Chapter 3 Zack
ZACK
Isip the whiskey in my hand slowly, savoring the burn in the back of my throat, as I look out over the city skyline.
It may be almost six in the morning, but it’s five o'clock somewhere, right? I haven’t slept all night, well all fucking year if I am being honest, and I’m so fucking tired that I almost feel numb.
I always knew running an empire would be hard, I just never envisioned that I would be doing it while also grieving my little brother.
That thought has me draining the rest of my glass, knocking back the remnants of whiskey and wishing it would do something to dull the heavy ache inside of my chest. The one that has been present since the day I watched him bleed out in my driveway.
When the door to my home office shoots open, I don’t have to look to know who I will find, and I groan inwardly at his presence.
Max Foster has been my best friend for almost two decades, but he’s also a pain in my fucking ass.
I know I’m lucky to have him, all my friends really, and my family.
In this life, the way we were brought up, it’s hard to tell who is real and who isn’t, who wants you for who you are, or who wants you for your last name.
Especially when that last name holds such weight, now more than ever.
I’m grateful that I have not just Max, but all the guys that work for us too.
Max is the owner of Infinite Security, a company that provides all kinds of help to people who need it, both private and corporate.
The guys he employs are basically family, and between them and the band of Rebels that my sister, Elle, brought home, I am surrounded by people I trust. Still, Max is at the top of that list. Things with him are just different, they always have been.
He strides toward me with that usual furrowed brow of his, eyeing the now empty glass in my hands, before he grunts, “Let me guess, it’s five o'clock somewhere, right?”
The fucker knows me well, and I half grumble an agreement. “Yeah, something like that,” I reply, placing the glass back on my desk and turning to give him my full attention.
At six-foot-four he towers over most people, his broad shoulders and dark muscular frame make him look like he’s ready to partake in an NFL game.
Smart, focused, quick, all the skills needed to run a business like his, it’s why he’s assessing me now, trying to work out the reason that has me turning to alcohol before the day has barely broken.
“You’ve been to see your sister?” he asks, no hesitation in his question as he takes a seat across from me, and we both know he isn’t talking about Elle.
All I can do is nod in response, and when I don’t say anything he just sighs.
“I guess I don’t need to ask how she’s doing,” he mutters, looking as defeated by the whole situation as I am.
In being my best friend, Max is close to all of my siblings, he always has been.
He’s known the twins for almost as long as he’s known me, and when I met a beaten down and abused Elle when she was fourteen, he was the first person I called for help.
Max is a military brat, he grew up with both his parents in the military and moved around constantly, until he landed himself in the boarding school I was at.
He was my complete opposite, loud, outgoing, made friends easily, and for some reason he set his sights on me.
Despite being completely different we became friends fast, and thanks to his background, he taught me how to fight.
Just simple stuff at first, like kickboxing and karate, but the older we got the tougher he became.
It wasn’t long before he was learning Krav Maga and putting me on my ass.
When I got the call about my sister he was the first person I contacted, knowing that he would take her under his wing like he did me.
I know he was bonded to Elle in a way he isn’t with Lily and Logan, or I guess I should just say Lily now.
He took all of Elle’s pain and turned it into anger, making her the weapon she needed to be to survive, but with Lily it’s different.
She might put on a hard front, but she’s softer than she looks.
Those last few months before Logan’s death she and Max grew closer than ever, and the night he died, Max was the one who took care of her when I was in no state to.
He didn’t just see her pain, he felt it, lived it with her, and now it’s like he’s bonded to her more than anyone else I have ever seen.
Not that her pain isn’t felt by all of us, it is.
The reason being, it happened to all of us, Logan’s death ricocheted through every single one of us, and now we are all fighting in our own way to survive the best we can.
I appreciate his love and support for me and my family more than he could ever know, and I couldn’t have gotten through the last year without him.
Neither could my sister, not that she would ever admit it, but I know she knows that Max cares about her more than he does himself.
