Page 45 of Broken Brothers

She knew my weaknesses. She knew my vulnerabilities. And as evidenced by her actions since the moment her… her fucking “uncle” started speaking, she was guilty of having stomped all over them.

Finally, she got words out that I had to think about to understand fully.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

I just laughed. Of fucking course. Of course that’s what she would say. What a convenient line to avoid having to admit to all of the lies she had said. What a nice way to avoid having to admit all of the horrible things she had done to me. Fucking hell. Seriously? This was the best that I got? Not a chance.

“Then fucking tell me this, Layla,” I said. “Were you ever honest with me? Was any of this real?”

Layla looked like she wanted to speak, but she just cried even more.

Had I been a better man, I might have tried to empathize with her, to tell her I would never see her again, but that I would make sure she got home safe. I would tell her she needed to think things through more in her life, but that she would be safe in doing so.

But I was not a good man. I was Chance Hunt, a man who had been heartbroken and taken advantage of my entire fucking life. I had no family, I had no true friends, and I had no love. No man, no matter his background, personality, or strength, could be good with those kinds of circumstances.

“Layla!” I shouted.

I was on the verge of tears of anger, too. I just felt nothing but fire and rage at everything. How the fuck did it turn out like this?

“I’m sorry, I ha-had to,” she said in between tears. “I had no choice. There was… there was no other way.”

“You know,” I said, trying to breathe as slowly as I could to better control my emotions. “I could have said I loved you and never said a word about the deal. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You told your ‘uncle’ or father, whoever the fuck he is, about all of this?”

Layla just shook her head.

“You don’t understa—”

I had heard that line far too often. Turning to a nearby newspaper stand, I punched it as hard as I could, knocking it into the street.

“FUCK!”

But the truth was, with that unleash of anger, I understood all too well what had happened.

Layla had executed the world of business better than I ever had or could have. It sickened me to think that Craig Taylor might have told Layla to sleep with me to get a better deal… that a man would whore off his own niece or daughter for some extra money… but Layla could have said no.

Instead, she played me like a fucking fiddle. She used me to get what she wanted. And in a sickening way, I had to admire what she had done.

“You fucking whore,” I said, my words more reflective of uncontrollable anger than anything else. “You’re fucking despicable. You know that? I told you I loved you. I said I loved you! And you used me. You used me to get a few extra million dollars. Wow. Whoop-de-fucking-do.”

I just found myself completely at a loss of words. Words got spoken, sure, but I had no control over them. They just spilled out without thought; I had no control over anything, even if I tried to modulate my breathing as best as I could. I pointed a finger at her and bit my lip.

“You have to fucking live with this,” I said. “You knew me. You knew me well. You want to be the kind of woman that manipulates men for money? Go be a fucking gold digger. It’ll be a lot easier than the shit you put me through.”

“Chance…”

I didn’t let her say anything else. I hailed a cab and ripped open the back door so hard that I thought I might pull it off its hinges. I turned back one more time to see Layla in tears, looking at me.

If I was being perfectly honest, I could see a bit of hurt in her eyes. I could see that her care for me was genuine. She truly seemed pained by what she had done.

But she also wasn’t exactly apologetic about it. Regardless of if she actually loved me, she clearly loved money more than me.

“Go fuck yourself,” I said, flipping her the middle finger as I got in the car. “Just drive me south five blocks. I’ll figure it out from there.”

I stewed in the back seat, my rage rising in an uncontrolled manner, the better to suffocate the sorrow and pain that I felt. I had always sworn never to take out my anger in the form of destruction and hurting others. Even with Sarah, I had done a good job.

But this… I had been played so hard. I had fucked myself over. I had lost everything.

No one would ever give me a job after this. No one would ever see the name Chance Hunt as anything other than an embarrassment to the Hunt family—who would in turn disown me for being such a fucking idiot. No woman, upon hearing this story, would see me as anything more than a boy toy, someone to be manipulated and played with.