Twenty-Four
Dylan
‘Deceptive Embrace’
I hovered over the bar counter with just enough energy to push my seventh (or was it the eighth?) empty glass towards the mixologist and demand another drink. The man’s eyes fell to my bruised hands and he took the glass, turning to the colorful bottles of liquor stacked behind him.
Stefan hung his head, shaking it.
“If you didn’t tip me more than I make in a month, I’d be telling you you’ve had enough for the night,” the mixologist commented, eyeing me over his shoulder.
“You’re in contravention of the law, then,” I accused him, pointing a loose finger into, what I hoped, was his face. “If you see that a customer is ineb – ” My hot breath caught in the back of my lungs for no reason – “inebriated, you’re not allowed to serve them anymore drinks.”
“In that case...”
“But fuck that,” I added. “Fuck that, fuck this, fuck him, and fuck her.” I looked at up him, trying to figure out which one of the three visions was actually him. “And fuck you, Greg.”
“Right...” Greg pulled the glass towards him. “I’m gonna give you another one, but only because in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you this... bad...” he shook his head, making me question again how many of him stood before me. “I mean, you’re Dylan Hamilton.”
“Dafuck I am,” I agreed pounding my fist on the bar top. “And for your – ” burp “ – information, you’ll know I’ve had enough when I close my tab and not a goddamn minute before.”
Greg rolled his eyes and I waved him away. As long as he topped me up, everything would be okay.
Almost everything.
I hadn’t been drunk on my way to LIV, but the blinding rage that clouded my vision impaired me all the same. I didn’t know whether I was going or coming. I was about to lose everything: my firm and my woman.
According to her, she was already gone.
My jaw flexed as I ripped my fingers through my hair.
I’d been here before with Laila. I’d been in the position of trying to prove myself to her, only to be met with opposition and ill-advised willfulness. I’d won her heart once before. I’d gone out of my way to demonstrate the tenacity of my love for her. From the moment I’d laid eyes on her, my mind had been consumed with ways to make her mine.
And here I was again: in a place where I had to prove something, only this time I had no idea how to do it.
I didn’t understand.
I wanted to understand but didn’t know where I should begin.
Everything had spiraled the minute I gave in to my emotions, but the mention of Sawyer’s name had pulled every ounce of rage I’d been trying to manage out of me. Now, I was thinking about him and the beating I’d given him thirty minutes earlier. A smile passed across my lips.
It was long overdue, I thought. I’d been wanting to pound Michael Sawyer’s face in for at least ten years, yet for some reason, the satisfaction was short-lived. His words about Laila had hit me hard, and though I tried to stand tall, he had finally found the chink in my armor.
Ma felle bille.
I frowned at the distorted thoughts in my head. Maybe the bartender was right...
“Dylan, this isn’t good,” Stefan remarked looking around the immediate vicinity, and I wondered whether his goal was to be helpful or annoying.
“No, it’s not good,” I agreed. “It’s not good that I didn’t get to beat Michael Sawyer’s ass the way I really wanted to.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
I grimaced as the bartender provided me with another drink, and Stefan looked down at his phone. He frowned.
“What is it?”
His eyes shot up. “Nothing,” he said, but I could tell he was being dishonest.
“It’s nothing, but your face looks like that?” I waved sloppily at his façade.
“It’s Sasha,” he finally admitted. “She’s – ”
“Fuck her,” I interrupted, taking yet another opportunity to continue my rant. “That’s Emily’s friend, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll steer clear.” I hiccupped as a burning sensation ripped through my chest. “And if she’s Emily’s friend, it means she’s just as bad. Or worse.”
“You sure you don’t wanna’ go to your private booth?” he asked me for the millionth time, ignoring my advice. “People are starting to stare.”
My neck jerked, but more than I’d intended. “So you’re embarrassed by me too?”
Stefan scrubbed his neck. “Dylan...”
“Not only am I not good enough for my woman and my firm, but now my best friend doesn’t want to be seen with me in public.” I chuckled in disbelief.
Stefan sighed and eased off his barstool. “I’m gonna head to the restroom,” he said gently.
I scoffed, and he looked at the bartender. “I’ll be right back.”
Stefan hustled away, and I pressed the glass against my mouth, bumping my teeth in the process.
The mixologist peered at me. “I really think you should make this your last one,” he commented cleaning a glass. “You driving, ain’t you?”
“I’ll be fine,” I advised him with a wave, sloppier than the one I’d offered Stefan. “I’m Dylan Hamilton, remember? That means I’ve got everything under control.” But before I could expound on the reasons why he should mind his own business, another voice piped in.
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll make sure he gets home safely.”
Emily eased onto the stool next to me and I sat up straight, as if a rod had been shoved down the back of my shirt.
She peered at me, her eyebrows pulled in, and ran her hand down my cheek. “Dylan...” she cooed, “sweetheart, you don’t look so good.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed the glass against my mouth. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ve been messaging you all evening,” she reminded me. “I can’t say I was surprised that you didn’t respond, but when Annalise called to tell me what happened at Sawyer’s party – ”
“Who the fuck is Annalise?”
