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PROLOGUE
DRIX
“What a fucking night," Sterling remarks, letting out an exhausted sigh from across the table, his hand raking through his unruly brown locks. Next to him his suit jacket is tossed carelessly over the vacant chair, and as he lifts his tired gaze to mine, I'm struck by the bright blue of his irises, a stark contrast to the dark circles beneath them. Every line and crease on his face tells a story of the long and eventful night we've all just experienced.
"I'm guessing you've had about as much sleep as the rest of us," I remark, glancing at my best friend Dalton, who's rubbing his hand across his neck and watching me warily, then at Ben, who's staring at the empty glass in his hand, no doubt savouring the harsh burn of the whisky he's just downed. The table is littered with empty glasses, evidence of our need to numb ourselves from the events of the past twenty-four hours. The bitter aroma of whisky lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of desperation.
"Yeah, that would be none then," Sterling states, exhaling sharply.
It's the morning after his father's lavish wedding, and we’re all gathered in the opulent bar of the only five-star hotel in town, owned by Dalton's wealthy father, Carl.
A palpable tension fills the air as we sit in brooding silence, the only sound that dares to break the stillness is the soft clink of ice cubes swirling around our glasses. My mind can't help but wander to the events that brought us together this morning: four women who have left us all feeling emotionally tangled and raw inside. Each sip of my drink brings a bittersweet taste to my tongue, mirroring the complex emotions swirling through my mind.
Waiting outside, the rabid tabloids would have a field day if they knew how the heirs of Princetown's four founding families were so easily brought to their knees.
Four sons. Four friends. Four men carrying the weight of their fathers' legacies.
There's Dalton, a self-confessed rogue and heir to the Gunn family's billion-pound fortune.
Sterling, a gifted artist and recluse set to inherit the Blade family's wealth.
Benedict, owner of Bandits Bar, with a genius IQ who is expected to carry on the Pike family legacy.
And then there's me, Hendrix, the adopted son of the late Hubert Hammer, who is bound by a debt that has forced me into a role I hate, and a life I never wanted.
Together our families own Princetown, a picturesque town nestled in the English countryside, where rich men reside in their lavish estates and hold power over the working class. It's a concept that makes me uneasy given my own humble beginnings.
My late father, Hubert Hammer, used to tell me that there are three sides to every man. The side he presents to the world, the side he wishes he could be, and the side he hides from himself.
As I look at each of my friends in turn, I can't help but wonder which side they are showing me right now.
I made my choice to be the man everyone else wanted me to be in order to secure my sister’s future. I accepted my role.
That is until Lia walked into my life and made me question everything…
ONE
DRIX
Six weeks previously
“Black coffee, four sugars… Please, Daphne,” I add, when the owner of The Rock Cafe–a sixty-something, takes no bullshit kinda woman–glares at me for momentarily forgetting my manners.
“That’s better,” she grouses, giving me a wink to let me know she gets me before placing my order on the table. I should’ve known she’d already have it ready. It’s not like I order anything else. I’m not into any of that oak milk, latte bullshit.
“Sorry, Daph,” I reply, rubbing my hand over the back of my neck and giving her a wry smile as I stretch my legs out beneath the booth I always sit at. I’m a creature of habit, and I like what I like. A black coffee with four sugars being one of them. This particular spot in the cafe, another.
“It’s a bad day already?” she asks, looking at her wrist which, by the way, has no watch adorning it. She’s cute like that.
“Bad night. I’ve yet to go to bed.”
“And you’re drinking a black coffee with four sugars at seven in the morning? You need a nice relaxing cup of chamomile tea and the arms of a good woman… or man?” She winks.
“Woman,” I grunt, swallowing a mouthful of the best coffee you’ll find this side of Princetown. “And sleeping is for the dead.”
Shaking her head, she tuts. “This is exactly why you need a good woman. Someone’s gotta take care of you.”
“Are you offering?” I ask, giving her my most devastating smile.
