Chapter Two
KILLIAN
J udd was a fucking asshole.
I adjusted my sunglasses and pulled my hoodie lower, hunching my shoulders and stretching my sleeves to hide the tattoos that ran over my wrists and the backs of my fingers as I shuffled into Cradle and Crown. The gentle instrumental music playing and the overly bright lights in the baby store made me want to gag. I’d faced screaming crowds, rabid paparazzi, and even a few overzealous groupies, but nothing prepared me for the sensory assault of this place.
“I swear, Judd’s doing this on fucking purpose,” I muttered to myself, navigating past a display of breast pumps. I quickened my pace, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor as I hurried past things that looked straight out of a sci-fi novel. A young mother, struggling to keep her toddler in the stroller, did a double-take as I passed. The slight frown on her face indicated she questioned my familiarity.
I sped up even faster and angled my head away from her as I located my foster brother Judd in the diaper aisle. He was pushing a cart filled with an assortment of baby items. His face lit up with barely-concealed amusement, eyes gleaming with fucking mischief behind his thick Peter Parker-like lenses.
“There you are, honey. I was worried you’d get lost in this sea of adorableness,” Judd called out loud enough for a nearby associate to hear. She turned away with a smile when Judd waved her off.
I gritted my teeth. “I hate you.”
“Aww, don’t be like that. Here, hold this.” Judd tossed me a pack of diapers and continued to mosey down the aisle. He lowered his voice. “How was the party last night?”
I caught the diapers, fumbling slightly. “Insane as usual.” I shot him a withering stare, which only made that stupid grin on his face widen. “I was surprised you didn’t show up.”
Judd shrugged, examining a pack of wet wipes with exaggerated interest. “Did the little rockstar make any new friends?”
“I got what we needed.” I leaned in closer. “The next shipment’s coming in on Saturday. It’s a big one. They want to renegotiate the deal from last time. They just started using luxury yachts to transport.”
“Interesting.” Judd tossed a variety of wet wipes and diaper creams haphazardly into his cart. “Hard to suspect or check every billionaire’s plaything. How’s your new pretty?”
I smirked. “Oh, she’s a beauty. Perfect for an intimate … get-together.”
“I bet. Guest list?”
“The usual. I managed to get an invite for their higher-up. I demanded it. I told them I was sick of dealing with the small-time players.”
Judd whistled. “Risky. But if it pays off … ”
“It will. We’ll have access to better merchandise than we’ve been getting.” With my wealth and connections, I had my pick of the local drug runners, yet it was ridiculous I had to fight to get what I wanted.
My hands clenched reflexively. Once my fingers broke through the plastic, I remembered I still held the fucking pack of diapers and tossed them onto a nearby shelf.
“Hey,” Judd protested. “We need those for your … um … our nephew.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I’ll be sure our non-existent nephew has plenty of these.”
“How’d you find out?”
“I overheard a few of their lower-level guys boasting about their new smuggling method and how it was so easy to hide their cargo among the toys of the rich and famous. I figured I’d toss my hat into the ring. After the success of my last gathering, I thought they might go for it.”
“And you, being you, convinced them to party next on your new yacht,” he finished for me.
“What can I say? I’m convincing.” The circles I ran in knew I had expensive tastes. “Before we left, they were practically begging to bring their boss along.” A mix of anticipation and caution swirled in the pit of my stomach.
The thrill of evading getting caught played a part in my participation.
“I’ve got your back,” Judd reassured me.
I nodded. That was a given.
“Just don’t do anything stupid,” he admonished me. “Neither of us need to get caught.”
“I make no promises,” I smirked.
As we moved down the next aisle, Judd lowered his voice. “Saturday on your yacht. I’m assuming I’ll be your plus one?”
I nodded, absently picking up a stuffed polar bear. Its fur was oddly soothing against my calloused guitarist’s fingers. “Yup.”
Judd’s green-eyed gaze didn’t leave my face. We both knew we had to be careful. With my fame, there was only so much I could get away with under people’s watchful eyes.
