Scorch (Virtues & Lies Book 2)

by Alexandra Silva

  The long skirt of her dress billows behind her with each step. The lace hugs her chest, emphasizing her slight frame.

  There’s nothing I can do to deflate the expectation as I peruse down her body to her tummy, anticipating its roundness. Pain swallows me when I’m met with her almost flat stomach.

  “You never change, do you? Always business. Learn to have some fun, Fairfax.”

  “We have very different kinds of fun. Besides, tonight’s business.” Nudging my leg with the tip of his shoe, Leo nods at the seat.

  It’s obvious he’s aware of her presence too.

  “I’ve told Christopher about the expansion, but I haven’t gone into much detail. Obviously, our main priority is to make sure that everything is above board. We have the investors, but before we approach them, we need to know all the nitty-gritty. Full disclosure of your member list. Numbers…”

  “I sent it over already.”

  “Not all of it,” Leo states, leaving no room for argument.

  It’s impossible for me to sit here and listen to a conversation Leo has fully covered. This is the closest I’ve been to her in what feels like an eternity.

  I need to get closer.

  “I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for either of them to speak, I make in the direction she disappeared. The piano gets louder, and when I reach another tight hallway, I still.

  Satie’s compositions are her favourites. Her back is to me, but from the way her head is tilted slightly to the side, I can tell that she’s lost to the music. She’s somewhere else, and I hope to God that it’s with me.

  I need her to be with me.

  I can barely breathe while I take her in. Her back is straight and demurely poised, her elegant arm perfectly extended as her fingers move over the keys with so much ease that it’s awing. One of the most fucking dazzling things to watch.

  Slipping into one of the booths that lines this room, I sit as far back into the shadow as I can, and I watch her. The way her shapely legs tense when she uses the pedal. The way her shoulders hitch with her heaving breaths.

  I feel it all. Every note.

  Mouth dry and body aching, I’m frozen to my hiding place. The yearning inside me scratches and screams, a complete juxtaposition to the soft, steady melody she’s playing. It’s begging me to get to my feet and take her back.

  But for some reason, I can’t. Anger and need are twisting me up so bad that I can’t move. All I can do is watch her.

  With my mouth watering at the way she gently tosses her hair over shoulder, I can imagine her sweet scent filling my lungs as I inhale deeply. Her dark curls snake down her back.

  I swear my skin and fingers have a memory of their own, because all I feel is hot silk singeing my hands, in that way it always does when her tresses are wrapped around my fists.

  When I touch her and she moans, clinging to me. Just as when she lies on my chest and her hair tickles my skin, her fingers and nails trailing and scratching at my flesh.

  I feel all those things like they’re in the here and now, and although the only thing I want in this moment is to hold her, my body heats and hardens, so desperate to get lost in her.

  Come back to me, beautiful, I beg and will as arduously as I can. God and I don’t exactly see eye to eye, but for her I would get on my knees, pleading for forgiveness for all my sins. Even the ones that I am most proud and least repentant about.

  My hand rests on my chest, pressing her rings to my heart before it settles in my lap with the other. My hard dick is aching, my chest raw and pulling apart.

  Fuck. I need her.

  I fucking need her more than anything else. More than this life we’ve been groomed for. Herded into to.

  I love you, morena, I whisper in my thoughts. It feels like the most significant thing I’ve said in forever, and regretfully it’s not even out loud. It’s not to her pretty face and beguiling eyes. It’s all inside me. My head. My body. It’s all me, and fuck! Fuck, it hurts not knowing if she still feels it. Our feelings, our bond, our love…eternity. Light years and never-ending lifetimes of love.

  Still, it doesn’t stop me from hearing her soft whisper. “I love you, too, cariño.”

  The ghostly rasp of her words rolls through my body, fuelling my already burning need until it feels like I’m about to burst.

  Fuck this!

  I can’t sit here and watch anymore. Pulling at my hair, I scoot to the edge of the bench seat, and just as I’m about to go get her, a tall, dark-haired guy approaches her.

  Sitting beside her on the narrow bench, his arm crosses her back, his hand bracing on the seat beside her.

  He’s got a drink in his other hand, and as he whispers in her ear, he trails the glass over her arm.

  Rage chills all the heat from my body, coursing through every one of my trembling limbs. My feet come down hard with every step, and my tunnel vision stops me from seeing anything other than some fucking stranger touching what’s mine. His body presses closer to my wife’s.

  Motherfucker has no idea what’s about to happen to him. I make it halfway across the room before I’m being dragged back.

  “Don’t. Fuck. This. Up.”

  She’s looking up at the cunt like he means something. She’s giving him her smile.

  Fuck!

  Pulling me through the tight corridor, Leo doesn’t stop until we’re back in the bar area.

  “Are you stupid?” he grits as he pushes me into the wall. “Are you trying to make things harder?”

  I push him off me, pulling my suit back into place as I walk to the bar. Much like he did for her, the bartender has my drink ready and waiting for me. Slugging it back, I level Leo with my scowl. “She’s not alone. Or at the fucking bar! She’s walking around here like she knows the cesspit like the back of her hand.”

