Beneath These Scars Read online

  We first met at Stanford in business school. He’d been universally hated for screwing the curve in our strategic management class by acing the final, and I’d been the only person who didn’t care, because I’d only been one point behind him and wrecked the curve in the other three classes I was taking that semester. To find someone more disliked than myself was a novel feeling. Both his brain and his absolute disregard for what anyone else thought were the primary reasons I’d brought him on after I acquired my first few companies.

  I leaned back in my chair, curious as to where he was going with this. “And what’s the obvious solution?”

  “Johnson Haines. Old Southern powerhouse politician. He’s got enough pull to rally his own party, plus persuade the others across the aisle to vote our way.”

  It sounded too easy. He was only one man, someone whose name I knew but hadn’t considered. Why hadn’t I considered him? Normally I was all over this shit. I’d made meeting the who’s who of New Orleans society a top priority, and yet I hadn’t met him.

  Oh yeah, that’s right—because my arrangement with Vanessa Frost had gone sideways when Con Leahy had gotten involved. Or rather when they had gotten involved. Either way, my introduction into the upper echelons had been halted temporarily. Not because I’d accepted defeat, but because I’d thrown myself back into what was important—my business, preparing to dominate the market, and make a fuck ton of money.

  Dad, you’re about to be proven wrong, I thought before returning to the conversation at hand.

  “And you think he’ll be on our side because . . . ?”

  Colson shrugged. “Haines is a typical politician. You scratch his back, he’ll scratch yours. He’s supported a lot more unlikely causes than any other senior legislator, but only when there’s something in it for him. You dangle the right incentive, and we can take advantage of his talent for building bipartisan coalitions.”

  It was a solid suggestion. Which was a damn good thing, because there was nothing I wouldn’t do to see this project through.

  I gave Colson a nod. “Set something up.”

  “I’ll get something on the calendar tomorrow.”

  “Good. I’ll be available by e-mail tonight. Let me know what you figure out.”

  “Will do.” Colson turned for the door but paused before reaching it. “You get the name of that woman Friday night? At the gym? She was one hot piece of ass. I’m thinking about tracking her down and giving it another shot.”

  Yve Santos. When I realized who he was talking about, something unfamiliar and unwanted surged inside me. The woman was nothing to me, a momentary fascination that had ended with her running from me. She was smart to run.

  “She didn’t seem too receptive last night,” I said, my tone bored.

  Colson smirked. “I was off my game. Won’t happen again.”

  It wasn’t until the door shut behind him that I uncurled my hands from the fists they’d clenched into.

  “HOW DID A STRAIGHT GUY learn to fold clothes so perfectly?” I asked my newest—and only—full-time employee. I’d hired him shortly after Elle had left me to work at Chains about six weeks ago.

  Levi looked up from straightening a stack of Seven For All Mankind jeans, which were some of our only non-vintage items, and one of my weaknesses. “Does a guy have to be gay to know how to fold properly?”

  I cringed at the stereotype. That was pretty shitty of me to say, so I backpedaled. “I’m just not used to guys being as neat and organized as you.”

  Levi’s smile told me he wasn’t offended by my jerky comment. “Military school.”

  “What? You?” I couldn’t picture the skinny dark-haired kid who fell firmly into the hipster category attending military school.

  “Yeah. I was a little shit growing up. Apparently it was the best solution to straighten me out. It was a good experience, but one I’ll leave firmly in the past.”

  His comment about leaving things in the past coincided with the chime jangling at the front door, and a piece of my past walking through it.

  “You want to start steaming those dresses the UPS guy dropped off? In the back?” I asked Levi.

  He glanced at the regal silver-haired woman who’d walked in—not the type you’d normally expect to see in the shop—then looked back to me and nodded. “Sure thing, boss. Yell if you need anything.”

  I smiled at him, but it felt as fake as it probably looked.

