Chapter 2 – Lance
2
TINY, ANGRY, FASHION DESIGNERS
LANCE
I was fucking late. Thanks to Morgan, I was running behind schedule.
I eyed the valet at the restaurant dubiously and opted to park myself. I wasn't about to hand over the keys to my Aston just like that, even if it meant taking an extra minute.
I bypassed the salivating valet, walked through the lobby, and headed straight to the restaurant bar, where the bartender nodded toward the back.
I found the small office, and though the door was open, I knocked. A woman with dark brown curls falling over her shoulders looked up.
Sheila Warwick. The woman whose family had gotten caught in the crosshairs of my family.
"Mr. Lakewood, I've already told you, I don't want or need your help."
She might not think she needed me, but she did. "Look, Sheila, I get it. You don't trust me, but I'm serious. You don't know what you're up against. Let me help."
A scowl settled on her face, and those fierce blue eyes narrowed. "You don't know anything about me."
"Actually, I think I do," I said gently.
She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "No, you don't . What your family did to me—They tried to break me. They took my livelihood, everything but my dignity. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. My husband? They took his life."
I stilled.
Why are you surprised? This is what they do. You know that. This is what you’re trying to make right.
Sheila had been a whistleblower at Be Me Cosmetics up in Albany. She'd discovered a problem with one of their products and FDA compliance. When she took it to her higher-ups, they hired my family to get rid of her. They’d gotten to her husband instead. So she’d done the only thing she could and run. She’d been smart in taking under the table gigs and laying low. I’d only found her because she’d reached out to her cousin here in Manhattan for help.
"My husband, Ben, was a journalist," she continued, voice tight. "When I told him what was happening, he started to dig. And he found something—something bigger. Maybe he dug too deep. He came home one night, pale as a sheet, said we had to leave. That he’d found something on the firm Be Me had hired as fixers. The DuLacs. Two days later, he was dead, and I was on the run."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, battered flash drive. "This was his insurance policy. I’ve been carrying it for five years, waiting for the right moment to use it. And now? I’m done waiting."
She shoved it into my palm. "You're not one of them anymore? Prove it. Do something with this. Burn them down."
I swallowed hard, closing my fingers around the drive. Guilt gnawed at my gut. She had no idea I’d been raised to be just like them.
You’re better than them.
"I'm sorry. I truly am. But I'm not them, and that's what I've been trying to tell you. If you want the help, it's here. I can't guarantee you'll ever get back to what you had or loved, but I can offer you a safe place and some funds to start over."
For years, I’d been determined to right the wrongs of the DuLacs, brick by brick. My mother had sacrificed her life to save my soul. It was the thing I could do to honor her. After all, I didn’t want to be a monster.
She stood, revealing she was barely taller than Morgan. "I've got kids, Mr. Lakewood. I can't risk their lives. So please go away."
"Look, I know you're scared. I'm just trying to do the right thing. I know what my family is like. What their clients are like. I'm just trying to fix some of the damage."
She stared at me as if she could not understand my words…or me.
"Why are you doing this? Why are you willing to help me?"
"Because it's the right thing to do." I exhaled. "You have kids. Do you have so much you don't need help? If so, I'll walk away. But I'm determined to at least try to make right what my family has done. You can take it or leave it."
She crossed her arms and stared at me incredulously. "You're serious? There are no strings?"
"No strings."
" Why ? Aren't you one of them?"
Her question, simple as it sounded, was too complicated to tackle and too painful to ponder. Still, though I wanted to save her, I would not tell a stranger the truth of my demons. "Sheila, you only need to know I'm doing my best not to be."
She shifted on her feet, then reached into her back pocket and pulled out the folded terms I'd sent her. "It's too good to be true."
"It's not."
She handed it back, and I folded the papers, seeing her signature at the bottom line.
"I'll take your help. Only because of my kids. They deserve the best."
"Excellent." I reached into my jeans' back pocket and pulled out a card. "Call that man tonight. He'll get you and your family into one of the safe houses in the city while we get your paperwork sorted—new identities, everything backed up. It'll take a few weeks, but in the meantime, you'll have somewhere safe, clean, and comfortable for you and your kids. You can keep working here if you want but with a new social security number, new passport, new everything, and money."
As I turned to leave, she grabbed my arm again.
Her voice was low. "Burn them down."
I pocketed the flash drive and gave her a single nod.
I turned and left, weaving my way back through the kitchens, the bar, and the restaurant. The tightness in my chest eased slightly once I was in the fresh air, but the weight of what I was trying to accomplish still pressed down on my shoulders.
My past felt like it was chasing me, wanting to consume me.
But she’d agreed to let me help. That was what mattered. One more person I could help. One more wrong I could try to right. They were the monsters.
And now, with the flash drive, I could start nailing down the DuLac coffin.
I pulled out my phone and sent a text:
Me: She’s on board. She'll give you a call. Put her in the penthouse safe house until the paperwork is ready.
A text came back immediately:
Silas: Understood.
Silas McGill was the only holdover from my past life before I went to college, met Gwen, and became a different person. He was the only person who truly knew me and didn't hate me for it. The ghosts of my family's sins might haunt me, but at least I wasn't alone in trying to fix them.
I was so engrossed in my thoughts and my phone, I didn't realize someone was calling my name until they nearly stepped into my path. I caught the movement in my peripheral vision, braced myself, and easily moved to the balls of my feet with my hands at the ready.
The guy also raised his hands. "Whoa, easy Lakewood. What's your problem? Didn't you hear me calling you?"
I slammed down the floodgates that had unleashed adrenaline into my body, forcing myself to relax. Old habits died hard. "Shit, Micah. I didn't hear you at all. Sorry, man."
