I pace around my apartment, restless anger and frustration combining in a tense energy I can’t shake no matter how much I want to.

I want to call her, go back to her apartment, anything really as long as I can stop this pressing loneliness from hanging over me. The fight with Cara is like a fucking movie clip playing on repeat in my head over and over and over again. I can’t get it out of my mind.

The things she said. The look on her face. So much pain and heartache there. And I’m feeling it, too. This is exactly why I’ve worked so hard to keep from getting involved with a woman. Nothing can end well if you put your heart on the line. I fucking know better. I’ve spent most of my adult life avoiding this very thing.

Until Cara walked into my life and made me feel things I never thought I’d feel. Want things I never thought I’d want. Things I never knew I was missing until she came along.

Fuck!

I punch my fist into the door frame of the front door as I pass by it for the eight-hundredth time. I need to get the fuck out of here.

Grabbing my keys from the entry table, I storm out the door, taking the stairs because standing still in an elevator might make me lose it completely right now. When I bust through the door of my building onto the busy Manhattan streets, I stride angrily down the sidewalk until I get to my favorite bar.

Grabbing a seat at the bar, I order the most expensive whiskey they have, then tell the bartender to just bring me the whole fucking bottle.

I knock the first glass back like it’s a shot, not even caring that it’s a damn good waste of such a fine drink. Same thing with the second. When the burn settles in my stomach, I slow down, pouring a glass and jostling the ice around while I look around the bar.

Almost immediately, three women smile my way and saunter over to me on six-inch heels, hips swaying in their miniskirts as they bat their fake eyelashes and bite their heavily painted lips. I want to roll my eyes. They’re like slutty versions of Stepford wives. Carbon copies of each other.

How was I so into that shit a week ago? Right now I’m totally disgusted by the sight of them. Only out for a good fuck. To get their claws in Liam Donovan so they can say they fucked me, like some goddamn badge of honor.

Cara’s words come back to me as the cookie cutter skanks sidle up to me, draping themselves all over my body.

The ultimate player.

Liam fucking Donovan, king of the world.

Heartless bastard.

God’s gift to women.

A pathetic overgrown kid.

Does she really think of me like that? She knows that’s not the real me, right? I don’t even know now. And the thought makes me sick. Disgusted with myself, just like she said she was. I don’t want her thinking of me that way. Because it’s not who I am. Not really. It’s a facade, built to protect my heart. The heart that got decimated anyway.

I shove my unfinished drink away, along with the rest of the bottle, and push the women off of me. Glancing around, I notice there are plenty more watching, waiting to take their place. Fuck, I can’t even get a damn drink in peace without every woman in the place throwing themselves at me. Wanting a night with the city’s most infamous playboy.

Fuck this shit. I toss a bill on the bar and push past the women without so much as a word or a glance, making my way out of the bar. Heading back in the direction of my apartment, I hang a left on the street beside it and punch in the code to enter my private garage.

I have several cars in here, depending on which one suits my mood if I don’t feel like taking my limo. But there’s only one I have my eye on tonight.

I run my fingers over the soft cover that I haven’t removed in years. I hire someone to take this baby for a spin just enough to keep the engine in good condition. Taking a deep breath, I yank the cover off.

My eyes settle on the vintage Mustang. It’s a Shelby GT 500. My brother’s pride and joy.

Lucas.

I swallow against the tightness in my throat. I haven’t driven it since he died. We used to take it out all the time together. But I haven’t been able to bring myself to look at it, much less drive it.

So what’s different now? All I can think is that Cara’s ripped off the bandage on the wounds I try so hard to cover up. All the feelings I don’t want to acknowledge. But there’s no fighting them now. She’s making me feel a thousand different emotions.

If Lucas were here, I’d have him to talk to about it. Maybe driving his car will help me clear my head. Give me some kind of clarity about what the fuck I do now.

I grab the keys from the password protected safe attached to the cement wall and sit down inside, the smell of the leather filling my nose. Blowing out a breath, I crank the engine, and the muscle car roars to life. In seconds, I’m pulling out onto the streets of Manhattan into the congestion I hate with only one thought in my mind.

I need to get the fuck out of this city.