  “He’s a development.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Fine. But not tonight, because we have no idea who he is.” Leo shoots back his own drink, and it’s taking every motherfucking vestige of my self-control and reason not to deck him and take care of business right the fuck now. “Fucking stings, doesn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Seeing her being touched by someone else. Not being able to do what needs to be done…” Tipping his head in thanks to the bartender, he starts for the other side of the room. “Let’s go. We have shit to do.”

  No fucking way. If he thinks I’m leaving her here with that bastard plastered to her, he’s lost his fucking mind.

  “Do you want to know who he is or what?”

  Of course I do. I want to know who the fucker is and why she’s letting him touch her.

  Following him through another slim passage, I can’t stop looking back. I can’t physically see her, but it doesn’t mean that the image of her smiling at that guy, letting him touch her, isn’t burning in my head like they’re still in front of me.

  Has she left me for some fucking stranger in this place?

  No. Fuck no!

  The townhouse is a maze of slim passages and themed rooms. It’s the kind of place you can easily get lost in. The kind of place that houses enough dark corners to hold a magnitude of secrets and dark stories.

  We pause by a heavily carved, dark wood door. The familiar smell of cigars and burning pinewood filters through to the hallway. It reminds me of family dinners and hours spent with my grandfather. It’s the smell of my childhood.

  A lump forms in my throat, and I can’t help but wonder how much more of this I have to endure. My wife is somewhere in this place with another man, and if that wasn’t enough to crush whatever is left of my pride, tears prick at my eyes.

  “I made a deal with Oliver,” Leo states, a long exhale stretching his words. “He gives us what we asked for and makes sure Arabella is safe here, and we get him his investors.”

  Safe here?

  “I want her blacklisted. She’s not to step foot here again. I don’t care if they drag her out by her hair. Whether they slam the door
so hard in her face that her nose breaks. She doesn’t get back in here.”

  The door opens abruptly, and Oliver stands on the other side with a grin on his face.

  “She’s quite the attraction around her—”

  Son of a bitch!

  I don’t have it in me to take any more of this shit. My hands fist around his collar, dragging him into the middle of the room until he’s half pressed into and almost lying across his desk. His blue eyes are pinned on mine, wide and seething, his carefully coifed auburn hair falling over his eyes when he tries to push back.

  “My wife isn’t a fucking attraction!” My rage muffles my words, distorting them. “You let her back in here again and I’ll destroy this place.”

  “You think you’re the first person to threaten the club?” Hands squeezing around my wrists, he pushes up to his feet. His face is so red that it makes the orange in his hair stand out. “You think you can tear this place down without fucking yourself over? Let me remind you of a few home truths, Sinclair. We were all fucking born into this.”

  Anyone who’s anyone is a member of the club. A select group pass membership on; titles and old money are the only requirements for that.

  “Yeah. You got off that high horse yet?”

  “Oliver…” Leo warns him, stepping forward.

  “Fuck you! You came to me! Arabella came here!” Looking back at me, he straightens his suit and combs his hair back with his fingers. “You need to pipe the fuck down and realise that within these walls, I’m the fucking boss. Me. Keep your marital crisis out of my club, or it’s you who won’t step back in here.”

  Lighting a cigarette, Leo walks to the wet bar. He takes his time pouring drinks as the silence in the room threatens to smother us all. Taking his drink, he sits in one of the red velvet wingbacks by the fire.

  He’s got that look in his eyes that says he’s doing the math of the situation at hand. Oliver picks up his cigar from the ashtray and collects his drink on the way to the sitting area. I’m on autopilot when I join them.

  My thoughts are a volatile hurricane swirling around my head.

  Lighting my own smoke, I wait for whatever it is Leo is plotting, trying to ignore that voice that keeps reminding me that my wife is out there. She’s outside that door being touched by a stranger. Smiling at a stranger. Whilst I’m in here trying not to lose my marbles.

  “I have a proposition,” Leo states. “You need money, I have it.”

  “We’ve already negotiated this.”

  “I’ll give you all the money. I’ll be your sole investor. I’ve seen your figures—it’s safe to say I’ll make a decent return.”

  Oliver puffs on his cigar as he relights it, blowing on it to make sure it takes properly. “And what more do you want?”

  “Part ownership. You can buy my share back over time with interest, of course. But until then, we both own the business.”

  “No. Fucking. Way.” He chuckles dryly.

  “Here’s the thing, Oli.” Leo leans forward, stubbing the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray before extending it to me. “The whole process of getting you the investors is going to take the best part of a year. I have the money ready to go whenever we sign a contract. I’ll be a silent partner, with equal decision-making rights.”

  “What do you actually want?”

  “The same thing. Full client list, eyes on Bella, and full disclosure on every person that signs in as a guest. It doesn’t matter who brings them, I want their name.”

  Looking between us, it only takes a moment for realisation to hit. “Who are you after?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Leo tells him.

  Oliver looks at me with narrowed eyes, ignoring him. “She said she needed a break from the outside. I felt sorry for her—the papers didn’t say much, but it was enough for me not to turn her away. She’s safe here. There’s no press. No prying eyes and ears. I was doing you a fucking favour.”

