Chapter Thirteen
GETTING OUT YOUR OWN WAY
Waking up before Lane had become a habit he hadn’t meant to develop and didn’t plan to apologize for. His body seemed to understand something his mind still struggled to name, something primitive and soft that made him surface from sleep just to make sure she was still there.
She was.
Lane lay nestled against him, one cheek pressed to his chest, one leg thrown over his thigh like she’d claimed him in her sleep and trusted the claim enough not to guard it.
Her breathing was even. Slow. Warm against his shirt.
One of her hands rested near his ribs, fingers lightly curled, lavender pixie mussed against his skin.
She looked peaceful, and that did something to him. It wasn’t sexual or possessive. He didn’t want to control her; he wanted to pour into her. His feelings for Lane had grown deep. It was the kind of feeling that made a man afraid to move because he didn’t want to disturb something sacred.
Lane Sanders, asleep in his arms, was a miracle with a mouth that could ruin a man’s self-esteem before coffee.
Lennox stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, one hand moving slowly along her back as he tried to hold on to the calm. It didn’t last as a memory came for him the way it always did when he let himself rest.
His father’s voice first.
Cold. Amused. Poison dressed in a tailored suit.
“You think you’re better than me because you’ve learned to hide your arrogance behind a cause?”
Lennox’s hand stilled on Lane’s back.
The last time he’d seen Jason Jackson, rain had been hitting the windows of a private members’ club in D.C.
, the kind of place that made old money feel young and new money feel insecure.
The room had been all dark wood, leather chairs, expensive silence, and men who believed secrets were just another asset class.
Jason had called the meeting.
Of course he had.
His father loved a stage, especially one where he thought the audience already belonged to him.
Lennox had walked in alone, though Jalen and two guards waited outside.
Jason had been seated at the far end of the table with a drink in front of him.
Even with gray at his temples, he was still handsome in the way arrogant men preserved themselves through money and cruelty.
He wore wealth like a second skeleton. His tailored suit and expensive watch were meant to exude his wealth.
That easy posture of a man who’d spent his whole life believing every room was built to accommodate him.
“Sit down,” Jason had said.
Lennox hadn’t.
Jason’s mouth had curved. “Still dramatic.”
“Still pretending control is the same thing as respect.”
That had dimmed his father’s smile. Lennox remembered the heat in his own chest that day.
Not loud anger. Not reckless. Something colder.
Older. Years of watching Jason treat people like tools, debts, favors, leverage.
Years of watching Mielle Jackson stand in rooms built from her husband’s money and shrink inside the life he’d bought her.
Years of hearing other women’s names whispered, seeing outside children become rumors at family gatherings, watching his father call humiliation provision because the house was big enough to echo.
Jason had swirled the liquor in his glass. “You’ve gotten sentimental.”
“And you’ve gotten sloppy.”
His father laughed once. “Careful.”
“No.” Lennox had stepped closer to the table. “You don’t get careful from me anymore.”
Jason’s eyes sharpened.
There it was.
The predator noticing another predator didn’t lower his head anymore.
“You built your power on people’s weakness,” Lennox said. “You found wounds, secrets, addictions, affairs, debts, shame, grief, and fear, then you fed on them. You called it strategy because calling it what it was would’ve made you too common.”
Jason set his glass down slowly. “And what was it?”
“You’re a user.” Lennox’s voice had stayed calm, but every word carried blood under the surface. “A leech. You built a myth around yourself because without desperate people to drain, there’s nothing impressive about you.”
Jason stood then.
The men near the wall shifted.
Lennox didn’t.
“By proxy,” Lennox continued, “you’re weak.”
For a second, the room nearly came apart.
Jason moved around the table fast enough that two security men stepped forward, but Lennox lifted one hand, stopping them. He wanted his father close enough to see the truth land.
“You ungrateful little bastard,” Jason hissed.
“No. I’m the best thing you ever tried to use and couldn’t keep.”
Jason’s face tightened. “The Ledger exists because of me.”
“The Ledger outgrew you.”
“I can remove you.”
Lennox laughed then, and the sound had done more damage than shouting would’ve. “From what?”
Jason’s eyes narrowed.
“The council keeps you near because of legacy,” Lennox said. “Not leverage. They remember what you were. They respect what I am.”
“You think they’ll choose you over me?”
