Craving My Brother's Best Friend (Bailey and Kaleb) novel Chapter 57

**The Night We Borrowed Fire from a Broken Star by Selvin Arlo Crest**

**Chapter 57**

**Kaleb’s POV**

…

Reaching Trevor Cross was like trying to scale an insurmountable mountain. In truth, it felt nearly impossible.

For weeks on end, I had employed every tactic imaginable, even resorting to pestering his office staff relentlessly. Yet, each attempt ended in failure, leaving me frustrated and empty-handed.

They always told me he was either too occupied, traveling, or otherwise engaged in appointments.

Pride held me back from reaching out to Ethan; I didn’t want to drag him into this mess. So, I resolved to alter my approach.

After yet another week of silence, I slammed my phone down on the table, my hands trembling with frustration.

“This is utterly pointless,” I muttered under my breath, the weight of despair heavy on my chest. “They clearly don’t want me anywhere near him.”

But nothing could deter me. I had waited six long years for the truth, and I was hell-bent on uncovering every last detail.

That evening, I made my way to a private club nestled in the heart of downtown. I was certain that Mr. Cross would be present. The thought of gaining entry filled me with a mix of excitement and trepidation; I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but my determination surged stronger than ever.

As I approached the club, the towering black doors loomed ahead, flanked by two imposing figures clad in sharp suits. Their earpieces glimmered subtly under the ambient lights. When I stepped forward, they immediately blocked my path, their expressions unreadable.

“Invitation?” one of them inquired, his tone icy.

“I don’t have one,” I replied, striving to project confidence despite the anxiety bubbling within me.

“Then you don’t go in,” he stated flatly, as if my presence was an inconvenience.

I clenched my jaw, irritation flaring inside me. “I need to see Trevor Cross.”

The guard chuckled mockingly. “Everyone wants to see Trevor Cross. Move along.”

I gazed past them, fixating on the golden light spilling from the club’s interior. In my mind’s eye, I could picture Trevor seated comfortably, laughing, sipping a drink, and puffing on his signature large cigar.

“Move,” the second guard warned, his patience wearing thin.

“Tell him Jonathan Hayes’ son is here,” I declared, my voice steady and resolute.

This seemed to give them pause.

One guard exchanged a glance with the other, and after a moment’s hesitation, the first guard frowned. “Wait here.”

He slipped inside, and less than a minute later, the door swung open again.

“Come in,” the guard beckoned, his tone now subdued.

The atmosphere inside the club was thick with dim lighting and swirling smoke. Affluent patrons lounged around, indulging in laughter and drinks, each pretending to possess dominion over the world.

In a secluded corner, I spotted Trevor Cross, ensconced in the company of men clad in black suits. A large cigar smoldered in his hand, casting a haze of smoke that curled around his sharp features. His eyes were cold, piercing, almost knife-like. In that moment, I realized he was the spitting image of Ethan.

As I approached, the guards shifted closer, ready to intervene if necessary.

But Trevor raised a hand, his voice slicing through the chatter. “Stop,” he commanded, an authority that silenced the room.

He leaned forward, smoke swirling around him like a veil.

“Jonathan Hayes’ son, is it?” he inquired, his tone dripping with curiosity.

“Yes,” I replied, my throat dry and constricted.

Trevor’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Let him sit.”

I sank into the chair across from him, the leather enveloping me as if trying to swallow me whole.

My heart raced, pounding so fiercely I feared it might burst from my chest.

Trevor took a long puff from his cigar, his gaze unwavering. “You resemble him,” he remarked slowly. “Same eyes, same stubborn jawline.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. “What happened to my father?”

Trevor leaned back, exhaling a plume of smoke, his eyes momentarily drifting away. “Your father,” he began softly, “was a dear friend of mine. It was a tragedy that he died.”

“A tragedy?” I snapped, a surge of anger rising within me. “That’s all you have to say? A tragedy? He was murdered. I demand the truth.”

Trevor scrutinized me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’re quite bold. Just like him.”

“Tell me!” I insisted, my voice rising with urgency.

He tapped his cigar, sending ashes cascading into a crystal tray.

“It was the Serpent Mafia,” he finally divulged. “They killed him.”

The revelation struck me like a bullet, piercing through my defenses.

My fists clenched tightly at my sides.

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