We stop at a red light as John’s eyes flicker up to mine, glaring at me through the rearview mirror, and I must admit, he’s scary as fuck.
John is ex-military.
I cross my arms. “I like you, John, but god damn… you weren’t there, so don’t fucking judge me.”
“Explain it to me, mate.”
I shake my head, feeling my blood boil from last night’s theatrics.
I’m no stranger to growing up with money, and I’m well aware two types of people arise from that lifestyle.
There are people like me and my friends, both in New York and London, who use our connections to grow our businesses, working our asses off to make a name for ourselves.
Then there are the people I hate most in the world.
The Treys.
Born privileged and with a “spoiled brat” mentality, always relying on mommy and daddy, knowing no matter what happens, they’ll clean up their messes.
Running their mouths, thinking they’re the fucking kings of the world.
Not on my watch, and I’m happy to put this one in his place.
I might have moved out of New York years ago, but no one loses the “don’t fuck with me” New York attitude. You’re born with it, and it stays with you forever.
Trey is messing with the wrong guy, especially in my soon-to-be club. It’s why I was out late to begin with.
I was checking out the scene, and when things escalated with Trey, the bouncers called the police, not realizing I was the potential new owner.
Wills and I, alongside our best friend Declan Buckley, own the number-one members-only club in London as an investment.
There is only one other club in town that rivals our popularity: The Social Club.
We’re currently in negotiations to purchase it, and I would be lying if I didn’t say a big part of me was looking forward to the day we sign the contract just so I can ban Trey for life.
I don’t care about his family’s status or how much money he has. It means nothing to me.
He’s banned from Charlotte’s, our first club, and you can only imagine how it dented his ego when some of his friends continued their membership with us.
Once we sign on that dotted line and The Social Club becomes ours, his social life will be nonexistent because, unfortunately for him, there are two places to see and be seen, and we’ll own both.
Resting my head against the seat, I sit back and try to think of something other than Trey. With the only other thing being my busy schedule, I close my eyes to try and quiet my thoughts.
Only it’s no use when I can feel John’s eyes on me as the silence lingers in the air.
I know he won’t let this go, except I feel sick repeating what Trey has been spewing this last year.
Gulping down my unease, I give in, telling him the facts.
Explaining the way Trey has drunkenly stood on tables yelling, calling her every vulgar name in the book, describing every intimate detail—down to how much hair is on her pussy, for fuck’s sake.
I take a breath before I fly off the handle just from talking about it. It’s sickening what he does with no consequences.
This is all because Annabelle picked herself up after the initial shock over their breakup and hit the dating scene running. Clearly, Trey was not happy about his ego being bruised.
Last week he went into detail about the people he’d cheated on her with—sometimes in her own flat, and even on occasion when she was sleeping in the next room.
This is a massive trigger for Belle, and I’m glad she hasn’t been around to hear any of it.
