Star Bright (Bright Young Things Book 1)

by Staci Hart

  “I’m not telling anyone who you are, Stella. I won’t betray that, not for any price.”

  “Forgive me for not taking your word on that.” Her voice was soft, almost pleading. “I have to protect myself whether I believe you or not. So I’d like to buy my secret back from you. Just name your price.”

  My eyes narrowed in confusion. Surely I’d imagined what she’d said.

  After a pause, she added, “If it’s money you want, I can give you whatever you ask for. If it’s invitations to parties, that’s easy to arrange. But please don’t ask me to pretend we’re still together. Please … just … I can’t.”

  The room emptied of air, and the world emptied of words. Under my shock and disbelief was simmering rage. “Ask that of you?” I breathed. “Ask that? The only thing I wanted to ask was for your fucking forgiveness, Stella. And you … you think I would … you think you could …” I sputtered, unable to complete a thought for my fury. “We haven’t even talked, Stella, and you’re throwing rolls of money at me? This might be how you solve problems, but I cannot fucking believe you’d even think to pay me off.”

  “I don’t know what’s true and what’s a lie, so it doesn’t matter what I ask or what you say. And if you tell me … if you tell me …” Her voice broke. “If you convince me you’re telling the truth and you aren’t, I might break. I will break, and I won’t be so easy to put together.”

  I stood, unable to even look at her, swallowing bile. “I don’t want your fucking money. All I ever wanted was you.” I flew toward the door, unable to hear anything but a rush of blood in my ears. When my hand rested on the doorknob, I paused, staring at my shoes without seeing through a series of shaky, shallow breaths.

  “And to think,” I said just loudly enough for her to hear, “I thought I was falling in love with you. But I couldn’t have loved you, not if this is who you are.” I turned the knob and opened the door. “Send me an NDA, and I’ll sign it. Keep the rest.”

  Without looking back, I walked out the door.

  But I left my broken heart at her feet.

  STELLA

  The door slammed shut so hard, I jumped, knocking the tears barely clinging to my lashes down my cheeks.

  There wasn’t enough air, the ringing in my ears sharp. A sob ripped from my mouth, and I clapped my hand over my lips to stop another from escaping.

  What have I done?

  It had seemed foolproof on paper, cut and dry. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d solved a problem in this exact way, a plan that had never failed.

  But I’d never loved one of the recipients. In fact, I’d loathed them all.

  And that mistake had proven fatal to my heart.

  26

  Hamfist

  LEVI

  She was everywhere.

  The scent of her clung to my pillows, to me, regardless of the showers I’d taken in the days since I’d last seen her. Her laugh in a crowd or a sliver of blonde hair, and my heart would break and sing in an instant. She was a ghost, and I was a haunted man.

  The baths in my darkroom were empty and dry, left unused and collecting dust. But Stella was even here in my sacred space, photographs of her that I hadn’t collected hanging from cables.

  I yanked one off with a snap of the clip and added it to the stack in my hand.

  The only word I knew to explain how I felt was dark, as if the light had been shut off, the sun doused. It was an amalgamation of innumerable feelings—betrayal, loss, longing, regret, to name but a few—all mixed together and left to harden to stone. I had yet to find a way to move past it, not when so much of me was left in her hands. Careless, untrusting hands that had slapped me just as easily as they’d once soothed me.

  She hadn’t been in touch since I’d walked out her door, and for that, I was glad. Glad and glum.

  I hated every fucking thing about this, including no small amount of blame to myself—if I hadn’t gotten involved, if we’d just been friends, it wouldn’t have gone so wrong. But the truth was that we could never be just friends. I could never be just friends. The second I first saw her, I knew that as fact. And rather than walk away like I should have, I kissed her and damned us both.

  Me leaving, her status versus mine, who I was and who she was, never mattered. Because we’d started off on a lie, and we’d ended on one too. She’d kept me in the dark from the start, and while I didn’t blame her for keeping it from me, I was pissed and hurt and shocked that Stella—my Stella—was Cecelia Beaton, and I didn’t know it.

