Page 35 of Threaded Lies

Invisible.

The name doesn’t ring a bell for any of the people in this room, all of whom no doubt know of the trouble Chadwick was in and had probably read the newspaper articles about it.

The ones that no doubt stated my brother’s name.

But even front-page news couldn’t make him nor I be visible.

“Yes, sir.” My voice sounds like anger personified and then smothered with a blanket.

“Make sure I don’t know it again,” Gary says before walking out and propping the door open on his way out for the mounting members outside who were waiting to come in.

“Let’s get out of here,” Darren says and pushes me out through the staff exit on the other side of the room. The minute we’re in the back hall of the staff hallway, he turns on me. “What the fuck was that about? Your name is Holden, right? Or is it Mason? What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing. It was stupid.” I wave a hand, hating that it doesn’t even register for him either. “Just … let it go.”

“You sure?” He eyes me and then glances at his watch. “Shit, I’ve got to get to the Pro Shop.”

“Thanks again.” He starts to jog down the hallway. “Darren?”

He stops and turns. “Yeah?”

“The names? The women? What was that all about?”

“I made them up.”

“What?”

“I made them up. There are plenty of rumors around the staff about what pricks those guys are to the women here. They’re so self-centered I took a chance that none of them ever took the time to remember the names of the women they took advantage of.”

“Jesus Christ.”

He shrugs. “Apparently I was right. Lucky for us.” He flashes a grin, but the look in his eyes says it all to me. He gets it. He understands. He loathes them too. “Later, Simpson.” He pushes open the door and then heads off toward the Pro Shop.

I stare after him, trying to process everything that just happened. My first day back at work. The fight. A random ally. Gary’s ignorance.

Later, Simpson.

All that work so people would know we were related, Mase, and they still don’t.

But they will.

I will not be invisible. I refuse to live that way.

They’ll know who we are, Mason. Even if it’s the last thing I do, they’ll fucking know.

ELEVEN

Holden

“We’re so glad you could come and help celebrate this joyous occasion,” Florence Williams, Chadwick’s mom, says as she claps her hands together and all but squeals seconds before reaching out and grabbing two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and handing one to me. “I feel like last time we chatted I was predicting this was going to happen, right? At the Rothschilds’ barbecue?”

“Right. Sure.” I’ve been to hell and back before but this is feeling a little too close for comfort.

I glance around the floating … barge? It’s a large platform sitting off a private dock of the clubhouse. There is a barndominium-like structure built atop it that adds a rustic ambiance for most but just looks to me like a goddamn dressed-up barge.

Apparently it’s the place to host an event here in Westmore, but to me it’s no better than a fucking torture chamber.

Because isn’t that why I’m here? Why I accepted the invitation that was hand-delivered to my penthouse? To put myself through the torture of seeing Rowan celebrate her engagement to Chad?