  As soon as he slipped through the door to the stock room and shut it firmly behind him, Geneviève came toward me, and I smiled.

  Her bearing screamed proud matriarch, and that was exactly what she was. Tasteful diamonds decorated her ears and throat, accenting her Chanel skirt suit. I was guessing her destination was either a NOLA Garden Club meeting, or perhaps a Junior League luncheon.

  I came around the counter and stopped before her.

  “Yve, my dear. It’s been much too long.” She leaned forward, squeezed my shoulders, and air kissed both my cheeks.

  Warmth spread through me. Her approval was something I still valued, even to this day. She was the only person from that part of my past I hadn’t desperately tried to block out.

  “It’s a pleasure. I’ve missed you.”

  She reached down and gripped my hand. “And I’ve missed you. You need to come visit an old lady more often,” she said, chiding me gently. “You never know when she’ll breathe her last.”

  I laughed. “You’re going to outlive us all, Ginny.”

  Anyone else would have gotten a sharp reprimand for calling the dignified woman by such an informal nickname, but I occupied a unique space in her life. I was the girl she’d taken under her wing when the rest of my life was falling apart, and I’d had nowhere to go. I’d been bruised, beaten, and alone. Geneviève had broken ranks with her family—in secret—to shelter and help me.

  “You know I’ll try, dear.” She patted my arm. “But that’s not what I came here to talk about.”

  The pleasant surprise of seeing her in the shop faded away when the purpose of her visit became clear.

  “I know.”

  “He’s going to be out soon, Yve. We need to talk about what happens next.”

  The he in question was my ex-husband and Ginny’s grandson. The one who’d spent the last ten years in the closest thing there was to a cushy prison for rape. Not my rape—oh no, because his father had made certain any allegations that had come from me were discounted to the point that they were laughable. No, Jay had made the big mistake of targeting a woman whose father was a judge. Someone who would not allow his daughter or her accusations to be ignored.

  Because money made the world go ’round.

  “When exactly is he getting out?”

  Ginny’s gaze dropped. “My son hasn’t seen fit to share that information with me, but soon.” She paused. “Are you sure you want to be here when he gets out? There’s no telling how he’s going to react to being on the outside again. His father and I can only do so much to keep him on a short leash. You know how he is.”

  And I did know how he was. But I hadn’t let him—or his father—run me out of town before, and I wouldn’t let him now. Leave my friends? Dirty Dog?

  The instant leaving Dirty Dog popped into my head, I cringed. I might be doing that anyway, whether I liked it or not. I was still trying to shove the thought out of my head as Geneviève kept talking.

  “What if I helped you set up a shop just like this one, anywhere you wanted? You pick the city, and I’ll help you make it happen. It would be a fresh start, Yve.”

  I snapped my attention back to the conversation. “What are you talking about? You want me to leave town, and you want to pay me to do it?”

  Ginny’s expression softened. “You know I don’t want you to leave, but Jay’s release will stir up all the old gossip, and it’s going to get uncomfortable here. Not only for the family, but for you. I know you didn’t want to leave before, but you also haven’t moved on, Yve. Have you dated? Had a relationship?
Is being in this city part of what’s keeping you from moving forward with your life and living it?”

  Her words shot pangs through my heart, because she was right in some respects. It was quite possible I hadn’t moved on, hadn’t had a relationship beyond a fling that lasted a few nights, or a few weeks at most.

  But I completely disagreed as to the reason why. It had nothing to do with this city and everything to do with the fact that I wasn’t willing to trust anyone the way I’d naively trusted Jay before he became a monster. Never again would I make myself such an easy target. Vulnerability was an invitation to be walked all over.

  “I’m not leaving. This is my home.”

  “I just think that you might be more comfortable if you—”

  “No,” I said, my tone resolute. “I’m not leaving.”

  Ginny’s expression fell. “I just want what’s best for you, dear. If you change your mind, you know I’m here whenever you need me.”

