AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Cole’s shrug was as nonchalant as it was infuriating. “Nothing worth your time,” he said, voice dripping with feigned innocence.
“Cut the crap, Cole.” My words were sharp. “Since when do you give a damn about anything Cynthia has to say? Now you’re suddenly buddy-buddy with the Wicked Witch of the West?”
“Relax, Weston. Just family stuff,” he replied, eyes locked onto mine, challenging.
“Family stuff, my ass,” I shot back, feeling the heat rise in my chest, the anger coiling tight. “You and I both know she wouldn’t piss on us if we were on fire unless there was something in it for her.”
Cole stood and folded his arms across his chest as he stared at the crypt of our father. “You know, she cares about Arthur too.”
I scoffed, the sound harsh in the too quiet room. “The only thing Cynthia cares about in this family is money. So don’t give me that bullshit.”
Cole’s eyes rolled like marbles in a gambler’s hand. “She came by to see Arthur and I was here. What the fuck more do you want me to say?”
His casual dismissal hung in the air, thick as the stench of antiseptic. The silence returned, wrapping around us like a shroud. We both looked at our father, lying there, machines dictating the rhythm of his existence with their cold, indifferent beeping.
Then a nurse walked in, crisp and efficient. She flicked her wrist, checking vitals, tapping numbers into the chart with the precision of a metronome. Her gaze cut to Cole. “Did the lawyer get ahold of you? He had to run out when you went to the restroom.”
Words jammed in my throat, boiling up like acid reflux. Before Cole could craft another lie, I interrupted. “What lawyer?” My voice echoed, a gunshot in the tense quiet.
Cole spread his hands, a feeble attempt at appeasement. “He just came to check on Arthur, that’s all.”
Bullshit.My gut twisted with suspicion. Cole had the morals of a street hustler—slick words and snake eyes. The lawyer visit stank of hidden agendas, power plays cloaked in legal briefs.
“Family rat, always sniffing out the cheese,” I hissed, the insult sharp as a blade.
Red flared across Cole’s cheeks. Veins pulsed at his temple, his anger boiling over. “Well, at least I’m not secretly sticking my cock in men’s assholes. Nothing is more disappointing to our family name than that.”
His words, vile and venomous, sucker punched me. Air left my lungs in a rush, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to the shock in his eyes, mirroring mine.
The air sizzled with malice, Cole’s words a branding iron searing my skin. I staggered, the room spinning, each beep of the heart monitor, an accusation.
“Fuck… you,” I managed, the words shredding from my lips.
I turned, every muscle coiled tight as a spring, and stormed out. The door slammed behind me with a satisfying crack.
Chapter14
Weston
The city lights flickered like distant stars, and I was the solitary man on the mountaintop, gazing at them from my glass fortress. My office—a cathedral of success where every win was a tribute to my prowess. I’d played the game, sipped the scotch with Cole’s golden clients, their wealth a testament to my skill. Divorce law was blood sport, and I was the reigning champion. No regrets, not for the thrill, the rush. It was the damn family legacy that poisoned it all.
Leaning back, the leather chair embraced me like a lover, one who knew every curve of my ambition. The Chicago skyline was a jagged EKG against the night. The city breathed in sync with me, or maybe it was the other way around. My phone’s vibration broke the trance—a nuisance call, no doubt. Ignored.
It pulsed again, insistent, and annoyance flared within me. But as I caught sight of Darius’s name flashing across the screen, something else stirred—curiosity, a dangerous flavor of anticipation. He was chaos personified. I flicked my thumb over the screen, heart hammering as if it wanted out. The text bubble from Darius popped open a Pandora’s box in pixel form. Image after image flooded the screen—Darius, wild-eyed and grinning, booze-soaked and shameless. Each photo was a middle finger to decency, his hazel eyes alight with rebellion.
“Fuck’s sake, Darius,” I mumbled, tossing the phone aside. It clattered against the polished expanse of my desk—a mahogany sea between me and sanity.
I averted my gaze to my laptop and opened it, desperate for a distraction from him. But the storm wasn’t done. My phone buzzed, a relentless hornet against the wood. Text after text, Darius hammered away at my patience. Each vibration a taunt, each notification another jab at my composure. I growled and pinched the bridge of my nose as the tension coiled in my gut. I raked a hand through my hair, the strands falling like prison bars, shadowing my vision.
Silence fell. A brief ceasefire. He’s done, I thought, the relief as fleeting as a gasp.
Then—the screen lit up again.
I snatched the phone, ready to put Darius in his place. My thumb hovered over the keypad. But then the screen flashed with an image that seared through my irritation like a branding iron. It was Darius, unmistakable with that fucking smiley piercing, glinting under club lights, sprawled out in lascivious invitation. His legs were open wide, a blatant dare, and some faceless bastard was on his knees before him. The sight of it—raw, indecent—lit a fuse in me.Son of a bitch.Fury and something darker twisted within me. My hand acted on instinct, slamming the laptop shut so hard, the echo rang through the room. Keys, cold and metallic, jangled as I snatched them up and stormed out.
The night air did nothing to cool the heat in my veins. I plunged my thumb into the start engine button and my BMW roared to life—a beast roused from slumber. Streetlights blurred past, each one a fading star as I gunned it toward the gay district, toward him. Darius wanted to taunt me? Fine. Two could play at this sick game.
The club vomited noise and neon onto the sidewalk, a siren’s den drowning in sin. I eyed the crowd outside—their bodies pressing close, laughter slicing through the hum of the city. The night was a canvas of flesh and desire painted right on the sidewalk. Men, young and old, locked in embraces that made mockery of modesty, their mouths hungry for more than just air. Torn jeans clung to thighs like second skins, crop tops exposing swathes of sinew and ink. The line for entry was a serpent, coiling around the building, pulsing with the beat of anticipation. I locked my door, and thumbed through a wad of hundreds, the crisp bills a currency of passage here as I headed toward the front of the club.
