by Alice Ward
I’d spent a lot of years with Howie. We’d grown up together, and we’d been through a lot together. For the first time, I wanted to rip his throat out. I knew in the recesses of my mind he was only reacting to the reasonable explanation, but I hated him for doubting my judgment and questioning Tabby’s character. Even the insinuation she would sell us all out for a payoff was offensive, and one I knew to be completely untrue. Hell, I’d offered to employ her with a major boost in pay, and she’d turned me down. Tabby was many things, but money hungry simply wasn’t one of them, and I was irate she would even be accused of being such.
“She didn’t do it,” I snapped. “I need to look into this. I’ll call you later.”
I ended the call. My back was to Tabby, but I could feel her eyes boring into my head. Her curiosity and concern radiated across the room to where I stood. Just as I’d steeled myself enough to turn around and tell her what I’d learned, however, my phone chimed again, this time with an incoming text.
It was a picture of the headline Howie had read me, and it was from Pippa.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Tabby
“What’s going on?” I asked tentatively. I couldn’t see his face, but Owen’s back was so tense that the muscles were bulging.
He turned around slowly, and when he met my eyes, I felt a sickening swoop of dread in my gut. Something was very, very wrong. He looked more somber than he had the night his past fling made her sideways comment.
“There’s an article out,” he said through tight lips, “about The Club.”
“What kind of an article?” I knew any publicity about The Club was a bad thing, given how guarded they were about their goings-on, but I wasn’t sure what else to ask. The only thing I could hope was the article was highlighting the generous donations made by the members to all those charities.
“A tell-all,” he told me.
I waited for more information, but, really, what more information did I need? A tell-all was a tell-all. The secrets had been unturned. That was enough.
“There are names listed. It’s ‘Hooking for Homeless’ or something like that. They’re saying we’re a prostitution ring hiding behind charity donations.”
My laptop suddenly felt too heavy on my legs. I shoved it off onto the empty couch cushion next to me, not caring that it tipped sideways, and squeezed my shaking hands between my thighs. Horrible thoughts were running through my mind. If Owen’s name had been amongst those mentioned, he could potentially be facing some serious charges. A wealthy, high-profile investor being involved in a prostitution ring with other wealthy, high-profile people sounded like the makings of a perfect legal storm, and while I was sure there was a plentiful amount of money between all the members to hire the dream team of lawyers, I couldn’t help imagining what it might mean. There was a chance he would lose everything. He could even face prison time, if human trafficking was tacked on.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He just continued looking at me rather than crossing the room and sitting beside me as I hoped he would. It was his mess, but I was selfishly in need of comfort in that moment. I couldn’t stand the thought of his world burning around him, and I couldn’t stomach the possibility of seeing him only from behind thick glass with a phone pressed to my ear.
“Apparently, some of the members are looking at you.”
I grew still. I wasn’t able to register what he’d just told me. They were looking at me? What did that mean? There was no way they could’ve thought I was the culprit…
“You’re the only one with a motive to do it, in their minds,” he went on.
“Motive?” The word was foreign on my tongue. “What the hell kind of motive could I have?”
“Money.”
Just like that, a simple term became dirty and repulsive. Heat rose up my neck in defensive anger, and I inadvertently snapped, “What the fuck?”
“You haven’t done an auction. You’re the only one with nothing to lose by outing The Club, and considering what the tabloids will pay for a story like this, you’ve got a big check to gain.” He finally moved toward me in a slow, loping gait. The hand not holding his phone was balled into a fist, and I could see the restraint he was employing to stop himself from punching the nearest piece of furniture. Dropping onto the end farthest from me on the couch, he clarified, “This is what Howie relayed to me. It’s not how I feel.”
“How do you feel?” I demanded at once.
He met my gaze, and though there was visible fury raging in his expression, he softened. “I know it wasn’t you.” Something else melted into his features — regret? “I need to tell you about something.”
Again, I felt the awful sensation of dread, but I gritted my teeth against it and prepared to brave another hurricane. “What?”
“Pippa came to my house before I flew up here,” he admitted. He wasn’t blinking, and his eyes didn’t move away from mine for even a second. It was as if he was willing me to read his mind so he wouldn’t have to say the words. “She was trying to get me to sleep with her.”
In my two-and-a-half decades, I’d never had a moment like this one. The walls were melting around me. I was numb, but the numbness was so intense it hurt. My muscles refused to move, not even to resituate, and I couldn’t tell if time had stopped altogether or if it had merely slowed to a snail’s pace.
“I didn’t.” He said it quietly but with firm resolve.
I stared at him. I was looking at him, but I wasn’t seeing him. His head might as well have been invisible, because I could somehow make out the grain of the photograph on the wall behind him.
“Tabby.” He scooted closer to me and rested his hand on my leg. “I didn’t sleep with her.”
“Then, why didn’t you tell me she came over until now?” I asked, finally managing to get my tongue to form syllables.
“Because nothing happened, so I didn’t think it mattered,” he replied matter-of-factly. “The only reason I’m bringing it up now is because I believe it was Pippa who gave the media the information about The Club.”
