The Anti-hero (The Goode Brothers)

The look on Truett’s face is probably enough for Adam. I’d say if nothing else happens from this little charade, the expression of pure panic and terror his father is exhibiting probably makes this whole thing worth it.

I feel it in the way Adam pulls me a little closer, squeezing me tighter against his side as Truett approaches.

“Son,” the man says by way of greeting as he reaches us. It’s not exactly a warm greeting either, more of an emotionless acknowledgment.

“Dad,” Adam replies, giving him a nod.

“Who…” he starts, clearing his throat to regain his composure, “who is this?”

Of course, Truett knows exactly who I am. I watched him enter that club nearly every night. I was there the first time he fucked someone in the VIP room, and I was there the night his son caught him with his face between another woman’s thighs.

I know Truett, and he knows me.

When I glance up toward Adam, waiting for his answer to the man’s question, I expect him to falter again. I expect him to hesitate and uncomfortably call me his date.

But he doesn’t falter at all.

“This is my girlfriend, Sage,” Adam says with an air of smug confidence—head held high, arm proudly draped behind my back, eyes laser-focused on the man in front of him. There’s a flinch in his father’s expression as he utters that word.

“Girlfriend?” Truett replies with astonishment.

I can hardly contain the grin on my face.

“Nice to meet you,” I say as sweetly as possible, extending my hand toward him. Adam’s father stares at it a moment before a tall, thin blonde woman I recognize as Melanie Goode joins him at his side. Her reaction is not nearly as trained as everyone else’s. She gapes at me with shock, her eyes scanning me from my pink hair down to my strappy black heels.

But just as I expect her to verbally belittle me with disgust or contention, she takes me completely by surprise as she smiles sweetly. “Well, aren’t you a vision? I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Melanie.”

She puts her perfectly manicured hand out, and I shake it nervously, waiting for Adam to jump in with the introductions. When he doesn’t, I glance up at him and, for the first time, notice a sense of apprehension on his face. He’s staring at his mother with softness and remorse written across his features.

“I’m Sage,” I say to Melanie, but this time, my smile isn’t forced.

Truett’s scornful gaze is directed at me, and just as he opens his mouth to say something, there’s a booming voice over the loudspeaker. A man in a blue suit at the front of the stage warmly welcomes all of the attendees and invites us all to find our seats.

Without a word, Melanie smiles tightly at me before turning her back and pulling her husband toward the front of the room.

As I glance back up at Adam, I notice that the confidence and satisfaction are gone from his face.

We make our way over to the tables in the middle of the room. They’re large and round, big enough to fit eight people at each, which means we’re seated at the same table as Adam’s parents, his brother and his wife, along with two empty seats.

Adam is tense beside me as we wait in silence for the others to join us. Melanie Goode keeps glancing my way and every time I catch her staring, she gives me a polite smile and looks away.

Briar Goode looks like she’s on a mission to get drunk before everyone else. She’s already halfway through a new glass of wine.

A man who looks more like Adam and Melanie is sitting on the other side of Briar. No one greets him and he doesn’t speak. Just leans back in his chair as if he’s already bored, and the event hasn’t even started.

“That’s my brother Luke,” Adam whispers in my ear. “He hates these things.”

“I can see that,” I reply under my breath. Then I glance at the empty chair. “Who is that seat for?”

The muscles in Adam’s jaw clench, and I sense that I’ve just touched on a sensitive topic. “My youngest brother Isaac.”

“Is he coming?” I ask.

“No.” Then he takes a drink and averts his eyes. “He doesn’t come…to anything anymore.”

With that, I drop the subject. The last thing I want to do tonight is get on Adam’s nerves. He’s my lifeline, the only person I can rely on in this den of wolves.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. His lips are so close to my ear I can feel them brushing my hair. If I were to turn my head, we’d be mouth to mouth. Something tells me he was about to kiss me earlier after the introduction with Caleb and Briar. But he hesitated a second too long and the moment passed.

I’m cursing myself for not practicing the kissing before tonight. I had him touch my boobs. Why didn’t I just kiss him too, to get it out of our systems? Because before tonight is over, we’re going to have to kiss at least once. That was the deal.

“I need more alcohol,” I reply in a whisper with my nearly empty glass up to my lips. “Everyone is staring at me.”

