Dylan (Dark Legacy #4) by Jaymin Eve

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Every time I was with Dylan “the world’s most eligible billionaire bachelor” Grant, I told myself it would be the last. As much as I craved those lost hours with him, I needed to get my life sorted, and he was a complication that could bring everything crashing down around me. If my brother found out about him—if he knew that there was someone who touched me the way Dylan did—he’d lock me in my room and never let me out.

Of course, it was easier said than done because anytime my damn phone buzzed, I hoped it was him. And on those rare occasions his number appeared, I’d find myself racing out of my hellhole of a house, needing the escape.

The mindless, blissful hours where he fucked me until I couldn’t remember anything that was going on at home.

He pulled some of my broken pieces back together, and he had no idea those were the best hours of my life.

Buzz. Buzz.

I stilled and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. I hadn’t heard from him for two weeks, and every single time my phone went off, I almost shook with anticipation. Unable to stop myself, I opened the message immediately.

D: Hotel on eighth. 7 P.M.

Thank. Fuck.

But seriously, this was it… the absolute last, last, last time. I shouldn’t be going at all, but it had been a hard fucking week and I needed this. Damn, the addiction was real, but who could blame me? Dylan Grant was perfection with his six-foot-four frame, dark skin, expressive green eyes, and the sort of raw magnetism that had rendered me speechless that first time I saw him.

The first time, I gave him a fake name and age and fell into a world that wasn’t mine. And even though, to this day, he still knew virtually nothing about me, I was well-read on everything about the "Delta Heirs." The five of them had been trending on every tabloid, newspaper, magazine, and internet site for months, ever since their parents had been massacred and the five heirs had taken over a multi-multi-billion-dollar company. The press was especially enamored with Riley and Sebastian Beckett, aka Beck. The power couple. The dream team. But there hadn't been any shortage of information on the other three heirs too: Jasper Langham, Evan Rothwell, and him... Dylan Grant.

My phone buzzed again to remind me there was an unread message, and I closed my eyes, slowly counting in my head.

One … two … three … four… Make him wait, Brooklyn. Make him fucking wait this time.

My eyes flew open as my fingers danced across the screen. I paused on the send button, but I couldn't stop myself from pressing it.

Me: I'll be there.

My heart thundered as my stomach flipped. Since this was the last time, maybe I’d even tell him my name and age. My real name and age. That would probably stop him from ever contacting me again anyway, and problem solved.

The fact that we’d even met at all was somewhat of a miracle. It was the first time I’d ever been out at night, and it only happened due to a rare visit from family, which kept Blake occupied and allowed my cousin to sneak me out. In the first club, I’d been at a bar using her ID to buy a drink when Dylan had sidled in next to me, caught sight of my identification, and from then on, assumed me to be twenty-one-year-old Serena Michaels.

I hadn't corrected him. Why would I? He sure as hell wouldn't have let me blow him in the back of his limo had he known I was only seventeen at the time. Not to mention everything that happened afterwards…

Anticipation flipped my stomach over and over, and I stared at my phone for way too long. He wouldn’t reply, I knew that, but I liked to see that he’d read my message.

“Brooklyn!”

The shout almost sent me toppling off my bed, and the tone had my chest clenching. Not in the way that sex with Dylan did. Nope. This was dread. Pure, unadulterated dread.

“Y-yes?” I shouted back, hoping he just had a question to ask.

“Get your ass downstairs. Now!”

I was up and moving before my brain could catch up.

Ignoring a request from Blake Lawson, aka big brother, was something I’d learned never to do—learned it the hard way. And even if he was planning on punishing me right now, it would be ten times worse if I made him wait.

“On my way,” I shouted, rushing out of my bedroom.

We lived on the edge of Boulder, Colorado, in a huge estate that backed onto forests and a lake. From the outside it looked like I had it all, including a rich, handsome older brother who doted on me and gave me everything I wanted.

The truth was, since our parents had died, leaving the bulk of their property fortune to Blake, I’d been a virtual prisoner in this home. He monitored my every move, my food intake—”no Lawsons are fat, Brooklyn!”—my phone, and my friends.

Whenever Dylan messaged, I had to devise a new excuse to leave. I hadn’t had a chance to work on today’s, but I’d think of something. Hopefully, Blake would go out for some business, and all I’d have to do is get past the security on the outside. No one disturbed me in my room except for my brother.

When I reached the staircase, I let my fingertips trace across the smooth, highly polished timber handrail. Our family home was beautiful, thanks to my mother’s decorating genius. It was open and light with lots of sunlight streaming through high windows, warming my face as I hurried downstairs. Jumping the last three steps, I winced as my bare feet protested before I raced across the marble foyer and into the large, wood-paneled office off to the right.