The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(10)

Every time it’s the same. Princess. Best in the club. I think it would turn me on more if I believed it…or heard it any other time than during sex.

I’m in my head too much, and before I know it, he’s shuddering and moaning through his release and I’m left wishing for my own.

Fuck.

I hate when he does this. Revs me up just to let me down. I mean…it’s not his fault. He doesn’t know because I don’t tell him. For a couple running a sex club together, our lack of communication in the bedroom should be a crime.

“Goddamn, princess. I can’t fucking resist you.” His mouth cascades down my spine before he pulls out and lets his cum drip between my legs. I reach for a handful of tissues on the desk and wipe myself clean before pulling up my underwear and shorts.

As he flops himself down in the chair in the corner of the room, I return my attention to the papers on the desk.

“As I was saying…” I reply with a playful smile. “There is an extra fifty grand in the account, and I have no record of it.”

Brett is scrolling through his phone, and I feel myself starting to tense. I’ve learned over the years with him that if I approach things without too much criticism or condemnation, he’s usually pretty receptive. But I can’t ever direct blame or…accountability toward him.

“Baby…” I say, getting his attention.

He glances up from his phone with a sigh. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Inhale. Exhale. Smile.

“The fifty thousand dollars. Any idea where it’s from?”

When his expression tightens and I spot a hint of hesitation in his eyes, I know he’s not telling me something. My smile

fades and my shoulders square up.

“What is it?” I ask, feeling a knot of worry squeeze in my gut.

After a resounding huff, he tosses his phone down as he glares at me. “Don’t be mad. But I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

I force myself to breathe.

“I took out a loan on the club,” he says.

My face falls, and my voice takes on a low, harsh inflection. “What?”

He stands from his chair and crowds me toward the desk, taking my hands in his. “Relax, princess. I got this under control.”

“You got a loan? From where? At what interest rate?”

He chuckles in response to my questions and my jaw clenches at the sound of his laughter.

“Come on, Sage,” he replies sarcastically. “You think I went to the fucking bank? Like those assholes would give me a loan.”

That’s the part I was trying to ask but couldn’t do so without sounding offensive. Brett has annihilated his credit from bad loans in the past. The only way we were able to pay off the lease on the club was with the money I got as a settlement when my dad died.

Did I have the good sense to get my name on the deed too, after I helped him pay it off?

No, of course not. I was young and in love…and incredibly stupid.

“So…who gave you a loan?”

He kisses my forehead and strokes my back. “It’s confidential.”

I nearly snap my head off my own shoulders pulling away from him. “Excuse me? Confidential? I thought we were a

team.”

“See, you’re getting all pissy about this, like I knew you would. Why can’t you let me handle things? You gotta trust me, Sage.”

“Trust you? How can I trust you when you keep things from me? We’re supposed to be a team, Brett.” I let out a heavy sigh as I curl a wave of hair behind my ear. I can already feel the fact that this conversation is going nowhere. If I argue with him, he’ll shut down. I’ve done it enough in the past to know. “What is the money for?” I ask as gently as I can.

A smile creeps across his face. “I’m hiring a consultant.”

“A consultant?”

“Yeah, this chick who’s worked with other clubs, and she knows exactly how to make ours even better.”

All of the air is sucked out of the room, making it hard to drag in my next breath. My chest tightens, and my eyes water.

“What?” The small word slips through my lips.

“This is what you wanted, princess. You wanted me to do something to make the club better and finally put real work into it, and that’s what I’m doing.”

I have to look away, running this through my head a few times to be sure I’m not overreacting or putting too many emotions where they don’t need to be. But no matter how many times I think this through, there’s no version of this news that doesn’t stab me like a knife.

I turn back toward him with teary eyes. “You hired another woman to help you run this club, but you never, ever listen to me.”

His jaw tightens. “She’s a professional, Sage.” His tone is flat, and the implication stings.

“But she doesn’t know this club like I do. She hasn’t helped you build it from nothing. She doesn’t know the patrons and the city like I do.” I’m getting irritable and heated.

Suddenly, the room feels so small and I have the burning need to cry. It’s building in my throat like bullets, and I will not let him see me break. When he tries to place his hands on my arms, I shove him away.

“I need to get out of here,” I snap, unable to keep the shaking out of my voice. When he lays a hand above my elbow to stop me, I turn back toward him, sending him a hateful, angry, don’t you dare glare. Within seconds, he lets go.