“That’s the idea, remember?” His voice is low and authoritative, sending a wave of chills down my spine. I hate how good he smells and how nice it feels to be seen with him. To be seen as his.

Adam always looks clean-cut and well-dressed, but tonight is next level. In a dark-charcoal suit with a coral-colored tie, he almost looks like he dressed to match me. Not to mention the pink in the silk around his neck brings out the warm-brown tones of his eyes. And the soft-pink hue of his lips.

“You’re not going to stop me from drinking too much, are you?” I ask with a coy smirk as I finish my martini.

“Fuck no,” he snaps. “Get as drunk as you want. Give them a show.”

With that, he waves down the waiter.

We don’t actually get all that drunk. Although when one rich white man after another takes the stage to talk about the foundation, almost as much as they talk about themselves and how generous they are, I wish that waiter would make his trips a little more frequent.

After what feels like hours of torture, they serve dinner and the music plays. I barely pick at my meal. It’s a pecan-crusted chicken breast that’s bland and tastes a little too much like this place feels—smug and snobbish. The charity they’re supporting is literally for feeding children in third-world countries while they sit here and gorge themselves on a three-course meal, patting themselves on the back for how benevolent they are.

The longer I sit, the more bitter and cynical I get.

So when I notice the conversation around us growing quiet, I turn to Adam. With my lips against his ear, I whisper, “I’m bored. Let’s cause a scene.”

His brow twitches as he fights a smile. There’s vitriol in his eyes as they glare across the table at his father, who’s talking to some old guy.

Adam’s eyes find mine for a moment before he tosses down his napkin and takes my hand.

“Let’s dance,” he says out loud.

Everyone at the table glances our way as we stand up and move toward the dance floor. There are already a few couples out there, but they’re mostly very old and very boring. The music is some nameless, instrumental song I don’t know, and definitely not the kind of tune anyone should be grinding to.

Not that Adam and I are grinding, but as he pulls my body against his, my right leg slips through the slit in my dress, exposing my tattooed leg all the way up—mermaid tits and all. I’m practically straddling his thigh as we start to sway in gentle circles around the dance floor.

To my surprise, Adam is actually a pretty good dancer. He’s got rhythm and grace, leading me with strength, so all I really have to do is hold on to him and let him guide the way.

I scan the room as we move, noticing the way people stare at us with confusion before leaning in toward each other as if to gossip about us. It gives me a strange sense of satisfaction to know I’m disrupting this whole stupid charade of theirs.

“People are watching,” I say to Adam, but as I turn my head to look up at him, I find him staring softly at me. Not with condemnation or judgment. Almost like he’s…admiring me.

With a blink, the look is gone, his expression tightening and his jaw clenching.

“You should have seen the look on my father’s face when he recognized you. Scared shitless.”

“Good. Let him sweat a little,” I reply. “Do you think he suspects it’s fake?”

With a subtle shake of his head, he says, “No. He has no reason to think it’s fake, but we might need to sell it a little more.”

“Then kiss me,” I reply bluntly. Adam’s eyes grow serious, and I notice the bounce of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Now?”

“Are they watching?”

He glances back at his father’s table. “Yes,” he says with trepidation.

“Then do it,” I say, trying to encourage him. His arm is wrapped around my lower back and we’re still moving in harmony with the music, but I can tell Adam is struggling with this part. And I don’t understand why.

We shuffle around the room for another turn and I can see him trying to find the right time. Just then, the song comes to an end, and the dancers around us freeze in place, clapping for the orchestra on stage.

“Now,” I say as we come to a stop. His grip on my back tightens, and I feel the hard planes of his chest against my breasts as he squeezes me tighter. I also feel the swell of his dick in his pants, and while it’s not a raging hard-on, it’s not exactly soft either.

Just as our eyes meet and he leans down toward me, I brace for the kiss—

“Can I cut in?”

Our movement stops and we both freeze, our lips only an inch apart. Adam’s fingers squeeze mine so tight it almost hurts.

The clear, Southern drawl of the man behind me feels like a cold drip of fear cascading down my spine, and as much as my body is telling me to run, to get away and hide—I can’t.

Instead, Adam and I make brief, intense eye contact before turning toward his father, who is waiting to take my hand like it’s the casual, expected thing to do.

My stomach turns when Adam tightens his grip on my back.

“It’s just a dance,” Truett mutters darkly.

