Page 13 of Enemies

Ash follows my gaze and snorts. “Don’t let him ruin your fun. Just because he’s a prick and he owns the place…”

I arch a brow. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

We head for the bar, and he orders me a cocktail.

“Harrison King stole my belongings,” Ash goes on after. “Held my head underwater until I conceded. Told on me.” There’s a pause as I process each of these transgressions. Finally, Ash raises his glass, grinning. “He’s my older brother.”

“So, he sent you to make nice.” I shouldn’t be talking to anyone who shares an ounce of DNA with the man I loathe.

“Hardly. He’ll be upset I’m talking to you.”

I take a sip. The vodka soda is clean on my tongue, in my throat, as music from the afterparty outside drifts in.

“Then by all means, continue.”

Ash barks out a laugh, blue eyes warmer than his brother’s. “If you hate him, why are you playing his club?”

“A mistake. One I’m going to fix in the morning so I can get out of here.”

“That’s unfortunate. You should stay.”

“Help the man I hate make money?” I scoff.

“I’m going to tell you a secret. You’re making money too, Raegan.”

“Rae,” I correct, not because we’re friends but because hearing my full name weirds me out. “Why do you care?”

He turns the glass in his hands. “Women have followed him willingly all his life. I think you’d show him there’s another way.”

“He wouldn’t appreciate another way. The man treats women like disposable napkins.”

“He proposed to the last woman he dated. They were engaged, until she ended it.”

I cut Ash a surprised look. The idea of Harrison King having a softer side, of wanting to spend his life with another person, is hard to picture.

“I can’t imagine what he did to deserve to get dumped.” I don’t hide the sarcasm, but I’m still processing the “engaged” part.

“He trusted her too much.” My new companion’s voice softens. “We date the people we think we deserve. Though he’d never admit it, my brother doesn’t think he’s worthy of better.”

My attention drags across the room to the man in question, hating that those words make me question Harrison King’s spot in hell.

I realize my mistake too late, because he’s spotted me.

Harrison King rises from the table with the grace of a shadow. Now, he’s headed this way.

I can’t help comparing the two men. Their coloring is similar, a faint tan from the sun under dirty-blond hair. The same magnetic blue eyes. But where Ash’s friendly, Harrison is cold. Cut from marble.

“Brother,” Ash greets him as he arrives. “You’re the only person in a suit at this hour.” He nods to the rest of the room, where every other man has long since stripped his jacket off.

“I wear one because it’s my club,” Harrison replies.

I take a drink. “There are other options to hide the stick up your ass besides Hugo Boss.”

“It’s Brioni.”

Ash cackles in delight. “I was telling our little queen how exceptional she was tonight.”

“When my club is full, I’ll praise her,” Harrison states.

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