The Fall of Legend

by Meghan March

  My phone buzzes in the cupholder, and Bump reaches for it as I brake at the light.

  “Give it to me.” I hold out my hand, and Bump’s eyes widen.

  “Whoa. Holy shit.”

  I grab it from him and stare down at the screen.

  * * *

  Unknown number: You were hard as a rock. Don’t tell me you don’t want me, because I know the truth. The real question is—are you man enough to do something about it?

  * * *

  Someone honks, and I jerk my head up to see that the light has turned green.

  What the fuck? How did she get my number?

  I shove the phone in my pocket and punch the gas, jerking Bump and Roux back against their seats.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Who was that?” Bump whispers like he’s in church.

  “Shut up, Bump. Whatever you think you just read? You didn’t.”

  Thankfully, he goes silent in the passenger seat for a while. It’s not until we’re pulling up to the garage that he finally speaks again.

  “I like her. I think Jorie would like her too.” When I stare at him in the dim light, he keeps going. “She could’ve been real mad at me before, but she still came to help. All the other people came too. We’re not going to go back to Biloxi now, right? Because I like it here. I don’t want to go back. Biloxi is bad.”

  Every word out of Bump’s mouth hits me like a sucker punch.

  “Why do you think we’d go back to Biloxi?”

  He shrugs, reaching into the back seat to pet Roux. “If you lose all the money, we won’t have anywhere to go. But they say you can always go home. I don’t want to go home, though, Gabe. I would miss Zoe and Q and—”

  Bump will keep going until he lists the name of every person in Q’s family, so I hold up a finger to silence him.

  “Listen, kid. We’re not going back to Biloxi. No matter what. I promise.”

  Bump’s face lights up. “Good! Because that’s why I brought her to help us. I’m so glad it worked. All the people were so happy tonight. I just wish you were happy too. That’d be cool.”

  From the mouths of innocents . . .

  Fucking hell.

  “I’m happy, Bump.” The lie comes out sounding hollow, and Bump doesn’t need to be a genius to recognize that.

  “No, you’re not, Gabe. But you will be. Jorie won’t be happy until you are.”

  Fuck. Me. His words aren’t like punches anymore. Now they’re slashes to my soul.

  Partly because he has no way of knowing how much the guilt weighs on me, because he can’t comprehend concepts that complex anymore. Not since Moses Buford Gaspard’s crew shot him in the head, thinking he was me because he was wearing the hat he jokingly stole off me days earlier. Right before one of Moses’s guys put a bullet in Jorie and tossed them both into the floodwater, never suspecting that Bump wasn’t dead—or that he wasn’t me.

  Bump managed to make it back to solid ground, but Jorie was already long past saving. Her younger brother was barely clinging to life when he made it home.

  I’ll never forget the terror I felt when I realized nothing would ever be the same. We survived Katrina, riding it out in our apartment, and then I left to find us food and water because we weren’t prepared.

  I never should have left them. Bump and Jorie should have stayed put. I still don’t know why they left our apartment in the first place. Bump has never been able to tell me why either.

  I should have known that Moses wouldn’t let the opportunity to settle the score without consequences pass him by. Because in the aftermath of the storm, there were no rules. It was the Wild fucking West, and he exacted his vengeance on innocents.

  Guilt threatens to crush me, and I have to jerk myself out of the memory before it destroys me. “It’s late, Bump. I’ll walk Roux. You head on up to bed.”

  “Okay, Gabe. Tomorrow is our day, though. Don’t forget.”

  “I won’t forget,” I tell him. “Good night.”

  As soon as he climbs out of the truck and heads inside, I drop my head on the steering wheel.

  “I’m so fucking sorry, Jorie. You deserved better. You both did. And I’ll get you justice. I’ll make it right. I promise.” I whisper the words to the darkness, and then I shove it all back down inside where it can’t slice me open again until next time.

  “Come on, Roux. Let’s go, baby girl.”

  I hop out of the truck, open her door, and almost forget my phone. When I reach back inside to get it, the text is still on the screen, taunting me.

  * * *

  You were hard as a rock. Don’t tell me you don’t want me because I know the truth. The real question is—are you man enough to do something about it?

  * * *

  I should delete it. Fire whoever gave her my number. Tell her not to come back to the club.

  But I don’t. I carry the phone with me while Roux does her business, and then I read it again once I’m upstairs and the door is locked behind me.

  She’s not for you, I remind myself. She couldn’t handle what you’d want from her. Her life is perfect. She doesn’t know shit about filthy, dirty sex that leaves you both sweating and panting for breath.

  The vision of her rising above me, riding my cock with her head thrown back and my name on her lips, is too strong to stop.

  Fuck, but she’d look beautiful when she comes. I imagine gripping her around the waist, helping her ride me faster and harder before I pull her off to flip her over and fuck her from behind.

  “Hands on the headboard. Don’t move them.”

  The sliver of fear on her face is doused with anticipation, and my cock hardens to the point of pain.

  Fuck.

  I can’t jack off to this. Not to her. Then I’ll be well and truly fucked.

  Too fucking bad. Because I can’t not do it. It’s either that, or reply to her text and get myself into more trouble.

