by Coralee June
I knew I couldn’t get over my fear of crowds, my addiction, and Pick so soon, but I hated I’d become addicted to something far more dangerous—Godfrey Taylor. As we wound through the crowd, my mind kept drifting back to him and how he’d led me through the Salvador bar—how his breath always tickled my skin when he spoke in my ear.
Fuck, why did every damn thing make me think of him?
“You sure Dr. Taffy suggested this place?” Beau asked while looking around. He had his eyes peeled, searching for threats. I was sure it was because Dad told him to be extra careful.
“Yeah, why?” I asked.
“The crowd here can be...rowdy,” he replied cryptically before looking around once more.
For a fleeting moment, I wondered how he knew that. But considering his father’s motorcycle club legacy and his involvement with my dad, I assumed that Beau knew all the rowdy places. He must not have seen any imminent threats though, because he then placed a hand on my lower back and guided me to a booth in the corner that gave me a perfect view of the room. When we sat down, he sat next to me, placing his thigh against mine before throwing an arm over my shoulder. Beau and I hadn’t had the talk about our friendship. It was like he wanted to forget that I’d ever called him on his shit, and right then, I didn’t mind that he was pushing boundaries. It had been so long since I’d been touched by another person that I found myself craving it. It was an odd contradiction, craving human contact but being repelled by it all the same.
Nothing felt right.
A man with a gruff beard was playing guitar on stage as a waitress brought us menus. I scanned the food list as Beau ordered us both drinks. He got my favorite, a lemon drop. He was twenty-one, but this was obviously a place he frequented because the waitress didn’t card either of us. “Don’t tell your dad. Figured you could use a drink to take the edge off,” he replied with a sheepish grin after the waitress left.
That was the thing, I liked my edge. I clung to it like it was a fucking lifeline.
When the waitress returned with our drinks, I took a sip and smiled at him, trying to trick my body into thinking that this felt right. It might be nice to fall for Beau. I could pretend that there was passion between us. He’d take care of me. Support me. My dad already liked and trusted him. It would be easy. Maybe easy was what I needed.
We ordered our food and sat there chatting for a bit while I kept glancing at the door, searching for any familiar faces from the Macon Mob. I was worried about Forty-One but knew there wasn’t much I could do. The faster I found Pick, the better.
“I like your new look, by the way. I know your dad shit a brick when you came home tatted, but it’s kinda hot.” Beau’s words took me out of my intense staring contest, and I looked down at my healed tattoo and traced my finger over the delicate lines.
“I like it too. Feels more like...me,” I replied.
A strand of hair had fallen into my face, and Beau used the hand not resting on my shoulders to brush it out of my eyes. “This is nice, huh?” he asked while massaging my shoulder.
“This feels a lot like a date,” I replied while giving him a smirk. I wasn’t oblivious to his moves. I knew what tonight was about. Beau never hid his intentions from me, and he was damn patient. I’d give him that much.
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to answer him. It didn’t necessarily feel bad, but it didn’t feel right either. It was like that murky place between friendship and more.
“Maybe?” I finally settled on.
“I can be patient, Rachel,” he said with a smile, before leaning in to whisper in my ear. He smelled like the whiskey he was drinking, and I shuddered at the way his lips pressed against my skin. Once again, I couldn’t tell if I liked it or not. “You are definitely worth the wait.”
His words sent a shockwave through me. I wanted to test this and see how far my brain would let me take things with Beau. I convinced myself in that moment that I wasn’t using him to test the boundaries of my body’s ability to let go. Besides, how would I ever really know if there was something between us if I didn’t at least try?
I turned to face him, brushing my nose against his. I looked into his eyes, but they were so full of hunger that it made me recoil. Just a little bit further, Rachel. Kiss him. I looked at his mouth, and for some reason, I saw a weapon. He licked his bottom lip, mistaking the direction of my gaze for intention. And the moment my eyes flickered back to his, he went in for the kill.
Our kiss wasn’t anything like the first one we shared in front of Godfrey and my father. He devoured. He claimed. He took over and stroked his tongue against mine on a sigh. His hand went to my thigh, and the low growl in his chest made every nerve ending in my body ignite.
