He curses, pulling me into his arms, pressing his chin on top of my head. “How can we be more careful than we’re already being?”
“We ensure they can’t get a photograph that they can use against you.” I sniff, fighting the tears back. “I mean, seriously, do you want for this to get worse?”
“Of course, I don’t want that,” he admits and leans away.
His warm eyes suck me in, so much emotion, so much good in them. “Can you just imagine what their next story will be?” I ask. “Think about it. They always need to up their game, and they’ve already gone to a bad place. We cannot let the tabloid ruin your reputation.”
Suddenly, his expression changes, warming a little with the curve of his mouth. “Are you protecting me, love?”
“I care about you.” I finally say that aloud for both of us to hear and accept. “I care about you a lot, and I refuse to be a part of the thing that’s destroying your public image.”
He pauses. Then, “What do you propose we do?”
“We don’t go out in public together.”
His body stiffens again, eyes slowly narrow on me. “I can’t hide from the tabloids. They will always look for a story.”
“Then we don’t give them one.”
Another pause, while he’s studying me again with his intense eyes. “While I appreciate you looking out for me,” he eventually says, “and you know that I care about you, too, I can’t allow the tabloids to have me running in fear. I will face the stories that come out, and if I need to deal with them publicly, I will do that.”
“I know that you will,” I counter, “but I can choose not to be a part of those stories. That’s my choice.”
He huffs, clearly frustrated, crossing his arms. “What exactly do you think that will accomplish?”
I need to win this fight, that much I believe. I’m in the right. “It will stop the stories from coming out,” I explain gently, not allowing him to shut this conversation down. “They will have no ammo against you.”
He adamantly shakes his head. “It won’t change anything. All it will do is change what the stories are about.”
“Exactly.” I rest my hands on his crossed arms, feeling the tension beneath them. “But at least the stories won’t be about me. I can’t be responsible for seeing you dragged through the mud.” I pause, then let my emotions free, spilling my heart out for him to see. “I can’t do that to you anymore.”
He draws in another long, deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose, clearly considering me. “I don’t like the thought of hiding,” he finally says.
“We’re not necessarily hiding.” I pull away his crossed arms, and he lets me so I can tangle my fingers with his. “We’re being proactive. We’re not giving the tabloid anything to print that can hurt us.”
One brow arches. “They can only hurt us if we allow them to hurt us.”
“Yes, I know,” I agree. “And this is how I ensure they don’t.” I gesture at his phone, where the article is still showing on the screen, a harsh reminder of our situation. “What they’re saying about you, Gabe, is awful. This is your public image we’re talking about. Are you honestly not thinking about how this is going to affect the business?”
“It’s something I’ve considered, yes.” He brushes my hair back over my shoulder, sliding a hand around my nape. “But right now, I’m only thinking about you in all this.”
“Thank you for that.” Goosebumps rise with his touch as I add, “But I’m only thinking about you. I don’t want to hurt you any more than all this already has.”
His frown is harsh, voice low. “I take that to mean you won’t be attending Micah’s wedding with me this evening?”
“It’s not a good idea.”
Mouth set into a firm line, he glares at me. I know he’s not angry at me, he’s pissed at the situation.
“I don’t like this,” he says again, sterner this time.
I lean in and before I press my mouth against his, I say, “You don’t have to, but this time you’re going to let me protect you, instead of you always protecting me.”
Chapter 12
Gabe
Late into the evening, I reach for a shot of whiskey and toss it back, washing away the stress and strain of the past days. The band off to my right is playing a classic from the eighties, and the dance floor is full of Allie’s friends and coworkers, including herself. Quite the beautiful bride, she’s wearing a stunning lace wedding dress with her hair in big loose curls around her shoulders. The ceremony was beautiful and simple, as is the venue. Stone walls meet with dark wood accents and an unlit fireplace rests against the far wall. I assume the rustic wood tables and black chairs are all rented, as well as the tall centerpieces. I can’t help but think if I ever get married, I’d like something like this. Micah and Allie’s ceremony was personal, with their telling of their own vows. There’s just the right amount of people, and it’s obvious that everyone, for the most part, seems to know each other. There’s something special about that.
