by Meghan March
I stare down at the blinking cursor in the text box on my phone screen and compose a message in my head. After a few minutes, my thumbs move, making the words appear on the screen.
* * *
Scarlett: I really hate not talking to you.
* * *
No. Stop, Scarlett. I tap the backspace key until it disappears. Then I try again.
* * *
Scarlett: Do you need me to come to the club Friday or Saturday night? I’m free.
* * *
No. Definitely not that. Just as bad.
* * *
Scarlett: Talk to me.
Scarlett: I miss you.
Scarlett: You can’t give me the best sex of my life and then take it away.
* * *
No, definitely not that either.
Before I realize it, the cab slows at the curb in front of Curated, and I haven’t sent a single message to him. I suppose that’s probably a good thing, because as soon as I walk inside, I have to sprint upstairs to my bathroom before I puke my guts up all over the store.
Nine
Legend
I feel like hell, look like hell, and I haven’t showered in two days. Shout-out to all the other people who are embracing themselves despite everything going sideways. You’re a queen. Just remember, there’s nothing wrong with lounging in your PJs all day and eating Nutella from the jar. I support you. #LifeIsMessy #EmbraceTheMess #LoveTheMess
I read the caption of the photo over again before staring at the picture of Scarlett on her bed in pajama pants and a sweatshirt three sizes too big. Her hair is caught up in a messy bun and glasses perch on her nose. She doesn’t look like hell, though. She looks beautiful. But why does she feel like hell?
With a quick glance, I skim over some of the comments.
Thank you for keeping it real.
You’re gorgeous even when you feel like crap.
Hope you’re okay!
Get well soon!
I drop the phone on my desk and grind the heels of my palms into my eyes. A person should go blind for how much time I’ve spent staring at my phone like an asshole the last couple of weeks. It seems like every other damn minute, I’m tapping in my password to open that stupid app to see if she’s posted a new picture. Every time she does, I get a ridiculous thrill that I’m too old to admit to. But it happens all the same.
Last week, she posted a photo of her and her friends, and it almost brought me to my knees. They had to have snapped it before they came to the club that last night. Scarlett in her white dress, looking like a frigging angel who stepped out of the heavens for a moment to mingle with the mortals.
Mingle? You mean get manhandled and fucked before you tossed her ass out?
The guilt and shame from that night have been riding me so hard, I can barely get anything done. My brain doesn’t work right anymore. It’s always full of thoughts of her. How she’s doing. Where she’s going. Who she’s with. If she’s safe.
If she could see inside my brain, she’d slap me with a restraining order.
Even knowing that not a single bit of it is my business after I told her to leave, I can’t stop wondering and worrying.
“Hey, boss. You got a minute?”
When Zoe’s voice comes from the doorway, I flip my phone over on my desk like she just caught me watching porn.
“Yeah. What’s up?”
Zoe’s gaze flicks to the phone before landing on my face. “You text her yet? Call her?”
“Who?” It makes me a bigger idiot to even ask the question, but I have an image to uphold.
She walks forward and helps herself to a chair in front of my desk. “How long are you going to torture yourself?”
When I don’t reply, she keeps going.
“Don’t forget, I’ve known you just as long as my brother. Just because I don’t have a dick doesn’t mean I don’t understand what the fuck you’re doing.”
She pauses, as if waiting for me to add something, but I’ve got nothing, so I stay silent.
“I’m willing to put money on the fact that you not only want Scarlett Priest, but you had her, fucked it up, and now you’ve been stomping around ever since like a lion with a thorn in its paw. Anytime someone tries to talk to you, you swipe at them.”
“I’m not that bad.”
Zoe snorts and covers her face with her hand. “Right. Not that bad. Lie to me again, Gabe. I know you. We all know you. You have to do something about this because your pretend-she-doesn’t-exist strategy isn’t working for you or anyone else.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t know shit, Zoe.”
She lifts her chin and crosses her arms. “I don’t know shit? Yeah, right. Because you’re not moping around like a kid who lost his favorite toy and is taking it out on everyone else.”
“She’s not a fucking toy,” I grit out.
“You’re right. She’s not. She’s a grown-ass woman, and that means she can make her own decisions. If she decided she wanted you and then you pushed her away, whose fault is that?”
My fingers curl into claws around the arms of my chair. “You know what happened to Jorie.”
“She’s dead, Gabe. And you didn’t kill her.”
I bolt upright. “No, but I fucking got her killed. Do you know what it’s like to live with that on your conscience? Knowing that you can’t go after the man who ordered it because you’re still waiting for the right moment? How can I bring Scarlett into my life knowing that as soon as I have enough money and power, I’m going after Moses to kill him the same fucking way his crew took out Jorie? With a bullet between the eyes. How the fuck do I start a relationship with a woman who has lived in such a sanitized world that she’s probably never even touched a gun herself? She doesn’t know violence. Why should I be the one to bring that shit into her life?”
Zoe doesn’t flinch during my tirade. She crosses her arms in her lap and speaks softly.