I shook my head. “How do you know that?”
“I don’t have any evidence, but I know it’s her.” He swallowed hard. “She didn’t take my rejection well.”
“You should go home,” I told him dully.
He withdrew slightly. “Why?”
“Because this is going to be a big problem for you, and you can’t fix it from here,” I said, squeezing his hand. “You need to go back to New Orleans and talk to people and get everything figured out so your reputation won’t be damaged.”
I wasn’t sure if I’d offended him or not. To be honest, I didn’t really care. I didn’t care about anything all of a sudden. My emotions were gone, buried in hiding to protect me from a heartache I didn’t know if I could handle. The very thought of that snotty bitch taking it upon herself to go to Owen’s house and seduce him was enough to make me uncomfortable, but I was finding it extremely hard to believe nothing happened that night. They had a past, after all, and Owen and I were doing the long-distance thing, plus we hadn’t officially committed to each other… I shook my head.
Why was I doing this to myself? Basically deciding that Owen was guilty?
But I’d assumed, when he told me at the airport in Louisiana that I was the only woman he wanted, we were monogamous. It didn’t take too much digging to know, even the thought that he’d violated that was the source of the hollow pain shooting through my chest.
Owen left that night. My bed had never felt so empty.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Owen
I was surrounded by blinking. The notification bar in the corner of my computer screen flashed with new email after new email. The little light on my landline business phone in my office turned red so often it could’ve sent an epileptic into seizures. My cell phone lit up so frequently I had to keep it plugged in to hold a charge. I was being pummeled with calls, texts, emails, instant messages — everyone was trying to
reach me except for the only person I wanted to hear from.
Tabby wasn’t speaking to me. I’d called her almost every hour since I’d touched down in New Orleans two days ago, excluding the few times I managed to calm my brain long enough to sleep more than a catnap’s worth, and she hadn’t so much as sent an “I’m busy” text. I knew she was getting my voicemails because her mailbox hadn’t filled up yet, but not a word was replied. She was freezing me out, and I didn’t even know if it was because she was furious with me about omitting the Pippa visit, or because she didn’t believe me that nothing happened, or because she wanted to put some distance between us after learning she was being blamed for the heat The Club was under.
It even crossed my mind in some of my darker moments that my fetish was the catalyst for her cold shoulder. I had to remind myself that, not only had she asked to experience it, but she’d also very willingly engaged in it with me several times after the first.
I missed her. More than that, I needed her. I was facing a monster I wasn’t certain I could handle, and I needed her by my side. And I needed to know she didn’t hate me, that she still wanted me.
New Orleans had blown up overnight. The story was everywhere. The media outlet that had originally published the article had only been the start. Every other source in the city and surrounding areas picked up the story, and it was starting to go national. Why wouldn’t it? If public interest in a news story was an investable option, I would’ve thrown a check that way, even if it meant my own demise. It had grown to such an epic proportion in such a short space of time, I wasn’t even able to leave my office without being bombarded by a crowd large enough to stand-in as an audience for a rock band heading off for its first tour. And that was more blinking I had to deal with… cameras flashing in my face. I loved that Tabby was a photographer, but I was quickly starting to hate having my picture taken.
Howie was having the opposite reaction to the publicity. While I stowed myself away as much as I could and kept lines of communication closed, he’d been quoted dozens of times shouting at the paparazzi as he raced from one member to the other across the city. He was a lawyer, and a good one at that, which was to our benefit but also to our detriment. He knew the law and was compiling an excellent case in our favor for when the police inevitably opened up an investigation. Thus far, they’d dragged their feet thanks to a substantial number of members having provided them with funds, new equipment, and general support over the years. But he was highly volatile because there was a good chance a trial would ruin his career forever, no matter if we were cleared or not.
“Do you understand how many lawyers can just pick up and keep going after facing criminal charges?” he demanded of me as he paced my office. “Very few! Probably five in the history of humanity! What the hell are the odds that I’d be the sixth?”
“Well, you’re not helping by screaming at reporters on a daily basis,” I pointed out dryly. I didn’t have the energy to match his hype over the incident. I was worried about it, of course, but I was more wrapped up in Tabby and her lack of communication. Each time my cell glowed with an incoming call, I nearly leapt at it with a pounding heart in the hopes of seeing her name. So far, I was zero for a thousand.
“They’re goading me,” he snapped. “They’re trying to push me into breaking the law right in front of them. They want me to punch one of them right in the face just so they can turn this whole debacle into an even bigger deal.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course they are. That’s their job, Howie.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got a job to do too, but you don’t see me interrupting their lives to do it, do you?” he shot.