She frowned, probably because she’d never heard me use such foul language before. I wasn’t a cursing man. I had too much power and influence to require the use of weightless words. But all the power in the world wasn’t helping me right then. I was utterly powerless.
Emily’s eyes fluttered, and she steadied her posture. “Dylan, what in the world has put you in this position? A place where you’re fighting and brawling like a hooligan? That is not the man I know and love.”
I took another sip.
She inched closer to me. “I’m concerned.”
“You don’t need to be concerned about me,” I asserted, turning a hard and cold gaze to her face.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dylan, of course I do!”
“My business is not yours anymore,” I slurred.
“You will always be my business,” she replied, her tone inching above mine. “As long as you’re alive, I will always be concerned about you. I will always love you.” Her eyes fell to her lap, before she looked back up at me. “Dylan, please talk to me,” she begged. “You can’t possibly hate me that much, and besides, who else can you trust?”
I was drunk, but not drunk enough to misinterpret the double-meaning of her words. I opened my mouth to address her, but she started to speak again.
“Tell me what’s going on?”
My mouth trembled, and my head fell. A sudden barrage of emotions overcame me. I didn’t want to talk to anyone but Laila, but it was impossible. Emily’s presence was a stark reminder of that impossibility.
Hot, angry tears began to seep from my eyes. Maybe it was the alcohol. I hadn’t cried since I was a boy. It had to be the alcohol, but deep in my heart I knew it was more than strong drink that had me deep in my emotions.
Emily pulled me into her embrace and wrapped her arms around me, forcing more emotion out of me like a genie. She whisp
ered in my ear. “She’s not the one for you, Dylan,” she alleged. “No woman that truly loved you would ever make you feel this way.”
Emily tilted her head to the side, staring at my mouth. Before I could think twice, she pressed her lips against mine. The taste of her flavored gloss touched my tongue and I groaned. I threw my heavy arm around her body and she pulled me closer.
“A woman that truly loved you would make you feel like this,” she said against my lips, before sliding her tongue along the perimeter of my mouth. Then she took me with another kiss.
I moaned again.
In protest.
I willed my mind and my nerves to work in tandem, and finally, I freed myself from her grasp. The things she’d said were trying to penetrate my psychology. She was right, I thought. I had never felt so much pain in love before.
But of course, I had never been in love before...
‘L’amour fait les plus grandes douceurs et les plus sensibles infortunes de la vie.’
The words popped into my mind and my eyes shot open as I remembered the wise words my French jeweler had uttered during my last trip to Roussillon.
It means that love makes the greatest pleasures and the most sensitive misfortunes of life... or something like that...
I hopped off the stool, away from Emily’s deceptive embrace. I stared into her face, shaking my head.
I refused to believe her lies. Suddenly, I knew what I needed to do.
“You’re wrong,” I whispered. I was angry that my tongue was still heavy. “Laila loves me and there’s no doubt in my mind about that. I just need to figure this out, and that in no way involves you.” I paused, my face twisted with disgust that I had allowed her to get that close to me. “It’s not too late for us,” I declared with as much conviction as I could muster.
Emily’s mouth bent into a sinister smirk. “Unfortunately, I think it is...” She pointed behind me and I spun around.
Laila and the woman I recognized as being Emily’s friend were standing amongst the crowd.
Staring at me.
Twenty-Five
Dylan
‘Don’t Get This’
My heart slammed into the back of my ribcage at the sight of Laila standing at the club entrance. Her eyes were fixed on me; fear, confusion, and anger marring her perfection. I hopped back, trying to create distance between myself and Emily, but before I could make another move, Laila was running out the way she had come in.
“It doesn’t make sense to chase her,” Emily advised. The deranged smile was still on her face. “You might as well let her go. Is it really worth all of the drama?”
I didn’t have time to engage Emily.
I pushed past her, shoving through the crowd, separating gyrating couples with my rubbery shoulder, willing my body to move faster. I cursed the alcohol seeping from my pores.
Everything was going in slow motion.
“Laila,” I cried out, but my voice was swallowed by the din of the thumping nightclub. I hunkered down and forged ahead. When I reached the spot in which she had been standing, her fiery energy engulfed me. I needed to get to her because I knew that by the time I got home, she would be gone.
The woman grabbed me, and soon, Stefan was standing next to her.
My eyes penetrated her. “Don’t touch me,” I warned.
“Dylan – ”
I shoved my finger in her face. “This is your fault. You and Emily set this up.”
Stefan turned to look at her, grimacing. “Tell me he’s wrong, Sasha,” he begged. “Tell me you didn’t – ”
“I swear, I had nothing to do with this,” she replied, staring into Stefan’s face. “I can explain!”
“Too late,” I spat. “The only thing that matters right now is catching up to Laila. Get out of my way.”
I shoved between the two of them and rushed onto the crowded sidewalk. My head was on a swivel as I scanned the area. It was Friday night, so the place was buzzing. Lines of people snaked around the side of the building, and people began to whisper at my presence.
I rushed through them. “Laila!” My voice carried down the sidewalk and onto the other side of the street. I stumbled forward, looking to the left and the right. “Ma belle fille!”
No answer.