  I head for the bathroom in my one-bedroom apartment over the service station, tearing off my clothes one piece at a time. By the time the shower spray beats down on my head, washing away her scent, I already have my cock in one hand. I brace the other on the wall as I stroke myself hard and fast, the same way I want to fuck her a second or third time.

  I shouldn’t be doing it, but I promise myself it’ll be only this one time. Then I’ll leave her the fuck alone. I won’t go near her again. I sure as fuck won’t touch her. This is all I need to scratch the itch.

  But when I explode, cum splattering the tile wall, I know I’m a fucking liar.

  I have to see her again.

  I finish my shower, and before I’ve even dried off, my phone is in my hand.

  I don’t know why I do it. There’s absolutely no rational explanation, but my thumbs are moving and I hit send before I can change my mind.

  I stare down at the screen and the text I just sent.

  * * *

  If you think you can handle what I want from you, I’ll see you on Saturday night.

  Thirty-Eight

  Scarlett

  Kelsey and I crash at my place together, and it isn’t until Kelsey is leaving in the morning that we realize we weren’t the only people who were here last night.

  “Oh my God. Chad had a key to Curated?” Kelsey’s voice sounds hushed as she stares at the single key on top of the scrawled note on a piece of my stationery on my kitchen counter.

  * * *

  Hope your fuck boy is worth it.

  * * *

  Chills skitter over my skin, like invisible spiders I can’t shake.

  “Oh my God. He was here,” I whisper in shock. “I forgot he had a key to the side door. We have to check the security feed. Make sure he didn’t do anything else.”

  Kelsey nods so fast that I think her chin might connect with her chest.

  I rush to get my laptop from my bedroom, access the security footage in the cloud, and scroll through last night. It’s after two when I see Chadwick’s face on the screen, unlocking t
he door that leads directly to the stairwell to my apartment, but it doesn’t allow access to Curated without walking through my apartment. I lose him as soon as he heads for the stairs.

  From beside me, Kelsey watches as I flip to the next camera feed. All the doors in the stairwell that lead into Curated use a different key, so it’s no surprise that he walks past those and unlocks the back door to my apartment.

  “I can’t believe he was here,” she says, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “God, that’s so fucking creepy.”

  Once he disappears into the apartment, I have nothing. Because I don’t have cameras in my apartment. I didn’t want to lose my privacy.

  “So creepy, especially because I don’t know what he did in here. At all.” I look at her, and I can only imagine the combination of fear and disgust that must be plastered on my face.

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.” Kelsey spins around and scans the room. “Would you know if he’d taken something?”

  A ripple of revulsion unleashes a full-body tremor that nearly makes my teeth chatter.

  “I don’t know. I mean, I think so? Maybe?” My movements shaky, I drift into the bedroom, looking at the bed I just made and the jewelry on top of my dresser. My nightstands’ lampshades are still perfectly level.

  “Why would he come here to leave me a shitty note and his key? Why not just mail it?”

  Kelsey appears behind me. “Because he wanted this. To freak you out. To make you feel unsettled in your own home. Because that’s the kind of thing a douchebag does. Ugh, I fucking hate that asshole even more now than I did before.”

  He knew exactly what he was doing when he violated my sanctuary. That motherfucker.

  “He probably expects you to call him and ask why,” Kelsey says as she turns to grab my hand. “But you can’t. No communication. Just let it go. Don’t give him the energy and attention he wants. He’ll just try to suck you back in.”

  I think of the nasty things he said last night, and she’s right. It still blows my mind that Chadwick really expected me to fall in line with his ridiculous ultimatum and for us to get married over Christmas. Another shudder courses through my body.

  “I’m done with him. I will never let him be part of my life, ever again.” It’s a vow leaving my lips, one that calms the concern on Kelsey’s face.

  “Good. Because you don’t need him. Trust me. He’s been riding your coattails for so long that you got used to the weight. He needed you to secure his position at your dad’s company. That’s why he’s been so fucking persistent.”

  I know she means well, but Kelsey’s words are another blow. Because I didn’t realize that was literally the only reason why Chadwick stayed with me. I thought, just maybe, it had something to do with me. But, no, it was all about what I could do for him and his status. I think of all the business dinners I attended and all the hands I shook and small talk I made. His cachet grew when he had me on his arm, and that’s all he cared about.

  Never. Again.

  Never again will I be with a man because he wants what I can do for him more than he wants me.

  Of course, my mind goes instantly to Legend and the text that was on my phone when I woke up this morning.

  * * *

  Unknown Number: If you think you can handle what I want from you, I’ll see you on Saturday night.

  * * *

  I have a feeling that whatever he wants from me, it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with my name, my status, my money, or my family.

  I still haven’t told Kelsey about the text, because I’m not sure what she’ll say. And if there’s a single chance she’s going to try to talk me out of going next Saturday night so I don’t get involved with him, I’m not ready to hear it.

  Plus, it’s still so new and exciting, I want to keep it to myself for a little bit longer. I haven’t even unlocked my phone yet, because I keep glancing down at the text on the screen every few minutes to assure myself that it’s real.

