by Alta Hensley
Table of Contents
Prologue
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Devils & Rye
About the Author
Newsletter
Also by Alta Hensley
Bride to Keep
Snow & the Seven Huntsmen
Scoundrels & Scotch
Top Shelf Series
Alta Hensley
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Scoundrels & Scotch
By
Alta Hensley
Copyright 2018© Alta Hensley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Thank you to Jay Aheer for another amazing cover! Also a big thanks to my wonderful editor and friend Maggie Ryan for editing and helping my book turn to magic! I also can’t forget my amazing betas! You all know who you are, and I love you. And of course L. Woods PR for pimping my ass. I have the best team in the world.
Created with Vellum
To My Twisted Tribe
Thank you for allowing me to be me.
Contents
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Devils & Rye
About the Author
Newsletter
Also by Alta Hensley
Bride to Keep
Snow & the Seven Huntsmen
Blurb
I’ll stop at nothing to own her.
I’m a collector of dolls.
All kinds of dolls.
So beautiful and sexy, they become my art.
So perfect and flawless, my art galleries are flooded by the wealthy to gaze upon my possessions with envy.
So fragile and delicate, I keep them tucked away for safety.
The dark and torrid tales of Drayton’s Dolls run rampant through the rich and famous, and all but a few are true.
Normally I share my dolls for others to play with or watch on display.
But not my special doll.
No, not her.
Ivy is the most precious doll of all.
She’s mine. All mine.
*Scoundrels & Scotch is a dark billionaire romance. If you don’t like a splash of shock, a dash of taboo, and a heavy dose of sex, then don’t take a sip of this TOP SHELF cocktail.
Prologue
Victor
Dark perfection.
Cloaked secrets.
Tainted innocence.
Nightmares disguised in fairy tales.
Those were the themes of my latest art exhibit.
Drayton’s Dolls.
Tonight’s opening was held at the famous White Gallery in Paris. It was known for hosting artists who exuded a darker side.
I was that artist.
One who pushed the boundaries of taboo, sexual deviance, and hidden desires. Twisted, wrong, but delightfully right.
The lights dimmed and a deep male voice announced over the speakers, “Ladies and gentlemen—or shall I say instead—harlots and scoundrels. Tonight we have a special treat to tantalize your wicked side. To fuel the darkness that lurks in you all, but which you try to conceal. Grotesque fascination will consume you like never before. Let me present to you… Victor Drayton and The Drayton Dolls.”
The double doors opened, and I walked out to a room of curious spectators. A waiter stood at attention holding a tray with flutes of champagne. I took a glass and sipped as I entered the room fully. With a raise of my right hand, a militant beat began.
One, two, three, four—a deep and rhythmic cadence.
Just the sound of a drum at first, followed by the clap of dainty patent leather shoes connecting with marble flooring to the same beat of the music. Necks twisted, bodies turned, and all the guests who were once staring at me looked on as my precious dolls marched into the room single file. Arms stiff at their sides, eyes framed by extremely large eyelashes, red pouty lips, hair in pigtails with ribbons cascading down, perfect dresses with petticoats and bloomers underneath—the dolls continued to parade in. Emotionless. Lacking any real sense of life.
Taking a large swig of my drink, I placed it on the waiter’s tray who had not left my side. Very loudly, I was the first to begin clapping my hands to the beat of the music.
One, two, three, four.
Others joined in as if I had hypnotized their bodies with their need to add to the energy of the room.
One, two, three, four.
Then complete darkness. All lights went out, and I could hear gasps all around the room. I had their hearts in my grasp, and now it was my turn to squeeze.
One, two, three, four.
The same voice as before came over the speaker:
“Rock-a-bye dolly, in the dollhouse.
When the wind blows, the dollhouse will rock.
When the doors open, the dolls will all fall.
And down will come dolly, dollhouse and all.
Let the show begin…”
1
Ivy
“Girl, you just laid the biggest shit, stepped in it, and then spread it all around with those stilettos of yours,” Tennessee Charles said as he walked into the staff room of Spiked Roses as I applied the finishing touches to my lipstick before my waitressing shift began.
I turned away from my reflection in the mirror to look at him. “Me? What did I do?”
Tennessee was a strict boss, but a fair one. He rarely got on my ass for much, so I was surprised by his firm voice directed toward me.