  Even more pissed that she blamed me. Accused me of using her.

  Again.

  But the worst part of it all, worse than the fight or our lies, was that I’d lost her for good, and the pain of missing her had taken up permanent residence in my ribs.

  Snap, snap, snap. I pulled pictures off their clips and added them to the stack, trying not to look at them.

  I’d shot her a few times after the first time, bringing my camera along with me to a few parties. But the only ones I’d left hanging were of her. The pale curve of her shoulder and waist, the valley of her spine, my sheets pooled around her hips. A series I’d done here in the studio in the dress she wore when I met her, her hair in finger waves, her body backlit, the light catching only the curves of her, marking their shape with glittering sparkles.

  Snap. They started in smiles and into dancing, hands over her head and face turned to the side, earrings swinging, body a curve.

  Snap. Pensive and quiet, all shadows.

  Snap. The strap sliding off one shoulder, then the other.

  Snap, snap. And I couldn’t look at the rest as I took them down, not that there were many. Hadn’t done much shooting after that.

  I stopped at the last photo, standing before it with my heart thudding. It was one I hadn’t known I’d taken until I developed the film, having forgotten about the timer when I abandoned the camera. We stood in profile, darkness against white light, our foreheads connected. I held her face in one hand and her waist in the other, our bodies curving into each other in a moment of silent exaltation before a kiss.

  That picture held everything I felt for her in a single image. It was hope and covetous longing. It was a wish that I’d known would never come true, I’d just been too bewitched to acknowledge it.

  Snap.

  I turned with the stack of photos, tossing it into a drawer rather than the trash, unready for that final a motion. But I couldn’t come in here with them mocking my thoughtlessness, whispering that I should have seen it coming.

  They weren’t wrong.

  I exited the darkroom, my disquiet seeping away when I was safely in my apartment. With every step toward the door, I left her behind me but for that ghost that had become my companion.

  There were more important things in front of me.

  Like Warren.

  I’d spent the last few days writing in my notebook, bits and slivers of the final story I’d promised. Not that the issue of shorting them on promised pieces was settled. Yara had my feet to the fire, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d have to duke it out with Marcella.

  It was one thing to tell Yara to fuck off. It was another thing entirely to face the editor in chief of the magazine with the visceral no I had in store for her.

  I could have laughed at the irony—not only did I not get the story or the girl, but I might not have my job when it was all said and done. Because regardless of what had gone down between Stella and me, I’d lose my job ten times over before I’d betray her.

  I had a little money saved. If it came to it, I could move in with Billy. Wouldn’t be the worst idea—in fact, it was probably the only way he’d ever let me get close enough to really watch after him. I had enough of a name that I could easily freelance for a while, maybe something bigger once Marcella revealed my identity. Even Syria seemed unattainable now, and I couldn’t muster any real anger about it. Everything in my life felt gray and distant except my hurt and regret.

  The
night I went home with Stella, I’d made a choice, and this was my consequence. As badly as it hurt, I couldn’t say that I regretted that particular choice. Only the circumstance and outcome. Because for a moment, I had been a part of something.

  I’d been a part of her.

  By the time I walked the few blocks to Billy’s, I’d packed it all away as best I could, even digging up a smirk for him as I opened the door.

  “Hey, old man.”

  He looked over from his ancient recliner and smirked right back. “Look at that—he’s alive. I was getting ready to call the morgue.”

  I snorted a laugh and rolled my eyes, taking a seat in an armchair on the far side of the coffee table so I could see him. “Aw, you missed me.”

  “Psh—I had better company.”

  One of my brows rose. “That so?”

  “Sure is. I have other friends, you know.”

  “Rufus from the barbershop? Larry from the bar?”

  “Peg from the Laundromat.”

  At that, I genuinely smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. “Oh-ho. Easy there, Casanova.”

  “She made lasagna, and no, you can’t have any.”

