Craving My Brother's Best Friend (Bailey and Kaleb) novel Chapter 47

**The Night We Borrowed Fire from a Broken Star**

I dashed out of the building, urgency propelling me forward. My boots pounded against the pavement, the sound echoing in the night as I made a beeline for my car. With a swift motion, I flung the door open, slid into the driver’s seat, and turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life beneath me.

As I pulled away, I felt a surge of reckless energy coursing through my veins. I sped through intersections, ignoring the glaring red lights and the cacophony of horns blaring behind me. The world around me blurred, a chaotic swirl of headlights and shouts, but I was lost in my own tumultuous thoughts.

Marco’s words echoed incessantly in my mind, a haunting refrain that twisted my stomach into knots. He had accused Hart of being involved in my father’s death, a claim that sent shockwaves through my already fragile psyche.

He had mentioned a bid, a deal struck in the shadows, and how Bailey’s father emerged victorious after my dad’s untimely demise. Anger bubbled within me, and I clenched my jaw tightly. I had always known that my father and Hart were business partners, but the darker undercurrents of their relationship had remained a mystery to me.

Back then, I had been too shattered, too consumed by my own pain to dig deeper into the truth. All I had cared about was survival, especially with the Serpent Mafia hot on my heels, demanding payment for debts I had no means to settle. But now, the time for questions had come.

As I approached the next stoplight, I fished my phone from my pocket, my thumb racing across the screen as I searched for news articles from six years prior. The results populated quickly, and I scanned the headlines with mounting dread. The bid had indeed taken place, and three names stood out starkly: My Dad, Hart, and Trevor Cross.

A chill ran down my spine, and I felt as if the air had been knocked from my lungs.

Trevor Cross—Ethan’s father.

The very thought of him made my blood boil. That arrogant fool, always strutting around like he owned the world, trailing behind Bailey like a lost puppy.

I stared at the screen in disbelief, then tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. My thoughts spiraled out of control, colliding in a chaotic mess. Three fathers—mine, Bailey’s, and Ethan’s—entangled in one deal. My dad had lost his life, while the other two thrived, their businesses flourishing as if nothing had happened.

—

Finding Ethan was easier than I anticipated. A few quick phone calls, and I pinpointed his location to a bar not too far from where I was. My plan was straightforward: infiltrate his space, provoke him just enough to let something slip about his family’s dealings.

As I pulled up to the bar, the neon sign flickered lazily, casting a dim glow over the entrance. The music thumped loudly, and the mingling scents of stale beer and smoke wafted through the air. I shoved my hands deep into my jacket pockets, keeping my head low as I stepped inside.

The atmosphere was far from packed. A few men laughed boisterously at the bar, while others whispered conspiratorially in a dimly lit booth. And there, in the far corner, sat Ethan.

He exuded an air of ownership, lounging back in his chair with an effortless charm. One arm draped casually over the backrest, a glass of whiskey cradled in his hand. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his hair fell perfectly into place, as if styled by some unseen hand. He appeared calm, yet his eyes darted around the room, betraying an underlying tension.

I made my way to the opposite side of the room, selecting a seat that granted me a clear view of him without drawing his attention. I signaled the bartender for a drink I had no real desire for, my focus solely on Ethan.

All I needed to do was keep my cool and observe.

But soon, my attention was diverted. The door swung open with a creak, and three men entered, their imposing figures marked by broad shoulders and tattoos snaking down their arms. One of them looked familiar—I had dealt drugs with him in the past.

Unease settled in my stomach. Why was Ethan associating with drug dealers?

Instead of heading to the bar or a table, the trio made a beeline for Ethan. My grip tightened around my glass, anxiety flooding my senses.

Ethan noticed them too, and his demeanor shifted. The relaxed facade melted away, replaced by a sharp intensity. He set down his drink, standing with a sudden, predatory grace, like a coiled spring ready to unleash.

I cautiously pushed my chair back, trying to remain inconspicuous, and followed them, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Boss,” one of the tattooed men said, his voice low but unmistakably authoritative.

The word struck me like a physical blow. Boss?

I froze just outside the hallway leading to the back of the bar. Ethan halted, fists clenched tightly at his sides, tension radiating from him.

“I already told you!” Ethan’s voice rang out, sharp and fierce, echoing through the narrow space. “I told you never to show up when I’m with her!”

Before the man could respond, Ethan’s fist connected with his face, the sound of the punch reverberating like a gunshot. The man stumbled back, cursing under his breath.

“Boss, wait… you were needed,” another one attempted to reason, but Ethan’s fiery gaze turned on him, eyes ablaze with fury.

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