House of Scarlett Read online

  “That isn’t a sight I see regularly anymore,” Q says as he steps into my office at the club. The attitude I’m feeling rolling off my best friend isn’t my imagination. He’s fucking pissed.

  “You got something to say to me? Then say it,” I tell him, rising from where I was sitting behind my desk.

  Q struts inside and shuts the door. “Investor meeting is Thursday at two. You think you can tear yourself away from Scarlett Priest to make it? Or is that meeting not important to you either?”

  I prowl around my desk and meet him in the middle of the room, standing on the rug that started it all. “You questioning my commitment? Now? After everything I’ve fucking done?”

  “You’ve been MIA damn near all fucking week while the rest of us held down the fort, so you could go play prince running to the rescue like you belong in the castle with the princess.”

  “She needed me.”

  Q lunges forward. “We need you. We need your head in the fucking game or this is all over. They could pull the plug on us Thursday. You know that, right, Gabe? We’re in breach of contract. They could call in the loans. And then what are you going to do? Go back to fighting at the docks and open another illegal club? Because I don’t think your new girl is the type to walk through those doors.”

  Anger rises in my chest like the blush that sometimes stains Scarlett’s cheeks. “You, of all people, know how fucking committed I am to this. I’m the one who has sacrificed everything and put every penny on the line. You think that’s changed?”

  “Fuck yes.” Q’s gaze sharpens on me. “You’re rarely here. We’re scraping by, barely making it into the black every night, and you’re not here.”

  “Is that your problem, Q, or are you just pissed that I finally took your advice and am moving forward with my life?”

  Q recoils like I slapped him. “This is you moving forward? Really?”

  “Yeah, I fucking am. I’m sorry you don’t like how I’m doing it, but I don’t remember there being a requirement that I could only move forward using Marcus Quinterro-approved steps.”

  Instead of decking me like Q looks like he wants to, he turns and paces to the door. I assume he’s going to rip it open and march out, slamming it behind him, but he doesn’t. He spins around and leans back against the frame before jamming his hands in his jet-black hair.

  “I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, man. I’m really not.” He finally meets my gaze again. “I’m just fucking worried about you. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve had tunnel vision. You never once took your eye off the fucking prize. And now . . . shit, man. I feel like I don’t know who you are anymore, and that scares the hell out of me.”

  Having a best friend who knows you almost better than you know yourself can be a blessing and a curse at times. I could tell Q to fuck off and mind his own business because I know what I’m doing, but I owe him more than that. Not just because of our years of friendship, but also because he has some of his and his family’s money tied up in the club too. His reaction is partly motivated by his fear that I’m going to let them all down.

  “I’m here, Q. I’m working on a plan. One so fucking good that if it pans out, we might be able to wipe away every penny of debt and live free and clear.”

  Q drops his hands and cranes his neck like he’s trying to see inside my brain. “What the fuck are you talking about? That fight night? That’s not going to bring us enough to pay off all our debt. I’ve been ballparking numbers since you raised the idea, but there’s just no fucking way, even if they let us keep the entire gate, which will never happen.”

  Emotions play out across his face as he tries to figure out what I’m thinking. I haven’t said it out loud yet, so there’s no way for him to know what’s in my head right now.

  “We negotiate for fifty percent of the gate, double the drink prices, and I fight Bodhi Black as the main event of the night and bet every cent I can on myself.”

  In Q’s defense, his jaw only drops an inch as his face pales. He opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it again before shaking his head.

  “No. No fucking way, Gabe. You aren’t fighting Black. That’s a fucking death wish if I’ve ever heard one. Besides, you’ve barely even been training. They want to hold this thing in like thirty days or something. You’re not ready for that kind of battle, and I’m sure as hell not losing my best friend while you try to play hero and save us all. Not fucking happening.”

  “Black’s knee will never be a hundred percent after that last fight. I can get in shape. I know his moves. I’ve spent plenty of time studying the tape of our last fight. I can beat him again.”