It was like he could see into my soul. He was like this when we were kids, too. It was likely why I avoided him so much back then. It wasn’t until we were older and reconnected that we’d become friends.
I discreetly checked the aisle. It was strange not to have fans clamoring around me asking for selfies and autographs. Although, at 10:00 am in a baby store, it shouldn’t be too surprising.
My foster brother smiled. “Great. Can you hand me a few packs of pacifiers?”
I rolled my eyes. “I swear, Judd, one of these days … ” I threw a bunch of whichever was closest.
“Love you, too.” He winked, continuing to push the carriage towards the checkout. “Just so you know, you’re paying for all this. Consider it payback for making me sit through your last concert.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The concert where you had front-row seats, VIP passes, a private limo, and penthouse accommodations? Fuck you.”
Judd just fired off his trademark cocky grin.
“What the hell will you do with all this baby stuff?” I asked just before we got to the register.
Judd shrugged. “A local battered women’s shelter mentioned they needed more baby stuff.”
Hence our meeting here.
Judd was built like a linebacker but beneath his tough exterior beat the heart of a gentleman.
Before the cashier could ring anything up, I grabbed my wallet from my back pocket and peeled off ten one-hundred- dollar bills. “I’ll see you when I see you. Next time, we’re meeting in a biker bar.”
Judd grabbed the cash and grinned. “I’ll be in touch.”
I hurried out of the store, ready to be done with the music and baby stuff. I saw the same young mother loading packages into her car, parked two over from mine. She stared me down as I unlocked and opened the door of my McLaren. I was grateful I’d at least driven myself. Although my license plates were distinct. I had chosen the shortened name of my band, Wcked1. And I had a feeling she’d put two and two together pretty quickly.
I slid into the car that waited for me outside my penthouse. Max, my driver, didn’t need to ask where we were headed. It was the same destination every third Wednesday of the month—a ritual as regular as clockwork.
As we wove through the city streets, my mind drifted to the meeting that awaited me. My childhood friends and I, now all self-made billionaires, had appointed ourselves judges and executioners of the corrupt. Our illegal activities soothed a darker part of me—a need to inflict pain that I couldn’t quite shake.
I didn’t need a psychologist to tell me it traced back to my childhood. The abuse I faced from my father worsened when my mother died, as I was his only remaining option as a punching bag.
The exterior of Luminosity came into view, its facade a harmonious blend of rustic charm and refined elegance. Constructed of weathered New England fieldstone, it created a sense of timeless sophistication. Tall, narrow windows flanked the grand entryway, their panes gleaming in the low light, offering tantalizing glimpses of the refined ambiance within.
I stepped out to the warm evening air caressing my face. The scent of jasmine from nearby planters mingled with the aroma of grilled steak wafting from the restaurant.
The low hum of conversation and the gentle clink of cutlery reached me as I entered the front door. I waved off the hostess and strode straight to the bar. The polished wood gleamed under the soft lighting, and I settled onto a plush stool.
“Scotch, neat,” I told the bartender, a young man with kind eyes and a ready smile.
He nodded, reaching for a crystal tumbler. “Certainly, Mr. Hook. The usual?”
I nodded, surprised he remembered. “You’ve got a good memory. And Killian is fine.”
He grinned, pouring the expensive amber liquid.
“You’re hard to forget. Good night so far?”
“So far,” I agreed, my eyes instinctively scanning the room for threats. Old habits die hard.
A flash of green caught my attention as I shifted in my seat. My full gaze was immediately drawn to the woman who’d walked through the doorway. She stood, her profile all I could see, while waiting for the hostess to finish with the guest before her.
Without her attention on me, I allowed myself to peruse her luscious body at my leisure. A generous slit on the side of her long sequin dress revealed a tantalizing glimpse of her thick thigh and allowed the sparkling gold shoes she wore to flash with every movement. Her hips were wide and full, enough for me to grab onto as I plowed into her from behind. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulder, making me want to run my lips down the curve of her throat while I threaded my fingers through her silky locks.
Maybe tonight I wouldn’t go home alone.
