Chapter Twenty-Seven
MERCS
Minutes Before
“I don’t know. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I can’t deny my feelings. Love isn’t the issue. It has to work this time—” The sharp gasp behind me cuts me off.
I spin toward the door just in time to see Effa disappear through it.
“Goddammit!”
“What’s wrong?” Lilah asks on the other end of the line.
“I have to go. Thanks for calling. I hope you got what you needed to hear. I’m sorry, I have to cut this short. Take care of yourself, Lilah.”
“Kaden, honestly… I’m glad you’re happy with her.”
I end the call and exhale hard, rubbing my hand down my face.
The unexpected call with Lilah turned out to be the closure we both needed. It helped her see there’s nothing left between us, and helped me realize, without a shadow of a doubt, that everything I want, everything that matters, is Effa.
She is my future.
My now.
My always.
But right now, Effa’s hurting because she didn’t hear the full conversation. She only heard fragments, but it was enough to make her run, and I need to fix that.
I bolt out of the room and head for her green room first, but it’s empty. My pulse spikes. She wouldn’t leave without telling someone, especially not without Raoul, so the stage is my next guess.
As I approach, voices drift toward me—hers and Jett’s.
I round the corner, and the sight that greets me makes my blood boil.
Jett is seated beside her. Raoul’s on the other side, watching like a hawk, but it’s not enough to ease the fury brewing in my gut. Jett’s hand rests on Effa’s knee, and she isn’t pushing him away. That alone stings like hell, but Raoul intervenes, removing Jett’s hand. Then Jett, arrogant prick that he is, drapes an arm around her shoulders, only to drop it after a warning glare from Raoul.
And then…
Then… he kisses the top of her fucking head.
That’s it.
A primal rage erupts inside me. My feet stomp forward, each step echoing like thunder, commanding attention, and all three of them turn at the sound.
Effa’s eyes widen, the color draining from her face.
Raoul remains stone still, neutral, but alert.
Jett?Yeah, he smirks.
That smug, cocky grin he wears like a badge of honor is about to get ripped clean off his face.
“Mercury, seems you’ve been neglecting my little cupcake—”
I don’t let him finish.
I lunge, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him up so fast that Effa lets out a startled squeal. My grip is iron, and I shove him hard, so hard he flies backward like a rag doll, crashing against the edge of the stage. Limbs flail, and the sound of his back hitting the hardwood echoes like a cannon shot. He laughs, of course, he fucking laughs, as he sits up and brushes himself off, adjusting his shirt like this is all part of his fucking game.
