’s what you said…was what you called her. You love her as much I do, Drake. You treasure what we both are with her. Look me in the eye and tell me that’s not true.”
I jogged my gaze upward until it fully met his.
Then didn’t say a thing.
Locked the words behind my gritted teeth. Let them foam and churn into bile that scalded worse than the whiskey, flooding back down my throat and into my gut. I wished I hadn’t eaten.
I wished I hadn’t come.
I wished I were standing anywhere but here—especially as my brother’s face contorted with the pain I’d dealt. The agony I’d inflicted. The wound I couldn’t take back.
The pain raged worse as he spoke again…in a tortured rasp. “She needs us both, Drake. Please. I can’t do this alone. I can’t do this without you.”
I swallowed hard. It helped absolutely nothing. My throat closed, not allowing air in or out. My head pounded and my blood flowed in a hot and cold mess through my whole body.
He was gutting me. Flaying me wide open with the goddamn tears in his eyes, the desperation in his posture.
And I wanted to just let him.
Death would be a fucking mercy now. Dear God, it had to be.
“Look at me, goddamn you. I’m crying like a bitch. Is this what you want to see, Drake? Is this what you need, in order to let me in?” He shook his head, clearly disgusted with himself. Balled his hands into white-knuckled fists. “What the hell is going through your head? Can’t we at least talk about it?”
For a second, I was drawn in again. So fucking tempted to say yes, to just spill it all to him. The confrontation with Perizkova Senior. All the things that made so much sense, even now. But where would that get us, except right back here? What would that yield, except two of us bearing the burden instead of one?
Sometimes, the martyr thing really was for the best.
“There’s nothing to discuss, Fletch. I think you know that as well as I do, man. We had a big problem, the three of us being together. I just confronted the elephant in the room, and made him move on. It’s that simple. Problem solved.” I shrugged again. Screw the martyr. Detached asshole fit better. I told myself I’d learn to like the disguise…eventually.
Fletcher opened a full grimace. “This isn’t a fucking problem, dickwad. She’s not a problem. She’s the woman of our dreams—the one who completes us. Do you remember that part? Nothing about this needed ‘solving’—at least until you brought that woman to this thing.” He paused only to take another harsh breath and flash those pearly whites even harder. “How or why you ever thought about parading Janelle in front of Talia, I will never understand.”
“Didn’t say I needed you to, did I?”
He unleashed a brutal huff. “So this is really how you’re going to play this out? Truly how you’re planning to move on?”
That was it. I wheeled on him, exposing my own gritted teeth. “I have not moved on. I will never move on.” I opened my mouth to add more, but nothing came out. For a moment, just one, I let the shields drop—allowed him to glimpse every goddamn ounce of the hell in which I was living. “This—tonight—that woman—” I stopped when the ballroom’s door opened behind me. Stiffened as high heels clacked on the foyer tiles. Goddamn. Why couldn’t Janelle leave me alone, even for five minutes? Perfect. She could hear this too. “Janelle’s an accessory, Fletch. She means nothing. Zero.”
A gasp sliced the air.
And my heart.
Fletcher and I spun in tandem—
To where our Talia stood, tears brimming and streaming down her face.
“I—I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I d-didn’t mean to…overhear. B-but perhaps—it’s best—I did.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
I moved toward her, unable to stop…dread clawing my blood. “Natalia—”
“Don’t.” She hurled up both hands, warding me off like a criminal—until the force of my stare drew her own up. Inch by excruciating inch, her composure crumpled in front of me again—and speck by blistering speck, so did the layers of my soul. “W-was that all I was, too, Drake? An accessory? So easily replaced?”
“No,” I retorted. “No.”
“Then what?” Fletcher interceded. “What the hell is she? Was she? You owe her more than that. You owe us more than that.”
I let a breath rush out. Drew another in, despite how it felt like swallowing a sword. Why the hell not, as long as I was falling on one?
Still, I made myself face her. Reached out, hoping she’d let me hold her hands…this one last time. When she did, the sword pulled out a little—but not much. These would likely be the last words I ever spoke to her. I had to make absolutely sure she heard.
“You are…my entire heart. My life. I will never forget what we had, sweetheart.”
For long beats—too many—she didn’t say a thing. Just looked. Stared. Her heartbeat throbbed through every inch of her petite frame…just like every choked sob.
Before she wrenched free, tearing past us both—sobbing her way out into the night.
Fletcher didn’t waste time with the same dramatic flair. “I’m going to get her wrap,” he stated. You”—he pointed hard at me—“need to go make sure she’s okay.”
“Yeah.” It sounded as dismal as I felt. “Okay. But I promise, I won’t interfere anymore.”
“Christ.” He stabbed a hand through his hair. “Fine. Whatever. Fuck you, Newland. Just…fuck you.”
He strode back into the ballroom to get Talia’s wrap. I hoped he’d hurry. It wasn’t raining but probably would later, if the shit didn’t turn to snow on its way down. She’d be sick by morning at this rate.
I forced myself back from the door she’d just raced through, longing more than anything to chase her down and pull her back inside. But then what? Nothing was going to change my decision. All Fletcher’s grandstanding was useless.
I compromised, keeping an eye on her through the glass doors. Her small body shook with emotion and cold. If my heart wasn’t already decimated, the sight of her out there, in such blatant torment, was finishing the job.
My arms ached, needing to hold her.
My body tensed, feeling incomplete without her.
My spirit screamed, battling th
e pull to care for her.
Never again.
That was Fletcher’s job now, and after they both got over the initial shock, he’d step perfectly into the role. Be everything she needed—and everything her family would welcome, in the wake of Hurricane Gavin.
A door opened on the other side of the terrace. The figure who’d exited the building still walked in the shadows but was clearly approaching Talia. Woman code probably stated if you saw one of your tribe upset, you comforted.
Except in this case.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The figure emerged from the dark—with the force of a bright yellow street sign. Made sense, since that was the color of her dress.
“Fuck.” I growled it as Fletcher emerged back out into the foyer, Talia’s thick velvet stole in his arms. It looked like something that belonged to his mother—and probably was—but at the moment, Francine Ford and her old-money fineries were the dead last of my concerns. At the opposite end of the list was the scene playing out fast and furiously just beyond the glass.
“Fuck,” Fletcher added to my assessment. Sometimes, no enhancement helped it. This was one of those times.
We traded one glance.
And just like that, we were united in one thought again. Which, in this case, equated to pure dread.
Still, I had to try. “Any chance in hell they’re talking shoes or tampons?”
Fletch’s brows cocked, not unlike the first look he’d given me tonight, back in the ballroom. “Are you blind? Look at Tolly’s posture—and her fists.”
I nodded grimly. “You’re right. Fuck.”
And we were in here, holding our dicks and talking about tampons.
Not anymore.
Moving in tandem, we pushed through the doors—just in time to watch the first of the bitch fireworks fly.
Chapter Nine
Fletcher
“Don’t blame them because you pulled up short.”
Janelle’s opening comment froze my feet in their tracks—and fried the blood in my veins. Like Drake, I rushed forward, ready to tell the calculating shrew exactly what hole she could crawl into, but skidded short the second Talia prepped for her comeback.