by Meghan March
A man who is built a hell of a lot like Bodhi Black stands between me and the next set of doors, which lead into the Upper Ten. I have to give him credit, though. His eyebrows don’t go up when he sees me wearing gym clothes.
“I’m here for a meeting with Creighton Karas.”
“Of course, Mr. Legend. Please come with me.”
Without introducing himself, he turns and pushes open the door, and I step into the hallowed halls of Cannon Freeman’s club. I didn’t expect to feel instantly jealous, but that doesn’t change facts. Anyone who runs a club like this knows what they’re doing and has his shit together. I can’t deny how nice that would feel.
Fucking hell. This place is swanky.
I try not to meet any of the curious eyes that lock on me as Team No-Neck leads me across carpet so soft that my shoes sink into it. It even smells expensive up here, like I shouldn’t be breathing the air. Something about its rich man’s old-world library atmosphere makes me feel even more out of place than my clothes.
I’m not built for this life, which is a real kick in the ass, because Scarlett is. I can’t give her this. I wouldn’t even know where to start.
Except . . . then I see Da Real Ting, a rapper who got his start on the streets slinging drugs, sitting at a table in the corner next to a guy in a sharp suit. Ting, wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt, gives me a chin lift, and I feel oddly more at ease.
Maybe it doesn’t matter where you come from when you’re rich as hell and don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of you. Maybe then, you just know you belong, because no one can tell you to leave. I have no idea what that feels like, but I’m pretty sure I’d like to.
I return the rapper’s silent greeting and follow the big man from the entryway back to a hallway with heavy wooden doors every several feet. He stops in front of one and knocks.
“Enter,” a muted voice says from inside.
Instantly, I pull my shoulders back and stand tall and proud. I may be wearing forty-dollar sweatpants, but I’m not walking in with shit posture.
Team No-Neck swings the hefty door open, and I step inside to see Creighton Karas wearing a three-piece suit and holding an unlit cigar in one hand.
“Mr. Legend. Thank you for joining me on such short notice.” Karas, a dark-haired man with gray starting to lighten his temples, smiles as he rises from the leather club chair.
I step farther inside, and the door shuts behind me. “I was under the impression it wasn’t a request I should refuse.”
He holds out a hand, and I firmly shake it.
“I appreciate your flexibility, Mr. Legend. Have a seat.”
“It’s just Legend,” I tell him. “No mister.”
“Right.” Karas nods as I claim the other big leather chair. “Legend. You’ve really made that name work for you over the last few years.”
“I’m just getting started.” The words come out without any forethought.
His jaw rocks as if he’s holding back a chuckle. “I like your attitude. How’s the training going?” he asks, motioning to my clothes.
“Good. I’m just getting started with that too. Great coaches. Best I’ve ever had.” I rub my hands down my thighs, just for something to do with them.
“I heard Silas Bohannon pulled a few strings and set you up. He’s a good friend to have, or so my sister tells me. She and her husband are quite close to him.” He taps the unlit cigar against the high-end table beside him.
“Bohannon seems like good people. I’m not real sure why he’s helping me, but I appreciate it more than he knows.”
“Yes, I would imagine,” Karas says as he leans forward, the leather creaking beneath him. “And Bodhi Black’s using your old coach to prepare for the fight. That had to be a blow to your confidence.”
I study him with narrowed eyes. “How the hell do you know all this?”
Karas smiles, but it’s not an expression of pleasure. It’s more like what you’d imagine if a shark could grin. “It’s my business to know things. Information is one of the most valuable commodities a man can possess.”
I don’t know what it is about this guy, but his presence demands respect. He’s on a different level, one I doubt I’ll ever be familiar with.
“So, is that why I’m here? You want information?”
Karas gestures with his cigar. “You want a stick before we start discussing business? It’s on me.”
It might be the one shot I ever have to smoke something that costs more than a used car, but I shake my head. “Can’t. Gotta get my cardio up. Fifteen minutes in the cage is a fucking eternity if you’re not prepared.”
“Fair enough. I should’ve known. I’ll abstain then. I wouldn’t want the secondhand smoke to damage your chances of beating Black.” Karas sets the cigar down in a lined box and closes the lid. “I’ll save this one for later.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Karas, can we just cut to the chase? I don’t know what you want, but I’ve got shit to do, and I have no idea why I’m here.”
Karas leans forward again, planting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together out in front. “All right then. Your lawyers—have they sent the contract back for the venue or the fight?”
His question makes my head jerk back a few inches. “So you don’t know absolutely everything that happens in this city?”
“I’m aware you got the contracts. The reason I called you here at the last minute is because I don’t want you or your legal team to fuck them up. Call it protecting my investment.”
I run my hand over my hair and scratch the back of my neck. “Your stake in my club is a drop in the ocean of your money. This shouldn’t even take up a minute of your time. So, why is it?”
A faint smile ghosts over his lips. “I’m intrigued by you, Legend. You don’t quit, even when the odds are unfairly stacked against you. You seem willing to do anything to save what you’ve built, including putting your own ass on the line to possibly take a massive beating. I invested in your club on a whim, but I’ve been fascinated by what’s happened since then.”
