Chapter 27 Chase
Chapter twenty-seven
Chase
“Not now, Austen,” I snap, storming past a wide-eyed Bethany, and slamming my office door so hard the entire building seems to shake.
Austen must have a death wish as he follows me, anyway. I rip off my suit jacket and toss it over my chair, pinching my temples, tension coiling so tight, I feel like I might explode.
“That was a fucking shitshow,” I groan, slumping in my chair with my head rocked back, eyes closed, red hot anger flashing behind my eyes.
“We did the right thing,” Austen says carefully, like that’s going to help, like I didn’t just rip my heart out and set it on fire.
Instantly, my temper flares. I’ve been on the edge all week, and now I’m spiraling. “How the fuck was letting the best thing that ever happened to me go doing the right thing?” I roar so loud it’s a good job the walls are soundproof.
Austen holds my stare steady. “I understand you don’t want to hear this now, but someone who was screwing you over was never the best thing that ever happened to you. If you let her stay, you’d regret it down the line. It would’ve eaten away at you.”
“God, the way she looked at me when she left,” I blow out a breath, clawing my hands through my hair. “She didn’t look guilty. She looked betrayed.”
Austen’s tone remains firm. “The evidence was too much, Chase. Even without those photos. You must see that.”
Those fucking photos.
Every time I look at them, it boils my blood. The thought that something more was going on between her and Elliot has been gnawing at my mind all week. Just the idea of him laying so much as a finger on her is enough to turn me into a homicidal maniac.
The only peace I’ve found was last night, sinking into bed and holding her in my arms, dreading the moment the sun would rise and tear it all apart.
Some dumb part of me kept hoping she’d show up at that meeting with an explanation. That she’d been forced. Blackmailed. Anything. I would’ve taken anything.
Anything but the way she so easily walked away. Refusing to even talk to me. Or look at me. And now she’s gone, leaving me with nothing but this agony in my chest and a whole heap of doubt and regret.
“Come to our house tonight,” Austen offers, concern in his eyes. “See the kids, have dinner.”
I shake my head. The idea of playing happy families with Austen used to be enough. Don’t get me wrong, I love those kids. But today, it only serves as a reminder of what I don’t have.
Because right now, I need to forget. Tomorrow, I’ll deal with the fallout.
Without another word, I push up from the chair, snatch my jacket, and head for the door. I can’t stand another second trapped in this office.
“Cancel any meetings I’ve got, Bethany,” I bark as I stride past her desk.
“Where are you going?” Austen calls after me.
“Out.”
As the elevator slides open on the ground floor, a crowd of waiting employees part as I cut through without a word. I don’t call Albert. I want to be alone.
Out on the sidewalk, I flag a yellow cab and jump in. It’s been a long damn while since I’ve ridden one of these.
“Velvet Lounge” are the first words that spew out of my mouth. I settle against the cracked vinyl, eyes shutting tight, and let the silence try — and fail — to shut out the demon in my mind.
The cab pulls up outside Velvet Lounge. It seems different in the daylight, quieter, the neon sign flickering weakly against the sunlight.
The bar is nearly empty, save for a few scattered patrons in the dim light. I march straight to the bar, dropping onto a stool, every muscle wound tight.
“Whiskey, please, Lacey,” I order, my voice rough.
She flashes a sultry smile as she slides the glass across the counter, her tooth catching on her bottom lip.
“You look like you could use some cheering up,” she purrs.
“I don’t,” I say, lifting the glass. “Not the kind you’re offering.” I flash her a half-smile — it always pays to be an asshole with a smile on your face.
She just winks the same way she always does. That knowing little smirk plastered on her lips, the one that says she’s certain I’ll cave, eventually.
“What happened?” she teases, leaning in as she takes my glass for a refill. “Some lucky girl finally break your heart?”
“I don’t have a heart, Lacey. You should know that by now.”
The words linger, bitter on my tongue, long after she’s wandered off to refill my glass.
I’ve got no idea what time it is or how many whiskeys I’ve sunk.
