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Chapter One
Leo
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IPICKED UP THE SHOTglass of vodka and downed it in one.
Alcohol burned my throat, and warmth spread through my gut. I wanted it to burn. I wished it hurt more. I needed something to drown the constant ache in my chest.
Dance music pounded on my eardrums, but I barely heard it. My elbow was on the bar top, my temple rested in my palm. I was surrounded by hundreds of people, but I might as well have been alone. The one person I wanted to be on the barstool beside me wasn’t there, and she never would be.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr Cornell?”
The woman behind the bar offered me a small smile. She knew better than to call me Leo. I was the boss here, and such a casual tone wouldn’t go down so well, especially not right now. I wasn’t in the mood to be fucked with, and from the circle of space around me, when the rest of the bar was crammed with people standing shoulder to shoulder, I assumed I was doing a good job of making sure everyone knew that.
“I’ll take another,” I said.
The smile faded, and she turned to retrieve the expensive bottle of vodka from the shelf.
She poured me another, and I downed that as well. I willed for the oblivion that came from a huge amount of alcohol consumption to take over. I wanted to not feel anything.
A jovial roar rose from somewhere behind me, and I looked over my shoulder. A group of men, smartly dressed, and clearly even more drunk than I was, jeered and threw their weight around. One of the men, who seemed to be in the middle of things, popped a bottle of champagne and deliberately sprayed it towards a couple of girls. The girls shrieked and backed away, throwing curses at the man and wiping down their now wet dresses.
I narrowed my eyes. Arsehole. Didn’t he know whose bar he was in?
The girls shook their heads at each other and scowled at the man. I couldn’t make out anything that was being said because of the volume of the music, but it was clear they weren’t happy. I had bouncers who dealt with these kinds of situations, but a surge of anger swelled inside me. My anger wasn’t only towards these men; I was angry with the world, but this seemed like an excuse to take out my fury on someone.
I got off the barstool and rose to my full six-feet-two height. I straightened my suit jacket and adjusted the front of my trousers. I’d lost track of how many shots I’d had, but the alcohol hadn’t done enough to make me unsteady. I couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.
The girl who’d caught the worst of the champagne was petite and blonde, and I couldn’t help but think of the similarities to my dead fiancée, Jodie. I’d always thought no one would have dared touch Jodie because she was with me, but I’d been wrong. Seeing this girl brought back memories of that night.
An image of Jodie, blood spreading across her chest, jumped into my head, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to block it out. When I opened my eyes again, I’d have sworn she was standing right in front of me, her dress soaked with champagne and anger flashing in her eyes. The man with the bottle laughed and reached out his other hand and caught her wrist. She tried to pull away from him, but he used her momentum and yanked her back, so she spun in some parody of a dance and ended up with her palms pressed to his chest. He grabbed her waist and thrust his hips against hers. Around him, his friends brayed and egged him on.
I gritted my teeth and strode forward, uncaring who I shoved out of the way to get there. I bumped shoulders with partygoers but ignored any shouts of protest. Once they realised who’d knocked up against them, they fell quiet anyway.
When I got up close behind him, I reached inside my jacket. Those around us seemed to have realised something bad was happening, as they’d backed off, eyeing each other anxiously. The dickhead with the champagne bottle hadn’t, though, and he continued to jeer.
I took my gun from the holster around my ribs and jammed it to the back of his neck. “I suggest you let the girl go.”
He must have recognised the sensation of a muzzle on his skin as he froze. “Wh-what?”
“You heard me. Let her go.”
He released the blonde, and she stumbled away, her eyes wide.
I continued, “Now put the bottle down. Slowly.”
He nodded frantically and carefully lowered the champagne bottle towards the floor. A part of me hoped he’d decide to take a swing at me with it. I wasn’t going to shoot him, but I wouldn’t complain about an excuse to land my fist in his face. But he placed the bottle down and straightened
“Do you know who I am?” I asked him.
He nodded again but still didn’t dare to turn around. “Yes, Mr Cornell.”
I placed the gun between his shoulder blades to shove him towards the exit. “Then you know you’re no longer welcome here, by order of the management. Got it?”
The weight of a hand pressed to my shoulder, and I forgot the dickhead I’d been dealing with for a moment and spun around, aiming the gun at whichever prick had thought it was okay to put his hand on me.
I’d expected to find one of dickhead’s friends muscling in but instead found myself staring into my brother’s eyes.
