The Anti-hero (The Goode Brothers)

The door to the office slams, and suddenly, I’m standing in close proximity to none other than the man I had breakfast with two weeks ago. If today was trying to throw me for a loop, it succeeded.

The only thing stranger than him being here is the look of utter vitriol on his face.

My sense of danger is heightened, although I’m not entirely worried that this man is about to hurt me. The expression on his face doesn’t match the gentleman who gave me his seat at breakfast, but I’m too stunned to properly voice just how confused I am.

“What the…” I stammer.

“Remember me?” he mutters, and I can tell immediately that he’s drunk.

Fuck Brett for never listening to me about the alcohol limit. This is exactly why there needs to be one.

“Yes, of course. What are you doing here?” I back farther into the room, feeling my way toward the desk, where I have more access to things that could be used as a weapon—stapler, scissors, the rolling office chair.

“You own a sex club,” he slurs.

Confusion tightens my features. “Yeah. So?”

“You bragged all morning about your little club. If I’d known then what kind of club it was—”

My face twists in disgust. Here I was, thinking this guy and I had a connection, and now he follows me to my club, only to ambush me and try to make me feel bad about it. I knew I shouldn’t have given him the card.

“Oh, you wouldn’t have bought my six-dollar breakfast? Get over yourself.”

I try to move past him toward the door. This entire day is a fucking waste, and the sooner I can get out of here and wash it all away with cheap beer alone in my apartment, the better.

Why are all men so fucking disappointing?

“If I had known you were a pretentious prude, I wouldn’t have given you that card in the first place,” I snap at him.

“I thought you were different,” he mutters, blocking my way.

My eyes narrow as I glare up at him. “Fuck. You.”

Just as I reach the door, ready to throw it open and leave him in the office, he says two words that stop me in my tracks.

“Truett Goode.”

My hand is on the knob, but I don’t turn it. Instead, I spin around and stare at him in confusion.

“Does that name mean anything to you?” he asks.

I know who Truett is, of course. Everyone in Austin knows that self-righteous, hypocritical smug bastard.

As I stare at Adam, waiting for an explanation, he starts to look even more drunk than he was a moment ago when he cornered me in here.

“That’s my father.”

My jaw drops.

Of fucking course it is.

Then, because it’s just all too ironic, I start laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Adam asks, looking offended.

“Oh, nothing,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest.

“My father is going to have your club shut down,” he adds, and I laugh again.

“Is that a warning…or a threat?” I ask with humor. Adam just grows more and more frustrated with my laughter. I find it hilarious to see how angry he is to learn that I own this club. Wait until he finds out his father is one of our most prestigious members.

“I’m serious,” he barks. “He has the property title in his office. He already owns this building.”

My laughter stops.

The blood drains from my face as I glare at him, humor replaced by fury. The entire conversation with my boyfriend earlier tonight replaying in my mind.

“That fucking asshole,” I mutter to myself when I place the pieces together, realizing Brett levied the deed to the club with the one fucking man he should not get into business with.

What an idiot. Brett is powerless against him. I’m sure Truett had some trick of charm and allure he used to get Brett to hand him everything we’ve worked to build.

“I have to go—” I say, reaching for the door handle. As soon as I get out of this office, I’m going to find Brett and tell him what a shortsighted idiot he is. And then I’m leaving.

But my hand freezes when I notice Adam focusing on something near the desk. I let my words trail off as I follow his gaze. When I notice that the thing he’s staring at is the security footage on the computer screen, my skin erupts with goose bumps.

Because the man on the screen is unmistakable. Truett Goode is currently in the club, having his way with a young woman in the VIP room.

I quickly glance back at Adam, my eyes wide and my skin burning hot with anticipation. He’s glaring at the screen, and I’m surprised there’s no actual smoke coming out of his ears.

“That motherfucker,” he grits.

The next thing I know, he’s pushing past me, marching out of the office and down the hall on a mission.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

I’m chasing after Adam, calling his name, trying to get a grip on his arm to keep him from doing anything crazy, but there’s no stopping him.

And the neon lights at the end of the hall loom like an omen—VIP.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He barrels past the spot where a security guard should be, slipping right through the black curtain that separates the general population from the exclusive section of the club. It’s louder and darker in there, but there’s no missing the man in the booth on the other side of the room with his face buried between the legs of the woman on the table.

Adam is practically running toward him, and I can do nothing but watch and wince as he grabs the man by the collar of his shirt and tosses him out of the booth. The woman screams and the VIP room erupts in chaos.

Where the fuck are the bouncers?

My hands cover my face as Adam drags his father off the floor by his shirt and rears back his fist. There’s a look of such hatred and anger on Adam’s face as he hesitates with his arm cocked and ready to fly.

But he never sends his fist coursing toward his father’s face. Instead, he stares at him with raw emotion and pain etched into his features. It’s almost like he’s frozen in place, some sort of internal voice stopping him from doing what he so clearly wants to.

