For. Fucking. Ever.
I walk over to Bryant’s well-stocked bar and help myself to a few shots of what I hope is expensive and irreplaceable.
“Do you ever want to do more than this?” I mutter, not exactly caring if Sparrow joins the conversation or not.
He scoffs. “Dude. We live in a fucking penthouse.”
A penthouse that comes with many, many strings attached—all tethered to Bryant and this mansion.
“And?”
“And have you seen our cars? Dude, this is the best outcome we could have hoped for.”
Best outcome? We’re pampered dogs. Bryant dangles treats in front of us before he commands us to do his bidding. It’s bullshit.
Sparrow’s hard gaze bores into my back, scorching me like the heat of the sun. I’m feeling emboldened by the alcohol freely burning through my veins. Anger bubbles up inside me, threatening to make me explode.
“Sully,” Sparrow says, softening. “This is our life, man. It is what it is.”
The three of us have all lost things we wish we could have had. I know I’m not alone, but sometimes it feels that way.
I turn to find him sitting forward, no longer interested in his phone, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. His dark hair is slicked back, looking severe and aging him a few years. He reminds me of the rest of the Morellis. Sparrow even dresses like them—always donning an expensive suit unless he’s pounding it out at the gym with me and Scout.
“Our life should have been Harvard.” I grit my teeth, frowning hard. “We could have had so much more than this.”
If our lives hadn’t gone to shit, we’d have gone off to Harvard and actually be making something of our lives now. It sucks knowing our path took such a sharp turn, landing us in the arms of the Morellis.
“Bitterness is an ugly look,” Sparrow states. “Also, Scout will eat you alive if he hears you whining.”
“I’m not fucking whining.”
Sparrow shrugs before leaning back in his seat. Sometimes, I think Sparrow is the bigger of the three of us, but then I remember it’s just his arrogance that makes him seem that way. His ego is a giant goddamn mushroom cloud above him, looming over everyone, including myself. But, since he’s my brother, an identical triplet at that, I know physically we’re built exactly the same. The three of us are way too competitive to allow one of the others to surpass us on muscle mass.
Deep voices can be heard, signaling the approach of men. I immediately tense up, hating the idea of dealing with Bryant. When it’s business as usual, dinners and private parties are something I can endure. However, when he calls us in for a special meeting, I want to crawl out of my own skin.
I hate being his little bitch.
Bryant strolls into one of the many sitting rooms in this massive mansion that we’ve designated as our meeting space. His air of authority is stifling. Where Sparrow seems larger than life with his arrogance, Bryant gives off this powerful regal vibe. Like he’s the fucking king of everything or some shit. Behind him, Scout enters—no, prowls is the better word—following stealthily like a pet panther just waiting for the command to destroy someone.
His limp is almost unnoticeable.
Almost.
When Scout catches my gaze scrutinizing his gait, he shoots me a scathing glare. I’m used to him being an asshole, though, so it doesn’t bother me. After all, it’s his fault he has the damn limp in the first place.
You fuck with a Constantine and they fuck you up. Literally. As though tuned into my thoughts of how Scout incurred not one but two broken kneecaps at the hands of one of Winston Constantine’s men, his jaw tightens and his dark eyes flicker with rage.
“Boys,” Bryant greets, offering both Sparrow and me a smirk. “Hope we didn’t keep you waiting.”
Before I can gripe that we’ve indeed been waiting for forty-five goddamn minutes, Sparrow cuts me off with a sharp expression.
“Just shooting the shit,” Sparrow states, waving it off as if it’s not a big deal. “What’s up? Got another job for us?”
Bryant, pleased with Sparrow’s compliance, chuckles. “Always so eager, son. We haven’t even gotten our pleasantries out of the way.”
For fuck’s sake.
“I need another drink,” I mutter, needing desperately to numb every part of my body.
Bryant cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed on me. “I believe you’ve had enough.”
A flash of irritation ignites and travels up my spine to my head, burning my neck and cheeks. Getting chastised by Bryant, as though I’m a child, rankles me beyond belief. I grit my teeth and fist my hands, desperate to lay into him, but manage to offer a clipped nod of compliance instead. Bryant smiles before taking the seat beside Sparrow. I fall into my seat, eager to get this over with. Whatever bullshit job Bryant wants us to do, we’ll do, and then we can get back to trying to squeeze one ounce of pleasure from our stupid life.