Chapter 272

JULIAN'S POV

The headache hit me with full force the second my boots struck the pavement outside the high-end lounge. The crisp night air felt cold on my sweaty face, but it didn't do anything to stop the blinding throbbing behind my eyes.

I stood under the low amber lights of the entryway, swaying slightly on my feet. My vision was swimming, and my stomach churned as the scotch I had thrown back so fast settled heavy and bitter inside me.

Marcus had walked away twenty minutes ago. I could still see the look on his face right before he slid out of the leather booth, that mix of pity, disappointment, and exhaustion.

He had told me to let it go. He had told me to move on, give up, and walk away. He had sat there across from me, looking so calm, so rational, telling me to hand my own family over to Brandon on a silver platter.

“I am not letting her go,” I spat at him, slamming my glass so hard the wood soaked up the alcohol. “I am getting Aria back, even if I have to burn everything else to the ground to do it.”

And then Marcus had just stood up, left his cash on the table, and walked out into the night. He thought I was losing my mind. He thought I was being reckless. He thought I was weak. They all think I’m weak.

A sharp wave of pure anger surged through my chest, hot and violent. I shoved my hands deep into my leather jacket pockets, searching frantically for my car keys.

My fingers were trembling so hard that when I finally managed to pull the metallic fob out, it slipped right through my slick grip and dropped onto the wet asphalt with a loud clink.

"Fuck," I growled, bending down to grab them. My head reeled instantly from the sudden movement, making the world spin in a sickening circle.

I fumbled in the dark twice, my fingers brushing against the cold ground before I finally got a firm grip on the keys. I stumbled over to my sleek black sports car parked in the reserved lot.

I hit the unlock button, the amber lights flashing once, and dragged the heavy driver's door open. I practically fell into the leather bucket seat, pulling my legs inside and slamming the door shut.

The quiet inside the car was suffocating. I rested my forehead against the cool leather of the steering wheel, my heavy breathing fogging up the windshield in the dark.

I knew I shouldn't be driving. I was completely plastered. My reflexes were shot, my vision was blurred around the edges, and my head felt like it was being squeezed in a vise.

But the mere thought of driving back to my giant, empty apartment, where there were no soft footfalls, no child's laughter, no scent of Aria's expensive lavender perfume, made my chest tighten until I couldn't catch my breath.

Going back to that empty shell meant admitting that I was alone. It meant sitting in the silence while Brandon played house with my girl and my daughter. "No," I whispered out loud into the dark car. "No fucking way."

I shoved the key into the ignition and turned it hard. The powerful engine roared to life with a deep, guttural growl that vibrated straight through the floorboards and into my bones.

I threw the gear stick into drive, stomped on the gas pedal, and peeled out of the parking lot, the tires screeching loudly against the pavement as I tore into the quiet city streets.

The streetlights blurred into long lines of gold and white as I sped through the grid. My mind was a chaotic, toxic mess, constantly flashing images that made my blood boil.

I saw Coach Miller’s tight, fake smile at the arena earlier today, standing in front of the entire locker room and handing half of my captaincy over to Seb.

I saw the quiet, knowing looks on my teammates' faces. They thought I was losing my edge. They thought I couldn't lead them anymore. And then, worse than Coach, worse than the team, was the memory of Brandon.

I could still feel the cold, suffocating presence he had brought into that hallway after the game.

Brandon had stood there in his perfectly tailored suit, looking down his nose at me like I was a minor inconvenience, a bug he could crush under the heel of his expensive leather shoes.

He had threatened my career. He had threatened my freedom, warning me that if I so much as breathed near Leonie or stepped out of line, he would use his money and his lawyers to wipe me off the ice forever.

He thought he owned the team. He thought he owned the city. He thought he owned Aria. My grip tightened on the leather steering wheel until my knuckles turned stark white and my joints popped.

A dark, reckless impulse took hold of my hands, guiding the car away from the highway that led to my building and turning instead toward the winding, tree-lined roads on the outer edge of the city.

The roads grew darker, quieter, and more exclusive as I drove higher into the hills. Huge stone walls and tall security hedges began to line the streets.

