Page 22 of Last Resort

“Speaking of fucking . . . you used the suite last night.” Ledger doesn’t ask. It’s simply a statement to catch me off guard.

And it sure as shit does.

I think of our corporate suite. The one that we all use from time to time when clients aren’t staying there. The one I used last night.

I stare at my brother, my blank expression intentional as I try to catch my bearings in this game we’re playing that I’m still trying to figure out the rules to. “Keeping tabs on me too? So glad to be back under someone’s thumb again.”

“Nope.” He shrugs. “No need to keep tabs when you do exactly what’s expected of you without fail.”

And there’s the dig.

“And your point is what, Ledger? That I met up with someone? Do you need to see her name and credentials to make sure she’s good enough for the Sharpe name?”

Fucking hell.

“You’ve never had any discretion in the past so why start now, right?” Ford chimes in.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Ford.” I fire a warning shot across the bow.

“Let’s hope whoever you fucked last night was enough to satisfy you so you keep your hands off Sutton,” he says, stare unwavering, warning ignored.

“What are you, my keeper now?”

“No,” Ledger says. “Technically, we’re your bosses.”

My fist clenches and teeth grit. Power—or the perceived notion of power—sure has made my brothers absolute assholes.

No wonder I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here.

“Get off it, Ledger. Last I checked, we’re all equal partners, so no, you’re not my boss. Furthermore, I’m a grown man who can make his own decisions about who he sleeps with.”

“And we’re a multi-billion-dollar corporation that doesn’t exactly want to get screwed by those decisions.” His smile is smarmy and patronizing, and I’d give anything to wipe it from his lips. “Oh wait. My bad,” he mocks. “We already have.”

“What I did or didn’t do last night is none of your goddamn business—”

“Sweet, angelic Callahan still thinks he can do no wrong,” Ford says.

“More like the fuck-up who thinks he can do no wrong,” Ledger says.

I stare at my brothers and hate the tightness in my chest. The gloves are off.

How can you love two people and hate them just as much?

How did we get here? How did so much change in six months? How did . . . “Fuck off, Ledger. The constant do-gooder, wanna-be-daddy thing you’ve got going gets old.”

“And the pretty party boy routine does too,” he deadpans. “Normalizing the morning hangover and trying to remember the name of the woman you’re rolling out of bed beside has to be tiresome.”

My smile is slow and menacing when I look at him and speak. “It’s a hell of a lot better than learning how to adjust the stick up my ass so I can walk, although it seems you’ve mastered that just fine.”

“Of course. Responsibility and dedication are what you’d consider a stick up my ass.” He matches my smile and just stares at me with a cool, even temper.

One much like my father had.

And the sight of it hurts.

I knew this would happen. This fight. This confrontation. The manifestation of a jealousy I never created nor could control.

But here we are, gloving up for a fight that has been brewing for months.