  Q shakes his head like he’s staring at a lost cause. “This is a terrible fucking idea, Gabe. Not to mention that you’d have to get the promotion company on board and bump the main event down to take its place. There’s no way in hell they’d let it happen.”

  “That’s where you underestimate the power of greed, my friend. A street-fight grudge match brought under the umbrella of respectability would draw a fuck ton of fans and eyes. The promoters will buy into it. My only question now is whether you’ll be in my corner for it.” Q knows I’m not only asking about him working with my cornerman and cutman, but whether or not I can count on his support for the whole damn thing. “You’ve been with me every step of the way in this city, man. I need you with me for this. I need to know you’ll still bet on me too.”

  Q rubs at his forehead with his index finger and thumb before looking up at me. “Why do you always have to put it all on the line? Why can’t we just do shit halfway sometimes?”

  “Because that’s not how legends are born.”

  He huffs out a chuckle, but there’s little humor in it. Still shaking his head, he stares at me. “You’re fucking crazy. You know that, right?”

  “I know.”

  He pushes off the doorjamb, and I meet him in the middle of the rug. “I’d still bet on you over anyone else, any day of the year. If you think you can do this, then may God have mercy on all of us.”

  I lean in and give him a hard, back-slapping hug. “One more fight, and then I’m hanging up my gloves forever.”

  Q pulls back. “I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing.”

  I want to tell him I definitely don’t have all of it figured out, but I’m going to get there, because this is the fight of my life. Instead, I tell him, “Call Bodhi’s manager and let them know there’ll be a call coming in, and the answer they need to give is fuck yes.”

  “You mean after the meeting with the promotion company.”

  I jerk my chin to the side. “No, I mean right now. Because I’m making this happen.”

  There’s a knock on the door, and I call out, “Come in.”

  I see Zoe for a split second before Bump darts around her to slam against me in the form of a tackle-hug. Roux zips right alongside him, jumping up to put her paws on our arms as Bump presses his fresh buzz cut to my chest.

  “I missed you, Gabe! It feels like it’s been so long. Roux has been keeping me company, though, and I’m taking good care of her. Aren’t I, girl?”

  Roux pushes off of us and lands with all four paws on the floor once more. She nuzzles into my leg, and I reach down to stroke her soft head.

  “You’ve been doing a great job, Bump. I really appreciate it, bud.”

  Bump finally releases me and steps back. “You look the same, but you smell different. Prettier.”

  Zoe and Q choke on laughter, and I think of where I showered last and the scented soap. With a wry smile, I say to Bump, “But you’re saying I smell good?”

  His head bobs. “Way better. You look good too. Are you coming home tonight? I’m going to the bar with Big Mike to watch Monday Night Football, but you can come with us if you want.”

  It’s a generous invitation, even more generous than anyone else but the people in this room would realize. Going to the bar alone with Big Mike is pretty much Bump’s favorite thing in the entire wor
ld. Q’s old man lets Bump order a shot glass of every single beer on tap and line them all up on the table while he pigs out on all-you-can-eat bar popcorn.

  “Go with Big Mike tonight, bud. We’ll hang out tomorrow night. You pick the place.”

  His eyes go huge. “Can we bring Scarlett? She’s nice. I want to see her again.”

  I should ask her before saying yes, because of how seriously Bump takes promises, but I know it’s important to cement this right now.

  “Yeah. Scarlett will come. Text me your choice tomorrow, and I’ll be by to pick you up at six.”

  “In the morning?” Bump sounds disgusted at the thought.

  “At night, bud. We’ll eat dinner and have some fun.”

  Bump’s smile is back and beaming brighter than before. “Okay. It’s a date.” He looks at Zoe. “Will you take me to get a new shirt? I want to look nice for the ladies.”

  “Yeah, Bump. We’ll get you one tomorrow on the way to work.”

  He holds out his hand to me, and then we both spit and shake on it. “I’ve missed you, Gabe, but it’s worth it if she makes you happy.”

