CHAPTER NINETEEN
One of the benefits of being subjected to the world of the Obsidian Brotherhood at such a young age was that I’d spent the last twelve years of my life watching, learning, and storing away every tidbit of information in the darkest parts of my mind.
Work in silence. Let your success speak for itself.
I’d also learned to keep a secret.
Dad had maintained the empire given to him through blood, sweat, and sacrificing a piece of his soul—or maybe the whole damn thing. I was building mine on secrets.
I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse loft at the Manhattan skyline. The space was vast and open now, but I pictured it the way I wanted it. A white grand piano there, in the corner where the windows met the wall. There, on the other side of the room, a sectional big enough for both fucking and sleeping when we’re too spent to walk up the stairs. And a twelve-seat table over there, right under the chandelier, where I would pull Tatum to the end and let her legs hang off the edge while I sat in my chair and feasted on her pussy like it was the Last Supper.
It had been three weeks since the first night I’d stayed at Tatum’s Hampton house. I stayed there as often as I could, but I kept waiting for her father or Lincoln to show up and catch me chasing her naked ass down the beach. The shit would surely hit the fan at that point, and Chandler and I still had some things to work out before I could let that happen. I also couldn’t risk bringing her to my father’s house again, not right now, not while I was busting my ass making him believe I’d fallen for his lies.
I needed a place of my own.
Weneeded a place of our own.
I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my dark blue suit pants and turned to face the realtor. “I’ll take it.”
The tall, thin blonde flashed her perfectly practiced smile. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.” She walked over and stood beside me, looking out the windows at the city. “Exceptional men have exceptional taste.” She turned her head to face me and licked her lips.
Nice try, but my dick is spoken for.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and Facetimed Tatum, taking in her surroundings when she finally answered. She was at the theater, where she’d been every day for the past three weeks working with artists and lighting consultants to make sure the upcoming ballet would be perfect.
“I want to show you something,” I said, then flipped the camera to show her the view of the city.
“Wow, Caspian, that’s gorgeous.”
The realtor watched as I zoomed in on one particular section of window.
“See this?” I tapped a finger on the glass, then ran my palm over it as if I were caressing her body. “I’m going to shove your naked body against that spot and fuck you in front of the whole city, so that everyone knows you’re mine.” I flipped the camera back to show my face.
Tatum hitched a breath, and the pink heat I loved so much flushed her cheeks. She licked her lips. “And if I say no?”
My little troublemaker.
I smirked. “Then I’ll take it.” My cock swelled at the simple thought of it. “Try to run from me. I dare you. We both know what happens when you do.” I watched the pulse in her throat quicken. “See you soon, sweetheart,” I said as I ended the call.
The realtor stood staring at me, her eyes wide and mouth open.
“You’re right.” I shoved my phone back in my pocket. “I do have exceptional taste.” I showed myself to the front door. “Tell your boss my attorney will be in touch to handle the paperwork,” I said as I walked out.
***
The house was quiet when I walked in. No surprise.
I made my way across the foyer, down the hall, and toward Dad’s study. The door was open, so I took a deep breath and steeled myself for what needed to be done.
He was standing in front of his bar cabinet, pouring a glass of scotch from a crystal decanter. I caught his side profile. His light gray tie rested perfectly straight against his white button-up shirt. Every hair was in place, and his jaw was smoothly shaved. He looked every bit the part of the powerful presence he emanated—on the outside.
“Should I pour you one too? Are we celebrating?” It was almost as if he’d been expecting me.
I walked into the room. “I’m twenty-five years old. I can’t live with my parents forever.” I didn’t even ask if or how he knew about the penthouse. It didn’t matter.
“Twenty-five,” he repeated. The words sounded like a curse spewing from his lips. “Twenty-five.” He accentuated each syllable. “That’s the magic number, isn’t it?” He was baiting me. He wanted me to show my hand.
Fuck him.