Page 27 of After the Chase

"He was never around, travelled constantly, and always had high security. So I guess it could be anything."

"What are you going to do?"

I turn to look at him. "I'm going to find out exactly what my father built. And then I'm going to decide whether to claim it or destroy it."

"And if you claim it?"

"Then we'll have resources."

"We'll be criminals."

"We're already criminals, Chase."

He doesn't argue, and I know that me including him in that has hurt, but it’s the truth.

"I need to go to New York," I say. "See these properties. Meet whoever's been managing them."

"When? Does that mean I can see Tyler?"

“Oh fuck, do we have to? That means meeting that idiot he’s with who won’t shut the fuck up talking to me. All of those guys are irritating."

"I can go on my own while you deal with this."

“I’m not letting you go to that place without me.”

Like fuck is he going over to the Kozlov fucking gang land. Bunch of pricks.

"I’ll get him to meet me at wherever we stay.”

“Fine.”

I pull him down into my lap and we sit in silence, looking out at the harbor. The city lights reflect on the water, cold and distant.

My mother is dead. My father's legacy is waiting. And Chase is beside me, willing to descend into whatever darkness I choose.

It should feel like a burden, but I sense this is something that might fill the need inside of me. To feed the monster that dwells.

CHAPTER SEVEN

NOAH

The Infinity Hotel is grander than I expected, all sleek glass and steel, a place where discretion is guaranteed and questions aren't asked. The lobby is all marble and ambient lighting. A large infinity art piece sits in the middle of reception, it looks hand crafted from metal. A very elegant place for an MC Prez to hold a meeting.

Chase not being near me and visiting Tyler at Starlight, a bar that the Kozlov brothers own, irritates me more than it should. I don't like him being somewhere without me, even if it's with his brother. Even if it's safe. The separation feels wrong, like a limb that's been temporarily removed.

But Marcus insisted on this meeting being private. One-on-one. And I agreed because I need to understand what my father left via my mother, not just the money, but the obligations.

A man in a tailored suit approaches me in the lobby. "Mr. Bryson?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Reeves is waiting for you. Please follow me."

We walk down the hallway to the side of the reception desk and go through double doors that open onto a private corridorwith two large meeting rooms. He leads me to the one on the left and knocks twice before opening the door.

The room is massive with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the busy streets, leather furniture, a full bar, and artwork that probably costs more than most people's houses. Standing by the windows is a man in his thirties, wearing jeans and a leather vest with the Blackrose Saints patch visible on the back. His thick, long black hair is tied back. I’ll admit he’s attractive.

Marcus Reeves. President of the motorcycle club my father secretly funded for years.