Page 110 of Best In Class
“No, Dad, it’s all mine. Well, some of it’s Luna’s.”
Lev rises. I set my half-finished drink on an antique side table and step up beside him. There’s a tension in the air, sharp and electric—I’ve got a feeling this is about to turn uglier.
“He’s fucking your sister. Don’t you have any pride?” Nathaniel is livid now.
Lev flinches at his father talking about Luna like that. I clench my fists.
“Compared to the man who sleeps in my mother’s bed, the man in my sister’s is one I have the utmost respect for.”
Nathaniel lunges, and it’s like time slows. His hand goes up, fingers curled, rage boiling.
I step between them, catching Lev’s father’s wrist mid-air.
He resists, tries to pull away, but I bench press more than this man weighs in bad intentions.
He’s all brittle bones and bluster—old money and older anger. Physically feeble. Emotionally bankrupt.
I’m solid. Steady. Built from years of work, sweat, and the knowledge that men like him only have power if you let them.
“Don’t,” I snap, voice low. “You lay a hand on Lev, and I swear to God, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do in this house.”
Nathaniel tries to yank himself free from my grip, but it’s like trying to pull free from solidified cement. His face goes red, veins bulging, teeth clenched in frustration.
Lev says nothing—but his silence is volcanic.
I hold on just long enough to make sure Nathaniel knows he’s beaten. Then I let go. Not as a favor. As a warning.
But the man’s a fool. Because instead of backing off, he goes for me—proving he didn’t learn a damn thing.
Right on cue, the door to the library swings open. I know it’s Luna, but I don’t turn to look at her. I focus on her father, ‘cause I knew this was coming. Men like Nathaniel Steele never walk away. Pride always takes the lead. And pride always falls.
I sidestep him like a drunk uncle at a wedding trying to start a fight with the DJ.
He stumbles, off-balance from all that misplaced anger and frail pride, and goes down on his ass, hard, on the antique rug with a grunt and a curse.
It’s not elegant. It’s not dignified. But it is damnsatisfying.
Lev doesn’t move. I think he’s shocked that his father raised his hand at us. For all his flaws, and God knows, Nathaniel Steele has plenty, he’s never struck anyone, not with Lev as witness.
Now, the hopeless ass glares up at me, winded, fury sputtering in his eyes like a candle too far gone to catch.
“You done?” I ask quietly, my breath steady.
See, old man, I didn’t even break a sweat, and you’re on your ass.
Luna walks up to me and surveys the scene. She’s not alone.
Jenn totters in behind her. “What’s going on in here?” she asks in a sing-song manner, a slur in her tone, and the hysteria of a drunk.
I extend a hand to Nathaniel in a show of civility. He pointedly ignores it and hauls himself up, wobbling slightly as he rises—every bit the old man his vanity refuses to acknowledge.
Luna steps past me, past Lev, and goes toe-to-toe with her father. “Let me guess, you insulted the man I love, tried to humiliate my brother…anything else?”
I want to pull her away from Nathaniel. I worry he’ll use his hands on her, and I know I’ll kill the son of a bitch if he does.
“Luna—” Nathaniel starts.
“No.” She lifts a hand to silence him. “You don’t get to speak. The only reason I even showed up today was because of Lev. But don’t mistake obligation for affection.”