But it wasn’t...right. Because Beau wasn’t him.
I didn’t want more, and that heat inside of me wasn’t from desire. It was from dread. Some people said dread felt as cold as ice when it crept up behind them. But for me, dread was like a fire poker to the gut. It shocked my system and made me sweat. I felt beads collect at the crook of my neck and the top of my brow. Rivulets of trepidation dripped down my skin, and I had my answer.
Carefully, I pushed my hand against his chest. He dug around in my mouth for a few more seconds before he finally relented and pulled away. He raised his hand to brush against my lip, and I felt him smear the saliva around that had collected there. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
Deflecting, I picked up my drink for another taste, grateful when the waitress came back and put down our food, a welcome distraction. I’d ordered some pasta, and Beau got a steak. As he was cutting up his slab of meat, completely oblivious to my reaction to him, he asked, “Why a crown?”
I looked down at my forearm where the thorns wrapped around the crown in question. It had taken two long sessions to get all the details just right. I had liked feeling the pain though. I was in control of that pain, and with it, I would come out with marks of my own choosing.
“Did my dad tell you how I was taken?” I asked, twirling the noodles around on my fork.
Beau shifted uncomfortably in the bench, no doubt not liking where the conversation was heading, but hey, he asked. “Yeah. A bit.”
“We were in his warehouse off Route 80. No one else was there. My dad’s guys had just picked up the last of the cash to bring over into Florida. My dad and I stayed behind. He was teaching me how to play chess,” I explained.
“Rach, you don’t have to talk about it.”
I laughed humorlessly and shoved the bite of noodles into my mouth. “Why is that everyone gives me advice to the opposite of what I’m doing? Talk to someone, Rachel. Don’t talk about it, Rachel. Handle your shit, Rachel. Keep it together, Rachel,” I spat. “You guys need to get on the same page.”
“Baby—”
I cut him off. “We were playing chess. I’d just made a move to take my dad’s king when JJ stormed in. He beat the shit out of my dad and then carved his initials into my dad’s skin. Then Johnny Jack took me, and the last thing I remember seeing were the chess pieces on the floor with my father’s blood stained on them,” I said, my voice hollow. “He branded me not long after that,” I went on, feeling the noodles sit like rocks in the pit of my stomach. “He took a branding poker that he made special just for me and slapped it against my skin so fast, I didn’t even feel it right away. And when I did start to feel it, it was so hot that it felt cold. Everyone inside could smell my flesh burning. I screamed so hard that my throat went raw, and I couldn’t speak for three days.”
I met Beau’s stare and saw that he had a flash of guilt kiss his hardened face. It made me question what he was thinking, but before he could open his mouth and offer the bland condolences that didn’t make either of us feel better, a familiar laugh traveled through the busy room and made its way to my ears. My head twisted of its own volition. I didn’t control the way my eyes immediately were drawn to him. Or, I should say, to them. Beau went rigid
beside me as I stared at the source of the commotion.
Godfrey Taylor, Stephanie Palmisano, and Scarlett Livingston all walked in and sat at a table with a middle-aged man I heard Scarlett call Daddy.
The way Godfrey looked at Scarlett made my mouth go dry. She looked beautiful. Her skin wasn’t marred by the dots that marked trauma. Her smile was bright and engaging. She had on a short skirt that showed off her fit legs. She looked happy and confident. She was everything I wasn’t, and apparently everything Godfrey wanted, even as Stephanie hung off his arm.
He looked at her with that charming smile of his as they ordered drinks from a waitress. He draped his arm across the back of Scarlett’s chair while he spoke, his demeanor somehow mixing intensity with nonchalance as he talked to Scarlett’s father. Whatever he was saying had Mr. Livingston frowning and shaking his head. Breaking up the tension, Stephanie touched Mr. Livingston’s arm, drawing his attention to her. They said something, and then she laughed, tipping her head back and letting the throaty sound escape. Mr. Livingston’s expression changed as his eyes roved over her body. Godfrey and Scarlett exchanged a look, and then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Scarlett’s temple that made my stomach clench. I knew it. He did love her.