I didn’t bother replying. He’d been in such a short-fused state lately that combatting his rant with logic would only serve to ignite an explosion, and I had no patience for that. Frankly, I wasn’t overly concerned about getting nailed with charges and a trial. The Blackjack Club was power. There wasn’t a man amongst our ranks who didn’t have the ability to buy anyone off, if necessary, and our organization had done its job in making the right friends over the course of our existence. If the accusations against us had any merit at all, I probably would have felt differently, not in the least because it would have been immoral to pay off cops and investigators to bury the case, but there was no merit. We weren’t hosting a prostitution ring. Every woman who’d ever walked through that door had done so of her own accord, just like signing the NDA and participating in the auction. The only financial benefactors were the charities. There was no exchange of money for sexual services. In fact, it wasn’t even a requirement for the women to sleep with their bidders — though, it happened more often than not because the women had their own personal agendas. The most illegal thing that happened in those black walls was illicit gambling.
The true concern lay in the aftereffect. Each member had to worry about the stability of his business or position or career after the smoke cleared and we were left with the wreckage. I wasn’t an exception. A good portion of the calls and emails I was receiving were from associates seeking answers.
On cue, my cell lit. I’d almost stopped bothering to check to see who the caller was since my return to Louisiana, but a niggling in the back of my mind urged me to look. When I did, adrenaline zoomed through me, making my head light.
“Howie, I have to take this,” I said, interrupting a long bout of rambling. He waved a hand dismissively and stormed from the office without another word. Sliding my finger across the green phone icon, I put the device to my ear and asked disbelievingly, “Hello?”
“Hi.” Her voice was quiet, a little more emotionless than I would’ve liked, but it was hers. The familiar lilt fluttered into my brain and danced down to my chest, which had felt horribly empty for days.
“Hi,” I returned.
She took in a deep, slow breath, then said, “We need to talk.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Tabby
It seemed like I hadn’t talked to Owen in months, and when I heard his slightly digitized voice through the earpiece an abundance of emotions crashed into me. All at once, I realized how much I’d missed him, how hurt I felt over the whole Pippa thing, and how worried I was about The Club being made public. Tears actually rose in my eyes, the result of tamping everything down into a tiny pocket of my soul since that awful morning when Owen received the phone call.
“Are you okay?” The concern in his voice was so tangible I felt as if I could’ve reached through the phone and touched it as it came out of his mouth.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “I’m fine.”
It wasn’t the truth. I wasn’t fine at all. Truthfully, I was a wreck. Exhaustion from tossing and turning night after night had left indigo bags beneath my eyes, I’d postponed several gigs because I couldn’t bring myself to leave my apartment, and I was currently recovering from a hangover after attempting to drink away my unhappiness for an evening. Worse, the hollowness I’d felt after learning Pippa had gone to Owen’s house and he’d hid it from me hadn’t gone away in the slightest. It had actually expanded since his leaving, just a giant balloon of nothingness filling me up and leaving no room for anything of substance, anything I could grab onto and stabilize myself with.
I was upset Pippa had gone to Owen’s house, but I wasn’t at all upset with him for that. He hadn’t asked her to do that, and my brief meeting with the wench had been enough to tell me she was absolutely the kind of woman who would ambush someone at their own private residence with the intentions of a whore. What upset me about him was that he’d failed to tell me. We were talking on the phone every night. There was no reason in the world he couldn’t have mentioned it, especially if nothing had happened as he claimed. I came from the school of thought that dictated people who have nothing to hide, hide nothing. Maybe he had genuinely forgotten about it because it was so forgettable, but maybe he hadn’t. My doubts were too prevalent to wave it all off.
To make matters worse, though, I hadn’t been given the opport
unity to wave it off. Owen had presented the opportunity, of course, but he wasn’t the only one I was contending with anymore. Emails had started popping up in my inbox from unknown addresses, and they were so unsettling I became physically ill after receiving the first. Most were wordless, just pictures, but the pixelized images were crushing.
Owen kneeling on his bed, Pippa bent over in front of him.
Pippa with her legs spread wide and Owen’s hand buried inside her.
The two of them tangled together, her face twisted with pleasure.
At first, I’d closed the emails as soon as I was able to process what I was seeing. As I started to grow numb to them, however, I began studying them. They seemed to all have been taken the same night, and they appeared to be freeze-frames from a video that was likely filmed from a tripod in the middle of the room. Every angle was the same, the lighting didn’t differ from one picture to the next, and though they were naked, there were no unique features like fresh scratches or a variance in Pippa’s earring choice to distinguish a change in date. Strangely, that offered me some measure of comfort. Furthermore, and I might have been stretching out of hope, Owen’s hair looked noticeably shorter than it had been when he came to Chicago, though that simply could have been due to the combination of angle and lighting together.
In any case, I needed him to know.
“Do you happen to have Pippa’s email?” I asked.
A beat of silence crossed the line. “Why?” he asked reluctantly.
“I’ve been getting emails from an address I don’t recognize.” I tried to sound as nonchalant as I could, not because I wanted to hide my feelings entirely but because I was more interested in getting to the bottom of things than pursuing an emotional breakdown. “They’re pictures of you with her. In bed. Having sex.”
Again, there was silence on his end, but I could hear anger. It sounded impossible, but I could definitely hear his temper rising despite his not saying a word. Then, in a tone of deadly calm, he commanded, “Forward them.”