Micah Price, Atticus's younger brother, often worked closely with me at Pendragon Tech, Atticus’s company. "Sorry, I was focused on work stuff. What's up?"
He arched a brow, his deep-set eyes contemplative. "Are you off somewhere? I saw you coming out of the restaurant. Grabbing a drink? I'm off to meet Gavin and Pierce."
I shook my head. "That was just a meeting. I was about to head home."
"Good. You're not busy. Come with me."
Before I realized where we were going, Micah had already corralled me across the street to La Table Ronde. The warmth hit me first as we stepped inside—a welcome contrast to the autumn chill—followed by the rich scent of aged wood and leather mixing with hints of expensive bourbon. Behind the curved marble bar, bottles gleamed like amber jewels under the warm glow of art deco sconces.
I might not have intended to end up here, but now the familiar buzz of conversation and the soft clink of crystal tumblers against the bar top settled around me like a well-worn suit. Fucking hell, since the damn dance with Morgan, I'd been really out of it. I could still feel her fingerprints where they lay in my palm, like a ghost sensation I couldn't shake.
Leave it. Some things are just not meant to be.
The leather booth creaked as I slid in, my fingers trailing over the brass rivets studding the upholstery. Pierce and Gavin were already installed at their usual corner table, where the shadows from the vintage chandeliers created pools of intimate lighting perfect for deal-making—or, in this case, unwanted social bonding.
I sighed, the ice in my glass chiming as the server set down our drinks. A whiff of cedar and citrus rose from the barrel-aged Manhattan before me. "Micah, why do I get the feeling you're forcing me into a friendship?"
The bass notes from the jazz trio in the corner thrummed through the floorboards as Micah grinned. "Force is a strong word. I'm suggesting all work and no play makes you boring. Besides, your bestie's baby sister is practically my sister, too."
I rolled my eyes, watching the amber liquid swirl in my glass. "Right. Forced family."
He just grinned and clapped me on the back, the sound sharp against the muted atmosphere. The leather seats squeaked as Pierce shifted to make room.
My old family was homicidal at times. I wasn't used to this. But I recognized a forced adoption when I saw one. Somehow, despite trying to be on my own, I was surrounded by family. None of them had any idea who I used to be. I rarely trusted a few people. It was better that way. Trusting more people put more in the bullseye. But this damn family was surprisingly harder to shake.
Pierce's quiet "Incoming" was all the warning I got before I felt that familiar prickle at the back of my neck. The sharp click of heels against hardwood announced Morgan's arrival even before her jasmine scent hit me.
My mouth fucking watered. I hadn't even settled into the warm scotch buzz for thirty seconds before my attention snapped to her. At five-foot-three, she barely came up to my chest, but God, she commanded the room like a queen. Her goddess braids fell to her ass, golden hair jewels catching the light with every movement, and that light russet brown skin seemed to glow under the warm bar lights. She was marching straight for me, her full lips pursed in that way that made my mind go places it shouldn't, her cheeks flushed from the cold outside air, eyes bright with that particular fire that meant I was in trouble.
I immediately scanned the room for threats, but she was the only danger here, heading right for me, looking ready for murder. Morgan might have been tiny compared to me, but she was all fire and fury. It was like those memes: attack 100%, damage 0%. That was Morgan.
As she stomped up, Micah called out, "Morgan, what are you doing here?"
"Dipshit over here forgot his credit card. It fell out of his wallet when he was giving Allison his phone number."
The guys turned to give me curious looks.
"I wasn't giving her my phone number. She asked for my card. I gave it to her. What's the matter, Spitfire? Jealous?"
Morgan narrowed her gaze. "How did you not even notice? Have you not seen I was texting you?"
I grinned, watching how her lips curved into a dangerous pout. "I think I have you muted."
Her brows shot up and fire lit her eyes, making the flecks of gold dance. God, I loved her like this—all five feet and three inches of pure rage, her braids swinging with each indignant movement.
"You what ? You know what? I'm going to take this card and do serious damage."
"Okay, go wild," I said, shrugging.
Her eyes flared before she smoothed her expression. "You don't care?"
"Nope." Even if she did go on a shopping spree, or bought fabric and patterns, what was a few thousand? Besides, I wanted to see just how deep that kitty scratched.
"You're insane. You know what? Next time you leave your shit behind, I won't bother bringing it to you."
Micah and Gavin brought over a stool for her to sit on. "Come on, have a seat," Micah said.
She shook her head, those braids swaying hypnotically. "No thanks, I'm going to the co-op. Just had to track this one down."
It suddenly occurred to me. "Just how did you track me down anyway?"
"I'm stalking you. Haven't you noticed?" Those full lips curved into a smirk that made my blood heat.
I crossed my arms and gave her a questioning gaze.
Morgan tilted her chin up defiantly. "I'll never tell. Gentlemen, have a good night." She slapped my credit card on the counter. "Lose this again and I'm buying a yacht."
I took it and slid it back into my wallet, slightly disappointed she hadn't used it. Sometimes I thought about what it would be like to give her everything she'd ever wanted, to see her eyes light up with that particular joy that made her whole face glow.
When I turned back to the guys, they were all studying me. Gavin wore a wide grin, Pierce chuckled, and Micah, as always, was assessing.
I lifted a brow. "What?"
Gavin just laughed, loud and unrestrained. "Oh man, when it hits you, it's going to be epic."
"When what hits me?"
Pierce, ever precise, took a deliberate sip of his drink. "Remind me again, Lakewood, you've got a bunch of degrees, right? Computer science, law, so you're a super smart guy, right?"
I shrugged. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Just that sometimes you're real fucking stupid," Gavin supplied cheerfully.
Micah smirked. "Especially about certain tiny, angry fashion designers."