CHAPTER THREE
Lance
I knew Logan was lying. That fucker was always bad at lying which is why I’m the negotiations guy. My brother is charismatic and friendly, great at getting a potential seller to list with us, at partying and making people like him. But he’s never been great at driving a hard bargain, slamming down on his emotions while playing the big points. So I knew he was lying through his teeth. It had something to do with where he’d been last night, and I’d been tipped off after Patricia called me, her voice venomous.
“Where’s Logan?” she hissed. “Did you take your brother to Club Luxe again?” She was referring to a gentlemen’s club around town famous for its hot underage hookers.
“No Patty,” I ground out, knowing she hated that name. “I have no idea where Logan is. Why don’t you try calling him?” I said, my own voice cold as ice.
There’s no love lost between us. Patricia’s like a fucking poison vine growing on my brother’s soul, and it hurt me to see him like this, depressed, moody, not wanting to go home because that blood-sucking leech would be there. Ever since she’d had that “miscarriage” last month, he let her move into his place. What a mistake. She’d done nothing but spend his money and whine, living a life of indolence and greed. God, how I hated that viper.
So I knew my twin wasn’t headed back to the penthouse he shared with Patricia. He was sneaking off … to where? Patricia keeps him on a tight leash, her fucking minions reporting back to her at every chance.
I watched as Logan grabbed his stuff, calling downstairs for his car to be brought around. I heard the motor of the Tesla roar and with a squeal, he was off.
I dialed downstairs as well, and hopped into my Lamborghini. I had a feeling I knew where he was headed … and it was connected to a girl we knew a long time ago.