“I know they already have.”
Jason’s hand flexed at his side.
Lennox reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “There’s nothing you can do better than me that would prove you’re the stronger asset.”
“You arrogant—”
“One tap,” Lennox said.
Jason froze.
Lennox looked at him, thumb hovering over the screen. “That’s the difference between us. You keep people scared of what you might know. I know enough that I don’t need them scared. Just aware.”
He tapped the screen and suddenly Jason’s phone lit up on the table with alert after alert. His father grabbed it, his face draining of color as the notifications piled up. Every account he had was emptied with the press of a button from a phone,
Not stolen and not gone forever. Lennox had never needed to steal his father’s money. He’d only needed to move it somewhere untouchable long enough to prove the door had never been locked to him. Jason looked up slowly. Then he rushed him.
Security intercepted before Jason made contact, two men catching him by the arms and forcing him back. Jason fought like humiliation had made him young again. His face twisted, spit flying as he cursed Lennox, cursed the room, cursed everybody who’d chosen not to move in his favor.
Lennox watched without blinking, feeling nothing but joy as he showed Jason just how capable he was of ruining his life. A boy should’ve mourned the moment he stopped wanting his father’s approval. Lennox had only felt free.
“You think this makes you powerful?” Jason snarled as security held him.
“No.” Lennox slipped his phone back into his pocket. “It makes it clear that I can destroy you.”
“I made you.”
“You used me.” Lennox took one step closer. “Just like you used everybody else.”
Jason laughed bitterly, still fighting the hands restraining him. “You’re just like me.”
“No.” Lennox’s voice dropped. “The only thing you’re better at than me is mistreating people for your own gain. Down to the woman you vowed to love and protect.”
Jason’s face changed, but still there was no regret or remorse. Lennox leaned in enough that only his father and the men holding him could hear the next part. “Mielle needs protection from you.”
Lennox smiled, but it held nothing warm. “And now she has it.”
That was where he’d left him. Standing in the middle of his own failure. Lennox was done waiting for Jason to turn into a father at the last second and say something worth keeping. Some doors were only exits.
Lane stirred against him, causing the memory to dissolve. Lennox blinked down at her, the room returning slowly. Her room. Her bed. Morning pressing pale gold through the curtains. Lane’s warm body against his, her breath shifting as she came awake. His hand resumed its path over her back.
She made a soft sound and tucked closer, face turning into his chest like she hadn’t spent most of her waking life prepared to fight to survive. The ache in him sharpened knowing he was where she came to rest and be free. Lane was teaching him what to do with tenderness.
He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her lips, soft enough not to startle, lingering enough to let her know exactly who was there when she opened her eyes.
“Good morning, Lavender.”
Her lashes fluttered. She blinked up at him, sleep-heavy and unguarded for half a breath. “Morning, Robot,” she murmured.
His mouth curved against hers. “You slept.”
“I was emotionally exhausted yesterday. I needed sleep in the worst way.”
“Agreed.”
She shifted, stretching one leg under the blanket, then settled back against him. “I want to spend the weekend in Winston Hills with you. Just tell me when and I’ll be ready.”
There it was, the thing he hadn’t admitted he’d been waiting to hear.
He’d told himself he’d be fine if she said no; that the invitation was casual.
That the plan could be moved, adjusted, canceled, or burned to the ground if Lane wasn’t ready.
He’d even told himself the trip was only about introducing her to Calla, letting her witness another woman who understood power, control, and survival in a language that might speak to Lane without forcing her to explain herself.
The thought of Lane not coming had bothered him. Not because his plans would be disrupted—he wanted her with him.
Because he’d imagined her in Winston Hills before he’d asked.
Walking into Provocateur with those dangerously sultry eyes, taking everything in.
Sitting across from him at a wine tasting, laughing when he ordered something too dry and she accused it of tasting like a grudge.
Meeting Calla Black and realizing power didn’t have to be cold to be respected.
He wanted her there to build memories that weren’t born of deception or drama. He wanted her there because he loved her. The realization didn’t crash into him; it settled gently and undeniably, like it had been waiting for him to stop pretending surprise was an option.
Lennox exhaled slowly.
Lane’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you breathing like that?”
“Because you said yes.”
“I said I want to spend the weekend in Winston Hills. Don’t turn this into a proposal.”