Aria's neighborhood.

Ten minutes later, I cut the car's engine and killed the headlights, letting the momentum slide the vehicle into the deep, pitch-black shadows of a cluster of oak trees about a hundred yards down from the main gates of Aria's estate.

The silence returned instantly, heavy and pressing. I sat there in the dark cab, staring through the front windshield with wild, bloodshot eyes.

Through the tall, imposing black iron bars of the massive entrance gates, bright white floodlights lit up the wide stone driveway like midday. Right near the stone guardhouse, two massive, dark armored SUVs were idling quietly, their exhaust pipe smoke curling into the cool night air.

I could clearly see four tall, broad men wearing dark tactical gear and earpieces, Brandon’s private security detail, walking slow, disciplined patrols along the perimeter walls.

It was a fortress now. A solid, impenetrable wall built entirely out of Brandon's endless corporate money. Aria was inside that house right now. My Aria. And Amelia.

They were tucked away in some luxurious, warm master bedroom, completely safe, completely sheltered, while I was out here sitting in the dark, shivering in a cold car on the side of the road like an outcast.

A sudden, terrifying wave of intense, suffocating jealousy slammed into my chest. It felt physical, like a heavy boot coming down right on my sternum, crushing the oxygen right out of my lungs.

I rolled the driver's side window all the way down, gasping for air as the freezing wind hit my face, but it didn't cool the violent fire burning behind my ribs.

I slammed my bare fist against the center of the leather steering wheel once, twice, three times, the horn letting out a short, muffled blare in the dark.

A sharp, broken sob tore through my throat before I could stop it, hot tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

How did I get here? my mind screamed at me, the dark words repeating like a broken record. How the fuck did I wind up on the outside, looking through the fence like a beggar?

I reached down into the dark passenger footwell, my hand searching under the seat until my fingers brushed against a cold glass bottle.

It was a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey I had stashed away weeks ago. I dragged it up, ripped the plastic cap off with my teeth, and threw my head back.

I took three long, desperate, heavy gulps. The harsh liquid burned like acid down my throat, searing my esophagus and settling into my stomach like liquid heat.

I coughed hard, my eyes watering as I wiped my mouth with the back of my shaking hand. Leonie had tried to use cheap tricks and illegal violence to break through Brandon's defense, and look where it had gotten her.

She was a fugitive on the news, hiding out in some dirty hole like a rat, hunted by every police officer in the state. I couldn't follow her path.

I couldn't break down those big iron gates, and I certainly couldn't take on four armed security guards with my bare hands. The law had already failed me when the judge listened to Amelia's small voice instead of my legal rights.

“Force won't work,” the dark, twisted fog of alcohol whispered into my brain, warping my thoughts into dangerous, unpredictable shapes. “If I can't take them by force, and I can't win in court... I need leverage. I need something Brandon can't buy his way out of with his billions.”

I stared through the trees at the illuminated estate one last time, my eyes narrowing into a cold, hollow, deadly glare. The desperation in my chest slowly hardened into something terrifyingly focused.

I turned the key, restarting the engine with a quiet rumble. I threw the car into a sharp U-turn, spraying gravel against the trees as I accelerated away from the gates and sped back out toward the highway.

As the car flew down the dark roads, I reached over with one hand, grabbing my phone off the passenger seat.

My thumb swiped across the screen, pulling up my personal encrypted contacts. I scrolled past Marcus, past my manager, past my legal team, down to a name I hadn't touched in nearly three years.

A shadow from a past I had sworn never to drag into my clean life as a professional athlete.

I tapped the screen and pressed the warm phone against my ear.

It rang once. Twice. Three long, agonizing times in the quiet cabin of the car before the call finally connected with a faint crackle of static.

"Vance?" a rough, low, heavily accented voice answered, sounding raspy from sleep and smoke. "It's three in the fucking morning. What do you want?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my knuckles whitening around the steering wheel as a slow, dangerous smile crept onto my face in the dark.

"I need a favor," I said, my voice dropping into a low, deadly quiet tone. "And I have enough money in my account to pay you whatever the hell you ask for.”