He can’t tell his father no. Not when hundreds of people are watching. He can’t cause a scene here and now, painting Truett as the victim. It’s not part of the plan.

I hear the tightness in his chest as he replies to his father, “No.”

“Of course,” I say, interrupting Adam. My smile is as fake as it’s ever been and probably looks more cross than I want it to. And when Adam squeezes me again, I fear the confrontation might be inevitable after all.

So I peel his hands from my back and look him in the eye. “Of course,” I say through gritted teeth. “It’s just a dance.”

Adam’s molars grind as he reluctantly places my hand in Truett’s and steps away. The old man gives me a sickening smile that makes my skin crawl. His heavy-scented cologne replaces the sweet and subtle scent of Adam’s as he pulls me against him. I have to force myself to look natural, to smile and move my feet when the music starts playing again.

Even though we’re on a dance floor surrounded by couples in a room packed with hundreds of people, I feel alone with Truett, and it’s not a pleasant feeling at all.

He tugs me closer so my body is flush with his, and bile rises in my throat. Fear and panic create a tremor deep in my bones, and I keep my eyes unfocused as he grins at me.

“Just keep smiling,” he says in a low tone.

“I am,” I reply. Even I know my tight-lipped expression is probably not selling anything. But right now, I don’t care.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? How good is that pussy that you’ve seduced my son?”

It dawns on me at this moment that he doesn’t suspect us of lying. He believes Adam and I are a real thing, which means he believes Adam…and blames me.

Just stick with the story, Sage.

“I didn’t even have to try that hard,” I reply, my smile growing wider as I manage to look him in the eye. “I had him worshiping me just hours after you nearly knocked him out.”

“I bet you did.”

“Does it make you sick to know how easily I won him over? How fast I convinced your son to put pussy before God?”

He pinches my back, and I bite back the urge to yelp as tears sting behind my eyes.

“Watch yourself, you little slut,” he mutters lowly, keeping his expression warm and kind as he insults me.

“No, I’d rather not,” I reply, glancing around the room for Adam. But with the crowd on the dance floor now, I can’t seem to find him.

I want to make sure he hasn’t abandoned me with this monster, but also because I don’t want him to hear this next part, where I go a little rogue.

“You know, Reverend Goode,” I say, forcing my voice to stay kind. “I’d stop seeing Adam…for a price.”

“Whores always have a price,” he replies. “Name it.”

My face grows solemn and serious as I level my gaze at his. Being this close, I notice that he looks so much more fragile and weathered in person than he does on TV. When he’s behind that pulpit on the stage in front of a crowd, he appears indestructible. But seeing him like this, I’m reminded that he’s not. He’s a vulnerable little man with a fragile ego and more to lose than the power to protect himself.

“I want the deed,” I say, and there’s a flinch in his eyes as I say those words. I already know he won’t take the bait, but I have to try.

“The deed to the club, you mean,” he replies.

“Of course. Is that how much your son’s virtue is worth?”

The song comes to an end, and Truett only smiles at me. “That’s what I thought,” I say with a wink. But as I start to pull away, he snatches me by the waist and yanks me against him. My blood runs cold as he holds me in place, putting his mouth against my ear as he mutters darkly.

“Don’t you dare fucking threaten me, you vile slut. You have no idea who you’re fucking with. If you don’t leave my son alone, I’ll find a way to ruin you, understand me? If I ever see you with him again, I won’t play so nicely next time.”

I’m practically shivering as he releases his hold on me, letting me stumble backward. Before I know it, I’m in Adam’s arms, and he’s staring down at me with concern etched in his features.

“Thank you for the dance, beautiful,” Truett says with a beaming grin. The people around us watch with rapt appreciation, and they all start clapping as he strides away from me.

Adam turns me so I’m facing him, his thumb stroking over my cheek.

“Are you okay?” he mouths silently.

For a moment, I feel so full of rage and anger I could cry on the spot, but Adam’s eyes are tethering me to the moment. Instead of crying, I grab his arms and pull him closer. I don’t know how many people are watching, but I know we have an audience as I plaster a big fake smile on my face.

Then I lean in and mutter through my teeth, “I fucking hate him, and I want to make him suffer.”

Satisfaction washes over Adam’s eyes as a grin stretches across his cheeks. “Me too,” he replies.

“Then fucking kiss me, and make it good.”

With that, he crashes his lips against mine without an ounce of hesitation or doubt.

Game fucking on.