by Emilia Finn
“Um… Mr. James.” Ugh! I suck at fake names when I’m being put on the spot. I slowly, shakily cross my studio and extend a hand when I stop two feet in front of Jamie. “You’re early.”
“Early?”
Jamie’s eyes radiate fury. His jaw ticks, and his chest expands. Bigger, bigger, bigger. But he takes my hand in an innocent shake, though the shot of electricity that singes my nerve endings is anything but innocent. He squeezes my hand, holds on a little longer than is polite, and when I try to pull back, he holds on a second longer. Unnoticeable to anyone else, even Evan, but not to me. I feel it.
My mind races as I struggle to take everything in at once. My studio, Evan’s nearness, the extra inches Jamie has grown since he was eighteen.
I’m not sure I’ve grown a single millimeter in four years, except, perhaps in my ass, but Jamie has grown taller, which means my neck wrenches back when I look up at him. His shoulders are broader, wider, muscular beneath his shirt. And his chest is bigger. It’s just… bigger.
Once, a very long time ago, I rested on that chest. My cheek on his pec, my ear on his heart.
“Prima?” Evan comes around Jamie, possessive, commanding, and pulls me in so my ass rests on his cock, and my back on his chest. He’s declaring ownership, and despite my heart and soul begging me to flick him off, I can’t. If I want to help Will, I must keep Evan happy. Which means, of these two men, Jamie is the one I have to flick. “You know this man?”
“Yeah, Prima.” Jamie spits my name like it tastes of sewage. “You remember me, right?”
“Um…” Think faster. Think faster! “Mr. James.” I pull away from Evan, but only so I can stand by his side and take his arm. “This is Mr. McGrady. Evan, this is, um…”
Jamie pastes on a fake smile and extends a hand for Evan. “Spencer Serrano.”
Evan’s eyes narrow to slits. “Serrano?” He looks down at me. “But you called him Mr. James.”
“My middle name is James,” Jamie easily cuts in. “Sometimes ‘Serrano’ is a mouthful, so I use either name.”
“Um… yes.” I smile for Evan. For Jamie. For the whole fucking universe. “Um… Mr. Serrano is here for dance lessons. He’s getting married next month, and he wanted to surprise his bride with his new capabilities.” I stare into Jamie’s furious eyes, and press, “Right, Mr. Serrano?”
Jamie stares back. His hands fist, because although I’m not overly touching Evan, Evan is touching me. A clear line has been drawn so everyone in this room knows who I belong to.
But really, my heart belongs to the angry man in front of me. Despite my wishes that it wasn’t true, it’s been that way for years, and I’ve yet to find a way to take my heart back. But my safety, my body, and the safety of the only person on this planet I would willingly die for, belongs to the man who clamps his hand onto my hip and holds me close.
“Mr. Serrano?” Evan murmurs.
“Yeah.” Jamie’s eyes lock on to the hand on my hip, but his sneer turns into a grin, full-blown and reminiscent of the boy I once knew. “I’m getting married next month. I’m really excited for my bride to take my name and be with me.” He looks to Evan. “Mine. Forever.”
Threat lingers in the air, potent and almost tangible.
“Um…” I cough to clear the nerves from my throat. “Mr. Serrano was coming in for a ten o’clock appointment,” I lie, “but I meant to call and cancel. I’m so sorry, but I cannot make our session today,” I tell my ‘client’.
“Really?” Jamie tilts his head so the sunlight streaming from outside plays off the muscles that twitch in his jaw. “I’ve come a long way for our session, Miss Quinnton. It would be awfully inconvenient for me to turn around and go home again so soon.”
“I’m so sorry. I, uh…” I grit my teeth when Evan’s nails dig into my hip. “I double-booked my time. It’s impossible.”
“Prima…” Evan whistles his displeasure, and shakes his head. “Organization is king in the business world.”
He pulls me in, fast as a snake, and slams his lips to mine until my hands come up to his chest to brace myself.
“Do not ever double-book yourself again. It is very unprofessional.” He looks to Jamie’s furious face. “She does not mean to besmirch her business reputation, Mr. Serrano. She is usually much more prepared.”