I motion for the bartender, who’s dressed in a white shirt, bow tie, and black vest, to serve me up another shot. He grabs the bottle, pouring the dark amber liquid into the glass.
Just as I raise the glass to my lips, a stern voice says, “Now that we’ve got some time, care to explain to me why McKenna’s not here.”
I swallow the fiery liquid and glance sideways, finding Micah, no longer with his black jacket on, frowning at me. I hadn’t told him when we were getting dressed before the ceremony that McKenna wasn’t coming. I can only assume he thought she’d meet me for the reception, but her chair during the dinner had remained empty. “She thought it best she didn’t come,” I tell him, returning the glass to the bar.
His brows shot up. “Thought it best for whom?”
“Not for you or Allie.” I see from years of friendship, knowing that look on his face, where his mind is at, so I explain, “She’s worried that the paparazzi are going to get another photograph of us together and they’ll use it against me.”
“Ah, I see,” Micah says with a knowing look. He turns to the bartender and orders, “Scotch on the rocks, please.”
“Yes, sir.” The barkeep accepts the order and hurries off to fetch his drink.
The band switches songs and squeals drift over from the dance floor as Micah leans an elbow on the bar and says to me, “She’s protecting you.”
“It appears that way,” I agree, my muscles stiffening against all the things I couldn’t control. “Of course, her protection is the very last thing I want.” I want this to be over. I want the tabloids to leave us alone. I want her with me.
Micah’s brows furrow at me as he accepts the glass the bartender delivers to him and takes a sip. Over the rim of his glass, he regards me, then states, “You’ve grown more attached to her.”
I draw in a long, deep breath before addressing him. “While the situation is complicated, what I feel for her is very much uncomplicated.”
“This will soon be over,” he says, obviously reading my tension. “There will be a time when you stop looking over your shoulder and wondering if someone is following you.”
Of course, he understands, Micah has been there. Seeing the tension rising in Micah’s face—obviously, he’s worried for me—I cup his shoulder. “I’ll look forward to that time, but this night is about you and your beautiful bride.”
Micah blinks, slowly the cold on his face replaced by warmth as he glances over my shoulder. “I am a lucky bastard, no?”
I follow his gaze, finding Allie dancing with Taylor, Darius’s wife, and Hadley, Ryder’s girlfriend, as Darius and Ryder watch them, sitting at a table a few feet away, enjoying a drink and sharing a laugh.
Never in all the years that I’ve been friends with these men have I felt like an outsider. Christ, back in our twenties, we’d created an inner circle for ourselves, owning the four sex clubs in the city, Afterglow, Lace, Impulse, Masquerade, living life to the fullest. Excitement and
thrills . . . we had invented the Dominants’ Council to create a clubhouse, so to speak. Under that title, we ruled the city’s sex industry, profited off it, and enjoyed the delights of lust and freedom ourselves. But these past weeks, their lives have settled into something that is the exact opposite of what we all stood for. They are members of a different club now, and I no longer fit that mold. Both Micah and Ryder have given up ownership of their clubs, and Darius is only a silent partner. They all sought to move on, while my life still spins wildly out of control, being something I never wanted.
Where will I land when this is all over?
“She is stunning.” I focus back on what’s important tonight, giving Micah a firm slap on the back, not allowing my self-pity to ruin the most important day of my closest friend’s life. “I could not be happier for you.”
“Thank you for that, Gabe.” His smile is content as he takes me into a rough embrace.
From going through college together, to enjoying our wild twenties together, to now a new direction in our thirties, it’s obvious Micah’s found peace within himself. He downs the rest of his drink and then grins. “I better go to her before she gets annoyed with me.” He gestures.
