I looked over to where she stood, that dress clinging to her every curve. Goddamn. For the thousandth time, I wished I’d been fucking sober that night. But then I probably would have said or done something to fuck it up. I needed another shot—a do-over. But after the way we left things yesterday, that wasn’t likely.

Except…I had something she wanted. Desperately, considering she’d voluntarily sought me out. If nothing else, that should at least give me another opening.

That deed was leverage. A better guy wouldn’t dream of using it to his benefit. A better guy might do the charitable thing and donate the property and hope he’d win the girl over through his generosity and kindness.

I wasn’t a better guy.

Did I really want to get her back into my bed that way? Knowing she was only with me to get something from me?

Who was I kidding? I didn’t fucking care how I got her back there. Now that she’d walked her fine ass back into my life, I refused to let her walk out again without getting my second chance. With Simon Duchesne out of the picture, and me holding all the cards, there was nothing standing in my way.

Well, except for Vanessa herself. I allowed myself another long, lingering look. I cataloged her every dip and curve as I dragged my gaze from her red-soled stilettos to her slick, red lips.

I barely stifled a groan. Jesus, but I wanted that mouth.

My visual enjoyment died a quick death when a man approached her from the side. Vanessa smiled, head tilting toward him. I pushed off the wall, my fist clenching so hard it tested the strength of the glass clutched in my hand. I needed to see the guy’s face. I edged around the room, nodding at several people in attendance until I could get a closer look.

I got my look—and kept fucking walking.

Mother. Fucker. I tossed back my drink and headed straight to the bar. If I had to watch her with that prick, I needed my good friend, Jack.

She was a magnet for his type. Not that I knew him. I only recognized him from the papers, and they’d dubbed him “Louisiana’s Hottest Titan of Industry.” Relatively new in town, he hadn’t wasted any time before making a splash and pissing off the old guard. It seemed that every move he made was analyzed and copied. Old money loved to hate him because, as the story went, he came from nothing, but everything he touched turned to gold. If big business had a rebel, it would be Lucas Fucking Titan.

My lips curled in disgust when he slipped an arm around her and led her toward the bar on the opposite side of the room. Fury raged hot and fast. First, at the realization that he had the right to approach her in this crowd, and second, because she’d followed him willingly.

I grabbed my drink off the bar, and my attention snagged on my wrist. Even my tux couldn’t hide the ink that spilled out from beneath my cuffs and collar.

The ink was a brand. And in this case, it branded me unsuitable for public acknowledgment by Vanessa Frost. I’d bet good money that if she even spoke to me in front of these society types, it’d get back to her daddy so damn fast, her head would still be spinning when he came and dragged her away from me.

I sipped the straight whiskey and reveled in the burn. I needed to slow it down, because I was here for Trey, not to dwell on the fact that I’d never belong in the upper class I’d been adopted into. Changing your last name didn’t change how people saw you—how they judged you.

Even fifteen years didn’t change the fact that I’d been the kid who showed up in the Garden District, garbage bag in tow, because Joy and Andre Leahy had decided they wanted to give being foster parents a shot. Their friends and neighbors had been horrified. And when Joy and Andre had decided to adopt me? You better believe their sanity had been questioned.

I laughed humorlessly to myself. Because those judgmental pricks had been right—bringing me into their lives had ultimately gotten them killed. Joy and Andre deserved better than being gunned down in a home invasion—a home invasion that had happened because me and my Army buddies had been on leave and gotten into a fight with some gangbangers at a club off Bourbon. We’d just gotten into town, hadn’t even changed out of our uniforms. Better for picking up pussy anyway. But they’d seen our names. Given that the Leahy name was fairly well known in this town, it wasn’t too hard to figure out that they’d tagged me as a local and tracked down my family in retaliation. Three nights later, when I was already back on base, someone had broken into Joy and Andre’s house.

Two bullets. Execution style.

They should’ve been rocking on the back porch on a night like tonight, sharing a bottle of wine. Instead, they were resting in a burial vault. Because of me.

I swigged the rest of my drink. All the booze in the world couldn’t wash away the blood on my hands.

Only justice would wipe away some of the guilt I felt—and even that would be a far cry from absolution. The memory gave way to the need to pound my frustration out on a bag. I hated the restrictions of this fucking monkey suit. I hated the polite conversations humming around me. This wasn’t my world. I didn’t want it to be my world. If it weren’t for Trey, I’d get the hell out of here right now.

My thoughts turned even darker as I watched Titan press his hand to the small of Vanessa’s back and guide her closer to the bar. I wanted to rip that fucking hand off.

“Hey, man. You having fun back here?” Trey’s voice pulled me back to reality. He nudged my shoulder conspiratorially.

I forced a smile for his benefit. “Don’t I always? Just waiting to see you get that award and give your speech.”

Trey’s eyes widened. “I have to give a speech? No one fucking told me that.”

I grinned, and this time it was sincere. “I’m kidding, man. You just have to smile and look pretty for the camera. And watch your language. You shouldn’t be dropping the F-bomb around these kinds of people.”

Trey rolled his eyes. “That stop you?”

“Don’t worry about me. But you better clean it up before you get to the Point, or they’ll clean it up for you.”

He breathed a heavy sigh. “Okay, okay. I get it. You and my mama both. Seriously.” He jostled my shoulder again. “You’d think with all this ink you wouldn’t be such a drag.”

“Don’t make me teach you some manners, boy.”

Although it was likely that Trey’s mama had already beaten manners into him. She was a tough woman. And probably the major reason why he’d been accepted to West Point. The day he’d gotten his congressional nomination…I’d shed a tear, though I’d never admit it. It was a hell of an honor, and there wasn’t another kid who deserved it more. It had started with him asking me about some of my tats. What they meant—especially the military ones. I’d given him bits and pieces about my history in the service. Honestly, there was plenty I couldn’t tell, but I could give him the basics. He’d latched on to it like an infant on a teat. I could understand the appeal. There was something about honor and serving your country that reached into your gut and made you want to be part of something bigger than yourself. At least that was what it had done for me. The military had taken my punk ass and turned it into a hell of a soldier. I’d taken bullets for my brothers. Had watched one throw himself on a grenade to save another. The brotherhood was something civilians would never understand. I was glad that Trey would get to be a part of that.