My appreciative glance had reached her generous set of tits when she turned to face the hostess, allowing me to see her face.
Holy fuck.
I should’ve known the one woman who could make my dick stand at attention from the second she entered the room was the one woman I avoided like the plague.
Trissa talked to the hostess, who gestured towards the bar. It didn’t matter that I rarely let myself think of her. The air had been sucked out of the room seeing her up close. She was so fucking breathtaking.
I found myself gripping my glass tighter, knuckles white with the effort of restraining myself.
“You alright, Killian?” the bartender asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
“Fine,” I muttered, tearing my eyes away from her and back to my drink. “Just saw someone I used to know.”
He nodded sympathetically. “Ex?”
“Something like that,” I replied, taking a long swig of scotch. The liquor burned down my throat, a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my chest.
As Trissa spoke with the hostess, memories flooded my mind. Lazy afternoons spent writing songs together, her off-key singing that always made me smile, and late-night conversations about our dreams for the future.
The way she believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.
But with the sweet memories came the bitter ones—the jealousy, the heart-wrenching pain of losing her to Peter.
After Peter’s betrayal, I was done with him. After everything we’d been through he still chose to leave me behind when he was scouted for a new record label. And he had the audacity to get a shit deal for me. A deal that was nothing more than placating Peter. I refused to sign the contract when I realized that it had no benefit for me in it at all. My supposed best friend would never have accepted the terms and conditions I’d been given. Although, he clearly didn’t care about my subpar offer. He’d been too blinded by his potential fame. It was all he’d cared about.
Tris didn’t understand my anger. She believed we should both be happy for Peter since the deal was a culmination of him getting what he’d dreamed of and worked so hard for. What she didn’t understand was that it was just one more thing Peter had gotten that I wanted.
Her acceptance of the situation signaled to me that it was time to go. Rage had filled me until I was vibrating with it—until everything in my field of vision took on a red hue. I’d been in love with her since I’d met her, but over the years, she’d fallen for Peter.
And the asshole either didn’t realize it, or he did and decided to ignore it and string her along because he needed her in other ways.
I never stood a chance. So I walked away and let our friendship die.
Now, ten years later, there she was, across the room. It was the closest we’d been to each other since that last day. Over the years, I’d learned to avoid them both at gatherings in the music industry and other events that they also attended.
Seeing her here was … unexpected.
I raised my glass to my lips and risked another glance. She’d only grown even more beautiful. It was hard not to feel like that angry, heartbroken kid all over again, and I needed to bury that shit deep.
“Another?” the bartender asked, gesturing to my empty glass.
I nodded gratefully. “Better make it a double.” The interruption reminded me I couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. The label was pushing my band to write and release a new album, and the guys wanted to set up another tour. The last thing I needed was to let Trissabelle Byrd into my head.
Not now.
Yet my traitorous eyes strayed back to her. She seemed to be waiting for someone, checking her phone periodically. I tensed each time she turned slightly, sure she would spot me. But my body refused to move, rooted to the spot by a potent mixture of nostalgia, desire, and unresolved hurt. I couldn’t deny that I wanted to know who she was meeting. Or that I wanted to rip out the throat of any man she deemed worthy enough for a date. Even when I knew I shouldn’t.
Beneath the longing, a current of resentment still flowed. She had chosen Peter. Clear as day. She let me leave without a second thought. The bitterness of that rejection would haunt me as long as I lived.
“You sure you’re okay?” the bartender asked quietly, sliding my new glass towards me. Any other time, I’d have sarcastically told him to mind his own fucking business, but tonight, the jagged edges of my heart had reopened, and I was struggling to put into place my usual detachment.
I saluted him with my glass and gave him what was likely a bitter smile. “Ghosts from the past,” I muttered.
I contemplated quietly making my way to the private room in the back before she noticed me. Ironically, I realized how unlike me this decision was and that it was in direct opposition to the more dramatic personality I’d taken on since childhood.
After a quick smile at the hostess, she headed towards the bar.
Towards me.
Well, fuck.
I hadn’t moved quickly enough. It looked like my luck in avoiding her had run out.