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Harrison
“The robots are suspended from the ceiling to do what—acrobatics?” I demand.
Sawyer leans in, looking impatient. “They serve drinks, you pretentious asshole.”
The trendy pub in Brooklyn gave us their prime seating—two low-profile couches and a glass coffee table. Tyler Adams’s security is positioned between this section and the rest of the room, dissuading anyone who thinks of coming over or taking a picture.
Mostly, he’s watching three grown men have an argument.
“They run on a track”—Sawyer gestures to the space over his head—“along the bar.”
“I figured the only club robots were the kind that danced on stage,” Tyler comments.
Sawyer shakes his head. “You can use robots for photography, AI for optimizing what’s captured. There’re clubs in London with interactive walls where you can create your own light displays.”
The man across from me is Sawyer Redmond, cofounder of a major tech and industrial company. He’s one of a few men I’ve met who is taller than I am and wearing a Boss jacket and designer jeans like he doesn’t give a fuck. His long, unruly hair falls in his face every time he moves, making me itch to grab a fistful and saw it off with a butter knife so I can look him in the damned eyes.
I’m here to see Sawyer about business, but when Tyler said he was in town, I suggested we meet. The only time he had free was now, so I figured I could see two friends at once.
“Sawyer and I went to school together,” I inform Tyler. “He was this genius prodigy. Pulling straight As in senior engineering. Hope they kept you warm at night.”
“You mean while you used your accent to fuck your way through the female population? You wind up with any souvenirs of that time in your life? I hear chlamydia’s a bitch to kick.”
“Seems it worked out,” Tyler comments, slinging an arm over the back of the velvet couch.
It did, on paper. Sawyer cofounded his company and is on the way to making himself a wealthy man. I have an empire. One my enemy wants to burn to the ground—starting with Kings last year.
I told myself I could move on and have a future untainted by my past, but Ivanov seems determined to make sure that’s not true.
The police weren’t able to find the man responsible. I know Mischa was behind it, but I can’t prove it.
Since then, his reach has only expanded with new acquisitions fueled by drug money.
I’ve used the time to regroup.
I will get revenge.
That’s the only thing that matters.
Doesn’t hurt that you’ve lost everything else.
A woman comes in the door with a stroller, drawing every eye in the room. She’s young and pretty, her red hair tucked up into a bun on her head. She could be a student.
Tyler turns to look over his shoulder as if there’s an invisible cord between them.
“He’s whipped,” he comments as her security guard offers to take the stroller and Annie waves him off. But the second her eyes land on her husband, a smile curving her lips, Tyler’s off the couch and at her side.
Sawyer and I exchange a look. “Yeah. It’s security who’s whipped,” he comments. “Figured musicians were supposed to play the field.”
Tyler bends to check in the stroller before straightening, pulling his wife against him for a hard kiss.
“He doesn’t. They’re in love.” I refocus on my friend who’s still here, leaving Tyler to fawn over his wife.
“You envy him,” Sawyer scoffs.
“Love is an exquisite diversion from the more brutal parts of life.”
Last year, I didn’t only let myself fall—I practically held the door for both myself and Raegan. At first, I thought I could handle it. Having her at my side felt natural.
