Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

THERON

Sliding my hand down the center of my white shirt, I take in my reflection for a moment. My hair is perfect, my suit on point, and at the same time, I wish I were going anywhere else. Closing my eyes for a moment, I take a few cleansing breaths.

“You good?” Hale asks through the small speaker in my ear.

“I’m good,” I murmur.

Turning away from the mirror, I head toward my front door and head toward my car. I have been looking forward to this for ten years, and now that the moment is here, now that I can finally get some closure, I’m not sure if I’m ready.

Although, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. This is a wound that has never closed properly. A wound that will not heal until Ravet is taken out. And he will be taken out. Tonight is the night.

When I pick up Emmie, I should be turned on at the sight of her. She’s beautiful. She is put together perfectly. Not a single hair is out of place. Then again, neither is mine. She kisses my cheek and holds my hand as I drive us to her father’s home.

To anyone from the outside looking in, she appears as though she’s my girlfriend. That we’re a couple in love. I try to be as affectionate as possible, but as each moment passes, I can feel the guilt consuming me, filling me—I feel like I’m cheating on Lucille.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Emmie asks.

With a grunt, I clear my throat, squeezing her hand as I pull into her father’s driveway.

“Nothing,” I murmur.

I turn my head to look at her, trying to appear as if I’m giving her all my attention. In reality, my mind is spinning a mile a minute.

Emmie leans over, and her lips touch the shell of my ear. “Baby, I want to fuck you right here,” she purrs.

“Here?” I ask. “In your dad’s driveway?”

She nips my earlobe before she leans back slightly. Her eyes find mine and hold them for a moment. “Right here,” she whispers again. “In my dad’s driveway. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

If I wanted to fuck her, I could have her right here and now. But I don’t. Releasing her hand, I shake my head. “Not right now. Maybe the second time we meet,” I say.

She smiles as she sits back in her seat. Opening the driver’s door, I walk over to her side and help her out of her seat. I place my hand on the small of her back and take a few cleansing breaths as we walk up the steps to the front door.

The door opens before I can knock. There, in front of me, in the flesh, is Asher Grant. I’ve been looking at his picture and watching his office at the Willow Club with the other guys for weeks.

“Darling girl,” he calls out as Emmie steps away from me. I watch as she runs toward her father, and they embrace one another. Then his gaze slides over to mine. “You must be Theron. I’ve heard so many wonderful things.”

I’m sure he has, and they all have to do with my company and not me as a person. I don’t say that, though. If this were any other situation, I probably would. Smiling, I extend my hand. Emmie releases him and takes a step to the side. Asher lifts his hand, gripping mine in a strong shake.

“I’m Asher Grant,” he introduces himself.

What an absolute fuck.

Smiling, I bite the inside of my cheek as I shake his hand. “Theron Henderson,” I say.

He steps back and to the side, allowing us into the house. It’s exactly the way I would have guessed that his house would be. It’s ostentatious. Everything is completely over the fucking top.

I hate everything about this place.

And him.

And everything else about this night.

Asher guides us to the formal living room, where he offers us each a cocktail. I wish to hell that this was already done. This dinner is going to be excruciating. Thanking Asher for the whiskey, I take a drink and look around at the people in the room.

There’s Emmie’s brother, Charlie, who looks like a whole asshole. And then there is a man I recognize. I’m not sure from where, but I recognize him, and that doesn’t sit well with me.

He’s introduced to me as Victor Marlowe.

I make it a point to recognize anyone and everyone with whom I come into contact. Especially their names, and I don’t know this name at all. At least in my adult life, I do, which makes me think that this motherfucker is from the past.

And that, I like absolutely nothing about.

LUCILLE

Looking around, I wonder if I should really be here. Theron is going to be here, and I don’t want to fuck with him, but I definitely want to fuck with Emmie.

I’ve decided to wear my hair and makeup the way I did in the art gallery, but instead of the old money aesthetic, I went with something a little more club-worthy. A tight royal blue dress that is both too short and too tight. It’s actually from a few years ago, and it’s a size too small. But it was the best I could do for something free and on short notice.

When I walk up to the bouncer, his eyes do a sweep of my body before his lips twitch into a smirk. I don’t wait for him to say anything to me or ask me any questions.

“I should be on the list,” I say.

He lifts a brow, and I’m not sure if he doesn’t believe me, but I don’t argue with him. Instead, I just wait for him to ask me my name or whatever it is he wants to know about me, because the way he’s staring at me, I’m assuming he has questions.

“Name?” he barks gruffly.

“Lucille Sanders,” I say, attempting to keep my voice soft and low so that my tone doesn’t come out smart-assed.

He smirks as his eyes scan the list, and then they widen before he lifts them to meet mine. “Stay here. Someone will be out to escort you to your table.”

Wow, an escort. Fancy . I’m still not impressed with Emmie, escort or no escort. Giving the bouncer a quick nod, I take a step backward and to the side to wait for my supposed escort.

A few moments later, a tall man dressed all in black dips his chin to me, his eyes finding mine before he murmurs. “Follow me.”

He seems annoyed, and I probably would be, too, if I had to do something like walk someone to a table. How silly is that ?

But when I walk into the club, the first thing that hits me is the sheer volume of the music. The bass is so loud that it actually flows through me. I can feel my body vibrating from it. I’m sure that a few years ago, this wouldn’t have bothered me, but right now, it’s just too much.

Then there’s the fact that the place is so dark I don’t think I could have found anything or anyone anyway.

So, I guess I did need an escort after all.

When the bouncer stops in front of me, he steps aside, and that’s when I see them. It’s not just Emmie and Theron. Charlie Grant is also there, along with an older version of him, which I would guess is Asher Grant. Then there’s another guy around Asher’s age, but I have no clue who he is.

And then there are a few more nameless men standing around—all of which give me the creeps. Theron’s gaze snaps to meet mine. I can tell he is not happy with me standing right here in front of him, especially when he said he didn’t want me to be part of any of this. But I’m not really someone who listens, at least not when I really want something.

And I really want this bitch gone. And I want Theron as my own again even more.

So, here I am.

Trying my best to make that shit happen.

“You made it,” Emmie cries out as she rushes over to me.

She doesn’t embrace me, which I thought she might by the way she rushed over. Instead, she stops abruptly in front of me, her eyes finding mine before she tilts her head to the side.

“You look different,” she says slowly. “Still familiar, but in a way different way. I can’t place you.” Then she turns to Theron before she speaks. “Theron, this is Lucille.”

Theron takes a step forward, his eyes narrowed on me for a moment before he schools his features. My lips are curved up into a huge smile because I don’t care if he’s pissed. This is not solely about him.

I want the bitch gone, and fucking with her is the only way.

“I see,” Theron murmurs.

He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t even shake my hand, but his gaze does not deviate from mine.

“It’s you,” Charlie states, taking a few steps toward me.

Uh-oh.

In my cockiness, I hadn’t really thought about this. My eyes widen, and I can feel my face heat. I know that Theron is going to be fucking pissed when he realizes I went to a bar specifically for the purpose of flirting with this man and bringing him home. Granted, it didn’t go that far, but still.

“You?” Theron asks. His feet are planted, but he holds his arms loosely at his side as if he’s ready to pounce.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Emmie shouts. She sways slightly, and I realize that if she’s not drunk, she’s really damn close.

Charlie turns his head, looking over his shoulder at Theron and Emmie. “We met in a bar a few nights ago.”

Theron’s eyes widen, then narrow on me. He’s telling me everything that I need to know with just a look, but I ignore it. He can be pissed at me later. He can yell at me and hate fuck me all he wants.

In fact, I hope he does. And soon.