Page 26 of Bought (BOUGHT TRILOGY #1)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lucian
For a moment, I let myself be blinded, fooling myself into believing I could have a love life after betrayal.
That chance died with Isobel.
I get up from the table too quickly, my chair nearly falling behind me. I can’t bring myself to look at Erin.
I knew something was off tonight. I could feel it. It kept me reserved at dinner.
I turn to Blaze. He’s already looking at me. He stands, much more composed than I did. “Hey, you haven’t been here since we redid the garage, have you?”
“No, I haven’t.” We share a knowing glance.
“Boys and their cars,” Cleopatra says with a stiff laugh. “We have to have somewhere to park Blaze’s babies.”
“Show me.” I walk away from the table without looking back.
“Can I come?” Ryan pipes up.
“Not now,” Cass’s reply is hushed.
“Not fair,” he mutters.
“Listen to your mother,” I say as I walk out the back door.
I can’t get outside fast enough. The fresh air hits my face. But it’s not enough.
Blaze comes out, making sure the door closes behind him.
“Come on,” he says.
I follow him through the dark backyard to the garage. We don’t bother going inside. There are no cars in there to admire.
And, we need to talk.
We rarely partake, but this conversation calls for a cigarette. After pulling the crinkling pack from his shirt pocket, he takes his time lighting his. As he takes his first drag, a look of relaxation spreads across his face.
Finally, he speaks.
And what he says is just as unnerving as I expected it to be.
And he’s not even addressing the M-shaped elephant standing between us, yet.
“Never seen you bring a girl to dinner before,” he says. “Much less her sidekicks. What’s that all about?”
“Nothing.”
“He’s a cute kid, I’m not complaining, but a Bachman man usually doesn’t invite a woman and her family to dinner unless something’s going on between them.”
I lean in for him to light my smoke. I take a long drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs. “This is why I don’t do this kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing?” He takes a long, slow drag.
I watch the cloud of smoke I exhale fade into the air. “Her.”
“Well, I know you fuck,” he says. “So you must be talking about love.”
I shake my head. “Don't say that.”
“Fuck?” He laughs. “Or love?”
I eye him, “You know what I mean.”
“If we were taking a test, you just aced the first question.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s the first time you’ve told me not to talk about a girl that way. And if someone disrespected her in front of you? What would you do, then?”
If anyone disrespected her in front of me, behind me, to my left, to my right… anywhere, they’d pay.
I don’t answer him. Instead, my jaw locks.
He leans in, real close, knowing exactly what buttons to push, and then he shoves, asking, “And what if someone hurt her?”
I throw the cigarette on the ground and grind the ember out with my boot heel.
But he keeps moving closer, his voice dropping lower, speaking slow enough to make my blood boil, “If another man put his hands on her, what would you do then?—”
With both hands flat on his chest, I push him.
Hard.
“Damn Luce!” He falls back, laughing. “Was it something I said?”
I rub the back of my neck. It feels like it’s on fire, along with the rest of me.
I try to control my anger. I stand there with my arms crossed over my chest, taking it.
His gaze narrows, all humor vanishing from his face. “What would you do if she walked out of your life forever?”
I don’t reply, but I know the answer.
Die.
Inside, I would die.
“Bad news,” he says.
“What?” I say back.
Reading my face, he figures he’s safe enough to put a hand on my shoulder. “You got a hundred on this test.”
I shrug him off. “Isn’t that supposed to be good?”
“Not if the thing you don’t do is Erin Croft. Because 100%” He locks eyes with me. “You are in over your head with that girl.”
Maybe I am. But I don’t give him the satisfaction of saying so.
Instead, I shift the subject. I nod toward the smaller, yet equally grand, home with cedar shakes. It’s located on the third lot at the back of the property, hidden in the shadows of an overgrown garden. “Have you had any work done on the guest house?”
He ignores my question, turning the conversation to the reason we came out here to ruin our lungs in the first place. “What do you think about the Moretti Spaghetti mess the kid gave up at dinner?”
“I have no idea.”
I think a million things about it. There has to be an explanation. She didn’t even know who I was when she came to my apartment that night.
She might not know who the Morettis are or our connection to them. She’s foreign, technically, with no ties to the city, at least that she’s mentioned.
Hearing that last name come out of her nephew’s mouth, I was faced with how foolish it was to respond to that message from her, to see her again, to track her down at her apartment.
To invite her here.
“I don’t know what she’s doing with Bambi Moretti.” The confession is both relief and dread.
He knows how badly I want an explanation. We both understand there might not be one.
He nods. “You’d better find out. And quick.”
“I know,” I say. And I do. “I will.”
“Good,” he responds. One thing I love about Blaze is that he can go from joking around to battling a war in the blink of an eye.
He does so now, his green eyes turning ice cold.
“Lucian, no matter how cute that little kid might be, how desperate her sister is, or how beautiful you find Erin, if they are tied up with those devils, then we’re going to need to find a way to use that to our advantage. ”
I want to hit him. Hard. But I don’t.
Because he’s right.
About everything.