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“They searched for him. That woman ruined him.”
“Her name is Morgan,” I said, clenching my jaw.
“He would still be here if not for her.”
My brother sounded like he wanted to cry. He looked up to Michael and when we lost him, Talon was lost with him. He withdrew and we were afraid his depression over the loss would get the best of him.
“You don’t know that. Michael liked to disappear at times.”
“Can we stop talking about him?” Talon’s voice was raw with pain.
“Will you go out with me tonight?” I pushed.
“Why don’t you take one of your buddies?”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Because I want to hang out with you. I think you need a break, so stop being difficult.”
Talon let out a heavy sigh, the kind that said he was reluctantly caving. “Fine. I’ll meet you at Surge, but only for a couple of hours. I need to be at a job site tomorrow morning.”
I laughed, more out of relief than anything. “Fuck, I used to go out all night and show up without any sleep.”
“So I heard. You would end up napping in one of the work trucks.”
“The perks of being the boss’s son.”
“I have some paperwork to finish before you torture me,” he grumbled.
“Great. I’ll meet you in front of Surge at 10 p.m.”
“That late?”
“Geez, dear brother, live a little.”
“See you at ten.”
I hung up with Talon, feeling a small victory in getting him to come out, and headed to my closet. Tonight, jeans felt more appropriate than slacks. As I pulled a black pair from the hanger, an image of Erika’s ass bouncing on the elliptical flashed in my mind, and I felt myself harden. That woman had gotten under my skin in a way few others had.
Tonight, I needed a distraction. Someone to fuck and block Erika from my thoughts, at least temporarily. Finding a playmate for the evening was never a problem for me. And tonight would be no exception.
When I arrived at Surge, my carbon-copy younger brother was already waiting for me, his face lit by the neon sign above the club’s entrance. The line snaked around the corner, but I didn’t bother worrying about it.
I’d done business with Jordan Grayson, the club’s owner, back when I worked for our father, and we’d struck up a friendship. That meant my name was always on the list, and VIP treatment was guaranteed. Talon glanced at his gold watch just before I pulled him into a hug.
“It’s been too long, man,” I said, clapping his back as we embraced.
“Yeah, too long,” he agreed, matching my clap on the shoulder.
When we turned to the doorman, I noticed two women in skimpy silver dresses eyeing us. They weren’t subtle about it, either. Elliott men were a good-looking breed—thanks to a genetic jackpot from our parents and years of hard work on the family construction sites. We shared dirty blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and lean, muscular builds that had only been refined by daily workouts.
The doorman, a hulking figure with a shaved head, asked for our names. As soon as we gave them, he murmured into his headset. A moment later, the black double doors swung open, and a statuesque hostess in a short, electric-blue uniform ushered us inside and up to the VIP area.
Talon whistled softly, taking in the sleek décor—black leather banquettes, thick glass cocktail tables. It was a place that screamed exclusivity, and I could tell he was impressed. A group of women in the corner eyed us as we made our way to our seats. One of them, sporting a colorful cardboard tiara with the words I’m the bride, kiss me scrawled across it, caught my attention. She was cute, with an elfin nose and long dark hair. Her friends weren’t as attractive, but it was her last night of freedom—it only seemed fair to make it special.
When the waitress arrived—her electric-blue shorts so skimpy they barely covered anything—I ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon to be sent over to the bride.
“That’s mighty nice of you,” Talon remarked, brushing a hand over his black dress shirt.
“Shit, little brother, I made a ton of money this week,” I gloated, unable to resist sharing the news.