The world blurs and spins, the sharp edges of the day softening into nothing but noise and neon.
I’ve spent all my life living within strict parameters.
Workout. Endless meetings. Endless women.
Tear down a company. Build it back up. Stack enough money to last three lifetimes — and for what? For this? Surely this isn’t living?
I used to think Violet made me weak. I was lying to myself. She makes me strong. Invincible. Like I can take on the whole damn world with her by my side.
It’s losing her that makes me weak.
A voice pierces through the haze, soft and suggestive.
“Come with me. I’ll make you feel better.”
I blink, lifting my head — but Lacey’s gone. A stranger’s moving behind the bar now, wiping down glasses. But I swear I heard her talk.
A hand slides across my thigh, fingers curling toward my groin, the firm touch laced with desperation.
“I know somewhere quiet, Chase. You need to blow off some steam, and I’ve got the perfect antidote.
” Lacey’s face swims into view beside me.
Her hooded eyes become four, then three, her features distorting into a fiendish leer.
Her mouth grazes my ear, her voice a promise.
“I’m ready, Chase, to suck you real good. ”
Her eyes gleam with heat as I scrape the stool back to stand, chucking a few hundred dollars on the counter to cover the bill.
She walks ahead, hips swaying, glancing back with a smirk as if she’s reeled me in.
She thinks she has me. But all she’s done is make me realize I need to get the fuck out of this place before it sucks the soul out of me completely.
I ignore her as she calls out to me. I stagger toward the exit, eyes locked on the green glow above the door like it’s the only thing anchoring me.
Cool air seeps through the crack, filling my lungs — a small reminder that life still exists outside these walls.
I’m one step away from freedom when a shadow moves into my path.
Elliot.
Dressed head to toe in black, like the fucking grim reaper.
Before the thought even fully forms, I’ve got him by the throat, slamming him against the wall. His hands claw at my wrist, gurgling and choking on every ragged breath — and all I can do is squeeze tighter.
“Why do you always need to take what’s mine?” I grind the words through clenched teeth. “What happened, Elliot? Mommy too drunk to give you enough cuddles.? Or was Daddy too busy screwing the nanny to teach you how to be a man?”
It takes three bouncers to drag me off him. And only once I’m pinned back does the coward find his balls.
“At least I had a family,” he sneers, adjusting his collar like that’ll cover the bruises already blooming on his throat. “You can dress trash up in a suit, but it always rises to the surface. Eventually.”
The red haze blinds me. My muscles coil, ripping free of their grip like they were nothing, and I barrel into him. The sharp thud of his back hitting the wall wipes the smirk right off his face, and for a second, I swear I sense the fear rumble through him. It gives me a sick kind of satisfaction.
“By the time I’m done with you,” I breathe against his ear, low and lethal, “you’ll be pissing on your Gucci loafers like a scared little bitch.”
But then he finds it—the one card he knows I can’t fight against.
“This isn’t about me.” His tone is hoarse, but the smugness is unmistakable. “This is about Violet.”
Her name slams into me like a sucker punch. My grip slackens. My whole body goes cold, chest caving in around the one thing I’ve spent all day trying to drown in whiskey.
“What the fuck do you know about Violet?”
His mouth twists into something close to a smile, his confidence growing with every second I don’t hit him.
“I know she’s too good for you.”
My fists curl tight at my sides. “Stay the fuck away from her.”
“I think that’s her choice, don’t you?” he says, triumph oozing from every word. “I can’t help it if we have... a connection.”
The bouncers close in again, reading me like an open wound. They don’t need to hear the words to realize I’m seconds away from ripping him apart. One strong hand clamps around my shoulder, steering me back with silent force, and this time, I don’t resist.
Not because I’m done, but because I’ve got nothing left.
Outside, the night slaps cold against my face, sobering me for a moment. The whiskey’s beginning to sink deeper, thick and heavy in my veins. I step off the curb and wave down a yellow cab, my fingers unsteady as I pull the door open and sink into the back seat.