He relaxes in the chair and leisurely crosses one custom-suit-pant-covered leg over the other. “I’m not sure what to make of you because you don’t fit any molds, and that intrigues me enough that I’ve taken a personal interest in the city’s new Legends—the man and the club.”
Part of me expected to be greeted with an ultimatum from Karas—win the fight or lose the club completely because he would pull the plug on the investments. But this . . . this is something totally different.
“I’m not sure what that means, Mr. Karas.”
“Crey. That’s what my friends call me.”
It takes all my self-control not to stare at him slack-jawed in shock. “I wasn’t aware we were friends, Crey.”
That shark-like grin comes back. “We’re not, but we will be. Now, let’s talk about your plans for bailing out the club with your winnings from the fight.”
Twenty
Scarlett
So far, Meryl has chosen over a dozen pieces she can’t live without. Amy has been carefully taking each one out of the rooms to be wrapped, crated, and delivered to her Upper East Side home tomorrow morning.
When she’s finished her sweep of the third and second floors, we descend to the first so she can make a loop around it. I hand off the sterling slippers she spotted upon entry to Amy as Meryl picks up a small travel clock and then a watercolor framed in filigreed silver.
“This place is truly wonderful, Scarlett. I am so sorry for how I treated you when you first approached me about it. I was completely wrong about what you’re doing. There’s nothing fake about these treasures. This place matters. What you’re doing matters.”
The warmth of her approval makes me glow. “I know it’s not the same as changing kids’ lives, but I’m really proud of what I’ve built.”
“You should be. I can see why you’ve been so successful.” After taking a deep breath, she says, “I’m sorry I was so judgmen
tal. I really didn’t consider you had no idea about the tension between your mother and me. I shouldn’t have transferred that to you. It was unfair. She’d be incredibly proud of what you’ve done with her space.”
This time, my smile wobbles. “I like to think she would be too. She knew I didn’t have her passion for fashion, but I love beautiful things and helping them find new, appreciative homes.” I pause, mostly because discussing my mother with Meryl feels awkward. “By the way, I never did ask you how the silent auction and gala turned out. Did you raise the money you needed?”
Meryl’s entire expression shifts. “It turned out wonderfully well. We’ll be able to start construction on the new section of the center in a few months, exactly as we had hoped. I really do appreciate your contributions. Through them, you’re helping change those children’s lives too.”
“That’s wonderful news—”
A knock comes at the front door, interrupting my train of thought.
Amy bustles out from behind the counter to answer it. Given what happened the last time I had an unexpected visitor, I go quiet until the door swings open.
“Flynn?”
My former stepsister stands outside. Wearing leggings and a hoodie, she looks even younger than twenty. Amy lets her in, and I move toward the entry.
“Are you okay? Is something wrong?”
Flynn sees Meryl behind me and shakes her head, but I don’t believe her. Meryl must pick up on the vibes, because she smiles at all of us.
“Scarlett, I’m finished for now.” She glances at her wristwatch. “I’ve taken up more than enough of your time today. Thank you so much for letting me play. I’ll just pay for everything and be on my way.”
“It was my pleasure. You’re welcome to come back as often as you like. Amy will handle the payment details and arrange to have everything delivered in the morning.”
“I’ll see you soon. Thanks again. Have a wonderful day.”
I wish her the same and then lead Flynn upstairs.
As soon as we’re out of earshot, she whispers, “Isn’t that the lady you’ve been trying to get in here for months? Shit, Scar. I didn’t mean to run her out.”
“You’re totally fine. She’s been here for hours, and I’m sure she was ready to go.” I open the door to my apartment and let her inside. As soon as the door closes behind us, I study her face, which seems paler than normal. “What’s going on, Flynn?”
She rapidly shakes her head and then rubs her hands over her arms. “I don’t know, but I got a really weird comment on my social media today.”
Instantly, my entire body tenses. I’ve never seen Flynn rattled before, and that’s exactly what she looks like now. “What kind of comment? From who? About what?”
“About you. From some private account. I couldn’t get any more info. It . . . it wasn’t nice, Scarlett.”
“Please tell me you screenshotted it.”
She slides her phone from her pocket and holds it out to me. “I did. Here, I’ll show you.”
I scan the screen, and the nasty words that normally cut like knives cause me to glare in rage instead. I’ve seen too many variations of them calling me a whore, a slut, worthless, fake, etc. to be shocked by them anymore.
But how dare this awful online bully come at me through Flynn? That is not okay. And yet there their horrible words are.
* * *
You’re a cunt and a whore like that bitch Scarlett. You deserve what she’s going to get.
* * *
I reach out and yank Flynn to me, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing tight. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
She grips me hard and doesn’t let go for a few seconds. “Wait, why are you apologizing to me?” she asks as we loosen our holds. “You didn’t do this. Some ass-clown with a toxic attitude and no fear of getting punched in the damn face did. So, what are we going to do about it?”
I think of all the screenshots I’ve sent to the detective who is handling the case, and the only thing they’ve managed to do is question Chadwick and get him riled up enough to come at me in person.