That was when I saw the Porsche peeling from the curb ahead.
I cursed and made my way to the valet. The minute he saw me, he started for the Maybach. He swung it around and opened the door for me to get in.
To my disgust, Stefan appeared beside me. “Dylan, there’s absolutely no way you can drive, man.”
“Watch me,” I challenged him, sticking my wobbly leg into the car.
He pulled me back with a surprising force. No doubt, my inebriated status facilitated his strength.
“I said: you’re not driving!” he shouted in my face. “I know you’re upset right now, and I’ve stood to the side and watched you make a ton of stupid decisions tonight. This is not gonna be one of them. I’ll drive.”
“And what about your new girlfriend? You’re just gonna leave her here?”
“Sasha went back into LIV to deal with Emily.”
We glared at each other until finally, I hissed from behind my teeth and climbed clumsily into the passenger seat.
Stefan shifted the car into gear and gunned it down the street.
Within minutes, the Porsche was in view.
“Put your seatbelt on,” Stefan urged as he stepped on the gas, but my focus was hardly on my safety. The only thing I could think about was waylaying Laila and the Porsche like she was a criminal on the run.
Still, I clicked the seatbelt into position, just as Stefan skillfully pulled the car up alongside Laila. Cars horns blared as the streetlights zipped by. The Maybach was in the middle lane and the Porsche in the right. I wound down my window. The breeze stung my face and whipped through my hair.
I shouted through the open window. “Sweetheart, pull over.”
Laila’s face fixed into an obstinate frown, and the Porsche gunned forward.
The Maybach accelerated in response.
“Laila!”
She swiped her hand across her cheek, ignoring me.
“For the love of god, Lai – ”
“God has nothing to do with this,” she shouted through her window. Her voice shook. “It should have been for the love of me.”
“It is for the love of you,” I countered. “Why do you think I’m chasing you like you’re a goddamn fugitive?”
She smashed more tears across her cheek and wound up the window.
I cursed and turned to Stefan. “Make her pull over,” I demanded of him.
“What?”
“You heard what I said,” I shouted at him. “Make her stop the goddamn car.”
“Dylan, I may look like a black James Bond, but I’m not. She’s doing at least ninety miles per hour. Any attempt at stopping her is crazy.”
I reached over and gripped him by the collar. The car swerved, but he swiftly regained control. “I swear to god, if you don’t pull up in front of the Porsche and force her to stop...”
Stefan stepped on the gas and the Maybach zipped ahead. Stefan’s focus shifted between the rear and sideview mirrors. He flicked on his hazard lights.
“Be careful,” I urged him.
Horns blared all around us, and I cringed when a sixteen-wheeler roared past in the left lane.
“Pull in front of her,” I demanded.
With a twist of the wheel, Stefan swung the car into the right lane meters before the Porsche, bringing it to rest at an angle. The sound of screeching tires and several cars slamming one into the other deafened and immobilized me.
Hit the brake, Lai...
Smoke from the Porsche’s burning tires lifted from the back of the vehicle as it inched closer and closer. My eyes were locked on Laila in the driver’s seat. Her teeth were gritted together, her eyes hard and angry. And sad.
The Porsche came to a dead halt and I jumped out of the
Maybach, pleased to know the effects of the alcohol were finally wearing off. Once I was out, Stefan pulled the car into a lay-by.
I stalked up to Laila in the Porsche. She tried to lock the door, but I ripped it open before she could and dropped into the passenger seat.
Her hands fell into her face and she sobbed uncontrollably. My immediate instinct was to take her into my arms, and I reached over to collect her, but she protested with a stinging slap to my cheek.
“Get away from me!” she screamed. She whacked my arm and pounded her small fists against my chest. I grabbed her wrists, trying to ignore my smarting face or the sensation of my crushing heart. I pulled her into me, burying my face against her neck, desperate to experience her affection.
She jerked away, as if I had been diagnosed with the plague.
“Ma belle fille...”
“I have nothing to say to you.” Her voice trembled, full of tears. “I’m done with you. I never want to see you again. I can’t believe I allowed myself to ever become involved with you. I should have known better then, but I know better now. It’s over.” She flicked the door open and hopped out of the car.
I did the same, following her. “Laila!”
“You’re pathetic and you’re clueless,” she ranted. “You don’t get me, you don’t get anything!” She stopped, only to pluck her expensive heels off her feet before limping along. “I’m going to the house and I’m packing all of my things. I’m moving out and – ”
“Sweetheart, if you would just stop and listen for once. Let me explain.”
“Explain why you were cheating on me in open public with the woman you claimed to not love anymore?”
“I wasn’t cheating on you.”
“You were kissing your ex in a bar full of people,” she charged me, shocked that I would even suggest fidelity. “If that’s not cheating – ”
“I did not kiss her,” I insisted. I finally reached her, and she stopped. “She kissed me.”
Her lip curled. “You’re so goddamned pathetic,” she seethed.
“Laila, I did not go to LIV planning to meet up with Emily, or any other woman for that matter. I was at Michael Sawyer’s bash and – ”
Coup: A BWWM Romance (The French Connection Book 2) Page 14