“Perhaps a make-up lesson, then,” Jamie growls. “Tonight. At seven. I would hate to have wasted an entire day driving into the city for this.”
“Mr. Serrano, I’m so sorry, but I just—”
“I must get back to work now, Prima.” Evan loosens his hold and allows me to take a step back. “You can finish your appointment now.”
My brows wing high in surprise. “Huh?”
“You will be busy at seven. With me. But a businessman’s reputation – or, well…” He grins. “Businesswoman, in your case, is very important. You must not make this mistake twice.” Evan turns to Jamie, and extends a hand. “I expect you to conduct yourself in such a way that would not upset your bride-to-be.”
Jamie takes a step forward. Threat. Demand. “Come again?”
“You may learn to dance, Serrano. But you cannot touch what is mine. Do not forget this.”
“Evan, no, I—”
I shut my trap when Evan’s eyes swing back to me.
“I mean to say,” I correct quickly, “that to dance, we must touch.”
Evan’s flat lips curl up into a sinister smile as he looks to Jamie. “We are men. Honorable men, are we not?”
Jamie lifts a single brow in acknowledgment, so Evan continues.
“We know where the line is. Do not cross it.”
Electricity runs between our group, from Evan, to me, to Jamie. Pulsing waves of rage. Of panic. Of suspicion, and indecision.
Jamie wants to say horrible things, to Evan, and to me. His fisting hands want to hit things; Evan… or me. He wants to set the world alight to change how this has all turned out. But in the end, he smiles, and extends a hand for Evan once more.
“We are honorable men, Mr. McGrady. In fact, I’ve heard of you.”
Oh god.
“You have?”
“Of course.” They release their handshake, and Jamie rocks back on his heels and grins. “I am a new member of your club. It’s a beautiful place.”
“What?” My voice shakes with terror, humiliation, rage, because this is the absolute worst thing that could happen. “You know of Zeus’?”
“Of course,” Jamie sneers. “You don’t?”
“She is my best dancer,” Evan boasts like an arrogant douchebag. “My Prima is very skilled.”
“Huh.” Jamie’s fiery eyes meet mine. “How about that. I had no clue you danced there as well, Miss Quinnton. Though of course it makes sense. The occasional groom asking for lessons couldn’t possibly pay all the bills. Not the way dancing at Zeus’ would.”
“Mm.”
I’m not a squeaker. I’m not a meek woman. I grew up in the damn projects, and I’ve never once let anyone make me afraid, but standing here between these men makes me literally shake. Jamie is pissed, and Evan has the potential to make things really bad for me and Will.
“If you come by,” Evan says after a silent moment, “tell them you spoke to me. I will have a room emptied for you upstairs.” His eyes twinkle with savagery. “A pre-wedding celebration, of sorts.”
“Yeah?” Jamie grits out. “What an amazing offer.” He brings his wrist up to check the time, changes his mind, and takes his phone out instead, then looks back to us. “A pre-marriage romp with a Zeus girl sounds exactly like the kind of thing a guy needs. Plus lessons.” He looks to me with a sugary sweet smile. “Please, Miss Quinnton. I would be grateful if we could at least have thirty minutes before your next business obligation arrives.” He offers a hand. “Shall we start?”
It takes just minutes for Evan to excuse himself. For him to succumb to the millions of phone calls that have been coming in for the past hour while he was watching me dance.
> He surprises me with how easily he leaves me alone with another man… though, I guess everyone knows that to be a member at Zeus’ means to be wealthy. Which means Jamie’s declaration of membership buys him favors a poor boy wouldn’t get.
Evan stands taller now, likely wondering how he can pilfer money from the young guy to further line his own pockets. Offer Jamie a dancing girl now, take him for every cent he has later.
Those are some of the foundations Zeus’ was built on.
“Victoria Quinnton.”
The moment Evan’s car pulls away from the curb, Jamie walks away from me and prowls the far end of my studio. Muscular, lean and tall, he walks my wooden floor in boots that leave heavy thump-thump-thumps echoing from surface to surface.