“Did you really think you could piss in a cup and have all those pretty little opiates just disappear like magic?” He put his hands on his hips and glared. “The drug fairy would come and take them all away? Is that it?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Fairies don’t exist, sweetheart, unless you’re looking inside my little black book or attending one of my favorite New Orleans nightclubs with me.”
Fuck! I had drunk practically a gallon of that damn tea I had bought at the head shop. I’d been assured the tea would strip my urine completely and not a trace of drugs would be found in any test given. The patchouli-smelling hippie man behind the counter had told me that it was foolproof. Clearly, the only fool in the equation was me.
“I uh…
” Coming up with the right words was impossible. I didn’t want to lie. Not to Tennessee—he deserved my complete honesty. What could I say? “I never took drugs on shift. I promise.”
“Sugar, I don’t give a flying fuck what you swallow, snort, eat, or shoot up. But the managing members of Spiked Roses do. You know the rules they set for the club. No drugs. You just cost yourself a cush job.” Tennessee looked into the mirror I still stood beside and adjusted his black and white checkered cravat that accentuated his blood red smoking jacket. The man sure did have the most eccentric, yet classy, taste of any person I knew.
“Are you firing me?”
He shook his head as he ran a fingertip over his eyebrow, taming the wayward hairs. “Not me. But I’m here to take you to meet with the bossmen. They’re waiting for you.”
“Please, Tennessee. Can’t you tell them that you chewed my ass out, even wrote me up or something? That I won’t do it again? I’ll owe you. I’ll work any shift with no notice at all. I’ll be your bitch if you save my ass on this one. Please. I really need this job.”
“Do I look like Judge Judy?” He spun on his loafer-clad feet and started walking toward the door. “This is out of my hands, sweet cheeks. Come on. Time to face the music.”
Following Tennessee to the upstairs office felt as if I was walking underwater. I hadn’t been in the conference room before and had only seen the seven managing members of the exclusive gentlemen’s club individually when I served them their favorite drinks. The thought of seeing them all together in one room was equivalent to walking toward a firing squad. My only hope was that I could somehow convince the men not to terminate my employment over a dirty pee test.
When I walked into the room, the emotionless expression on each man’s face was enough to tell me that my fate was most likely doomed.
“Ivy Adams, please have a seat,” Kenneth Saxon said. He was by far the most hard-ass out of all the members, and I could see in his eyes that he was not happy that he had to waste his time in talking with me. Plus, he had called me by my full name. That couldn’t be a good sign.
I took a seat at the end of the table aware that all the men were watching my every move.
“We got your test results back, and you tested positive for several drugs. But I’m sure you already know that,” Matthew Price said. He too was a hard-ass… actually, they all were. Who was I kidding? I was fucking screwed. There wasn’t a man sitting at this table who was going to stand up for me or show an inch of leniency.
“It’s not what you think,” I began. I had to do something, or say something to fight for my life. I couldn’t lose this job. I needed it. We all needed it. “I never once came to work high.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kenneth said calmly. “Spiked Roses has a zero tolerance for drugs, and testing positive is grounds for termination.”
“Yes, I understand that,” I countered. “But like I said, I’ve never once taken drugs on the job.”
“But you admit to taking them,” Matthew chimed in.
I nodded. “Yes, but not for the reasons you think. I wasn’t out partying on the streets of New Orleans or anything like that. I wasn’t doing drugs for a good time.”
“Medical reasons?” Kenneth asked.
I shrugged. “Sort of.”
“Do you have a prescription?” Matthew asked.
“No. I don’t have insurance, and well…”
“No prescription means they’re illegal,” Matthew said, glancing at the rest of the men to assure that they understood what was going on. Each man remained silent, but I could tell they were all annoyed for even having to spend a minute of their time dealing with a junkie situation.
“Well, I’m sorry to inform you that you have been terminated. As of right now, you are no longer employed by Spiked Roses,” Kenneth said with zero emotion in his voice—almost robotically.
“Your final check is in this envelope. It includes unpaid sick time and vacation as well,” Matthew added as he passed the envelope down the row of other men leading to where I sat.
It was the managing member, Victor Drayton, who held the envelope last, and as he handed it to me, he paused before releasing his hold, glaring into my eyes. I wanted to puke, and the intensity and level of disappointment I saw in Victor’s dark brown eyes forced me to hang my head in shame.