  “Fair enough,” I said on a chuckle. “She came yesterday?”

  “And the day before. Twice.”

  I eyed him. “We are still talking about her visiting and not something else, right?”

  But he only gave me a devilish smile and shrugged.

  That earned him a full-blown, bottom-of-my-belly laugh. “You fucking dog.”

  “We are what we are, son. Where’ve you been?”

  “Just busy,” I hedged.

  “For three days?”

  With a shrug, I changed the subject. “Wanted to talk about Warren.”

  Billy sat back, his face souring. “I can tell you he’s a slimy sonofabitch. I also possess a number of colorful adjectives I’d use to describe him. Grab a pen.”

  A little laugh left me. “Had a chat with Jameson the other day. Told me to ask you about the Blaze job in ’05. Does that mean anything to you?”

  His face darkened. “It does.” He picked up the remote and muted the TV, spinning his chair to face me. “The Blaze job, huh? I think I can guess what he wants you to know.”

  “Well, don’t leave me hangin’, Pop.”

  He ran a weathered hand over his chin, the scratch of silver stubble against his palm audible. “Warren was a detective then, undercover to infiltrate the Russian Mafia syndicate. A handful of us had a suspicion he’d turned, Jameson included, one solidified after we raided the Blaze warehouse.”

  Silently, I leaned back in the chair, brows drawn together.

  “It was a sting—we were set to bust a shipment of drugs, but it went sideways. Someone tipped them off, because one of the heads of the hydra, Vadim Orlov, was supposed to be there, and the shipment was half of what it should have been. They were waiting for us, opened up on a firefight. Lost a couple of good men that day, and we didn’t get Orlov. Blaze was the bust that put me behind the desk.” He patted his bad leg. “But the part Warren played that day always stank. Orlov was ready for us—somebody told him. And Ed and I were the lone witnesses to something we couldn’t prove, something we couldn’t accuse him of, not without putting marks on our backs. Ed has a family, and I had you. Couldn’t risk it, not without evidence,” he said half to himself.

  He paused to take a breath. I held mine.

  “Warren shot our guys. He opened fire on us, not them.”

  Shock ripped down my spine. “Did he … was he the one who …”

  “Shot me? I don’t know. Coulda been—he knew Jameson and I were suspicious, might have been trying to take us out. Or it could have been some sort of trial, proof of loyalty Orlov asked of him. But in the end, Warren was commemorated a hero, and from there on out, he made regular Mafia arrests, making headlines for busts I always figured Orlov set up to keep the heat off the both of them. Nobody asked why Orlov didn’t have him axed, which is batshit—nobody betrays Orlov and lives to talk about it. The only explanation is that Warren’s involved with Orlov. And somehow, that slippery piece of shit has avoided getting nabbed for the last fifteen years.”

  “Jesus,” I breathed. “So money, then? Is that why he does it?”

  “That’s why he does it, and that’s how he does it. It’s how he’s slithered into his office despite Jameson’s efforts to stop him. Warren has people everywhere, and now that he’s commissioner? He can pretty much do whatever the fuck he wants, so long as it looks like it’s above board. But he’s crooked as fuck, and everybody knows it.”

  “Anybody tried to take him down?”

  “Sure, but nobody’s lasted long. If you’re lucky, he’ll put you back on the beat. If you’re unlucky, you get framed for something he likely did. So nobody fucks with him. It’s hard enough to get cops to turn on each other, but when one wields that kind of power, it gets even stickier. Every board meeting, every committee, he’s got stacked in his favor. It’s the brotherhood that protects us when we’re filing into a sting, the bond that makes certain your crew has your back. But it’s the brotherhood they exploit to cover their fuckups too.”

  “So how do I bust him?”

  “You don’t.” It was a warning.

  “What the fuck does he want with the Bright Young Things? He questioned Stella, you know.”