“She lives in New York City. How many muggings happen here every day? Violence could easily be part of her life tomorrow, and the only thing you’re doing is making sure you’re not there to protect her from it. Pull your head out of your ass and look at the big picture. Do you really think you come along with so much evil and ugly that you’re going to ruin her snow-white life? Have you ever considered that you just might add some color to it and make it worth living?”
“Unless there’s something work related you need to talk about, get out of my office.”
Zoe rises slowly, giving me a measured stare. “You know I’m right. I just hope you act on it before it’s too late. Before you really lose her.” She strides out of the office and shuts the door behind her, leaving me alone with my mess of a brain and my phone.
I grab it off the desk and open Scarlett’s favorite social media app again. As I stare at the picture of her, my attention snags on the hashtags again below it.
* * *
#LifeIsMessy #EmbraceTheMess #LoveTheMess
* * *
Goddammit, Scarlett. What the fuck do you want from me? All I know is messy. I’ve clawed my way out of the gutter, but I’m a million light years away from your ivory tower. I’m not good enough for you. I’ll never be good enough for you. But if you want messy, I got that down.
The picture and the hashtags haunt me all day. I’m not fit company for anyone, so I keep to my office, and later, watch the club from behind the two-way glass. My attention catches on every single blonde, like there’s a chance in hell she would show up. But she doesn’t, and none of them compare to her.
What if she’s sick? What if there’s something wrong with her? Who’s going to take care of her? Her dad? He sounds like a dick. Her friends? The ballplayer’s wife would probably give her the wrong meds and be more likely to kill her by accident.
The very thought threatens to send me into a rage. If anything happens to her . . .
My brain picks that moment to chime in. Then what, Gabe? What are you going to do about it? She�
��s not yours. You threw her away. You don’t even deserve a second fucking chance. Remember the look on her face? You fucking broke her. What kind of guy does that? A shitty one who doesn’t deserve a woman like that. You’re doing a bang-up job, asshole.
Hours later, I crawl into bed and palm my cell once more. I don’t have to go to the app anymore, because I saved the fucking picture to my phone. That’s how pathetic I am.
I may not deserve her, but no one is taking this picture from me.
But what if you just told her everything?
The thought floats into my head and gives me pause.
Could she understand why I did what I did? Could she forgive me? Is there any way we could make this work? Could I keep her safe from Moses? Figure out a different way to handle him?
The questions chase away sleep, because I know how I want to answer them. If there’s a single scenario in which Scarlett Priest could be mine, I want to find it.
I’m not giving up on us, ladybug. At least, not if you can forgive me. I’ll figure this out.
And if later, I jerk off to the image of her with no makeup and bed head, looking more beautiful than any woman has a right to look, that’s no one’s fucking business but my own.
Ten
Scarlett
“I think we need to take you to the hospital, Scarlett. Something’s wrong.” Amy, my manager, looks at me with concern in her eyes.
She’s right. I haven’t felt like myself in days, and my doctor is out of town this week.
“I hate the hospital,” I say, letting my head flop against my pillow. “My mom . . .”
I can’t finish my sentence, but Amy gets it. My mom spent her last six months constantly in and out of the hospital, but there was nothing they could do to save her. Cancer is a fucking asshole, and it can fuck right off.
“I understand you don’t want to go, but I think it’s necessary. Let me call the car service. I’ll go with you to the ER, unless you want me to call someone else?”
I’m weak, and the only thing I can think is that if Gabriel hadn’t told me to leave, this wouldn’t have happened. It’s irrational and completely ridiculous, but I don’t care. I feel like death. I haven’t gotten out of bed, except to puke, all day.
“Scarlett?”
Amy says my name again, and I turn my head so I can see her. What did she ask? Oh yeah. If I wanted her to call someone else.
“My dad. Call him. Tell him I’m probably not dying, but I’m not totally sure.” I pause, licking my dry lips and hating how shitty I feel.
What if I am dying? No. I’m not delusional enough to think that.
Then another face pops into my brain. Flynn.
“Call Flynn. Tell her. She’ll be pissed if I don’t. I canceled my appointment with Kelsey, but she sounded worried. If she shows up when I’m gone, have someone tell her I’ll keep her posted. She doesn’t need to worry.”
I want to tell her to call Gabriel because this is all his fault somehow, but I don’t. My stomach is screaming in pain again, and all I can do is curl up into the fetal position.
“Fuck. Get me to the hospital. I don’t care anymore. Just make it stop.”
Eleven
Legend
“They already told me he’s here, so don’t even think about trying to keep me from talking to him. Unless you get some kind of sick thrill from manhandling women who are underage.”
“I didn’t touch you, Ms. Elliott. And I assure you, I have absolutely no interest in manhandling you, underage or otherwise.”
What the fuck is going on out there?
A woman is yelling at Q in the hallway outside my office, and he sounds like he’s barely keeping it together. But who the fuck is Ms. Elliott? I don’t know any Elliotts.
I rise from my desk but pause when she goes off on another tangent.
“Then get the hell out of my way and point me in the direction of his office. My sister may not have much time left. She’s heading into emergency fucking surgery right now. Or maybe you don’t think Legend gives a shit. But he liked her well enough before she put out.”