I glance over my shoulder, finding Allie eagerly waving at him to come to her on the dance floor. “You don’t want a case of Bridezilla,” I tell him seriously.
“I certainly do not.” Micah laughs, then passes by me.
Allie gives me a little wave, which I return, then I watch as Micah wraps his arms around her, spinning her around for all to see. I shut my eyes, feeling the warmth of the booze slide deliciously through my veins, but tonight I can’t drown my tension.
“We’re watching her.”
I snap my eyes open, find Ryder sliding up to the bar next to me. “Watching who?”
“McKenna.” He rests an elbow on the bar, facing me. “Alex has eyes on her. If she leaves her house, we’ll know about it. She’s not in any danger.”
I snort and slowly shake my head, blowing out a deep breath. First, Micah. Now, Ryder. “Do I really look that miserable?”
Ryder nods. “Yes.”
“Perfect.” motion the bartender for another shot, pretty sure that’s the only thing that’s going to get me through tonight.
The bartender pours the shot and asks Ryder, “And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have the same,” Ryder replies.
Once the second shot is poured, the bartender moves farther down the bar, and I lift my glass to Ryder. “To Micah and Allie.”
He raises his glass. “To Micah and Allie.”
I toss back the shot and clench my jaw against the hot whiskey, then slide the empty glass back down to the bartender, as I add to Ryder, “I know that you have McKenna protected, and I thank you for that, I’m just . . .”
“Exhausted?” Ryder offers.
“Yeah, exhausted.” I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Beyond ready for all this shit to be behind us.”
Ryder watches me then frowns, shaking his head. “This entire situation has been frustrating to no end, and yet . . .” He glances behind him at his sassy blond girlfriend, Hadley, who’s holding on to Taylor’s hands and dancing, a big smile on her face. “Without this shit with the tabloids, I doubt I would be with her.” He turns to me and heaves a long sigh. “And yet, at the same time, I watch what you’re going through—”
“Be happy for yourself, because I am happy for you,” I interject, cupping his shoulder. “Don’t let my mood make you think otherwise. Besides, Micah said it before, and he’s right; soon this shit will be resolved and life will move on.”
Ryder cocks his head. “How will your life move on, will McKenna be in it?”
I pause and consider that thought. It’s so easy to open my mouth and say yes. She’s the woman I want. Christ, she’s the woman I need. But I’m not foolish enough to pretend we don’t have a major obstacle in our way. Her brother. I won’t be sure how I feel about him until I see him face-to-face. How will I handle the way he’s sold us out?
Truth is, I also know McKenna will pick him over me, because that’s where her loyalty lies. While I can respect that, and know I’d love for her to be that loyal about me, I know life is hard and sometimes not very pretty.
“Wanting her in my life is not the problem,” I finally reply.
“Then what is?” Ryder asks.
“Her fucking brother, and the trouble he’s created for us all.”
Right as Ryder’s lips part to reply, his phone suddenly dings, and his brows furrow, immediately telling me something isn’t right. He retrieves his phone and curses. “We’ve got a problem.”
“What problem?” I frown.
He flips his phone, and on the screen, I see McKenna leaving her building, her purse in her hand. That’s not the problem. Next to her is a man I don’t know, but the other one is Tommy, Marcus Draken’s goon.
Fury shakes my hand. “Please tell me McKenna has not willingly left her house with these men.”
Ryder sighs. “I’m sorry, Gabe.”
McKenna
A ten-minute car ride later into Pacific Heights, and I’m exiting a black Cadillac Escalade and entering a brick-and-stucco Bavarian-style mansion located on Billionaires Row. Marcus’s bodyguard, Tommy, dressed in a suit similar to what I’d seen him in before, leads me through the grand two-story house, with the cherrywood floors, staircase, and paneling, another man follows close behind us.
Nerves rattle me as we pass a living room to my right, then a large formal dining room before the men are bringing me into a library, books lining the walls from ceiling to floor with a bank of windows that let moonlight stream in. I keep my purse in front of me, hoping that microphone on my cell phone I secretly turned on in the car will record this conversation.