Noticing my uneasiness, Beau squeezed my shoulder. “Do you want to leave?”
I knew I should stay a bit longer and see if I could spot anyone from the Macon Mob, but I couldn’t do it. I’d have to come back another time or wait for another lead. Besides, it didn’t seem like anyone I would recognize was still here. I couldn’t stay here and stare at Godfrey with someone else.
I wondered what it felt like to completely capture his attention. In the short time I knew Godfrey, he had been so wholly consumed with the room, so completely taken with being two steps ahead of everyone else, that gaining his attention was always hard earned.
I wished I were strong enough to tell Beau that I could handle it. I wanted to be the girl strong enough not to let one boy twist her up inside. But if there was one thing I knew about pain, a broken heart hurt far more than a broken body.
“Yeah, can we go?” I asked.
Nodding, Beau signaled the waitress and paid the bill. We both stood up to leave, but I was slow in taking his hand. When I finally did, he helped me to my feet and pulled me close. “Forget about that fucking rich asshole. People like him don’t stay in our world. They dip their toes in the pond and then get out when the water starts to rise. He’s a pretentious dick.”
“You don’t even know him. Doesn’t that make you pretentious for calling him that?” I asked.
Beau’s mouth tightened, but then he took a deep breath and ran his hands along my arms. “Sorry. I just get worked up when it comes to that guy.”
I knew the feeling. “It’s okay.”
“You look really pretty tonight, you know.”
Before I could reply, Beau’s lips were on mine again. My eyes stayed open, and I watched the way his dark lashes hit his cheekbones as he moved his mouth over mine. I didn’t push him away this time though, and after another second or two, I finally let my eyes close. Godfrey was here with her, and I was here with Beau. We’d played our hands, and that’s where the chips had fallen.
I beat back the hot dread that wanted to consume me again, but even without that, I couldn’t force feelings for Beau that weren’t there. Maybe this would’ve felt differently before Godfrey and Pick. But my longtime crush on Beau had withered, and all I felt was mild fondness. But dammit, the way Godfrey watched Scarlett like she was precious to him, that hurt. The way he watched her made me wish he were watching me. Which is why I opened my mouth and let my tongue encourage Beau’s. If I couldn’t have Godfrey’s desire, maybe I could at least have his jealousy.
Beau wrapped his arms around me to take the kiss even deeper. Our bodies clashed against one another. We weren’t in sync. I was certain it looked like two people using each other up, and that was exactly what we were doing. His hand drifted up my shirt, and I felt his cool fingers brush the edge of my bra. This was going too far. Certainly Godfrey would know now that this was all for show.
Resting my hand on the waistband of his pants, I pulled away from Beau with a pant as he leaned in to rest his forehead against mine. “I know that was just to make him jealous, but I’ll take whatever I can get,” he chuckled in a dark whisper.
I opened my eyes, my cheeks stained with embarrassment. I glanced over at Godfrey to find that he hadn’t noticed at all. So instead of vindicated, all I felt as Beau led me out of the restaurant was nauseated. I’d come here, I’d kissed him, and it had all been for nothing. I was no closer to finding out information on Pick, and Godfrey still didn’t want me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Godfrey
I wanted her.
But he kissed her. And she fucking liked it.
It wasn’t enough that she was going to the mall with some elusive asshole named Forty-One that Bonham couldn’t find dirt on. Now she was back with Beau. I won’t lie, it felt kind of good to know that it took multiple people to fill the void I left, but fuck if I didn’t want to be the one filling every last need she had.
I hadn’t expected to see Rachel when we went to Savannah Springs, a local pub downtown. I was surprised to see her there, considering it was a hotspot for Johnny Jack’s men. When Scarlett came up with the idea to see if we could get dirt from her dad, since he was one of my dad’s partners at the law firm, I was a bit apprehensive. But desperate times call for desperate measures—and a bit of tricky maneuvering with Rogue. That guy was so wrapped up in protecting Scar that he’d burn down Savannah just to keep her safe, but I knew Mr. Livingston wasn’t a threat.