“You…”

His words hang in the air, uttered through an expression of pure hatred.

Finally, finally, the six-foot-three bouncer grabs Adam by the arm and hauls him away from Truett. I turn to find Brett and two other bouncers rushing into the room.

“What the fuck is going on?” Brett snaps with his angry eyes on me.

“Well, it looks like the new owner of our club was about to get his ass kicked.”

Brett’s expression grows tenser.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Truett growls as he uses the edge of the table to help him get up to his feet, clearly struggling to rise. “You ungrateful little shit.”

“How could you do this?” Adam yells in anger. “To us. To Mom!”

Truett only laughs as he fixes his suit. “You’ve got a lot to learn, son.”

“Son?” I hear Brett gasp.

“How could you do this?” Adam says, still held tightly in the bouncer’s grip. “You were supposed to take it down. You made a promise to the people.”

“And that’s why you’re going to keep your mouth shut about it. What the people don’t know won’t hurt them. They want a good preacher, but what I do in my private life doesn’t really matter so long as they have someone who looks like a good man. Because if they like me, they must not be so bad.”

Adam struggles against the bouncer’s grip on his arms. I wince again as his expression contorts from anger to anguish, the pain evident in his features. He looks like his entire world is collapsing, and I’m starting to think it is.

“Hold him,” Truett grunts.

The air is sucked from my lungs as I step closer, but Brett’s hand on my arm stops me.

What is happening?

The bouncer squeezes Adam’s arms even tighter behind his back and my stomach drops.

“I’m your father, so it’s my job to teach you a lesson. And your first lesson is a little humility because you’ve frightened that sweet girl and you’ve embarrassed me at this club.”

Truett rears back his fist and lets it fly. The smack as it lands hard against Adam’s face is audible, and I let out a scream at the sound.

“Stop!” I yelp.

Brett yanks me toward him as Truett lands another hard punch.

Adam spits blood onto the floor as he lifts his head back up to face his father.

“You never did fight fair,” he growls.

“Life isn’t fair, Adam. Grow up.” With that, he jolts forward, cracking Adam hard in the stomach with his fist. Adam folds over in pain, and I tear myself out of Brett’s grasp.

Before he can grab me again, I thrust myself between the two men, putting a hand out to stop Truett from throwing another punch.

“Enough!”

He grimaces at me before glancing over at Brett. My teeth grind together as I see the two men sharing a silent conversation, and I realize, at this moment, I’m really out. Out of this club. Out of my relationship. Out of a lot of money.

“Get him out of here,” Truett says darkly as he turns his back to me.

I send one glaring expression toward Brett before I push the bouncer toward the door. He’s practically dragging Adam as he moans, looking like he’s about to pass out.

Fucking men.

As I push open the heavy door that leads to the back of the club, the bouncer tosses Adam out, and he rolls onto the dirty pavement with a groan.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I argue, but the guy only shrugs as he disappears back into the club.

“Assholes!” I shout in frustration, banging my fist on the heavy metal door. Rage is bubbling up inside me and I let it all out with a wailing scream.

Behind me, Adam groans again.

When I turn around, I find him struggling to his feet. He’s still clearly drunk and bleeding like crazy from his nose. As he gets to a standing position, he sucks in a breath through his teeth, wincing with pain and grabbing his ribs.

Probably bruised a few of those.

I’m standing here with a few choices. Go back inside the club with Truett and Brett and leave Adam Goode to fend for himself.

Or I get in my car and drive home—again, leaving Adam Goode to fend for himself.

Shit.

“Come on,” I say, sliding my hand under his arm and guiding him toward the employee parking lot on the left.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To my car,” I reply.

“Why?” His voice is deep and gravelly, clearly tired and in pain.

“I can’t put you behind the wheel of your car. Do you have a wife or someone at home who can take care of you? You look like shit.”

He manages a small chuckle. “No wife. Nobody.”

Shit.

“Fine,” I reply with a grunt as we reach my car. It’s an old Ford pickup that Gladys lets me borrow since she never drives anywhere. Apparently, it was her husband’s before he passed. The passenger door creaks as I open it for Adam. Without another word, he slides into the seat, resting his head against the headrest.

As I climb into the driver’s seat, he squints his eyes and turns toward me. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

“Back to my apartment,” I reply without looking at him.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t like you very much either, but what choice do I have?” I shrug as I start the truck. It takes a few turns before it finally revs up.

Finally, I look at him. “I can’t put you in an Uber like that. And if I take you home, who’s going to help you bandage up that gross cut on your cheek? Or clean up that mess of blood all over your face?”

His brow is furrowed as he stares at me, clearly struggling with an argument for that.

I let out a tired sigh. “Listen, this is partly my fault. And I feel bad that you had to find out about your dad like this. So just promise you won’t rape and/or murder me at my apartment, and I’ll make sure you don’t die.”

After a disgruntled sigh, he nods. “Fine.”