by Meghan March
Until I heard the screeching.
Oh God. No. My stomach dropped to the oil-stained concrete below me, and I thought for sure that I would puke.
Ma held a broken bottle, jabbing it toward a cop while hugging more booze to her chest. He jerked back, narrowly missing her swipe at him with the broken glass.
No, Ma! No!
That’s when I realized the screeching was coming from me.
But no one could hear me over the wind. And no one could stop Ma from getting her liquor.
At least, not until a second cop grabbed her from behind, knocked the broken bottle out of her hand, and yanked her arms around her back to cuff her. The other bottles shattered as they hit the cement. She wiggled and squirmed, trying to get free, spitting at anyone within range as they marched her toward the line of people sitting on the ground.
I knew right then that my life would never be the same.
My ma was going to jail. Which meant I was going to foster care.
She promised me this would never happen. She promised she’d never let me get taken away.
She lied.
I sat there, huddled against the bumper of a cop car with a nasty storm bearing down, and tears slid down my face. I was glad for the rain, because at least no one could tell I was crying.
As they led her and the others toward the paddy wagon, I watched her, expecting her to look around frantically to see where I was. Worried about me. Her only son.
But I shouldn’t have bothered.
She never looked back.
Two
Scarlett
Present day
I stare at Gabriel Legend, a man who was inside me only a few minutes ago, and watch as he strides out of his office like demons from hell are chasing him.
But there are no demons in this room.
Just me.
My knees weaken, and I stumble toward the desk for something stable. My entire body, still languid from the toe-curling sex, is turning to ice, and I’m afraid I might shatter into a thousand tiny pieces all over this rug.
This fucking rug.
My fingers slip off the desk as I slide to my ass on the stupid freaking oriental rug that started it all.
Except it wasn’t the rug’s fault that I was falling apart. It was his.
“You’ll always be what I want most. But I can’t have you.”
“How could he say that?” I whisper to the empty room. “How could he just . . . leave?” There’s no answer.
“You should go. And don’t come back, Scarlett. This isn’t happening.” His harsh words from only minutes before play on a loop in my chaotic mind.
My head drops to my knees as I picture his face as it went from tortured to just . . . blank.
He shut me out. Shut me down. Shut everything down.
Someone knocks on the door a fraction of a second before it opens. I don’t have enough time to scramble to my feet, so Q sees me sitting here on the floor like a stupid girl who was dumb enough to fall for the wrong guy.
I jump up and nearly lose my balance on my heels. He holds out a hand, like he’s going to try to steady me, but I jump back and slam my hip into the desk. Pain radiates from where the wood cracks into bone, and I suck in a sharp breath.
With my eyes squeezed shut, I focus on the physical pain. At least that I understand. But what just happened in this office, I will never comprehend.
Q is silent for a long moment, and I assume he’s probably waiting for me to open my eyes. I take another beat to pull myself together and straighten my posture, pinning my shoulders back.
My dignity may be in shreds on the rug where I once came to, after I was kidnapped, but I’m not going to let this man see me cry. I’m not going to let any of them see me cry.
I’ve worn armor all my life. The kind you strap on every time you leave the house, because the gossip columns will dissect your outfit, and they won’t be kind if they decide your fashion-forward ensemble is really a fail.
Q is easy compared to that public humiliation. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“I need to go,” I say, my voice steady as I pray the tears stay where they are—burning behind my eyes.
“Of course, Ms. Priest. Whatever you need.”
I’m proud of the measured steps I take toward him, even as pain emanates from both my hip and my heart.
“Tell my friends something came up. Tell them . . .” I glance toward the door before I finally force myself to meet his gaze. “Tell them I’ll see them tomorrow.”
It’s the apologetic, yet perceptive look in his eyes that almost undoes me.
“You knew this was going to happen. Didn’t you?”
Q’s face shutters. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, Ms. Priest.”
“Bullshit,” I say, spitting the word out. “But, don’t worry, his precious club is safe. I hope it was worth it.”
I stride toward the door, but Q reaches out to slow me with a gentle hand to my upper arm.
“I don’t know exactly what happened here, but I can guess. The club didn’t have a fucking thing to do with it. Any of it.”
I turn my head slowly to study his face. “Then what the hell was that?”
My voice wavers on the last word, and I know my time is ticking down. The tears will come whether I’m out of here or not. For some reason, though, I wait for a reply. I have a right to know why Legend would do this.
Q’s lips press together in a flat line. “It’s better this way. Trust me.”
If I were a different kind of woman, I would have slapped him across the face.
“I don’t trust any of you.” With what little pride I have left, I lift my chin and march out of Legend for the last time.
Screw all of you.
As soon as I slide into the car waiting for me at the curb, I dissolve into tears.
Three
Legend
“Where the hell is she?”
I turn away from the column I was standing behind. Yes, I fucking watched her walk out like a princess who faced the villain, lost her crown, and regretted every moment of it. And yes, I’m still standing here, even though she’s been gone for twenty minutes. No one notices me, until the shorter black-haired woman who came with Scarlett jabs me in the shoulder with a pissed-off finger.