He checks on her every morning before work, and I know he will be going to see her when he’s finished checking on me, which he can deny all he wants, but I know that’s what he’s here to do.
Ours is the kind of friendship all the money in the world can’t buy, and trust me, I know.
“Did Ash call you about the trip to the Hamptons next month?” I ask, trying to change the subject and forget about all my fucking grief.
Like Elle, Asher Donovan is another of my biological siblings, except we share the same father instead.
A monster who is now buried in an unmarked grave after we both almost died because of him.
We only discovered that truth a couple of years ago, but thanks to Elle I have known him almost as long as her, meaning I was already close to him.
Both him and his boyfriend, Lincoln Blackwell, were in love with Logan, and they had all just pulled their heads out of their asses and admitted that fact, when our world was torn apart.
My brother’s last breaths were his declarations of love for them, well, that and Lily’s name. A sound that haunts me almost as much as her pleading for him to stay with her. Emotion burns the back of my throat, and while still under Max’s penetrating stare, I feel claustrophobic.
“He did, I can make it work, I already split up the team, half to stay here, and half to come with us,” he confirms, protecting my family once more, without ever having to be asked, and it only makes my heart feel heavier.
Fuck. What would I do without him?
“Sounds good,” I force out, clearing my throat, my eyes once again flicking to the empty glass on my desk, when he abruptly rises to his feet.
“Come on, let’s go,” he commands, storming toward the door, leaving me no choice but to push away from my desk and follow him.
“Where are we going?” I ask in confusion, but still follow him as he strides down the hall of my penthouse.
“To your gym, so I can kick your mopey ass back to being a fucking functioning adult,” he tosses back, and I can’t help the smirk that pulls at the corner of my mouth.
Having a best friend who puts up with your bullshit but also doesn’t, is the perfect combination, and thirty minutes later, we are stripped down to just shorts and sparring out the stresses of our lives.
“Fucking sloppy,” he curses, as he slams me back onto the mat again, sweat lining both our brows, and I tap my hand to be released from his hold.
“I mean, I did drink half a bottle of whiskey,” I complain, quickly pushing back to my feet, but Max only rolls his eyes at the excuse.
“And the lack of sleep you’re failing to hide,” he claps back, not afraid to call me out, and I lunge for him again, but like with every attack this morning, he easily sees it coming.
My legs are swiped from under me and my back is hitting the mat once more, as he throws his full body weight down on top of me.
His hips pin me to the ground, while one hand traps my arm and the other collars my throat, a wide smile crosses his lips.
“I think you’re enjoying my pain a little too much,” I grunt, inhaling a deep breath, after he just fucking winded my stomach as he took me down.
“Maybe I am,” he tosses back, his smile only getting wider, until his eyes drop down to my chest and take in the bullet scar that almost took my life, before he adds in a whisper, “Well, only sometimes.”
Two years ago I was accosted in my home, stabbed in the thigh, shot in the chest, and left for dead.
It’s a miracle I even survived, and the scars are a reminder of that every day when I see them in the mirror, but the pain is a distant memory.
Now replaced with a new kind of pain that I know I will never be able to forget.
We both remain still for a few seconds, panting and breathless, lost in the moment that almost killed me.
The weight of him on top of me keeps me grounded, but when I feel his warm breath pant against my lips something inside of me stirs.
I’m suddenly very aware of every inch of our bodies being aligned, my heart racing and my nipples tingling slightly as they brush against his dark chest. All my blood begins to run south thanks to the effects of the whiskey, and I can’t help but blink up at him in confusion.
I know my best friend is bisexual, but I am very, very straight.
His eyes are somber, as we stare at one another quietly, clouded in our friendship and memories, and something else in his stare I can’t quite place.
Something stirs inside of me, something familiar yet confusing, because I’m pretty sure what I’m feeling is the need to fuck, and I’m feeling it while staring at my fucking best friend.
What the fuck?
I can feel my cock stirring to life, as panic pulses inside of me and I can’t bite back the grunt that slips out of me, before Max blinks back a little and rushes to get off of me.