Kylie Bray (Love, Hate and Billions) novel Chapter 27

My body and my heart know one thing, and that is the promise of Vincent Stone. That is the curse of addiction.

He is my unobtainable obsession.

“YOU had your chance to chase me made man, now it just isn't possible,” I say it to myself with anguish and heartache pledged deep within my soul as I drop my seat and pick up the speed to my new hot date.

Yes, my hot extra plus one is my car.

But this Mercedes I'm driving is years ahead of its time. I am the only person in the world that owns this Cabriolet Night Edition.

A year ago while I was drooling over Vincent I was also getting my rocks off with a very hot son of one of the Lead engineers of Mercedes.

The dummy car which stood on his side table while I fucked his brains out caught my eye.

After much later with him returning the favor twice, he happily informed me of his father's secret future project.

Which in my mind, interpreted as highly valuable, and something I just had to have. With a neat eight-figure price tag paid in Euro's, I did HAVE it. And just to sweeten the deal, I also purchased the rights to the project for the next five years. Just to be sure.

It is empowering, and exhilarating to drive and own a car so good knowing that not even my brothers had one like it. I wouldn't call it luck, I would say it is just the favor of having really rich parents and very generous two older brothers.

I know one day soon I will have to make my own empire and possibly take over my papas and I am ready for it.

Swerving, gliding, I take the roads with ease. Add in the fact that I left my family Christmas party, I think I am feeling pretty good compared to a few moments ago.

Just twenty minutes ago I faced my stepbrother, who I have practically tied to my existence over eighteen months ago with a full-on pledge of the crippling effect I am attuned to whenever he stepped into a room and for once I hid it. I consider it as a step in the direction I need to step in to.

Now I am being chased by that said brother. I don't feel great, but I feel alive and ready for a good night of wild partying and great company. When I take the next off-ramp and join the interstate heading out of Liston Hills I know exactly where I and my hot date is heading.

It crosses my mind to give Vincent a heads up, but why should I? When has the jackass ever been good to me? Never.

I crank up my Brett Young CD and let the road lead me to temptation because tonight I will be delivering a shit load of evil come Saturday Morning.

The jaguar and its driver, Vincent, tag me the entire way.

A small minuscule part of me wonders what he wants. But mostly I wish he would give up on this and leave me be.

Why is he so adamant to talk to me now.

Sorry isn’t going to take away the pain, it isn’t going to make me feel better.

I take the long way to Kanla and it’s closing on eleven at night when I get to the Farmhouse, known as The Satan Sniper’s clubhouse.

The huge bonfire can be seen from the small dirt road and the long driveway that is packed with bikes. I turn my car, and drive into the open gate, finding a parking. Rolling my eyes as my tail (Vincent) also finds parking.

I jump out of my ride, not paying Vincent any mind as I walk to the back of my car, and open my boot with my fingerprint.

Bending over I pull out the small kit bag that I keep around in case I decide to spend a night somewhere. Inside my black backpack contains basic stuff- a toothbrush, toiletries, jeans, vest, and boots. It is all I ever need.

I slam my car boot closed, as Vincent’s shiny shoes come into view.

The nip in the air and late-night breeze elicits a chill down my back as I stare into a pair of angry eyes.

“So you leave your family to come here? To a bunch of bikers, making me drive fucking hours?.”

I take a small step back, my mouth agape,

“Firstly I didn’t make you do anything, secondly where I go and what I do isn’t your fuckin’ business and lastly I suggest you don’t let Kevin hear you talking to me like that, because he is here and happens to be one of those bikers,” I say it as a warning and it isn’t an idle threat.

Kevin once hit David nearly into a coma when he heard David calling mama a bitch.

My brother lacks emotion, which doesn’t mean he will let anyone disrespect a woman. Especially his own blood. And Vincent knows that, I know he sees the error of his ways when his face relaxes and he takes a step back.

“I'm sorry, but I really need to talk to you.” He combs his fingers through his hair, which is now longer than all those months ago.

“About what?” I ask him, slipping my backpack over my shoulder.