I invited Stephanie too. Mostly because I knew Mr. Livingston had a habit of looking longingly at pretty young things, but also to fuck with Judge Palmisano. I wish I’d had a camera ready when I picked up Stephanie from her house. Judge Palmisano answered the door and about shit a brick. I didn’t tell Stephanie about the arrangement we had, but I liked him thinking the threat was there. He couldn’t very well forbid her from seeing me without raising questions. She was just another chess piece, and he now realized my silent threat. I’d gotten his daughter involved, so if he even thought about double-crossing me, he’d be putting her in danger too.
“You look different, Scarlett,” Mr. Livingston said while eyeing her short skirt with disdain. It was no secret that her parents were complete image snobs, shoving pretentious bullshit down my best friend’s throat with the hopes of preserving their family’s name.
“You look half drunk, Daddy,” she retorted.
That was one of the things I liked about Rogue and Scar, he brought the fight out in her, and it was nice to finally see her standing up for herself. People always thought that she was weak for putting up with our shit, but the truth was, she was one of the strongest people I knew. Scarlett Livingston was loyal and determined. And tonight? She’d put up with her daddy if it brought me closer to bringing down my own father.
Mr. Livingston ignored his daughter and looked over at Stephanie instead, eyeing her appreciatively. Even though I didn’t like the girl, I wanted to punch him in the jaw for being such a predictable, sick fucker who didn’t care if he hit on a girl his daughter’s age. Stephanie agreed to do the job of acting as the buffer and eye candy to soften up Mr. Livingston, because she wanted me to put in a good word with Bonham. And because she liked being seen on my arm. There was power in being seen with an Heir, and Stephanie knew that.
But things didn’t go according to plan.
“What do you want? Your mother thinks I’m in Dallas for the weekend, and I have plans I’d like to get back to,” he said as I wrapped my arm around Scarlett, feeling protective of my best friend but also to hide how I was feeling about seeing Rachel again. The moment I saw that asshole with his arm around Rachel, I wanted to use Scarlett like a shield, maybe hurt Rachel more than she was hurting me.
She looked different. Her nose was pierced, and
if I wasn’t mistaken, I saw a tattoo on her arm that looked oddly like a crown. I wanted to stop her and ask why she picked that design. It reminded me of the Heirs, and pride bloomed within me at just the thought of her marking herself up with a memory of me forever. I wanted to stop her and kiss her so hard that my dick hurt just thinking about it.
But she was with him.
“You know what Gerald Taylor is up to, Daddy. He’s gotten brazen. Started threatening my friends and me,” Scarlett answered, her body turned toward him. She didn’t want to believe that her father was involved with my dad.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mr. Livingston replied, his neck turning a deep shade of red. The fact that he’d been drinking was playing to our advantage. His tells were more obvious.
Without moving my head, I let my eyes flicker over to Rachel again. The shithead sitting beside her knew that I kept stealing glances at her, so of course he staked his claim right there in front of me, pulling her to her feet and shoving his tongue down her throat like the asshole he was. He couldn’t have made his point clearer if he lifted a leg and pissed on her. In all of this though, it wasn’t Beau that bothered me most. It was her reaction to him.
Rachel Nomar kissed him back. She graced his undeserving mouth with her sweet tongue. She moaned against his lips and trembled when his fingers touched her back. I waited for her to turn away or find a trigger at the end of his kiss, but she never did. She liked kissing Beau Boedecker, and that gutted me for some reason.
“Don’t lie, Daddy. We need your help. You’re not honestly going to let Mr. Taylor threaten me like this, are you?” Scarlett accused her dad while Stephanie crossed her legs and leaned over in her seat, gaining Mr. Livingston’s undivided attention. She was pulling out all the stops tonight. Wore a skirt that made her legs look good. Had every man in this room wondering what she tasted like. I picked her ’cause she was a good distraction, but I wished I had Rachel with me instead.