  Billy shook his head. “Abuser of power should be on his business cards. Listen, if I had to guess, I’d say it’s nothing personal and everything to do with money. Somebody powerful wants those kids to stop and went to him because of his reputation.”

  “The Mafia?” My face screwed up.

  A snort. “Orlov doesn’t want shit to do with a bunch of kids. In fact, he’s probably got spawn of his own running around with them. If he wanted it to stop, it’d stop without the pony show. No, I’d guess it was political.”

  My mind raced for answers. “And important enough he’d stick his neck out for it when he’s already got enough irons in the fire to keep him busy.” I paused. “He doesn’t have a wife or kids, right?”

  “No. Was married once but lost her. Probably because he’s a useless shitbag.”

  My thoughts skipped around, wondering where Warren had slipped. Because if he thought himself bulletproof, he’d be careless. It was a long shot, but maybe if I followed him—

  “Whatever you’re thinking, quit it,” Billy said. “This isn’t something to fuck with, Levi. This isn’t some crack house or sex trafficking ring, dangerous as they are. This is the goddamn Russian Mafia you’re thinking about toying with. And unless you want a bullet in your skull, I suggest you cut it out.”

  “All right,” I lied, already concocting a plan to stake him out.

  Billy only looked mildly assuaged, but he relaxed just enough to indicate the topic had been shelved. “So are you ever gonna tell me what you’re moping around about?”

  “If I say no, will you leave it be?”

  “Nope.”

  I sighed and rested my head on the back of the chair. “Stella and I are through.”

  He didn’t react, just watched me for a second. “Well, are you gonna elaborate, or do I have to badger it out of you?”

  And so in the briefest of terms, I explained what’d happened, all the way up to her trying to fucking buy me off, masterfully avoiding anything to do with my feelings on the matter, of which I had many. Buckets worth. Dumptrucks full.

  I fell silent, and again, he watched me with that assessing look of his. “So you fucked up?”

  My brows fused together. “She offered me money to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Because you lied to her.”

  “Once.”

  “About reporting on her. That’s no small thing.”

  “So you’re saying I shouldn’t be mad?” I scoffed. “What the fuck, Pop? I figured you’d get it.”

  “Let me let you in on a little secret, kid. Sometimes, you just gotta let them be mad about you being a meat
headed, ham-fisted dummy. Oh, don’t look so offended. It’s the curse of our sex, to be meatheaded and ham-fisted. And it’s our job to be a man and take our lumps. Stop worrying about what she did when you’re the one who cocked it up.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Apologize again? Because I tried, and she didn’t want to hear it.”

  “First of all, I’ve heard you apologize, and it’s never been what one would call trying. And secondly, you were standin’ there with her diary in your hand. What’d you think was gonna happen?”

  “Planner.”

  “Huh?”

  “It wasn’t her diary—it was her planner.”

  He laid a look on me. “Same fucking thing. She was in the middle of being mad at you, jellybrain. Shoulda let her yell and kept your temper.”

  “And then what? Forget it ever happened?” I asked in disbelief.

  “No, dumbass—you wait until the storm passes. Then you try again, and you try harder. I mean a real good, on-your-knees groveling, not any of that half-ass crap you like to pull. You need to sit her down and tell her all the ways you’re an idiot and hope to God she agrees well enough to forgive you.”

  I swallowed the knot in my throat. “She doesn’t want to talk about it, Billy—I’ve tried twice and gotten nowhere both times. She doesn’t want to see me. Said it didn’t matter what I said because she didn’t believe me.”

  Billy sighed and scratched his jaw. “Listen, I didn’t say it would work. She might be done once and for all with you, but if you want a shot, that’s the best you’ve got. Give her some more time and then try again, for God’s sake. Don’t roll over and give up. All right?”

  With a long exhale, I said, “All right.”

  “Good. And in the meantime, keep your nose out of Warren’s business. You hear me?” He pointed at me with both his eyes and an index finger.

  “Loud and clear,” I answered.

  But I was pretty sure he knew I was gonna do it anyway.