[CONTENT TEMPLATE HERE]
Chapter 787:
Up on the VIP balcony, Cole sat perfectly still, swirling his whiskey. He watched the entire scene unfold with cold detachment—two people destroying each other over what remained of their wreckage. There was nothing on his face. No pity. No satisfaction. Nothing. Just dark, empty eyes observing something that no longer had any meaning to him.
The bouncers threw Richard out the back door. A third bouncer grabbed Alycia by the arm and pulled her roughly to her feet. “You too. Out. Both of you—banned for life p>
He dragged her across the bar and threw her through the same back door, slamming it shut behind her with a heavy, final click.
The heavy metal door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the music and laughter of the bar. Alycia and Richard were left alone in the cold, damp alley. The rain was falling harder now, turning the dirt and garbage beneath their feet into a slimy, stinking mud.
𝘉𝘦 р𝗮𝘳t 𝗼𝘧 оu𝗋 c𝗈𝗺𝘮𝘶𝗻𝘪t𝘺 о𝗇 ѕ.𝗰𝘰𝘮
Richard collapsed against the brick wall and slid down until he was sitting in it, his head in his hands, his body shaking with dry heaves. Alycia leaned against the opposite wall, pressing a hand to her swollen cheek. The taste of blood was still strong in her mouth and her head throbbed with every heartbeat.
Up above, in the window of the VIP balcony, Cole watched them for a long moment. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed his assistant. “Pull all the roadblocks we had on the Beasleys,” he said, his voice flat. “Let them go back to Long Island. June wants them there. Let the rat walk into his own trap p>
He hung up, took one last sip of his whiskey, stood, adjusted his jacket, and walked out of the bar without looking back.
Down in the alley, Richard finally stopped heaving. He looked up at Alycia, his eyes bloodshot and accusatory. “Well? What are we going to do now?” he snapped, as though it were her responsibility to fix everything.
Alycia laughed—a short, bitter sound. “Do? What can we do? We have no money, no phones, no cars, no allies. Everyone in this city hates us p>
Richard cursed under his breath and went through his pockets methodically, turning each one inside out, until he produced a crumpled hundred-dollar bill from the inner lining of his jacket. The last money they had in the world.
“Come on,” he said, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. “We’re going back to the manor. There has to be something left. Jewelry, silver, something I can pawn p>
Alycia didn’t argue. She had nowhere else to go.
They stumbled out of the alley and onto the main street, where they flagged down a beat-up yellow taxi. The driver looked at their disheveled, mud-covered state with obvious distaste, his hand resting on the door handle as though prepared to drive off if they didn’t pay upfront.
Richard slapped the hundred-dollar bill on the dashboard. “Long Island. Beasley Manor. And hurry up p>
The driver shrugged, took the money, and pulled into traffic.
The taxi rumbled down the Long Island Expressway in the pre-dawn darkness. The cabin was silent except for the windshield wipers and Richard’s loud, drunken snoring—he had passed out almost the moment they left the city, his head lolling against the window.