Chapter 6
I lace up my sneakers and head out the door, ready to clear my head with a morning run. The crisp country air fills my lungs as I hit the dirt road, feet pounding the earth in a steady rhythm.
My mind can”t help but drift back to last night”s encounter with Londyn at the farmer”s market. The way her eyes sparkled when our gazes met, that radiant smile that still has the power to stop my heart...it”s like no time has passed at all.
But she”s not some lovesick kid anymore. And neither are you.I scold myself, pushing my legs harder.
As much as I try to dismiss it, the truth is undeniable—I”ve never stopped loving Londyn Simmons. Not really. The passion between us might have cooled to bitter resentment over the years, but those embers never fully died out.
My jaw tightens at the memory of that fateful day in the campus brewery, the day everything fell apart. Londyn”s careless act of sabotage crushed all our dreams in an instant. The betrayal cut so deep, I thought I”d never recover.
Yet here I am, a decade later, and the sight of her is still enough to scatter my senses like leaves in the wind.
I increase my pace, relishing the burn in my muscles as I push myself harder. Physical exertion has always been my release, a way to channel the turbulent emotions that constantly churn beneath the surface.
The memory of Londyn”s soft curves and sun-kissed skin invades my thoughts, quickly followed by a potent mix of guilt and longing.
I shouldn”t be entertaining these feelings, not with everything at stake.
My family”s legacy, my shot at redemption—it all hinges on taking down Westbrook Industries by any means necessary. And Londyn...she”s the one wild card I can”t afford to misplay, no matter how tempting.
The road winds through a grove of ancient oaks, their gnarled branches reaching overhead like arthritic fingers grasping at the sky. In the distance, the stately brick facade of Douglas Elementary comes into view.
Slowing to a jog, I allow the familiar sight to trigger a flood of childhood recollections—kickball games on the dusty playground, scraped knees and bloody noses, the raucous laughter of kids without a care in the world.
My brother and I, paired with the Lewis brothers, were terrors. I chuckle.
Those were simpler times, before my family”s brewery went under and our lives were upended—and we became the charity case.
I was just a happy-go-lucky kid back then, blissfully unaware how quickly life can change. That one day could be heaven and the next hell.
The rug of my childhood was yanked out from under me, leaving me flat on my ass in a world stripped of security, reliability, and hope.
A familiar ache squeezes in my chest as I think of my father, the way his shoulders sagged with defeat the day he announced we were selling to Westbrook. The despair etched into my mother”s face as we packed up generations” worth of legacy into cardboard boxes...
I can”t forget those moments. Those moments remind me of why I”m really back. Why I”ve fought to rebuild the Knights name.
The memory is as raw and visceral as the day it happened. That”s the driving force behind my quest for vengeance—to reclaim what was stolen, to honor the sacrifices my parents and grandparents made in building our family business from the ground up.
Westbrook will pay for his betrayal, even if it means sacrificing...other things.
The thought of collateral damage—of Londyn”s brewery and her dreams getting caught in the crossfire—gives me pause. A fleeting twinge of conscience nags at me, quickly overshadowed by my single-minded determination.
I”m so close now, I can taste it. Just a few more strategic moves, and Winston Westbrook”s empire will crumble to dust.
No, I can”t afford to second-guess myself. Not when I”ve come this far.
Rounding the bend, I spot the elegant iron gates of my temporary home—the sprawling Duncan ranch estate. Sweat glistens on my brow as I push through the entrance and up the winding drive.
Inside, I”ll shower and change, readying myself for the day ahead. There are meetings to attend, plans to solidify. Darius will be touching down in the next few days to assist with phase two of our operation.
And somewhere in the midst of it all, I need to carve out time for her. To rekindle whatever this is between Londyn and me, if only to keep her trust...and blind her to the storm brewing on the horizon.
The very thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Using Londyn”s affections against her, however unintentional, is a new low—one I”m not eager to confront just yet. I”ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
For now, I need to focus, keep my eye on the prize, and bury any lingering feelings that could jeopardize years of intricate strategizing.
After my shower, I settle into my home office and dial Darius. He picks up on the second ring, his deep voice filling the line. ”Jermaine, what”s up?”
”Just making sure we”re all set for Friday”s meeting and the sponsorship announcement,” I say, leaning back in my leather chair. ”Is Jalisa on board?”
”Yeah, she”s ready. We”ve got the presentation locked down, and the press release is drafted. It”s gonna be big, man.”
I nod, a satisfied smile tugging at my lips. ”Perfect. This is a crucial step in our plan, Darius. We can”t afford any missteps.”
”Don”t worry, we”ve got this. Westbrook won”t know what hit him.”
We wrap up the call, and I glance at the clock—a little past three. Crown Jewel should be open by now, I muse, an idea forming.
Before I can second-guess myself, I”m in the car, heading towards Londyn”s brewery. The thought of seeing her again, of tasting her Passion Fruit Ale, sends a thrill through me. There”s something about that brew, the way its tangy sweetness dances on the tongue, that reminds me of her.
