Chapter 17 Kade
Kade
The buzz in the room is deafening.
Everybody standing in front of me is casting me filthy looks.
They’re shocked at the bombshell I dropped, but these assholes with skeletons in the closet fear me as much as they want to stay in my pocket, as a Bishop.
They know, as well as I know, how much the late Roman Bishop loved information—leverage, he called it.
Emma is already gone, having hopped off the platform and headed, no doubt, to find security the second I wrangled the microphone. It doesn’t matter. I came here for chaos, and I sure as shit got it.
So why do I have this empty, hollow feeling in my chest? I search for Allie in the crowd, more of a habit than a need, but I don’t spot the familiar red of her hair or that fuck-me green dress. Maybe she ran off crying. I wish I felt good about that thought.
Voices are rising, and I can tell a few folks are ready to take matters into their own hands.
Time for me to make an exit. The only thing that stops me from grabbing a bottle of whiskey and slipping out the back door is a familiar face appearing at the top of the staircase leading down to the ballroom.
Calder. Fuck. Another guy stands with him, maybe someone who works here. The two of them have a quick, tense conversation before Calder crooks his finger at me. Why not whistle at me like I’m a dog?
I lock eyes with Emma, surrounded by people who might be trying to comfort her or to confirm my statement. It could go either way. Her chin is trembling, and it’s obvious she’s fighting like hell to control herself. At the same time, she’s soaking up the attention.
My job here is done. But now that I’ve seen her, I don’t feel as confident.
Ear-splitting feedback fills the room when I drop the mic, step off the platform, and cut my way through the crowd. I’m surprised nobody spits on me. Instead, they part a path like I’m carrying a disease. Little do they know I am the disease.
And through it all, my brother watches. By the time I’m on my way up the stairs, he’s in the front hall of the country club, where photos of past events line the walls. I bet none of those events were as memorable as the one being held tonight.
Of course, Saint is here because she can’t ever be more than a few feet away from him.
“What?” I throw my arms out to the sides. “Let’s have it. Tear me apart. Tell me how disappointing I am. Come on.” I point at my chin. “Right here. Give it to me. We both know you want to.”
I wish he would. The way he looks at me now makes me crave the satisfying sensation of his fist against my face. That, I can handle—I’ve handled it dozens of times before.
Anything, so long as he’ll stop looking at me the way he is now. Like he’s too tired to kick my ass. Like he’s too tired to deal with me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “Do you have a fucking brain in your head?” he snaps.
“Do us a favor and spare me,” I drawl. “You being in charge now doesn’t erase the shit you’ve done over the years. You’ve got a pretty short fucking memory, Calder.”
“Sure,” he scoffs. “Turn this around on me. Act like I have anything to do with any of your fucked-up choices lately.”
“Why stop at lately?” I snort. “I’ve been making fucked-up choices all my life.”
“No shit,” he snarls. His fists curl at his sides. “There is something I’ve been wanting to tell you for weeks, but I kept hoping I wouldn’t have to.”
“Oh, here we go.” I roll my eyes. “Perfect Calder has something to say.”
“You dumb son of a bitch.” He takes me by the lapels and shoves me against the wall hard enough to send a handful of framed photos crashing to the floor.
Then he stops and releases me. “I’ve been on your side through all of this.
You’ve gone too far tonight. I know you’re going through shit. I understand.”
“You don’t understand a thing.”
“I understand,” he insists, glaring at me while his jaw works and his fists tighten and loosen rhythmically. Like he still can’t decide whether he wants to crack my skull. “You know what else I understand? You’ve turned into a fucking pussy.”
“Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?”
“I don’t care what the fuck it does,” he snaps. “But I would hope it opens your eyes a little. All you did was humiliate yourself in there. No one else. How do you think Sawyer and Levi will feel when they hear that shit?”
His words are worse than a bullet in the belly. I grit my teeth and open my mouth to fire back when Saint steps between us. “Stop! Both of you! You’re both acting like children right now. We didn’t come here to fight.”
