Chapter 63 Jace
JACE
I knew my only focus right now should be saving my company, salvaging what remained of my position to ensure my employees were protected.
Instead, an assault of images flashed through my mind.
Marcus’s hand sliding up Scarlett’s thigh. Him following her home like some deranged stalker. Intimidating her. Threatening her. Escalating until the violent confrontation last night.
The way she had put her palm up, backing away from him, her eyes wide with fear. And the way that he pursued her like an arrogant man drunk on power he had stolen.
How dare he touch her? How dare he hurt her? So help me, the next time I saw him—
Only one floor up from Scarlett’s office, the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding. And there, standing alone, was Marcus, eyes glued to his phone.
Time immediately froze.
What he was doing on this floor—a meeting, a quick conference—I didn’t care. All I cared was that he stepped inside. Alone. With me. The walls of the elevator were large panes of mirrors, cleaned to such perfection that every pore on his traitorous skin reflected back in high definition.
Here I was, dressed in dark gray, and he in cream, almost white. But the colors should have been reversed. Evil wearing white. How poetic.
When he lifted his attention from his screen, our gazes locked. The moment recognition flickered in his eyes—the instant he realized I knew—all pretenses crumbled away. His lips curled into a smug, knowing smile.
I slammed my fist into his smirk before he had the chance to duck. Someone’s shriek registered nearby, but they were outside this elevator bank. And here, it was just me and him, the universe delivering its second gift when the doors closed.
With a hum, the elevator began its ascent to the top floor, but that short ride wasn’t enough for what I was about to do to him. Not even close. Pulling the emergency alarm, the car jerking into place, I trapped Marcus with me.
Who wiped his lip with the back of his hand, a smear of crimson against his pale skin.
“It was you,” I growled.
“Careful.” His voice was silky with threat. “I’d hate to see you sharing a prison cell with Knox.”
His knowledge of Knox, one of my closest real friends, was like salt in an open wound, reminding me of how much I’d shared with Marcus over the years.
All those late nights, confessions over whiskey, vulnerabilities exposed to a traitor who was just pretending to care about me, pretending to care about my employees. I had trusted him with everything.
And he hurt Scarlett.
Something primal snapped inside me. I slammed my fist into his temple, my knuckles instantly screaming in pain, but the rage numbed it all.
Marcus grabbed fistfuls of my suit jacket and slammed me against the side wall, the mirror cracking in an elaborate spiderweb pattern, then dropping shards of glass all around us in a symphony of tinkling clinks against the elevator floor.
I kneed him in the groin, and when he bent over, gasping, I slammed my elbow into his ribs, knocking him to the ground.
My kicks landed in his stomach, his back, his ass, so violent that I wondered if bones were cracking beneath my Italian leather shoes.
Suddenly, my balance gave out, and I landed on the floor of the elevator with a thud. He’d grabbed my ankle, and now I was the one on my back. Worse, my right arm was pinned beneath me as Marcus straddled me, holding a broken fragment of glass to my jugular.
“Why?” I snapped, voice rough with rage. “Why her?”
He smirked, blood staining his teeth.
“That’s the question you’re asking right now? Not: Why am I taking your company? Why did I betray you? Why did I make you think you were the one driving that night? You just want to know about her?”
Think you were the one driving that night. The phrase echoed through my head, begging me to home in on it, screaming that the past was nothing like what I thought it was.
Problem was that my jugular rightfully reminded me that it was about to be sliced open.
I grabbed his wrist with my left hand and tried to pry my right arm out from under me, but the movement seared pain across my shoulder like it was ripping through tendons. I growled in frustration.
“Why her?” I screamed.
Marcus cocked his head, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
“Originally? Scarlett has a nice ass. I wanted to see what it looked like bent over my desk while I pounded her from—”
I bucked him off me with a roar, rolling on top of him and landing an assault of punches to his head and face. Blood sprayed from his nose onto the mirror like abstract art.
“Little bitch should’ve kept her mouth shut,” he spat through bloodied lips, swinging back.
That landed him a punch to his mouth, his front left tooth cracking in half. He spat the fragment onto the floor and looked up at me, the rest of his teeth streaked in even more red.