Kelsey. The hair and makeup artist. The one who Scarlett said is one of her closest, most loyal friends.
I should have gone back inside. I should have gone anywhere but here.
I stare down at Kelsey, wondering what the fuck I’m supposed to say.
She doesn’t wait. She jabs me again and repeats the question. “Where the hell is she, Legend? She left with you and now I can’t find her, but Q said you were out here and I should ask you.”
Fucking Q. Isn’t it enough that I followed his advice? I’m keeping my circle small. Not taking any chances.
And yet you still managed to fuck everything up. The voice in my head is savage tonight. Is it any wonder she got into that SUV and didn’t look back? Because you’re not worth fucking looking back for.
My jaw tenses, and I grit my teeth against the truth. The voice is right.
If my own mother didn’t turn around to see what happened to me, why the hell would Scarlett Priest? Especially after I all but kicked her out of the club. I’m a piece of shit, and the woman in front of me is next in line to make sure I’m aware of it.
“She’s gone,” I bite back. The words come out of my throat with a sharp edge, like they were clawed out.
Kelsey’s hands go to her hips, and her expression turns militant. “What do you mean, she’s gone? She wouldn’t just leave without telling—” She cuts herself off as her face blooms into a violent shade of red. “Oh no. No, you fucking didn’t.”
Yeah. Yeah, I fucking did, I answer silently. But she doesn’t wait for an answer from me before diving in to threaten me.
“If you hurt a single hair on her precious fucking head, I swear to Christ . . .”
“What’s goi
ng on, Kels?” The brunette who Bump had his eye on joins us, with a tall, built guy next to her. I recognize him instantly as a major league baseball player. “Did you find Scarlett?” Her gaze flicks to me, and her eyes narrow.
“Scarlett left,” Kelsey says through clenched teeth. “Something happened between them, and she left.”
“Nate, I know your hands are super important, but can you please punch him in the face for me? Because if he fucked my girl and then tossed her ass out of the club like she was yesterday’s trash instead of the queen she fucking is, he needs his ass beat, and now.”
Monroe Grafton. That’s who the brunette is. Married to Nate Grafton, who is eying me like he knows I deserve it, but he won’t take a swing without backup. Smart man. I’d hate to take the team out of playoff contention by having to break something. I might fucking deserve it, but there’s no way I’ll offer him a free shot. He’s not Scarlett’s protector.
Yeah, and who is? Because you sure as fuck aren’t.
I tell the voice to shut up as I grasp for something to say. But my mind is blank. I have no excuses. These people aren’t the ones who deserve an explanation, anyway.
“You’ve got nothing to say?” Kelsey jabs me one more time. “You’re a piece of shit, Legend. I told her to steer clear of you. I told her you were bad news. I love being right, but not this time. You fucked up. Whatever happened here tonight, one thing is for sure—you just lost your shot at the best thing that has ever happened to you. Go fuck yourself.”
I take the onslaught. They care about her, and I’m responsible for what happened. I can’t deny it, and I have no defense that anyone would understand.
Kelsey spins around and grabs Monroe’s hand. “Let’s get the fuck out of this place. I don’t want to breathe his air, or I’ll stab him.”
“The only person who gets to stab him is Scarlett,” Monroe says, shooting me a look with enough acid to kill. “Let’s get Harlow. Then we’re out of here.”
She drops her husband’s hand and the two women march into the club, leaving me facing Nate Grafton.
“I don’t know what happened, man, but those women . . . they aren’t the ones you want to piss off.” From the tone of his voice, I have a feeling he’s seen their brand of crazy in full Technicolor.
I glance down at my watch for no other reason than I’m too raw to make eye contact. “No offense, man, but I’ve got bigger problems than worrying about them slashing my tires.”
Nate Grafton huffs out a laugh. “That’d be minor. They’ll ruin your life.”
I think of the club that just rose from the dead, and wonder how long it will last once they start their crusade to destroy me.
Shouldn’t have fucking touched her. She wasn’t for you. You should have known better. This time, it’s not the voice in my head, but me tearing a strip off my own hide for fucking this up so badly.
Everyone I love gets hurt, killed, or walks away from me. I should have known better than to reach so far above my station.
“They won’t have to try too hard. I’m doing a hell of a job of it myself,” I tell Nate before I turn and stride through the crowd, with absolutely no destination in mind other than away.
Four
Scarlett
The moment I walk through my front door, my cell starts buzzing with texts and calls. I figured it would take them a while to realize I was gone, and once they did . . . yeah.
It’s safe to say I have great friends. But I can’t handle them right now. Not when . . .
A tear drops onto the screen of my phone, blurring the words I was trying to type to the group message I’m being interrogated in. My fingers shake so much that I keep hitting the wrong letters, messing the word up so badly that not even autocorrect knows what I’m trying to say.
I snuffle in a breath, sop up the tears with a tissue, and start over.
* * *
Scarlett: I had to go. Things happened. Long story. I’m fine, though.
Kelsey: You are not fine. We’re coming over.
