Beneath These Scars

by Meghan March

  But I wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity. So, I’d maybe told him a little white lie, promising I’d come with him in the morning. And I would—to pick up all of the stuff I bought that wouldn’t fit in the Blue Beast.

  The sound of another car coming up the road had me hurrying up the steps. Maybe I’d just been the first of the vultures to arrive.

  I rang the bell and waited impatiently. Footsteps sounded from inside the house.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded as the door creaked open. I opened my mouth to say something else, but the words didn’t come. A sharp pain pinched my neck . . . and everything went black.

  I PULLED UP TO THE office building a few minutes before seven. I assumed I was meeting Haines at his new campaign headquarters. Part of me had wanted to decline completely, but curiosity got the better of me. Curiosity and ambition, if I were being honest.

  Sure enough, the sixth-floor lobby had a big sign proclaiming Vote Haines on the door. Never too early to start campaigning. I let myself in, but the reception area was empty. I didn’t have to wait long, however, before the man himself came out.

  “Prompt. I like that in a man, Titan.”

  “Haines.”

  “Come on back. You want something to drink?”

  “Not necessary.” I followed him into a wood-paneled office with heavy dark furniture and leather club chairs. The scent of cigar smoke hung in the air. He crossed to a sideboard and poured himself what I assumed was bourbon.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m fine. Just here to find out what you’ve decided you want from me.”

  Haines replaced the top of the crystal decanter and moved toward the window. He didn’t sit, and neither did I. This was a power play, and I was no stranger to winning them.

  “It’s come to my attention that you’ve got a hot little side piece.”

  His statement took me by surprise, but I kept my face impassive.

  “I have no idea why my personal life would be remotely interesting to you,” I said, my tone clearly conveying that the topic was not a discussion I would welcome.

  “Well, you see, that’s exactly what I’m interested in.” His expression twisted into something sharp. “I’ve got a problem, and you’re the man who can help me solve it. And since you want something from me, I thought we could make a deal.”

  “What the hell would Yve have anything to do with it?”

  Haines’s smile turned predatory. “Ah, our little Yvie’s all grown up now. Haven’t seen much of her in years. And yet she’s once again a thorn in my side.”

  I stilled at his familiar tone, everything in me going cold. “You better be ready to explain yourself.”

  “You have no idea, do you? That I’ve known Yve since she was just a little thing. Six years old, maybe? Her mother is a friend of mine.”

  Yve’s confession about her mother being a rich man’s mistress instantly came back, and the pieces fell together. “Her mother’s your mistress, you mean. If you’ve got something to say, Haines, just spit it out.”

  He frowned, as if disappointed that his big reveal wasn’t pulling more emotion from me. The man didn’t realize I’d negotiated with some of the most well-respected businessmen in the world and come out the victor.

  “Did you know that Yve was my daughter-in-law too? Once upon a time, instead of putting her in a nice little house of her own and fucking her on the side, my idiot of a son felt like he should marry the girl.”

  This reveal had the effect he desired. Disbelief. Incredulity. Rage.

  All of them must have flashed across my face, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

  “Your son is the bastard who beat her?” My tone was quiet, deadly.

  “All lies,” Haines spat out, the satisfaction dying.

  “I’ve seen the scars,” I growled.

  “Then she deserved it,” he replied, his voice rising. “Especially because he ended up in prison because of her and that other little bitch. Some of the best years of his life—gone.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” And why the hell hadn’t Yve told me any of this? But then again, it wasn’t like I’d told her about my deep, dark secrets either.

  Haines slammed his tumbler of bourbon down on the windowsill. “Yve egged him on, told him she wanted a divorce. He was justified in being upset, and then he went looking for a good time to take his mind off it, and picked the wrong girl.”

  Disgust at his whole explanation, already twisting my stomach, grew stronger. “Picked the wrong girl?”

