Lust (The Elite Seven #1)(10)

“Morning, Mr. Denzel,” I rasp at the old fossil.

He looks over at me, a frown marring his wrinkled face.

“You’ve been there since I woke at four a.m.,” he croaks.

Damn. Fucker could have tossed a sheet on me or woke me up. I could have been eaten by wildlife.

The walk up the drive feels like the green mile, my bones mimicking those of an eighty-year-old.

The front door is open when I test the handle, and the chill from the AC blasts over my skin, stinging my flesh. I’m going to need a shower to clean the sticky dew off my skin.

I move through the foyer and come to a halt when I see my dad sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. His head is in his hands as he looks down at what looks like paperwork.

Sensing he’s not alone, he looks up through his lashes at me standing in the doorway.

His brows pinch together, and he exhales a ragged breath.

“You look like shit. Where the fuck have you been?” He picks up a glass of what looks like freshly squeezed orange juice and takes a hearty gulp.

My mouth waters at the sight of it. I need some of that.

“Out.”

He grits his teeth, his jaw ticking with annoyance.

Placing a hand on the papers in front of him, he slides them across the counter in the direction of where I’m standing.

“Your mother wants a divorce.”

He says divorce like it’s a curse word, beneath him.

“Robbie’s death ruined us,” he adds, and a ghost hand slides up my spine, making me shiver.

Anger, raw and volatile, burns inside me.

“Or could be the bitch she caught you fucking?” I grunt. His mouth gapes as I turn and take the stairs two at a time.

I need a shower and to get out of here.





I scoop mash on to my plate, then look over to a bored looking God, who’s checking his cell phone, ignoring his father talking to him.

“Once a month, I ask for dinner,” Mr. Goddard aka Four scoffs.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” God grins over the top of his cell phone.

Rolling his eyes, Four turns his attention to me. There’s this air about him that makes my back straighten.

He holds an authority in his posture alone, and his tone commands the room. Despite being a huge-ass motherfucker who weighs in at three-hundred-plus pounds and can barely move, there’s something about him that demands respect. I think they call it money.

“Tell me, Rhett, how is your mother?” he asks before sucking the meat off his chicken bone. Grease slides down one of his chins, and I suppress a shudder.

Fuck. I didn’t know he was going to ask me that, and it throws me off.

Gathering my thoughts, I lay my fork down and wipe my mouth with a napkin.

“We don’t speak much, sir. But I hope she’s well.”

Scowl lines crease his forehead, and he leans back in his seat, the creak loud as it protests against his weight.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I bumped into her while I was in New York on business. She seems well. Considering everything she’s been through.”

Stab to my gut.

“She mentioned college. You’ve decided to go into law?” He sips straight whiskey from a glass, and smiles over at me.

God and I have been friends since kindergarten, so it’s no surprise he and my mother would have spoken about college; it’s the invite to his monthly dinner that has my mind working overtime.

It’s not a coincidence the police investigation into the fire was squashed a couple days ago. Ruled an “accident.” God works in mysterious ways…

“What does your father think about you wanting to go into law?” he asks, not waiting for an answer to his former question.

“He uses money for my tuition as a way to keep me in line. He hates that I’m going into law and not finance like him, so he keeps my future dangling on a thread.”

God flicks his eyes over to me, then back to his father.

The atmosphere thickens.

“I’m hoping to get into The Elite,” I blurt out.

God chokes on his drink and sputters through a coughing fit. His father, though, remains as cool as a cucumber, no surprise in his features.

“Is that a club?” he asks, looking me directly in the eye.

His steel eyes hold mine, until I look away.

“Of sorts.” I smile tightly.

“Right. I’m done,” God announces, getting to his feet.

“You coming?” He rounds the table, stopping next to my chair.

“Sure.”

“It was a pleasure seeing you, Rhett. Don’t be a stranger around here.” Four clears his throat and stands.

“I won’t, sir.”

He holds out his meaty hand to me, which I stare at for a few seconds in awe before grabbing firmly and giving him a shake.

“I think you’d be an asset to any club.”

My chest pounds, and I lock my jaw to prevent myself from getting emotional. It’s pathetic, but I respect this man. To have him say that stirs pride inside me.

“Thank you, sir.”





Music. Alcohol. Women.

That’s how most nights end up for me, and last night was no different.

I need the noise to quiet the voice screaming at me from the back of my subconscious.