“I don’t know. We’ve had cops looking into it, but they’ve found nothing. The accounts are all impossible to trace. I guess I should try something else, because this isn’t working.”
Flynn sassily careens back. “Damn right we need to try something else. You need a hacker to track this asshole down.”
“That’d be really awesome, but I don’t exactly know how to go about finding one of those.”
“I’ll ask around with the techy kids at school and see if I get any bites. I’m really getting sick and tired of you having to deal with this crap. And I’m sorry that I’m here adding to it.”
I hug her to me again. “You shouldn’t be apologizing either. This is neither of our faults. But I do appreciate your offer. If you find someone who can look into it, I’ve got a lot more accounts that they can dig through too. It’s like this jerk starts a new one every damn day at this point.”
Flynn plops down on the sofa and stares up at the ceiling. “Who would do all that? And why?” Her gaze cuts to me after a few moments of silence, because I don’t have any answers for her. “Did the cops have you make a list of your enemies?”
I shake my head. “I told them about the messy breakup with Chadwick. They questioned him. He and Dad showed up here, indignant . . . but I don’t think it was him. I honestly have no idea who else would spend their time doing this crap. It makes no sense.”
Flynn reaches for her phone and taps the screen. “Let’s start a list. Shitty suppliers. Angry customers. Men you wouldn’t sleep with. We have to do something, Scarlett. This asshole can’t keep coming at you. I won’t have it.”
Since the very first time the troll threatened me, I feel a wash of relief. We’re nowhere closer to finding out who it is and putting a stop to it, but Flynn’s concern fills me with warmth and gives me a new sense of hope.
This might not get us anywhere, but if it makes her feel better, then it’s worth it.
I drop onto the sofa beside her. “Okay, let’s make a list.”
Twenty-One
Legend
Creighton Karas decided we’re going to be friends.
I have to say, that’s the first time a billionaire has ever been interested in a goddamned thing I do, and it’s a little weird. Not unnerving, because I don’t get shaken by shit like that, but just . . . strange. And now he wants my plan.
I have two choices. I can give him the “I’m going to win; your investment is safe” speech, or I can tell him the truth.
Fuck it. I might as well go all in with my new friend.
“I’m going to win the fight, but I’m also betting big on myself. If everything goes according to plan, I’ll make enough to pay off all of you investors, and the club will be mine free and clear.”
This time, Karas’s brows go up. “Interesting. That’s how you made enough to open Urban Legend too, isn’t it?”
This guy really does know everything, which is also fucking creepy.
“Yeah.”
“How much are you betting on yourself?” he asks.
“As much cash as I can put my hands on.”
“Where are you going to get it?”
I lean back in the leather chair and cross an ankle over my knee. “I don’t know yet. I was thinking about putting up the club as collateral with a loan shark.”
Karas squints and strokes his clean-shaven chin and jaw. “Considering we’ve invested in your club, you’re a ballsy son of a bitch to even consider it. You really think that’s smart?”
“I don’t have a choice. I have to win, and win big. I’m taking a massive risk just by winning.”
“What do you mean?”
Karas picks up on the abnormality of what I said, and I shouldn’t be surprised. I mentioned it for a reason. This shit with Moses is weighing heavy on me. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do, because Eduardo
flat-out refused to look into Moses after Q explained who he was.
“Someone from my past showed up Saturday night. He’s betting against me. Wants me to get the odds right, and then—”
“He wants you to lose,” Karas says, finishing for me.
My head falls forward, and I blow out a large puff of air. Even hearing it from his mouth sounds like shit. “Yeah, and I can’t do that either.”
“Jesus Christ, Legend. You’ve got yourself into a hell of a mess, haven’t you?”
My shoulders feel like they’re weighed down with bags of concrete, but I meet his gaze anyway. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. That is, unless I can find Moses first and get rid of his threat.”
“Moses?”
“Moses Buford Gaspard. A gangster out of Biloxi.”
With his face dead serious, no bullshit in sight, Karas asks point-blank, “What’d you do to him?”
“Fifteen years ago, I jacked one of his trucks of electronics and fenced it for fifty grand. He wants his money back, with interest. One point five million.”
“Well, hell.” Karas laughs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s really turning the screws on you.”
“That’s nothing. His crew killed my girlfriend and shot her little brother in the head. Bump will never be more than a kid, no matter how old he gets. I won’t let Moses take another thing from me. Especially not another person I love or my fucking club. Not happening.”
Karas leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Let me get this straight. Your plan is to find a loan shark who’ll front you a shit ton of cash, kill your arch nemesis, bet on yourself, win the fight, and walk away to live happily ever after with your new socialite girlfriend? Because that sounds like a hell of a lot for one man to carry.”
“I don’t have a choice. I gotta do what I gotta do.”
“You always have a choice, Legend. But, even more, you need to learn how to ask for help. It doesn’t make you less of a man. And right now, you need all the fucking help you can get. Today’s your lucky day, because for some reason, I like you. I think you’re a smart guy. You work your ass off. Your people are loyal as hell to you, and that tells me they respect you. But you can’t do this alone.” His fancy leather shoe kicks my sneaker to get my attention and so I’ll meet him eye to eye. “You need me in your corner to pull this off.”