Page 19 of Wounded Wing

Atticus Lennon was never known to mince words. This meeting may not have shaken him as much as I had hoped. Mentally brushing myself off, I stride towards the bar.

“You’re asking the wrong question, Lennon. It’s not what I can offer you, it’s whatyouwill offer me,” I counter, confidence hanging from every word. I didn’t get to where I was by being someone else’s bitch.

“Interesting. I commend your assertiveness, but you didn’t answer my question,” he states, lifting his dark brow knowingly.

I turn away from the bar before he can take back control of the conversation. I move to sit on the leather sofa, a strategic move to keep him from where he feels most powerful. Business like this is similar to a game of chess.

Propping my feet on top of the bronze coffee table, I allow my body to sink into the smooth leather. His colorless gaze tracks my movement, eyeing me expectantly as he waits for an explanation for my offer. “Come now, Atticus. Relax with me, have a drink.”

A Cheshire smile crosses his face. If I were a lesser man, the look would have my skin crawling. The few times we have met, he’s been all business. Lex rarely spoke of his visits with the Lennon family, sworn to keep a demon’s secrets.

Seating himself in the matching leather armchair across the table, he gently places both of our drinks down on an intricate black coaster painted with a morpho blue colored butterfly. If it weren’t for Lai, I'd say it was a good choice. Elegant even.

“Dodging a question with someone likemoiis dangerous, Ren. Are you sure you want to play games with the Devil?” he teases, raising his glass in a toast as he leans forward from the chair.

Swallowing harshly, I nod my head, acknowledging his question. I wanted to do more than just dance with the Devil. I was here to send him packing, by any means necessary. Even if that means playing his game.

“Let’s just air out why I’m here, shall we?” I breathe, as my eyes meet Lennon’s dilated gaze.

“I want to buy you out.”

Chapter thirteen

“I want to buyyou out,” he declares.

His words ricochet in my head, echoing minutes after those damning words fell from his perfectly, poised lips. I tilt my head to the side, hoping to shake the budding intrusive thoughts from my mind.

“You want to buy me out. Why?” I ask, curiosity pulling in favor instead of murder.

Who am I kidding? Murder is still on the table.

He pulls his feet from the table, leaning forward to match my pose. “I want to take your business and make it better.”

“Are you saying I’m not running my business properly?” I bristle, ready to end this meeting before it even started.

He lifts his ivory-toned hand, waving my comment away. “No, that’s not an insult to what you have accomplished thus far, but numbers don’t lie. Your business has been at a stalemate. The last few years on public record have shown as much.”

I incline my head in confirmation, allowing him to continue with his proposition.

“I can make the necessary changes to bring in more revenue, more customers, and more products. Unfortunately, it means rebranding. Out with the old, in with the new,” he reasons.

Tipping my drink towards my mouth, the burn from the whiskey comforts me as I consider his plan. His approach is bold, making me believe he is truly invested in my business. I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, ready to see how far he’ll take this arrangement.

“I want to be involved in any changes. I still own the club,” I droll.

Nodding his head, he reclines back into the leather seat. “Temporarily. I accept your request. Once you sign the deed you’ll fade into the background, but will still know the changes being made.”

“And what is your offer?” I ask, needing to know how far he will go to get what he wants.

He shifts in his seat, spreading his legs wider. “There isn’t a price that I’m not willing to pay,” he counters.

Smirking, I let his words simmer as I pull my phone from my suit pocket. My thumb scrolls until I reach Mae’s name,mon papillon. I swiftly press the green call icon while he watches me with keen attention, perhaps he finds my silence unsettling. The phone rings three times before her delectable, southern twang reaches my ears.

“Hello, Atticus,” she answers sweetly.

I revel in knowing that bringing my little butterfly to her ridiculous warehouse was indeed the right move. The sound of soldering, clanging tools, and Mae’s bated breath have my cock stiffening. It’s been two weeks too long since I’ve had her.

“Mon papillon, I need you to come to the club,” I drawl, setting my plans into motion. “Mr. Kudo has offered me a deal, and what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t include you?”

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