  “Bitch said he raped her, and her dad was a judge. They were on federal land when she said it happened, which was lucky for him. I got him into a minimum-security federal prison so he didn’t have to be inside with all the animals in Angola.”

  I was speechless. Utterly goddamn speechless. And Johnson Haines was on a roll.

  “My mother, without my knowledge, pushed their divorce through, and then Yve ceased to be my problem. Her mother cut ties with her, and I thought she was done causing me trouble for good. But no, of course not. That little bitch has to complicate everything.”

  “Stop right there.” Any more words, and I might kill him.

  But Haines didn’t heed my warning and was already spewing the rest of his sordid story. “Jay, my boy, finally met a sweet little girl while he was in prison, and then he got paroled. I arranged for the two of them to move outside of town and live a quiet life, but Jay can’t seem to stop fixating on Yve. His fiancée is understandably losing her patience, and afraid she’s going to lose my boy. So I need Yve out of the way. Need it clear to Jay that he’s never getting another shot with her. And one thing Jay has always hated was the idea of keeping a woman. That’s why he married her to begin with. Didn’t want to make her a whore.”

  Haines gave me an evil smile. “Well, guess what? That’s exactly what you’re going to do. Make Yve your whore. Put her up in a nice little house, let it get around town, and then find yourself a decent woman to be seen with in public. Maybe then Jay will finally see her true colors, that she’s just like all the other women in her family. He’s got a good thing going, and I don’t trust him not to fuck up again.”

  A red haze clouded my vision. “You’re a piece of shit, Haines. You and your kid. There is absolutely nothing I would do to help you, and you better understand that Yve is under my protection—not like your fucked-up mistress-keeping definition—but in the way that means I’ll come after anyone who threatens her with every goddamn thing I have.”

  He snorted. “And you’re willing to sacrifice this bill—and potentially billions—for that little whore? She’s not worth it, I can promise you that.”

  I stepped toward him. “You say another goddamn word, and you’ll have a mysterious accident involving that window and your dead body on the sidewalk.”

  Haines’s face twisted, and he stepped away from the window. Good—he should be afraid of me. I was a scary motherfucker.

  “You’re making an enemy of the wrong man here, son.”

  “Fuck you, Haines. I’m not your son, and I’m sure as hell glad of that.” I took another step closer to him and grinned when I saw his double chin tremble.

  “You touch me and I’ll make sure you end up in prison, Titan.”

  “You think you’re not the kind of person someone would want as an enemy? I could buy you, sell you, and bury you so fast no one will have a chance to come to your rescue. Do you understand me? And if you ever come near Yve Santos, or do anything to cause her even a moment’s loss of sleep or concern, that’s exactly what I’ll do. You fuck with her, you’re fucking with me.”

  “Your bill is dead.”

  “Fuck the bill. I’ll kill the project myself before I’d accept your help.”

  Haines slammed the glass down on the sideboard. “You’re making a huge mistake. She isn’t worth it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. She’s worth all that and more.”

  I turned and
strode to the door. I needed to get to Yve. Now.

  I CAME TO SLOWLY. MY head ached and my tongue stuck to the roof of my dry mouth.

  What the hell happened? I tried to piece together where I was, but nothing was making sense. I opened my eyes and didn’t recognize the high ceilings of what looked like a parlor in a plantation house.

  The mansion. The sale.

  I tried to move, but my hands and feet were bound to a chair. I looked down, but the instant I moved my head, my stomach churned with bile and fear.

  Duct tape. I was duct-taped to a chair.

  The old wooden floor creaked as someone entered the room, and I reinforced every bit of mental and emotional strength I had in me.

  The sound of a woman humming softly preceded her entry into the room. When I saw her, the flash before everything had gone dark came back violently.

  “You.”

  “Oh, Yve. You look rather uncomfortable,” Jennifer drawled, her tone mockingly devoid of any real concern. “I’m so glad you could join me, though.” Her hands were folded at her waist, and I marveled at how the skinny blond bitch could jab a needle into my neck and somehow drag and duct-tape me to a chair without mussing a single hair in her perfect chignon.