What was I going to do? What were we going to do? I didn’t even have enough money to pay this month’s rent, which had been due two days ago. And even with this final check, I knew it wouldn’t last me long enough to find another job and survive while waiting for the new job’s pay period to complete to get my first check. Marie St. Claire, owner of the boarding house I rented a room in, had already warned me last month that if I paid late one more time, she was going to be forced to evict me. I still had three days before I was technically considered late, but now with the loss of my job…
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Is there anything I can do to change all of your minds?” I pleaded, fighting back the tears that wanted to fall, looking around the table in hopes that I could convince one of the men to show some pity. My eyes connected with Victor who still hadn’t changed his expression since handing me the envelope. Not being able to handle the severity of his stare, I turned my pleading eyes to Tennessee who stood by the door in hope he would chime in and plead my case for me. “I’ll take a drug test every single day if that is what it will take to prove to all of you that this won’t happen again. I swear to you I’m not a junkie. I’m not some party girl you can’t trust.”
“Rules are rules,” Kenneth said with no wavering expression.
“I love this job. I love Spiked Roses. Please allow me to prove to you that I can be trusted and be an employee you can count on. I don’t want to lose my job.”
“Then you should have thought of that before breaking our rules and policies to begin with,” Matthew said, backing Kenneth and his lack of caring for my desperate pleas. “If we don’t hold people accountable for not following our rules which we make very clear upon hiring, then we’ll lose all respect with the staff. We can’t bend the rules for you and not the others. It’s black and white. No area for negotiation.”
I glanced around, desperate for any sign of hope. When all I saw were either unsympathetic or impatient looks from all the others, I knew that any further pleading for my job was just going to be a pathetic waste of time.
“Turn in your timecard and your uniform to Tennessee before leaving,” Kenneth said as he stood. Other members took his words and actions as their cue that they could also do the same, leaving me as the only one still sitting in stunned silence.
How could I have been so stupid? I had just lost the best job I had ever landed, and most likely could ever get again. The amount of money I made in tips alone made it awesome. But when you figured in the money that I made from the special Tastings that the members-only club hosted at least once a month if not more often, a girl could make a very good living working at Spiked Roses. And I needed the money bad… or more like my family needed the money. I sent home almost every cent I made to support them, and without me, they would have no source of income at all. Not only did I just screw myself, but I also completely fucked the people who were counting on me to keep a roof over their heads and food on their table. How could I have been so fucking stupid?
“I’ll see you gentlemen at the next meeting,” Kenneth said, gathering up his stack of papers and file folders. “Ivy, please stay seated. Mr. Drayton would like to speak with you in private once we all leave. Tennessee, will you please remain as well?”
I looked up at Tennessee who seemed as confused by Kenneth’s request as I was. But instead of saying anything, Tennessee took a vacated seat next to me, reached out, and patted the top of my sweaty palm to show the first sign of comforting support. God, I fucking needed it right then. I didn’t think I could have stood and left even if I wanted to. I had never been fired from a job before, and the fact that I was watching my entire life, and
the lives of others I cared for, crumble right before me, was about to cause me to hyperventilate and curl up in a tiny ball on the ground and shake like a true junkie.
Victor walked up to the head of the table where Kenneth was preparing to leave. He wore an impeccable gray three-piece suit with a darker gray vest underneath. Each managing member dressed to the tee at all times, but Victor always had a classic charm about his style. Three-piece suits and a slender tie were always his dress of choice. I had never seen him even loosen the tie and collar in the slightest. Not even when he casually sat near the bar sipping his scotch in the midnight hours. The only thing that contrasted his classic charm was the visible marks of a tattoo peeking from the collar of his shirt. Black twisted lines emerged as if his suit was hiding a dark tree or some sinister design that was on his chest and shoulders with the edges showing through. Dark hair with a tinge of gray around the temples. Dark brown eyes. An extremely firm and straight jawline. Broad shoulders offsetting a lean body. These were the descriptions of a man who exuded a no-nonsense elegance about him. I didn’t know very much about the man other than he was a world-famous and highly renowned artist and gallery owner. What he was the most famous for was his use of human dolls in all his art pieces. People would travel all around the world to attend one of his performance art doll exhibits that spotlighted the taboo and the kinky.
