He knows he’s right, a smug glint in his eyes before he turns and heads to his car, expecting me to follow.
Excitement bubbles up inside me, and I jog after him. The thought of driving his Bugatti is almost as exciting as learning to race. My brother was always adamant that I should stay away from Dark Lanes, and I never pushed the subject because Iknew he wouldn’t bend, but now that I’m here, sliding in behind Kane’s wheel, a new kind of thrill fizzes beneath my skin.
Once I’ve adjusted the seat and mirrors, I smooth my fingers over the pristine leather wheel, and my heart kicks harder.
“Start her up,” Kane says. “Let’s see what you’ve got, little rabbit.”
TWENTY-TWO
KANE
When I arrive home that night, I’m on cloud nine, buzzing after spending hours teaching Jessica to race my car. She was amazing, and I couldn’t quite contain how proud I was as she flew past the finish line with the wind in her hair from the open window and a bright smile that could light up the fucking world. All I could think was,This girl is mine.
And she is. I’m the only one who gets to kiss and fuck her, and I’m not letting her go.
After shutting the front door, I message Cash, who replies with a selfie of him and a group of scantily dressed women at a bar. Maverick is in the background, checking his phone while a brunette in a bodycon dress and platform stilettos clings to his side.
They try to convince me to join them, but I just chuckle as I head toward the staircase. I’ve barely reached the first step when I suddenly become aware of laughter and classical music drifting from the dining hall. Backtracking, I crane my neck to look down the hallway.
Unease prickles my neck. I turn to head upstairs, but as soon as I set foot on the first step our butler speaks up behind me.
“Mr. Ravencourt requests your presence in the hall, sir.”
My eyes sink shut. It’s all I can do not to bite out a rude remark as he heads back the way he came, his back straighter than a fence post.
What the hell does he want now?
Grinding my teeth, I make my way to the dining hall, ignoring the warning bells ringing in the back of my mind.
My father’s attention is never a good thing.
“There you are, Kane,” the man in question says as I enter the grand room, and my stomach twists as I take in my father at the head of the table. The senator and his wife are also here, watching my approach as if I’m the evening’s entertainment. Usually I’m the wolf when I go places, but here, among these people, I’m prey.
“Come join us,” Father says as the butler shuts the large double doors behind me with a final nod.
“How nice of you to show up this evening.” The senator swirls his expensive whiskey while assessing me with a dark gaze that prickles my skin. What are they doing here? Father said the thirtieth. That’s two weeks away. They’re not supposed to be here tonight.
As if he can read my thoughts, my father says, “The senator and his wife were in town on business.”
One of the waiters, the same one Cash has been screwing for weeks, pulls out the chair beside Beverly and pours me a shot of whiskey. She’s naked except for a white foxtail butt plug, glittery stripper heels, and a dog collar. Eyes downcast, as is customary around my father, she steps away as I reluctantly take a seat while they all watch me like hawks.
“Drink up,” Father says with an aimed look at my tumbler, and I know before I even lift it to my lips that it’s been spiked. Wouldn’t be the first time.
I smell it first, the acrid taste burning my nose as Beverly puts her hand on my thigh beneath the table. Her sharp nails trail higher, and I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to bash her brains in.
Father and the senator wait for me to drink, and when I do, they grin like two mob bosses who’ve caught their prey. The bitter liquor burns on its way down my throat, and I fight a wince as I set the tumbler back down. I need to get out of here before the drug kicks in. Fuck knows what’ll happen to me if I don’t.
“Where have you been tonight?” Father asks, snipping a cigar with his trimmer, his attention fixed on the task. I swallow hard, knowing he isn’t asking out of curiosity.
He knows.
“You had me followed?”
His dark eyes lock on mine, and he draws the cigar beneath his nose slowly, deliberately. “Tell me, son, should I be concerned about this latest development?”
He means Jessica.
When the predatory woman beside me trails her hand dangerously close to my crotch, I stiffen and glance nervously at the senator, who looks smug as hell while puffing on his cigar. “No,” I say. “She’s no one.”