Marcus is sitting in a brown leather wingback chair, reading a book bound in dark leather, and it’s beyond clear how powerful he is. He all but reeks of authority, but the truth is right now he’s my only way to Evan. And as much as Gabe wouldn’t want to know, this isn’t the first time I’ve been around men like Marcus Draken. The last time I bailed my brother out, it had been with a man just like Marcus, only that loan shark had been out of Las Vegas, not San Francisco.
No matter what, the very last thing I want is that tabloid capturing a photo of Gabe at the house of Marcus Draken, career criminal. He’s taken enough hits for me already. I won’t allow his life to crumble because he’s cleaning up my brother’s mess. This is my problem, not his. With that, I stuff all my nerves into a place in my soul that Draken can’t touch.
“Sir,” Tommy says as we approach. “Ms. Archer is here to see you.”
Marcus shuts his book with an audible thud and gives a bright smile. “Ms. Archer, it’s lovely to see you again.” He places the book on his lap, watching me closely as I reach him.
“You said you had information on my brother,” I get right to the point. “What is it?”
Marcus swats at the air. “We’ll discuss that soon enough, but first”—he gestures to the chair across from him—“let’s discuss the money I’m owed, shall we?”
I dart my eyes to the guy by the door, who looks slightly bored, then watch Tommy settle in behind the chair that I drop down into. None of these men can be trusted, and I’m aware of the danger I’ve put myself in. But I know men like Marcus; he wants his money. I give him that, and I walk away. Because at the end of the day, even if his business is dirty, it’s still business, and he simply wants to get paid.
However, I focus on all the things he didn’t say to ensure I have the evidence I need, in case I need it. “Do you care to explain how you are owed money, considering when we spoke last you said that you didn’t know my brother?”
Marcus’s mouth twitches, eyes dangerously darken. “At the time, it didn’t feel right to discuss business with those unrelated to it.”
“You mean because Gabe was there?”
Marcus inclines his head, and his voice is as smooth as silk
when he adds, “This is a family matter, and Gabe O’Keefe is not your family.”
Admittedly, for a second, I sigh in relief that at least Marcus is admitting to having Evan. It makes me feel one step closer to him. I force myself not to get lost in the thousand questions I want to ask, and stay on point. “Is my brother alive?”
“For now, yes,” Marcus replies.
“For now?” I repeat, steadying myself for the conversation ahead. “Have you hurt him?”
“‘Hurt’ is an interesting word, isn’t it?” Marcus asks, lacing his hands on his lap. “What is your definition of ‘hurt’?”
“Injured, bleeding, needing a hospital.”
Marcus glances at Tommy. “Would you say that Evan’s state is within Ms. Archer’s definition?”
Tommy chuckles darkly. “Perhaps.”
I clench my hands on my lap, grit my teeth. I don’t want to play these games, and I want far away from these men. “You asked me here privately to talk, so talk. What do I need to do to get my brother out of this situation?”
Marcus regards me coolly. “Here is the thing, Ms. Archer. Your brother has become a problem for me. I don’t like problems.”
“You and me both, Mr. Draken,” I reply. “But do explain, what trouble has he gotten himself into?”
“He has taken a great deal of my money and cannot return what he’s taken.” Marcus’s brows lift. “Therein is the problem.”
“It’s only a problem if he can’t pay it all,” I say. “I will help him. Therefore, the problem is gone.”
Marcus smiles; it isn’t friendly. “Ah, yes, I’m aware that you think you can help him out of this.” He crosses his legs, hands on top, and adds, “I admit, Ms. Archer, that when I became aware of Evan’s debt to me, I wasn’t exactly sure how to handle him.”
Hot fury descends on my body, my nails digging into my palms. “I saw what you decided to do to him at the hotel.”
Marcus chuckles. “My men sometimes have a little too much fun, don’t they?”
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