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The club, my revenge—the whole reason we were in this situation—is not fucking worth it.
I pull my wallet out of my pocket and unfold the photo that I’ve kept in there since it was given to me almost eighteen years ago. The familiar face of the woman I don’t remember stares back up at me. A grin spread over her face and the arm of a faceless man casually swung round her shoulders. In the background is the neon sign that readsSanctuary.
This is the only picture I have of my mother and father.
Of my mother and George Bennett.
Even though George is my father and abandoned my mother to come back to America, my priorities have changed. The plan was simple: take his club, tell him I know who he is and then walk out of his life and sell the club to the highest bidder.
Plans change.
My gaze lifts to look at Alex, before focusing back on the picture in my hand.
My mind is made up.
NINETEEN
Sebastian
Alex is finally awake. Her arm is wrapped in a pink cast and the color is back in her face. The anxiety that was sitting on my chest when she wasn’t awake is gone and I can finally breathe with ease.
We were moved to a private room on the sixth floor of the hospital yesterday. A cot was set up in the corner for me, and the staff were more than happy for me to stay when I made a generous donation.
“Damn, my arm is so itchy. Can you find me something to scratch it with?” Alex asks.
I lean back in the chair, one hand resting on the arm and the other scrubbing over my jaw, the bristles from my stubble catching my palm.
“I didn’t think it was supposed to be itchy until you had it on for weeks?”
Alex throws me a glare and I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my mouth.
God, it’s fucking fantastic to be able to tease her.
“It’s not funny. It’s itchy,” she pouts.
The smile falls from my face as I stand, prowling toward her until I tower over her. Alex’s gaze darkens as she looks up at me, her mouth parting and her tongue darting out to swipe across her plump lips.
Without a word, I swoop down and capture her mouth with my own. My tongue slips into her waiting mouth and tangles with hers. The fingers on her unbroken arm grab at the material of my t-shirt as the other one rests on my chest. My hands cup her cheeks, tipping her face to just the right angle. I want to savor her taste because when we go back to New York, I don’t know what she’s going to want to do.
When I pull away and rest my forehead on hers, we’re both breathing heavily. Her eyes search my face, darting from my eyes to my mouth and back again, looking for answers I don’t have.
“When they say you can leave, we’re going home,” I murmur in an effort to remind myself that this is short term.
Short term is all I want.
Isn’t it?
“Back to the house?” she asks, her confusion evident.
“No, to New York.”
“But what about the club?”
“I’m pulling the plug. You don’t have to be my fiancée anymore.”
A frown pulls at her brow as she looks up at me. I can practically see her mind whirling as she tries to figure this out.
“But you… I don’t mind helping. I know I said—”