Monroe: Nate didn’t hit him, but we can hit him with a car. Just say the word, and I’ll have a beater with no tags ready to go.
* * *
A watery laugh escapes my lips as I imagine Monroe stealing a car to run down Legend. The laugh dries up the minute I think about him being hurt.
* * *
Scarlett: No. Please. Don’t do ANYTHING at all. Not to the club. Not to him. Don’t say anything either. This is double-vault material, and I don’t want to see it in the papers.
* * *
Harlow, Monroe, Kelsey, and I instituted the concept of the double vault back after Harlow accidentally leaked something about Monroe and Nate to the papers, and their friendship took years to recover.
* * *
Harlow: I’m not saying shit, so don’t look at me. Double vault is secured. Bolt is thrown. But we’re still coming over. I need to see for myself that he didn’t hurt you.
* * *
My body twinges and muscles protest in places they didn’t before I walked into his office, but my friends don’t need to know I got dumped after the best sex of my life.
No. Not even dumped. I got fucked and ducked. I think that was Kelsey’s term for the time she had a one-night stand disappear when she went into the bathroom to clean up after sex.
No matter what you call it, it freaking hurts. My pride, my ego, my dignity . . . they all took a massive hit.
Yeah, and what about your heart?
The part of me that was worried about getting involved is smug and self-righteous, but I’m not thinking about my heart. If I don’t see blood, there’s nothing wrong with it. Right?
I’m so full of shit that I don’t even believe my own lies.
My lower lip wobbles when I picture his tortured expression. It hurt him to push me away. Part of me wants to cling to that as hope, but I can’t. Because he did it anyway.
Whatever reason Gabriel Legend had, I don’t know, and I can’t allow myself to care.
But, first . . . I need to cry it out in the shower. Tears cried in the shower don’t count, because you can’t see them fall.
I wrap the towel around my hair, tighten the belt on my robe, and hurry toward the intercom that won’t stop buzzing.
I want to believe it’s him. That he regrets pushing me away. Sending me away. Throwing me away. But I know it won’t be when I touch the button. My friends are relentless.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Scarlett?” The voice that comes from the speaker doesn’t belong to Harlow, Monroe, or Kelsey.
“Who is this?”
“It’s me. Bump. I saw Gabe leave, and Roux and I didn’t know where else he might go. Is he here?”
I drop my head against the wall and close my eyes. I have no idea how he knows where I live, but I have to assume he either googled my address or followed me that time he kidnapped me. “He’s not here, Bump. You should go.”
The speaker crackles, and then he asks, “Do you know where he is?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Okay, we’ll leave you alone.”
The intercom goes silent, and I rush to the window to look out at the sidewalk. Sure enough, it’s Bump with Gabriel’s dog. Alone. In the dark. Hell.
I wrench the crank until the night air hits my face, thankful I had the windows replaced a few years ago, and yell down to him. “Hey! You shouldn’t be walking around at night by yourself. It’s not safe.”
He spins around, trying to figure out where my voice is coming from, and it takes him a second before he finds me at the window above him.
Given his uniqueness, there’s no way I can just let him walk off into the night. If something happened to him, it would crush Gabriel and Q and Zoe, and I’m not going to be the reason it happens.
“Wait, Bump. Come around the side and I’ll buzz you in. We’ll call you a taxi that’ll give you a ride home.”
“I can walk back to the club.”
“It’s not safe.”
<
br /> He shrugs. “Roux is a tough girl. She won’t let anything happen to me.”
I want to believe him, but I can’t risk it. “Around the side, there’s a brown door. Open it when it buzzes and come up to the fourth floor.”
Bump tilts his head from side to side, as if weighing the decision. When he nods and trots down the path, I wonder what the hell I’m doing.
Am I trying to get Gabriel to come to me?
Oh, hell no. I’m not that manipulative or desperate to use his friend to get his attention. I’m legitimately worried about the kid, and I don’t want it on my head if something else goes wrong tonight.
When Bump knocks on my door, I open it, and Roux nudges her way inside. I’ve never had a dog in my space, but she doesn’t jump on the furniture or knock anything over. She just quietly pads around the room, sniffing things, before she comes back to my side.
“Gabe left and isn’t answering his phone. I hate when he does that. He’s my brother, and I can’t lose him.”
The admission is so raw and frantic that I feel sorry for the kid, even though he’s not a kid. He’s the man who kidnapped me.
“Does he do this often?” The question pops out before I can stop it.
“Sometimes. He likes to walk. Says it helps him clear his head. And since he likes you and you left the club, I thought he’d be here.”
There are so many things I want to say, like, he doesn’t like me and he doesn’t want to be anywhere near me, but this isn’t the time, place, or audience.
Roux bumps against my leg, and I reach down to pet her instead of spilling my guts to my one-night stand’s sidekick.
“Where do you live, Bump? What should I tell the taxi driver?”
He frowns. “You don’t want to help me find Gabe? I thought you would want to help.”
Jesus Christ. How to handle this? “I don’t think he’d be very happy to see me right now,” I say for lack of a better explanation.