  A dart of appreciation for this little non-blood brother of mine hits me hard in the chest. “She does, Bump. She really does.” I say it loud enough for Q to overhear, and a giant smile erupts on Zoe’s face before she glances down at her watch.

  “It’s time, gentlemen. I’ll let them in, and you schmooze them until there’s nowhere else they’d rather hold their fights.”

  Forty-Four

  Scarlett

  “I’m surprised to see you again, Ms. Priest,” Dr. Grand says from the chair opposite the couch where I’m sitting.

  The couch in her office, where I learned she was a sex therapist and my relationship with Chadwick was completely over. The memories still pack on the weight of shame, but I’m working through it. After all, I did come back.

  “Well, you invited me to make another appointment, so here I am.”

  She settles her tablet on her knee and reaches for a steaming cup of tea. “What would you like to talk about today?”

  Her tone and manner are so mellow that they instantly settle a blanket of calm over me that wipes away my unease.

  “You said before that I wasn’t broken, and I just wanted to let you know that you’re right. I’m not.”

  “That’s excellent news. I’m glad you agree.” She smiles politely, but there’s a hint of question to it, like she’s still not sure why I’m here.

  I gather my courage and blurt it out. “I’m going to have sex tonight.”

  To her credit, Dr. Grand barely blinks. “Okay . . .”

  “Not with the guy who made the appointment for me here. Someone else. Someone I’m seeing. I told you about him. The guy who made me feel . . . not broken.”

  Her inquisitive look morphs into something close to a smile. “And you’ve scheduled sex for tonight?”

  “Well, I had a surprise appendectomy last week, so that kind of put a damper on the physical side of our relationship, but I think it might have been a good thing.”

  “Why do you say that?” Dr. Grand has her stylus poised to write on the tablet, but she doesn’t move it.

  “Because it gave me time to get used to seeing him in my space. To get used to him being close. I . . . It’s almost like I crave being close to him. I want him around all the time. I love seeing his face in my kitchen or my living room. And now . . . now, I want more. I want it all. The sex and intimacy and everything.”

  Her lips form a subtle approving grin. “That’s a big step in any relationship.”

  “We’ve already had sex, so it’s not like it’s the first time, but . . . it kind of feels like it.” I explain to her what happened the first time at the club, and her smile disappears.

  “What will you do if that happens again?” Dr. Grand asks, balancing her stylus between her finger and thumb.

  “It won’t.”

  “But can you be sure?” she asks with a tilt of her head. “People don’t often change overnight, Scarlett. It’s a long, slow process that involves a lot of work on oneself.”

  I think of how Gabriel told me I didn’t have to believe his words because he was going to show me. And he has. Every single day since I was in the hospital, he’s been there for me, and I don’t think it has a damn thing to do with the fact that he wants more sex. I think he just wants me.

  “I wouldn’t be with him if I wasn’t sure.”

  “I hope you’re right, but please be careful. You’ve been through a lot lately, and this is a big deal.”

  We finish our session, and as I’m walking to the door with Dr. Grand on my heels, I pause and look over my shoulder at her.

  “How do you know if a relationship is working?”

  Her face softens. “I think it’s different for everyone, but in general, I’d look for trust, respect, kindness, mutual attraction, and a healthy dose of humor.”

  I love her list, because it’s all the things I’ve experienced with Gabriel and no one else.

  “Thank you, Dr. Grand. I’ll see you again.”

  “Good luck, Scarlett.”

  My session with the sex therapist gives me plenty to think about but doesn’t reduce my excitement by even a fraction of a degree. It’s happening today, no doubt about it, and I can’t freaking wait.

  It’s a revelation to be walking down the streets of New York, thinking about the deliciously hot sex I’m going to be having tonight. I try to school my expression just before I make it to the swanky bistro that Monroe and Harlow love to meet at for lunch.

  I spot them at a table in the gated area on the sidewalk.

  “Damn, who is that hottie?” Monroe catcalls and then whistles at me. “I wouldn’t kick her out of my bed for eating crackers.”

  Harlow laughs and shakes her head. “You’re a nut job.”