“Jamie,” I rasp out, “I—”
“Victoria Quinnton,” he repeats on a growl, “the poor chick from the wrong side of the tracks, is dating a fucking kingpin.” His dark eyes flick to mine, and blaze. “Not at all what I expected.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Jamie.” I cross the room and stop by my Ellie Solomon dance bag. The zipper long ago broke, and the flap that closes it all in is frayed, but I refuse to replace it. I refuse to give up on that dream I got to live, if only for an afternoon. “I have a class soon, and when that happens, you need to not be here.”
“I have the next half hour of your time, Quinn.”
Gasping, I whip my gaze over my shoulder and study the feral rage radiating from his body.
“Quinn is…” I shake my head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. My name is Victoria.”
“Quinn was a little girl once, wasn’t she?” He stalks forward, slowly, dangerously, while I attempt to pack my bag with shaking hands. “She was a little girl born to junkie parents. And when she was still little, her big brother took her somewhere far away to save her from becoming a statistic.”
“Nope.” I fling the flap of fabric over my bag, and bring the strap up over my shoulder as I stand. “I have no clue who you’re talking about. But I have a class coming, so if you could—”
“Quinn was the name you were born with. It’s cute. It can be used for a boy or a girl.” He stops in front of me, and crowds me against the mirrors so his aftershave fills my lungs, and his hips pin mine to the wall. “You couldn’t keep that name anymore. You were running, hiding. But you couldn’t completely toss it away either. So you became Cameron Quinn.” He leans closer, runs the tip of his nose over my cheekbone with a featherlight touch. “Cameron is a cute name too. It can be used for a boy or a girl. From Quinn Eloise to Cameron Quinn. But you kept the Q.”
“Wrong.” I shove him away with all of the strength I can muster in my right arm, and skirt around him to push into the long hall that stretches along the length of the studio. It’s behind the main wall, and provides privacy from people in the street, considering the front of the studio is glass, and often amasses a crowd of pedestrians walking by. “My name is Victoria, and you’re toeing the line that borders on sexual harassment.”
“Your name was then Eloise.” He follows me into the hall. He’s the lion, and I’m the idiot who left herself wide open in a prairie. “Eloise is such a pretty name. Not a boy-girl name, but it was your real middle name, wasn’t it?”
He grabs my arm when I refuse to stop walking, and slams me against the brick wall with a painful thud. “Quinn Eloise. So the next time you needed a name change, you kept Eloise. You’re loyal, so even when you want to run away, you can’t help but hold onto the things you consider special.”
“You’re wrong.”
I arch my head back when he leans in and… sniffs me? His nose glides along the warm skin behind my ear. His lips feather along the sensitive skin of my throat.
“You’re wrong, Jamie. My name is Victoria.”
“Yeah, Victoria the Virgin.” He scoffs. “I’ve heard of her. Not sure your boss has been told the whole truth, though.” He presses his hardened crotch against my stomach until I whimper. “Not a virgin, are you, Prima?”
“Don’t call me that,” I hiss. “And you don’t know any damn thing about me. I’m only going to ask you once more to leave, after that—”
“What?” he challenges. “What are you gonna do?”
“I’ll slice you open from ballsack to sternum with my pocket knife.”
He laughs, low and deep in his throat. “See, while your threat is, indeed, a threat, it’s also an admission of guilt. Because that girl I once knew, the scrapper from the ghetto, she also brought knives to fistfights. Old habits die hard, huh?”
“Obviously.” I shove him off again, and escape the hall into what I guess could be called my office. In reality, it’s a storeroom for random shit and outgrown shoes. “There was a boy I once knew, and he didn’t know how to take a hint either. Old habits, huh?”
He follows me into the room and leans against the doorframe with an arrogant smile. “I think you’re confused about who you’re supposed to be. You say you’re not her, but you call me Jamie. You say your name is Victoria, but your eyes grow darker, more beautiful, when I call you Quinn.”
“That’s not my name!” I shout. “Stop calling me that. Dammit, Jamie!”
I drop into my chair, because despite my rage, my anxiety, my bone-deep hunger to walk into his strong arms and lean for just a moment, the pain in my heart reduces me to a weak mess. I can’t stand all on my own anymore. I can’t look him in the eyes and pretend like I’m some kind of victim in this little scenario.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“When?” he demands on an angry hiss. “Then, or now?”