“This is what you never understood,” he said as I grabbed him by the throat.
He clutched my jacket in two fistfuls of fabric, pulling me closer.
Not backing down, even now. His smile was almost serene, a madman’s peace.
“The world isn’t fair, Jace. Never was. You play at business like it’s some noble calling, but it’s just the modern jungle.
” He winced as blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth.
“Power is all that matters. Everything else is just … pretty lies we tell the weak.”
I tightened my grip around his esophagus, but he kept talking.
“You think I crossed a line with Scarlett?” His eyes gleamed with something like pity.
“If she didn’t want the attention, she wouldn’t dress the way that she does.
She’s probably been playing this game for years, prancing around the office and pretending she doesn’t want men to touch her.
She should be grateful that I gave her my attention.
” His voice dropped to a confidential whisper.
“And then she threatens me? Me?” A cold laugh.
“I made this company what it is while you were playing philanthropist.”
Blood dripped down his cheek onto the pristine elevator floor, bright red against sterile white.
“Men like me make the real decisions, Jace. Always have. While you’ve been trying to save the world, I’ve been running it.”
I cracked him one last time in the eye, my knuckles splitting from the impact, digesting the words he’d said to me. He’d obviously resented me for years, aggrieved that I had gotten away with what I’d done all those years ago. Yet that phrase implied I’d never been the one to kill that woman.
“What did you mean?” I demanded, chest heaving. “You convinced me I was driving?”
He laughed again, almost maniacally, like the wolf was finally, finally free from the charade of being on my side, of playing the role of my friend. The sound rippled across my skin like a disease.
“I tried to get you to drive,” he said, eyes wild. “I wanted to see the great Jace Lockwood with a mug shot on the news. Figured a DUI would knock you off your fucking pedestal.”
You were never my friend, I realized, the truth hitting harder than any kick to the ribs. You’ve always been jealous of me and wanted to take me down.
“You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth,” he sneered. “I was born with food stamps.”
“I had always been good to you,” I said, disbelief coloring my words.
“You rich people always act like treating people with dignity makes you a superhero.” He coughed, spraying blood.
“But your grandfather’s company put my grandfather’s company out of business.
And cost my dad his job. That’s the reason my family lost everything.
Our home went into foreclosure. We had to move school districts, go hungry at times.
Maybe if you had done due diligence on the friends you let into your life like you do with business, you’d have discovered that connection.
I managed to get accepted to a prestigious university on scholarships based on hard work, not a handout from my daddy.
And then there you were, the grandson of the man who ruined my family. ”
“My grandfather was a good man,” I growled.
“You know how many small businesses died because of him?” Marcus snarled back.
“My grandfather offered employment to anyone that went out of business because of his growing success.”
“He just expected everyone to accept his crumbs with gratitude. My family refused to work for the guy who’d destroyed us, and we suffered because of it.
” His eyes narrowed to slits. “So, there you were in college. And I thought maybe a DUI would be a nice little black eye for you and your perfect family.”
“I was devastated that night,” I said, memories flooding back. “I had just learned my mother was dying.”
“We all lose people. You billionaires act like your pain is more than ours, but it’s not.”
“You were behind the wheel,” I realized, the horrifying truth dawning on me.
“When you refused to get behind the wheel, I had no other choice,” he explained.
“I guess I shouldn’t have had that fourth beer.
” His eyes widened in mock regret before his lips curved into a smile.
There was no remorse in his gaze for costing a woman her life.
He was the one drinking and driving, he was the one who hit her, and I helped this man get away with it.
My stomach rolled with bile.
But something didn’t add up … if the goal was to screw me, why did he take the fall?
“If you wanted me to get arrested for a DUI, why didn’t you claim I was driving?” I asked, trying to make sense of his twisted logic.
“Surveillance cameras are a pesky thing,” he replied with a shrug.
“There were no references to security cameras in the police report.”
“Cops didn’t have a reason to doubt who was driving and pull the footage.” Footage he never told our lawyers about because Marcus tried very hard to get away with it, to tell my high-priced attorneys I was the one driving. “Trust me, I tried to recant my statement later. Didn’t work.”