The wordwifesounds like a stain in his mouth. I stand there, shaking, completely off balance at his sudden change in demeanor. The way he can so quickly move from a dirty talking lover to a soulless robot is worrying, and should be taken as a red flag, but like everything else in my life at the moment, I ignore all my instincts and ask questions.
“Ethan, is that true what you said about the contract?”
“Yes.”
“But why? Why does it matter to you so much?”
For a moment, I think he won’t answer, but he does in his usual direct way.
“Because I don’t lose. I always get what I want and I wanted you from when I first saw you. It will happen, Leo. One way or another you will be mine.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” I say as I walk toward the door.
“And you live in a fantasy. But don’t worry, I’m here to wake you up to your future, Leo.”
The office feels ice cold when I leave, shuddering at his words. He’s totally crossed the line into delusion. How the hell can someone think like that? And what do I do to get out of that damn contract? I need to read it again tonight. There is no way this can continue.
I want his attention away from me. I swear, I do.
When I rejoin Sarah, she’s laughing too loudly,glassy-eyed from champagne and enjoying being the center of attention.
“There you are,” she says. “I was starting to think you got kidnapped by billionaires.”
I force a smile and I look across the room to where Ethan watches us. As he takes a sip from the glass flute, I suddenly understandsomething with terrifying clarity:
This was never a business proposal. It was a claim.
I’m the prize.
CHAPTER 20 - ETHAN
I’m on my way to meet Marcus and I sit back and take advantage of the peace in the back of my car. David drives us down the road to the Blackrose Saints compound, which is shaped like a scar cut into the edge of the city. Concrete gives way to dirt. Light becomes hazy and the sound around us changes. A darkness hovers over the building like a protective shield, hiding us from witnesses, locking in the demons and screams that this building represents. It’s intoxicating. I prefer places like this as they understand hierarchy.
The gates to the club open before we stop the car. Of course they do, Marcus must be watching.
The clubhouse squats at the center of the compound like something that grew there instead of being built. It’s all metal, rust, black glass, along with the smell of oil, nicotine and old violence baked into its walls. Motorcycles line the yard in loose formation, beasts at rest.
Marcus waits on the steps and lights a cigarette as I step out of the car.
“Jesus,” he says. “Didn’t think you still remembered how to come somewhere that isn’t wrapped in gold.”
“I remember everything, you know I prefer the crudeness.”
He grins. “That’s what I like about you. Come inside.”
The clubhouse is dim, thick with smoke and the low murmur of men who don’t bother pretending they’re harmless. Marcus leads me past them without slowing. No one stops us. They don’t need to and they know who I am.
His office is upstairs, private and hidden away. Against the far wall is his bullet-scarred desk and ridiculously opulent chair that looks like kings once owned. There are old weapons mounted like trophies on the walls. This is a place where secrets sit comfortably. He gestures to a chair, but I don’t take it.
“You never sit.”
“Getting too comfortable wastes time.”
“Yet here you are wasting my time,” he says as he raises his hands. “I’m just kidding.”
He pours himself a drink, and offers me one, which I decline.
“So. You haven’t come here for nostalgia,” he says before taking a swallow of his drink.