I swallow my words, Levi and Sawyer at the front of my mind. Then Elena. Shit. My mouth is ruining things all over again. She takes my silence as permission to keep talking. “Allie was worried about you. And so am I.”
“You’re wasting your time on him,” Calder sneers. “He’s too busy feeling sorry for himself to listen.”
“And as for Allie,” I spit. “She can go straight to hell and take her concern with her. She doesn’t give a shit about me or any of us.” I don’t add that I did this for her anyway. They wouldn’t understand.
“She was upset. Just ran out. You didn’t think announcing that you’re taking her legacy would have an impact? She was practically in tears. I know you were targeting Emma. I get it. But you hurt Allie more with that little show.”
A bitter laugh bursts out of me. She has the nerve to stay mad at me. “She fucking turned tail and ran. Not that I’m surprised. It’s what she always does when things get hard.”
I blink, and I get a sizzle in my chest like I’ve been struck by lightning. She turns into whatever a person needs in a given situation, or she runs.
“What was she supposed to do? Hang around while you humiliate her?” Saint scoffs. “How could you be so cruel?”
But I barely hear her trying to process this new puzzle piece that is Allie.
“Don’t you know?” Calder asks. “He learned from the best. He soaked up every lesson our father delivered like a sponge.”
That brings me back, and I’ve had about enough of this. “I don’t need shit from you. Or anyone. Just stay out of my business. This is between Emma and me.”
Tears fill her eyes. Great. “You know, I was worried about you, too,” she whispers before looking up at Calder. “I’ll be in the truck.”
“I’m right behind you.” Calder looks me up and down and sneers like I’m the shit on his sole. “Get your ass together,” he mutters. “Because there will come a time when no one here cares to help you anymore.”
“I didn’t ask for your fucking help.”
He doesn’t react. He only walks away, shaking his head. I’m alone again.
Allie left. I try to consider things from a different angle. How long has she known she had to marry that fuckwad Lowry? When did I spot her kissing that man in Seattle? Almost immediately after she dumped my ass.
I could let her run, let her lick her wounds and be pissed off, or I could go there and make her see the truth. Make her stand up to her mom. Help her out of this arrangement. I know the decision I’m going to make even without thinking it through.
I shift through the crowd and overhear a man talking to another. “I had Jackson take her home. She looked so distraught.”
My spine goes straight. Oh, he better not fucking be there when I arrive if he wants to keep his balls. My truck is waiting where I left it as I march through the quiet lot. I climb in, teeth gritted, and peel out.
I’m prepared to break down the gates if necessary, dead set on getting inside the house.
Thankfully for them, the gates are open, though the security guys are absent for some reason.
Whatever. Doesn’t matter. I drive through the gate knowing I’ll be picked up on security cameras later. I don’t give a shit.
A Lamborghini is parked in front of the house.
He’s still here. Blood swooshes in my ears by the time I climb out of the truck, the gravel crunching under my feet.
The world around me is red. I bet he’s all over her by now, touching what’s mine, thinking he can get away with it.
My stomach turns, but I hold on to the feeling.
I let it push me forward and up the front stairs, where I find the door unlocked.
I barely swing it open when I hear a sound that sends a chill down my spine.
Allie is screaming. It’s not a scared or shocked scream; it’s deeper, darker than that. The bloodcurdling, deafening kind of scream. I rush inside and start calling her name.
“Allie!” The sound of my voice doesn’t drown her out. I throw myself toward the fancy sitting room. There’s a split second when my mind doesn’t want to process what I’m seeing. Her green dress is now black.
No. Not black. Red. Soaked.
Stained with the blood that’s pooling on the hardwood. Allie’s sitting on the floor, still screaming, her face a sheen of white, her eyes glazed over, her bloody hands shaking. A lamp on the floor next to her has its marble base covered in blood.
A man lies face down, sprawled across her legs, pinning her to the floor. With a gaping, glistening wound on the side of his head.