  But what I didn’t understand was why.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  Her triumphant smile made no sense until she explained. “Why, I’m the next Mrs. Johnson Haines Jr.”

  My head spun like I’d been forced into an alternate dimension. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Of course I am.” She stepped forward and held out her hand, showing off the diamond sparkling on her finger. “He proposed the day he was granted parole.”

  She was crazy. There was no other explanation. “You met him in prison?”

  “You don’t think prisoners need someone to talk to? Someone to love them? That’s not very kind of you, Yvie.”

  I hated that she called me by the same name Jay had—right before he’d thrown a punch or landed a kick.

  “Where is he?” Strangely, I almost wanted him here instead, because at least I understood his brand of crazy. Hers was completely foreign and unpredictable, if crazy could ever truly be predictable.

  “He’s out, and it’s not good for him to get too worked up.” Her mockingly sweet tone shifted to something bitter and harsh. “Especially not about a piece of trash like you. Someone who couldn’t even keep the man happy. I don’t understand why he’d be still fixated on you. He just needs to move on.”

  “So he’s been the one who’s been—”

  Jennifer shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Oh no, Yvie. Of course not. I wouldn’t let him get within a hundred yards of you and your whorish ways. Sometimes men just don’t know what’s good for them.”

  “Then . . . who?”

  She stepped closer, and I caught a whiff of Chanel No. 5.

  “You?”

  Jennifer smiled, but it was a smile of the borderline—or completely—insane person. “I still can’t figure out why he’s hung up on you. All he talked about for months were all the things you did wrong that he had to punish you for. You should have thanked me for moving that glass. It would’ve made him so angry.” Her eyes hardened. “I should’ve left it, though. It would’ve shown him you hadn’t changed. Not that I would’ve let him get inside your house. No, I keep a tight leash on my man. I’m sure you don’t know a thing about that.”

  So she’d moved the glass. Stolen the perfume. Left the message on the mirror.

  “And the explosion?”

  A sickly gleeful expression stole across her face. “YouTube is so handy. You can really learn to do anything. Except get people to stay where they’re supposed to be.” Her smile twisted. “Because then we wouldn’t be having this discussion, now would we?”

  “Why?” I demanded. “Are you crazy?”

  “I prefer the term creative. Keeping tabs on you, tabs on him trying to keep tabs on you—it got so tiring. I just want to get married and live my life. I didn’t need you hanging over everything. Jay loves me. Only me.”

  “Good. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  “But he just can’t seem to get over his first love. So I thought I’d help.” She raised her hand, and the sharp silver blade of a knife caught the light. “By cutting you out of the picture.”

  I FLOORED THE ASTON AND headed home. Yve wasn’t picking up her phone, and the text she’d sent me hours ago had been completely vague. My next call was to Jerome, who answered on the third ring, thank God.

  I didn’t bother with a greeting. “Where the hell is she?”

  “She should be home,” he replied. “I’m just leaving the airport. Monica’s flight was twenty minutes out and had to be rerouted to Baton Rouge due to a medical emergency. She’ll be in late tonight.”

  “That’s what Yve said. She’d be home later tonight. In a text.”

  Jerome was silent for a moment on the other end of the line. “She said she wouldn’t go.”

  “Go where?” I demanded.

  “A huge estate sale. Tonight. Dealers and wholesalers early preview. She wanted to go but I told her that I couldn’t come. She promised she’d go tomorrow.”

  Yve and an estate sale. That made complete sense, but still my panic grew—panic I hadn’t felt since the morning her apartment had exploded and I couldn’t reach her. That morning everything had started to become really clear: Yve mattered. A whole hell of a lot. And tonight I’d chosen her over business when Haines had tossed out his ultimatum. I’d thrown it back in his face because it would have meant hurting her. Apparently I’d officially found the one line I wouldn’t cross.