  I leaned forward and pressed a heartfelt kiss to her cheek. “Thank you. You know I never would’ve made it this far without you. I promise I’ll be fine. This town is just going to have to be big enough for both of us.”

  Which was ironic, because he was going to have to stay away from me at all times. My restraining order would be active when he was released from prison. But that flimsy piece of paper wouldn’t keep me safe if Jay decided he wanted to get to me.

  Geneviève squeezed my hand once more before turning to leave. Unease filtered through me, along with a sense of loss. The loss was my delicate feeling of safety shredding to pieces. Thoughts of vigilantly watching my back at every moment of the day hammered me. Would I ever feel safe again once he was out?

  The door chime jangled again, and Levi poked his head out of the back room. “Everything okay out here?”

  “Everything’s great,” I said, forcing cheer into my voice. “Everything’s perfect.”

  But it was all a big, fat lie. And the lie started to crumble when my cell phone rang a few hours later.

  “He’s out.” It was Valentina—Jay’s other victim, the judge’s daughter—and her usually confident and calm voice shook.

  “What?” My voice trembled to match hers.

  “He’s out, Yve. They let that animal out of his cage, and they didn’t even give me the warning I was supposed to get first. I just got a call from the victim’s rep, and he was oh-so-apologetic that they were calling late.”

  My phone slid from my grip and thudded to the counter. Geneviève had been wrong—Jay wasn’t getting out soon. He was already out.

  I snatched it up again. “Holy shit.” My response wasn’t eloquent, but any other words escaped me.

  “My daddy’s PI has been on the trail since about five minutes after I got the call, but he’s coming up with nothing. It’s like Jay got picked up at the gates and just disappeared. We’re still trying to get the security footage. How that asshole got out of going to a halfway house . . . Well, I’m sure we can both figure that out. Money talks.”

  Those feelings of safety I was hanging on to? Sliced to pieces by her words. But my determination to stand my ground? Multiplied exponentially.

  “Watch your back, and I’ll watch mine,” I said.

  “I’ll be watching mine with a loaded weapon,” Valentina vowed. “He comes near me, he dies. Dead men make excellent witnesses. Be safe, Yve. I’ll call if I hear anything at all.”

  “You be safe too.”

  When we hung up, I considered my options. I would not let Jay control my future; I’d already let him have too much of my past.

  I picked up my phone and dialed another number. “Hello, this is Yve Santos. I’d like to make an appointment to speak with one of your small business loan officers.”

  Dirty Dog was going to be mine. Jay would never control my life again. I wouldn’t hide from him, and I wouldn’t let him run me out of this town.

  And I definitely wouldn’t let him win.

  I SLAMMED THE DOOR OF my Aston. It was the only exhibition of frustration I allowed myself. Then I dialed Colson to fill him in on my meeting with Johnson Haines.

  “How’d it go?” Colson didn’t bother with a greeting. We didn’t do meaningless small talk.

  “He wants too much.” I’d expected big demands because all politicians operated on a quid pro quo system, but Haines’s request wasn’t something I could agree to lightly.

  “Like what?”

  “An open-ended favor. Anything he needs, whenever he needs it. And a hefty donation to his re-election campaign.”

  “We expected the donation.”

  “No shit, but I’m not going to be at the beck and call of some pompous politician.”

  Haines had been the caricature of a Southern politician, his big gut testing the limits of his suspenders in his navy pin-striped suit and red power tie. All he’d been missing was a big fat cigar.

  “He’s a power junkie. Having you on his list of favors would give him a boner. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  Colson was right. Haines was the kind of man who liked having others under his thumb, and I could see the power light his expression when he’d explained that in exchange for my marker, he’d have to call in several others. But he was confident he could swing the tide in favor of the bill.

  When I didn’t respond, Colson asked, “What’d you say?”

  “That I’d think about it.” The money wasn’t the problem; it was being beholden to someone. I didn’t put myself in a position of anything but power, and owing a favor like this jeopardized that. I fucking hated politics, and this was exactly the reason why.

