Lightning Strike (Billionaire Boys Club #3) | ongoing

Chapter 26

                    Madden:  

Her face flashes in my head as I turn the wheel of my car, one hand on it, another drumming my fingers onto my thigh.

Look, it's not like I enjoyed outing her mom and using it against her but she's apparently friends with my sister and I don't trust the girl.

I've been betrayed by someone I considered close and I won't allow Rosie to go through the same thing without having leverage.

Did it feel great, doing that to her? No. But do I particularly care that I hurt her little feelings? Also no.

Not only do I not trust her, but we share a mutual hatred. Am I really to believe that if she had the chance she wouldn't screw Rosie over to get at me?

I can't take the risk. So, just like I do with all my other shit, I had to take precautions.

I don't regret it.

But that look in her eyes. That sheen of hurt. Sadness. It's been grating on me and I don't know why.

Why should it? This is what we do, isn't it? She's said equally as shitty things to me and yet...

I probably crossed a line with this one, having to do with her mother and all. But so fucking what? I cross lines all the time. Most of the time with a grin on my fucking face. A pulse pumping through my blood.

So what makes this different?

In fact, when you think about it, this is the tamest fucking line I've crossed in a long fucking time.

Easy. Nothing.

But then, a wounded expression, a pressure against my chest, a flash of raven hair as she speed walks away.

Why has it been on my mind?

I can't be suddenly developing a conscience. Not after years of physical torture without blinking an eye.

If anything, the walls around me should be hardening. Growing taller and thicker, brick by black, twisted brick, until there's nothing and no one allowed in or out without my say so.

This is her fucking doing. And I won't allow it. If it becomes a distraction, if I hesitate to do something necessary, even for a second, it'll be on her and I'll make her pay for it. Wrap my hands around her pretty little neck and squeeze.

I can't afford morality.

My father would likely smile at my saying that. A lesson he's taught me since the ripe age of eleven.

And that only makes me grind my teeth harder.

I keep driving, surpassing the speed limit, until I pull up in front of Luca's house.

"Where are you?" I call out when I step into his room and don't find him.

"Mads?" He shouts back.

"Yeah!"

"Up here!" He whisper-shouts this time and I look up to see him walk towards the railing of the second floor in his room that is solely reserved for and holds the entirety of his closet.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Just get up here."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Lower your fucking voice, motherfucker. It might hear you."

"What might hear me?" I head to the base of the staircase and take them all the way up, joining him.