  I wanted her in my house, in my bed, in my life, and there was no way in hell I would let anything happen to jeopardize that.

  I slowed at a stoplight. “Do you have the address of the sale?” Even though the panic had subsided, a sense of foreboding washed over me. Haines’s son—a convicted fucking rapist—was still out there, and according to Haines, still obsessed. And Yve was alone. I would not leave her vulnerable.

  “I don’t recall the address, but JP will have it. I’ll get it from her and text it to you. I’ll meet you there.”

  I almost told him it wasn’t necessary, but maybe Yve would finally understand how seriously I took her safety if we both showed up. It wasn’t a game, and she knew that. She knew better than anyone what her ex was capable of, and I was going to make sure she didn’t take another risk like this again.

  “Okay. I’ll see you there.”

  I pulled into a parking lot to wait, but instead of texting me back, Jerome called a few minutes later.

  “According to JP, she did go to the sale,” he reported. “But she also mentioned something I hadn’t realized. The flyer came in via a street kid today, not by mail or someone they knew.”

  “That doesn’t sound normal.”

  “JP thought it seemed a little strange, especially given that it was all high-end stuff, and the sale wasn’t listed on any of the normal places Yve looked.”

  “Give me the address.”

  I punched it into the GPS as he relayed it. Urgency and rage twined together in my gut.

  An estate sale of high-end stuff, unusual notification, and still . . . something that Yve wouldn’t be able to resist.

  “GPS says twenty minutes. I’ll be there in ten. I’ll call you if it’s nothing. But this doesn’t feel right.”

  “Agreed. Please try to keep from killing yourself on the way there,” Jerome replied.

  “Done.” I hung up and roared out of the parking lot.

  Hennessy was my next call. Maybe it was overkill, but this one felt bad all the way to my gut.

  “It’s Yve’s ex-husband. He’s obsessed with her,” I said as soon as he answered.

  “Hello to you too, Titan. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Yve’s ex-husband. He has to be the one who caused the apartment explosion.”

  “We’ve still
got no leads, so I’ll take what I can get.”

  I relayed the information about the estate sale and my gut reaction.

  “Could be harmless,” Hennessy remarked.

  “I’m not taking any chances.”

  “Shit, man. You driving out there?”

  “Right now.”

  “Call if you need backup.”

  “I’ll call you if we need body bags.” I hung up before he could reply.

  JENNIFER CAME CLOSER TO ME with the knife, but my fight-or-flight response was thwarted by the damn duct tape. I needed to keep her talking. I really, really needed to avoid the pain that would come with that knife. You know, or getting dead. I had too much left to live for.

  Taped to a chair, facing down a crazy bitch with a knife, a lot of things became perfectly clear. I was in love with Lucas Titan.

  I’d sworn I’d never fall again—especially for a rich guy—but with Lucas, it hadn’t been a choice. He’d never made me feel like a possession to be owned. To the contrary, he’d made me feel like I was precious and worth protecting. I couldn’t hold who he was or what he had against him, because it was all an integral part of what made him Lucas Fucking Titan. And I loved him.

  I didn’t know if he loved me too, but I wasn’t going to die before I found out.

  “Why did you pretend to want to buy the store?” I asked, both to get a conversation going and because that part still didn’t make any sense.

  Jennifer smiled in that crazy I’ve got a whole mess of screws loose way of hers. “Because Jay seemed so impressed that you were running it. It’s just a silly little store. How hard could it really be? And it wasn’t pretend. I am going to buy it and run it. Then he can be impressed with me running it.”

  I wondered if the same argument applied to taking the perfume. Because if Jay liked it on me, then he’d like it on her. She was too blond and skinny to come anywhere close to looking like me, but her style was remarkably similar, right down to the dress and pumps and hairstyle. Had she been trying to copy me in hopes that she’d somehow be more secure with Jay? Why would she even want to?