“Brooklyn,” I mutter. “Green-Wood Cemetery.”
The driver doesn’t question it; he just flicks the meter on and pulls away from the curb. I let my head fall back against the worn leather seat, watching the city blur past the window. The anger’s still there, simmering low — but beneath it, the ache is still as raw.
And the only person I want to talk to is lying six feet under in Brooklyn.
The cab rattles its way over the bridge, and I feel the weight of the city shift. Manhattan’s glass and steel fade into the cracked brick and weathered storefronts of Brooklyn, old brownstones standing shoulder to shoulder like a lineup of old friends.
We pass Red Hook first — the streets still damp from earlier rain, the old warehouses sagging under their own history.
I remember the corner store on Verona Street, the one Nonna used to drag me into after school for penny candy and bread rolls.
The same cracked awning still hanging there, barely clinging on.
Funny how some things survive even when everything else falls apart.
The cab hooks left, climbing past Carroll Gardens.
I catch the blur of the old park through the window, the one where I got my first black eye at eight years old — some older kid had called me a mutt, and I swung at him before I even knew what the word meant.
Nonna cleaned me up in the kitchen, cursing in Italian under her breath the whole time, telling me next time to aim for the nose.
Further down, past Smith Street, the storefronts turn into the kind of bars where I used to blow cash long before I knew how to hold on to anything. The same neon signs blink through the rain-spattered glass, only now the faces are different.
Or maybe I’m too drunk to tell.
By the time the cab hits the hill toward Green Wood, the rain starts again — soft at first, then heavier, building into a full-on downpour. The sky’s the color of wet concrete, and the cemetery gates look like the mouth of a beast waiting to swallow me whole.
The cab pulls up to the curb, and I shove a wad of bills into the driver’s hand without waiting for change. My legs don’t quite work right as I climb out, and the rain hits me like I deserve it. Cold. Unforgiving. Soaking through the open collar of my shirt until it clings to my skin.
The place is empty this late. Just me, the rain, and rows of carved stone stretching out like soldiers standing at ease.
I follow the path I know by heart, expensive leather shoes slipping on the wet grass, the rain pooling around them as I move, until I see her name.
Nonna.
The letters glisten under the rain, bright and clean against the worn granite. I drop down beside her stone, leaning my shoulder against it like I used to lean against her kitchen counter when I was a kid, waiting for whatever lecture or leftover was coming my way.
The words are already climbing up my throat, but I don’t say them yet.
I just sit there, letting the rain soak through to the bone.
The wind picks up, cutting me from all angles. I lean my head back on the stone, letting the rain lash my face. The words lodged in my throat, finally having the courage to break free.
“I’m not sure why I doubted you, Nonna. But as usual, you were right.” I knock my head against the cold granite as if trying to beat some sense into myself.
“I found her,” I finally breathe out, my face dropping into my hands. “The one you said you’d send for me. God, I fucking love her.” I can almost feel the sting of Nonna’s hand smacking the back of my head for cursing, and for a second, a ghost of a smile tugs at my mouth.
“Smart, stubborn, a fighter, and so damn beautiful.” The words scrape against the tightness in my throat. I suck in a breath, my chest burning, my soaked clothes clinging to skin gone numb. Whiskey swirls in my blood, dulling the edges, but not enough.
A bitter laugh slips out, dry and humorless. “Of all the damn times to feel it...why did I have to fall in love the moment I knew I had to ruin her?”
The rain hums against the stone like she’s answering me in the only way she can.
I sit there a while longer, letting the silence fill the space where her voice used to be.
I lean back against the wet stone for what seems like forever, my body so cold I can barely move.
I’m not sure if I’m dreaming when a hand pulls me to my feet and leads me to a waiting car.
They guide me into the backseat, the warmth the only sensation that breaks through the numbness.
“Come on, let’s get you home.” Austen’s voice carries over the rev of an engine. Figures. Austen is the only person alive who would know to look here.
My eyes close, and finally, the dark takes over.