Chapter 671
Chapter 671:
He kicked the nearest stack of bricks with all the force of his rage.
It was a mistake.
Solid clay does not yield to dress shoes, especially when the leg driving the kick is already full of holes. Agony exploded in his thigh, radiating down to his toes.
Lucian gasped, collapsing against the door of the wheel-less car, clutching his injured leg. He looked ridiculous. He knew he looked ridiculous, which only made the bile rise faster in his throat.
A low, purring hum approached from the street.
Lucian froze. He recognized that sound. It was the distinct, throaty idle of a high-performance engine.
A silver sports car, sleek and predatory, glided into the lot.
The rain began to fall then—fat, cold drops that splattered against the pavement and soaked into Lucian’s shirt instantly. The car stopped right next to him. The window, tinted so dark it looked like a black mirror, slid down smoothly.
Skye Sterling sat in the driver’s seat. She wore oversized sunglasses despite the overcast sky. She lowered them slowly, peering over the rim. Her eyes weren’t cold; they were dancing.
“Yo, Mr. Graves,” she drawled, her voice dripping with faux admiration. “Is this the new levitating concept model? Very eco-friendly p>
Lucian planted his foot, ignoring the throbbing pain. He straightened his spine, trying to salvage some shred of dignity while standing in the rain beside a car on blocks.
“Skye,” he hissed. Rainwater dripped from the tip of his nose. “You did this p>
“Me?” Skye pressed a hand to her chest, feigning shock. “Don’t be slanderous, Lucian. I’m just a concerned citizen passing by. Parker mentioned you might be having car trouble. He has eyes everywhere, you know p>
She pulled out her phone and snapped a photo. The flash was blinding in the gloom.
“That’s going to TMZ,” she said brightly. “Title: ‘The Fall of the House of Graves.’ Or maybe just ‘Brick by Brick.’ What do you think p>
𝗥𝘦𝗮𝗱𝘦𝗿 𝖼o𝗆𝘮u𝗻і𝘵𝘆 𝗼n 𝗯𝘦𝗅𝘯o𝘃е𝗅𝘀.cоm
The passenger window rolled down.
A young man leaned out. He had messy, Korean-style curly hair and thick black-rimmed glasses that magnified his eyes. He wore a loud, oversized hoodie with a Supreme logo. He held a bubble tea, chewing aggressively on a tapioca pearl.
“Whoa,” the man said. His voice was a strained, raspy croak, sounding painful and rough, as if his vocal cords had been scrubbed with sandpaper. “That ground clearance is sick, dude. You going off-roading p>
Lucian narrowed his eyes. He stared at the man.
There was something about the jawline, the width of the shoulders… it reminded him of Liam Kensington. But the face was wrong—the nose was broader, the cheekbones different. And the voice… Liam had a baritone that commanded boardrooms. This guy sounded like a chainsmoker with laryngitis.
“Who are you?” Lucian demanded, stepping closer, trying to peer past the rain and the disguise.
“Preston,” the man said, tapping his throat and wincing theatrically. “I’m the Hayes cousin. The one who actually has a job? I do AI stuff in the Valley. Got a nasty case of nodules on the cords. Doctor says I shouldn’t talk much, but… dude, your car. Heard you owe my cousin Victoria a lot of money. Like, a lot p>
Liam Kensington, hidden beneath the wig, the glasses, and a layer of theatrical prosthetics applied by Skye’s makeup team, watched Lucian closely.