“Always,” I choke out. “I’m sorry for ever hurting you. I’m sorry for ever meeting you, because if I hadn’t, then you wouldn’t have wasted four years looking for someone who doesn’t exist.”
“You do exist,” his voice snaps like a whip. “You fucking exist, Quinn! You’re right here in front of me, tall and strong, beautiful and real. So don’t you dare try to feed me the same bullshit everyone has been feeding me for four years. Maybe Cameron wasn’t your name, and maybe Cameron had a massive secret she felt obligated to keep from me, but you exist!”
“Why are you here?” I sit back in my chair and sigh.
I’m exhausted. I’m weary. I’m scared, and need to run home to find Will and make sure he’s okay. If Jamie could find me, then who’s to say the cops can’t? But below the exhaustion and the fear is a girl who fell in love. And for just one moment, one single moment, I wish I could hit pause on the world and step into his embrace and take comfort.
“Why didn’t you tell me you needed help?” Returning my sigh as though he feels my change of emotion, Jamie steps into the room and crouches down on the opposite side of my desk so he rests his arms on the tabletop. He purposely places the desk between us to give me the space I asked for, but he comes down to my level, and makes it personal. “I could have helped you, Quinn. I would have helped you.”
“You can’t help me.” Swallowing, I bring the heels of my hands up and rub my eyes. “We were children, and you were a guy who wanted to kiss a lot. There was nothing you could do.”
“I know people,” he murmurs. “I know powerful people who could have made things happen for you. If only you’d been honest—” His voice catches. “We wouldn’t have lost all this time.”
“What would you have me tell you? Hi, my name is Cameron, but that’s actually my fourth identity in this lifetime. This is my big, extremely overprotective fighter of a brother. He’s this way because he has to be. Also, he’s wanted for the murder of another dude our age. That dude, while mildly douchey sometimes, was a nice guy, and his girl was expecting a baby. Now he’s dead, she’s dead, I’m not sure about the kid, but if Will-whose-name-isn’t-Will-at-all ever makes his identity known in public, he’s going away to prison for a long time. Oh, and hey, Uncle Oz, that’s a shiny gun you have there.”
“Oz is a good man,” Jamie frowns “He w
as doing his job as well as he could with the information he had. He thought we had a murderer in our gym, and where we’re from, family comes first every single time.”
“Funny,” I joke without a smile. “Family comes first for me too. That means dating a guy whose uncle is a cop won’t work out.”
“Yeah, in theory,” Jamie counters. “Except that uncle isn’t a robot, Q. He’s a man, just like me, with a brain in his head, and common sense floating around in there somewhere. If you’d just told me the truth, we could have talked to him.”
“So he could arrest Will faster?” I ask impatiently. “So he could lock my brother up for the rest of his life? Although, you don’t have to worry, because I doubt the rest of his life will last very long. I get the feeling that, whoever is doing this to us, they won’t allow Will to rot behind bars for long.”
“No,” Jamie answers softly. Patiently. “Oz would have provided Will a platform to speak, a room, privacy, the chance to say it all.” He stands slowly, menacingly, and stares straight into my eyes. “He would have listened, then before slapping those cuffs around Will’s wrists, he would have talked to his boss, his boss would have talked to his sort-of brother-in-law, who is the owner and operator of some shady shit, but before that, he was a federal agent. You said it yourself, Quinn… we’re not as different as you thought. My family is made up of good people, and they believe in the law. But not blindly. Not without using their own brains and judgment. Everyone knows that Ben and Livi’s mom – Oz’s wife – executed a man. Gun to the head, bullet through the brain. A cop’s wife did that! Everyone knows the Bishops have killed people. Everyone knows Oz and X run a tight patrol around town, but they do it fairly, and if someone makes a mistake, they’re allowed a moment to explain before those cuffs are slammed down, and the cell doors are locked. You say Will is innocent—”
“He is innocent,” I declare on a quiet growl. “He has been framed, and my job now is to find out who wants to hurt us.”
“You could have told me,” Jamie repeats. “I could have helped. And my network, my family, would have more reach than anything you and Will could manage while on the run.”