  “I’m starving,” I say, slipping through the small gate built into the hip-height fence to take the third seat at the round table.

  “Starving for a giant piece of man meat, most likely,” Monroe adds with a wink. “You’ve got the look.”

  Clearly, I failed at hiding my thoughts. I bounce my gaze between my two friends, trying to appear innocent. “What look?”

  “The I’m thinking about getting laid tonight look,” Harlow says before taking a sip from her water. “And I agree. You do have it. Are you feeling better? Up to taking a ride on the wild side again?”

  I think of the last time Gabriel and I had sex, and how explosive and amazing it was. We’re not going for a second spin on his desk at the club tonight, but it’ll be just as hot in my bed. Then I remember Chadwick scoffing at my bedroom.

  “You expect me to be able to get hard for you in the middle of all those ruffles and clutter? Not happening, Scarlett. You can come to my place.”

  I shove down the ugly voice because it’s the last thing I want to hear.

  “What’s wrong?” This comes from Harlow.

  “Chadwick said he couldn’t get hard in my bedroom,” I say, my gaze fixed firmly on the snowy white tablecloth.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Monroe says, nearly knocking over her water glass with her flying hand. “That pissant probably couldn’t get hard anywhere. No amount of shabby chic decor is going to stop Gabriel Legend from pounding you into your pillowtop tonight. That man would probably fuck you in the middle of that doll store in Midtown—if the damn thing were ever empty of children and employees. Not even all those tiny doll eyes could stop him from wanting you so fucking bad that he’s ready to blow his load at the first sight of skin.”

  I look up at her face and smile. “Despite that beyond creepy example, I hear what you’re saying. I’m putting every single thing that ever had to do with a Chadwick sex hang-up out of my head.”

  “Oh, good,” Harlow whispers. “But don’t look now, because he’s walking down the street with a tart on his arm.”

  “No,” I whisper, gripping the edge of the tablecloth as I fight the ur
ge to turn around and look.

  “Fuck, he spotted us,” Monroe whispers back. “Shoulders back. Tits out. Chin up.”

  I do exactly what she says, even though I don’t give a single damn what Chadwick thinks of me now.

  His smarmy voice comes over my right shoulder and makes my skin crawl. “Well, well. Some things never change. The Three Cuntkateers are still ladies who lunch.”

  That motherfucker.

  I pop out of my chair and whip around to face him, with my shoulders back, tits out, and chin up, of course. I survey the young twenty-something blonde on his arm with a polite smile.

  “Hello, Chadwick. It’s good to see you getting back in the saddle again.”

  His gaze narrows on me, and the intense hatred I read there almost takes me by surprise. “I’ve been in the saddle the whole damn time, Scarlett. You’re the only one who wasn’t getting laid.”

  That. Fucking. Prick.

  I’m really fucking glad I had my annual exam and STD tests shortly after the last time we had sex, because now I have no idea how many New Yorkers I was sleeping with by proxy. And thank God I always made him wear a condom.

  The scrape of metal against concrete sounds as Harlow and Monroe jump out of their chairs.

  “You literally just admitted to cheating in front of your new hookup? Bad form, don’t you think, Chad?”

  “It’s Chadwick,” he says with a sneer at Harlow.

  “Chadwick who can’t get a hard dick,” Monroe sings like a nursery rhyme. “Too bad he can’t get laid, since that would take a bitch getting paid. Damn, I really need another line here. I’m going to have to work on my poetry skills for moments like these.”

  Chadwick’s face turns dangerously red like he’s cruising toward a heart attack. The blonde beside him giggles, and he whips around to glare at her. “Shut your mouth. Don’t listen to them.”

  “Oh, honey,” I say to the girl with sympathy in my tone. “Run the other way as fast and far as you can. I promise there’s nothing good down the road you’re walking.”

  Chadwick lunges at me, but I jump back, and the fence stops him from getting closer. “You’re a cunt, Scarlett. A rich bitch who thinks she has everything but can’t get the one thing she wants most—for her daddy to give a single fuck about her.”