I pull up to Crown Jewel, the quaint brick building standing proudly amidst the bustling street. Inside, the rich aroma of hops and malt welcomes me, and for a second, I miss my place back in Atlanta.
Londyn glances up, those expressive eyes widening momentarily before crinkling at the corners with a bright smile. ”Well, well, if it isn”t Jermaine Knights gracing my humble establishment.”
The teasing lilt in her voice sends a shiver down my spine. I approach the bar with my usual bravado, flashing her a roguish grin. ”You know me, I can never resist the allure of a good brew.”
Londyn chuckles softly, handing the filled pint to a waiting patron. The way her lips curve around that laugh is positively sinful. ”Is that so? Well, you”re in luck—we”ve got plenty of ”good brews” on tap today.”
She cocks her head slightly. ”Unless...you were hoping I”d have something a little more special on hand?”
The suggestive undercurrent in her words is unmistakable.
Heat creeps up the back of my neck as my mind instantly conjures vivid memories—the tart sweetness of her Passion Fruit Ale on my tongue, the honeyed warmth of Londyn”s skin beneath my palms.
Clearing my throat, I lean forward on the bartop, holding her gaze. ”You know me. I was hoping you”d treat me to one of your signature creations.”
Her eyes narrow playfully before she nods toward the far end of the bar. ”Have a seat, Mr. Knights. I”ll whip up something just for you.”
As I settle onto the worn wooden barstool, I can”t resist watching the sway of Londyn”s hips as she moves behind the taps, her hands deftly working the spigots. There”s an effortless grace to her movements, each one precise yet somehow sultry.
The gentle clinking of glass jars accompanies the steady pour of liquid into a tulip-shaped pint.
Londyn”s tongue peeks out, catching a stray drop from the tap”s edge before she tops the drink off with a frothy head.
My mouth goes dry as she approaches, the vibrant citrus aroma of passionfruit wafting through the air. Sliding the glass in front of me, she rests her forearms on the bartop, leaning in conspiratorially.
”This is a new one I”ve been working on,” she murmurs, her lips mere inches from mine. ”I call it Temptation.”
The word ghosts over my skin, igniting a slow burn low in my abdomen. I inhale deeply, savoring the blend of tangy tropical fruit mingled with Londyn”s warm, floral scent.
Temptation, indeed.
Desperate for a distraction, I bring the glass to my lips, taking a long pull. The bright effervescence dances over my tongue, the tart sweetness cutting through the subtle malt richness with vibrant intensity.
It”s unlike any beer I”ve tasted—perfectly balanced yet utterly decadent, each layer of flavor unfolding with exquisite complexity.
”Well?” Londyn prompts, her gaze holding mine with a challenge. ”What”s the verdict?”
My fingertips trace the moisture beading along the glass as I consider my response. The truth is, I”m utterly spellbound—by the ale, by Londyn”s passion for her craft, and by the chemistry still present between us after all this time.
And I want more than just Londyn”s beer.
I want her.
Slowly, I lift the drink in a silent toast. ”You”ve outdone yourself.”
A flush stains her cheeks as she accepts the praise, but her smile doesn”t waver. ”High praise, coming from the great Jermaine Knights.”
The sound of my name on her lips makes me want to hear it again in the throws of passion. With me deep inside her. With no inhibitions.
Heat pulls, and I feel a wood coming on.
I take another sip to calm the fuck down, but the brew only intensifies the heady rush of desire coiling in my body.
The one woman I”ve avoided is in front of me, and I have the taste of her ale on my tongue.
How easy it would be to drown in this moment—the sights, the sounds, the intoxicating blend of Londyn”s unique flavors. To surrender to the unspoken yearning that still simmers between us, despite everything.
But I can”t lose sight of my purpose.
Still, one night of indulgence couldn”t hurt, could it?
A chance to revisit old memories, to rekindle the flames before I snuff them out once more...
The thought is reckless, born of the ale”s honeyed warmth and Londyn”s tempting proximity. Before I can voice it, she straightens, breaking the spell.
The chime of the door rings, and Mia breezes in, ready to take over the shift.
”Why don”t you two grab an early dinner?” she suggests, her eyes twinkling with mischief. ”I”ve got things covered here.”
Londyn hesitates, glancing at me uncertainly. ”I don”t know, Mia. We”re pretty busy...”
”Nonsense,” Mia waves her off. ”It”s a slow night, and you deserve a break. Go on, enjoy yourselves.”
I seize the opportunity, turning to Londyn with a hopeful smile and offer her my arm. ”What do you say? Dinner at Maddie”s? For old times” sake?”
Londyn bites her lip, weighing her options. After a moment, she slides her hand into the crook of my elbow, her grip light but reassuring. ”Alright, let”s do it.”
For now, I”ll allow myself this indulgence—this temporary lapse where I can bask in Londyn”s light. Because once I set my revenge plan into motion, once Westbrook Industries lies in ruins...
There”s no going back.