  Then, there’s the little thrill I get every time I think about the fact that somehow, Legend got my number and texted me.

  Which brings up the memory of what he said before I left. “Knowing what you feel like in my arms will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

  “You okay, Scar? You want to call the cops and report the Chadwick incident? Just because Chad had a key doesn’t mean he had any right to use it to get in. Maybe they can shake him down and freak him out enough that he’ll leave you alone.”

  Kelsey’s concern yanks me back to the present and away from thoughts of Legend, which I much prefer over thinking about Chadwick.

  I wander to the counter and my Nespresso machine to make some coffee to help clear my racing thoughts. As soon as the shot of espresso is brewing, I shake my head and reply.

  “I don’t think it’s worth bothering the cops with. Chadwick will just say he was returning his key, and there will be literally nothing they can do about it. I can’t even really argue trespassing because I gave him the key.”

  “True. But, still.” Kelsey spins around in a slow circle. “I hate the thought that he touched even one thing in your apartment. What if he was a total creeper and stole your underwear or something?”

  My gag reflex kicks in as I run to the bedroom and pull open the drawers of my lingerie chest.

  Everything looks perfectly in place, including the lavender bustier I bought the other day when I saw it in a shop window. Not that Chadwick ever saw any of that lingerie on me. I think I knew, deep down, that he wasn’t worth the effort. He was just an easy way to get closer to my dad.

  Shit. My dad.

  I shut the drawers and walk back out to the kitchen-living room area where Kelsey has taken over manning the coffeemaker. She hands me a demitasse cup before stirring sugar into hers.

  “What am I going to do about my dad? How am I going to tell him? Do you think Chadwick already has?”

  The possibility of losing the frayed thread of connection we have totally sucks.

  “Oh, honey,” Kelsey says as she slides her saucer onto the table and pulls out a chair. “I’m so sorry your dad is wrapped up in the Chadwick stuff too. I know that’s why you wanted it to work. But, eventually, you’re just going to have to find your own common ground with him.”

  I take a sip of the rich, steaming brew. “I wish it was that easy.”

  “Me too, babe. Me too.”

  Together, we sit in silence for a few minutes, and I suck down the caffeine needed to shock my system back to normal. It’s been years since I’ve stayed out that late, drinking and dancing and generally having an amazing night.

  I danced with Legend.

  My mind goes right back to the text. If I open it, I have to decide how to reply. Or if I’m going to reply. Except, who am I kidding? I’m going to reply. I can’t resist. His pull is too strong.

  I’m barely able to hold out thirty seconds after I hug Kelsey and she leaves my apartment. I wrap a plush robe over my pajamas and drop into a teal velvet armchair before I unearth the phone from my pocket.

  On the screen, I read the message again before typing in my pass code and unlocking my phone. I tap on the text bubble and . . .

  What in the actual fuck?

  This wasn’t just an impromptu text from him.

  There’s one from me to him first.

  * * *

  You were hard as a rock. Don’t tell me you don’t want me, because I know the truth. The real question is—are you man enough to do something about it?

  * * *

  What. The. Hell.

  I didn’t type that. Never in a million years would I have sent that message to the man. But someone did—using my phone.

  The time stamp says 3:04 a.m., which means that . . . we had to be at Dolly’s Diner. Which means one of my friends did it. Our phones were in a pile on the table. Easy access.

  There’s no way in hell it was Kelsey. She’d never . . .

  Which leaves Monroe or Harlow.

  Goddammit.

>   No longer am I thinking about how I’m going to reply. Now I’m thinking about who I need to kill—or thank?

  Jesus. What a mess.

  Thirty-Nine

  Legend

  I know she hasn’t replied, because like a tool, I checked my phone first thing in the morning. Nothing.

  She probably passed out and hasn’t woken up. It doesn’t mean anything. Also, why the fuck am I thinking about this?

  I roll out of bed and make my way to the bathroom to take a piss and brush my teeth. It’s Sunday and preseason games are on today, which means Q’s entire extended family will be having a barbecue at his folks’ big white house on the other side of the scrap yard, and Bump will want to hang out there all evening.

  That leaves me the morning to check out the numbers from last night and see how much room it bought us. I can’t count on her coming next Saturday, so I’ll have to watch the numbers closely all week and see if the Scarlett Priest effect sticks around to bring people in, or whether it was a one-shot deal. My gut says people are going to keep coming, but my gut didn’t foresee a shooting on opening night.

  “Gabe! You up? I made pancakes.”

  Bump’s voice comes through the door, along with the wafting smell of burning pancakes.

  I grab a pair of sweats and yank them on before I run to the door. Bump is standing there with a plate of blackened breakfast, but I rush past him to his apartment. In the kitchen, a pan is on the stove, smoke billowing from it. I grab it off the burner, flip on the fan in the stove hood, and move to the fire escape to set the skillet outside.

  “Hey! That’s my breakfast! What are you doing?” Bump follows me outside, his face red.

  “Bump, dude. You gotta watch stuff when you’re cooking. Remember what we talked about after the grease fire? You don’t want us to have to find a new place to live, do you?”