Everything in my body freezes. No. She’s not talking about Scarlett. That’s not possible. Scarlett doesn’t have a sister. They can’t be talking about her.
And yet, a knock comes on my office door and Q pokes his head inside. “You have a visitor. Flynn Elliott.”
“Oh, just get out of the way and let me fucking talk to him. I guarantee he’s going to be pissed you didn’t bring me here immediately. Emergency surgery, asshole!”
I don’t even remember moving, but I’m yanking the door fully open to stare at a petite brunette dressed in jeans and a librarian-looking sweater, carrying a backpack.
“Who the fuck are you talking about?”
She glares at me, her eyes raking up and down my face. “Who do you think? Or have you thrown multiple women out of your office after you fucked them lately? I thought it might have just been Scarlett.”
My hands clench into fists at my sides, and I quell the urge to reach out and shake the hell out of her. “She doesn’t have a sister.”
“Ex-stepsister. Still counts. We’re connected through mutual loathing of our deadbeat, selfish parents.”
“What the fuck is going on? What surgery? What emergency? What’s wrong with her?” I’m asking questions faster than she can even open her mouth to answer them. My heart thunders in my chest, like I’ve just gone five rounds and am about to collapse.
“One of her employees called me from the ER. Said they rushed her in because she was in excruciating pain.”
The thought of Scarlett in pain damn near brings me to my knees. “What is it? What’s wrong? Is she going to be okay?”
Flynn’s lips are pressed into an angry line. “She could still die, asshole. It’s emergency surgery. But you’re not supposed to care, because you don’t want her in your life, right? You fucked her and tossed her out on her ass like yesterday’s trash. Did you even wonder if she might’ve been pregnant? What if she’s losing a baby right now?”
Oh my fucking God. A wave of pure terror washes over me, leaving my entire body feeling as if I’ve been doused in kerosene and a fireball is racing toward me.
“She isn’t. Please. Fuck.”
Flynn glares. “Not as far as I know, but that’s just another thing you should’ve thought about. Asshole.”
“I—”
Flynn takes two steps closer to me and crosses her arms over her chest. “You fucked up. You took the best thing that could’ve ever happened to you and shit all over it. Is that what you do to good people? People who just want to make the world a better place?”
With every slicing statement, she flays me. I know I deserve all of it, if not worse.
“I know! I fucked up. I already figured that out. I’m going to make it right.”
Flynn’s shoulders hunch forward. “If you even get that chance.”
Goddammit. All I wanted to do was protect her from the shit swirling around me, and I could lose her anyway.
“I was trying to do the right thing, okay?”
Her chin rises even higher. “And see where that got you? She could die, and all you’ve done is cheat you both out of what you wanted. Smart, Legend. Real smart.”
“Hey, watch your mouth, kid,” Q snaps from the doorway. “Tell us which fucking hospital so he can go. He doesn’t need you ripping him a new asshole right now. You should both be there.”
Thank fuck for Q, because I’m frozen in place, crumbling inside and trying to hold it together. When Bump told me about Jorie, it was too late. There was nothing I could do. Right now, I might not be able to do anything for Scarlett, but I can sit in that fucking waiting room and pray.
“Come on. I’m driving.” The girl turns, her ponytail swinging.
“No way in hell.” Q glares at me. “I’ll get a car. We’ll follow her. I’m not riding with that fucking woman anywhere.”
I only have one word for him. “Hurry.”
Twelve
Legend
The private waiting room is silent except for the sounds of the people in it shifting in their seats or getting up to pee, get coffee, or pace.
Amy, Scarlett’s store manager, took one look at me with Flynn and sat back down without a word. She’s been on her phone ever since, answering messages and emails.
“Is her dad coming?” Amy asks Flynn after she looks up again.
Flynn tilts the Styrofoam cup of burned hospital coffee in her hand from side to side. “I couldn’t get in touch with him. His secretary said she’d make sure he got the message. He’d better fucking show up, that’s all I know.” Flynn mumbles something under her breath that sounds a lot like that fucking asshole, and I can’t help but agree.
Amy takes that moment to excuse herself from the waiting room to take a call.
If my daughter were in emergency surgery, I’d be here as fast as I could. Except I don’t have a daughter. Flynn’s words from earlier come back to haunt me.
“Did you even wonder if she might’ve been pregnant?”
I didn’t wonder, probably because I’ve never not been careful. After Jorie, I couldn’t imagine having a family with anyone, couldn’t imagine wanting to bring a life into this crazy, fucked-up world. But with one single sentence, Flynn unleashed a part of me I’ve kept locked up for years. Until Scarlett showed up in my office, wrapped in a goddamn rug.
How the fuck is this even real?
I scrub my hands over my face, wondering what the hell happened to my well-ordered life. As the owner of an underground club, I was a king in a shadowy world where good girls like Scarlett didn’t exist. Maybe it was on purpose? Because I knew that none of the women who’d show up in a place where men beat the hell out of each other for entertainment—and police raids shut us down on occasion if I didn’t keep the right palms greased—were a threat to my existence.