  Shit, I want to bite back at his every word, but I can’t. From the look he’s giving me, he genuinely wanted to do the right thing.

  “I won’t sell you my club, Leo. But for what it’s worth, I appreciate the offer.”

  This is who we are. It’s who we’ve always been. We do favours in exchange for favours. It’s how we were groomed to thrive in this world. Our expensive education isn’t just a head start in life, it’s a bargaining chip. A buy-in of sorts into the circles that matter.

  “How long has she been coming here?”

  He takes one last puff of his cigar, swilling the smoke around his mouth before he releases it into the air, throwing the stub of what’s left into the fire.

  “A month, maybe a little over that. We bumped into each other, and she looked like she needed somewhere to escape. She sat mostly at the bar at first, but then I had a bit of a problem with one of the admin girls, and she stepped in. I had a situation, and she helped me out.”

  “What situation?” Standing, Leo makes his way over to the bar again.

  “One of the girls was using the client list for her own business. I got a tip-off, and when I looked into it, it was glaringly obvious. Not everything that happens in these walls points north on the moral compass, but it isn’t a whorehouse. Despite what you think, I care how I make my money.” Taking the drink Leo offers him, he waits until I have mine in hand. “Whatever shit the two of you are up to? Don’t walk it over my floors. I’ll help you, but I won’t risk this for anything.”

  “Nobody touches her.”

  Touching his glass to mine, he nods before we both take a drink.

  “Who’s that guy?” Leo throws him his phone.

  Oliver studies it for a while, until he looks up between the two of us.

  “Russian billionaire. Tomasz Vassily. His family hold the monopoly on the Russian caviar market. They started off in oil. They’re not the sort of people you want to piss off.”

  “How long has he been a member?” I can’t bear to look at the photo any longer.

  “Shit…” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looks into the fire.

  “Who nominated him?” Leo asks without pause.

  “Winterbourne.”

  Fuck! Standing to my feet, I can already feel where this is going. My gaze meets Leo’s, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.

  I told you so.

  Charles Winterbourne is a family friend. He was there when all the shit went down. Leo doesn’t trust him, and right now I’m having a hard time sticking to my argument as to why he would never fuck our family over.

  Charles is a man who despite his pleasing tendencies doesn’t have the wits to be duplicitous.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t ask why when I get a nomination. I have a waiting list that almost spans a decade. There are names on there from when my grandfather ran the club. It’s a matter of what the nominated person can bring to the club. Only a fool would turn his kind of money away. He drops a fucking load every time he comes here.”

  “He doesn’t go near my wife.” I lean over the fire, my hands grasping the marble surround.

  “He didn’t go near her—she got close to him.”

  Gritting my teeth, I push all the frustration and anger into the stone beneath my hands, the hard edge cutting into my skin.

  I’m choking on the acid burning up my throat before it even reaches my mouth.

  The need to break everything, to destroy all that surrounds me, is overwhelming. I can’t fucking breathe. The heat from the flames. The dark walls. The smoke. It’s all too much.

  Clutching at my chest, I grind the rings hanging there into my flesh. I keep waiting for the pain to ground me, but it never does. It never overshadows the ache that’s eating at me.

  I can’t be here any longer. This place is a cage. I need to break free.

  Before I take stock of my surroundings, my feet are moving. With every step, my rage burns brighter until I can’t see shit.

  Everything is a blur of black, white, purple, and gold. All the peo
ple around me are faceless, and I have no idea where I’m going. I’m just moving, until cold frigid air hits me like a fucking brick. I’m standing at the top of the steps. Panting. Unable to get a hold of myself.

  Empty wretches twist my stomach, closing what little gap is left in my throat for air.

  Choking on my gasps, I stagger down the steps until I reach the lamppost on the pavement.

  I’m desperately seeking something to ground me. A rope to help me clamber my way out of this pit.

  What the fuck is happening?

  The night is pitch-dark, and when the door opens, the light spilling from inside burns my eyes.

  I remain frozen, watching my wife’s small figure outlined at the top of the steps. My heart goes from racing to stampeding. And when she sees me, there’s a moment where I think she’s going to turn back and disappear inside.

  Instead she pulls her coat around her, buttoning it up as she takes each step down slowly.

  Forcing myself unstuck, I meet her at the bottom. She stands looking straight at my chest with her hands in her pockets, her small bag tucked under her arm.

  I want to force her to look at me, but with the way my hands are shaking, with how tightly fisted they are…I can’t trust myself not to hurt her. She looks so breakable.

  Her dainty chin has lost most of its softness. The contours of her face look razor-sharp from up here.

  Aching to familiarise myself with her once more, I reach for her, but before I can lay a hand on her, she steps around me.

  Not a word is spoken. She doesn’t even look at me.

  Chapter 5

  Arabella

  “Wait!”

  The sound of Christopher’s deep voice gives me pause, but as his footsteps get closer, I start down the dark street. I keep looking back and forth, hoping a cab will appear.

  “I said wait!”

  I can’t. If I stop now, I won’t be able to walk away again.

  “Let me go.”

  My steps speed up with the pace of his, the clacking of my heels echoing in the quiet of the night.