  “He give you a deadline?”

  “No one gives me goddamn deadlines, Colson. I make the deadlines.”

  “Fair enough. When are you going to decide?”

  “Do your job. Find another way. Get creative. I don’t care what it takes, as long as it’s not this.”

  “How creative?”

  I knew what he was asking. “Feel free to color outside the lines on this one.”

  “Done.”

  Nothing more needed to be said, so I hung up. All I wanted tonight was a glass of Macallan—and a big fat Cuban cigar, in honor of the state senator. Giant asshole.

  No one, and I do mean no one, pushed me into doing anything I didn’t want to do. I controlled my empire and the world around me to a merciless degree. Handing even a slice of control over to someone else wasn’t in my nature, and to a politician, it would have to be a last resort. But fuck, I needed this to happen.

  My father had said it would never work, said it was a waste of time. But he was wrong. This project would make me more money than I could spend in several lifetimes. Without the political catalyst, it would be an uphill battle. With it, I’d practically be printing money. It might sound like a shady way to do business, but the ends justified the means, in my book.

  I just needed to get my ass back into the office to finish up a few things, and then to Lakefront Airport and a jet to Europe—with my cigar and Scotch. It was time to get back to making money.

  It was one of the two things I excelled at.

  “YOU SURE YOU’RE GOOD WITH giving me a ride?” I asked Levi as I locked the shop’s back door. “What time is your flight again?”

  “I’ve got plenty of time. You know I don’t mind.”

  We climbed into his Karmann Ghia and it started up more smoothly than my Jetta, which was ironic considering his Volkswagen was about forty years older than my car. I rattled off directions to my house, which was actually within walking distance to work and no big deal, but the box of accessories the UPS man had delivered needed to be sorted, assessed, and priced tonight, and carrying it home would be awkward as hell.

  Getting a ride from Levi reminded me of the one I’d gotten from Titan. And the note that had arrived three days ago. Dark, slashing script on paper that even felt expensive, as did everything when it came to that man. It was arrogant and to the point—just like him.

  Your ca
r is being repaired at Uptown.

  You can thank me later.

  —Titan

  Lucas Fucking Titan. Fucking should really be added to his name as an official title. It was appropriate. I held in a giggle at the thought.

  Surprisingly, it was the same shop I would’ve had Cousin Stevie tow it to, so I wasn’t cringing too horribly at the cost. Not yet, anyway. Titan having it taken there was surprisingly not assholish, which, given what I knew about the man, seemed out of character. The note, however, seemed perfectly in character.

  When we pulled into a parking spot behind my building, Levi shut off the VW and hopped out.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Carrying the box up for you. Can’t say I’m not a gentleman.”

  Smiling, I led the way up the walk to my exterior stairs. “You’re a good kid, you know that? Apparently military school was the right choice for you.”

  At my door, I reached for my keys and slid one in the lock . . . but the knob turned freely before I twisted the key. It was already unlocked.

  What the hell?

  Levi bumped into me from behind. “Whoa. Sorry.”

  My hand hovered over the door handle as I hesitated to push it open, fear gripping me as my mind spun with thoughts of what could be waiting inside. Did I forget to lock it?

  Valentina’s call haunted me. Jay was out on parole. The fact that I’d moved three times while he’d been in prison meant nothing; money had a way of making it easy to track people down. Jay could find me, could get to me. It wouldn’t be a problem for him.

  “Yve? You unlocking the door?”

  I shoved my hand in my purse and wrapped my palm around the grip of my Smith & Wesson. “The door’s unlocked,” I whispered.

  “Did you lock it this morning?” Levi asked, caution coloring his words.

  I racked my brain, trying to remember. “I think so. I always lock my door. This is Tremé, for God’s sake.”

  “Then, do you think we should call the cops? Maybe you had a break-in?”