by Avelyn Paige
“And I’m a human being. You can’t keep running away every man that comes around. My life could end at any moment, and you’re systemically trying to deny what could be my last chance at happiness.”
“Not with him,” he demands. “Over my dead fucking body will I allow it. I’ll kick him out, before I let that happen.” Mikey doesn’t budge. His stern stance is proof alone of that. While his intentions are noble, he has to let me go. I want my own life, and I’ll have it without his permission.
“I’ll just go with him, Mikey. I love him.”
My brother stills in front of me. As a man who has loved, lost, and found love again, he has to understand what that means for me.
“I love him,” I repeat. “And despite what you think about us, I will not let you shove us apart. You don’t know him like I do.”
“If you only knew,” he mutters.
“Knew what?” I inquire.
“Nothing,” he interjects.
His arms reach out, pulling me tightly against him. Standing in his embrace makes me feel so small. His large build hulks over me.
“I want you to be happy,” he whispers against the top of my head, before pulling away. “But this is not the life I wanted for you. I joined this club and took over when Dad died to protect you and mom. Everything that I do is for your protection.”
“I know,” I admit to him. “But you can’t keep me in a gilded cage, Mikey. I need room to breathe, and a chance to live my own life, if we make it through this. Please just give me the space to see where this ends up.”
My brother’s stern face slips just ever so slightly into a crack of a smile. It doesn’t last long, but it was there. He does understand.
“I don’t like it, but if it’s what you want, I won’t stop you. But if that asshole ever hurts you, I will kill him,” he states making sure to exaggerate the last part to drive home his point. “And don’t fucking suck face in front of me. That’s all I ask.”
“I promise to keep it at a minimum.”
He hugs me again, before I leave his office. I pause at V’s door, but decide against knocking. He just went toe to toe with my brother over me. He would need time to process it all. While other women would fear that he would have a change of heart about our relationship, I knew better. No man would take a hit from a guy like Mikey, if he planned on ditching the girl afterwards. It was better this way to give him space. When he was ready to talk to me about it, he would come to me.
I practically skip back to my room. V and I didn’t have to hide anymore, and the thought of being so open about our relationship is positively electric. No more closed doors, secret rendezvous, or hiding. We were free to be ourselves, something that I would be taking full advantage of, once V came back. All I had to do was wait.
I try to pass the time watching one of the movies V had packed into the top drawer of my dresser, but without him here doing his running commentary or directly quoting the movie he had clearly seen a hundred times, it wasn’t the same. My next pursuit of reading one of the books that Ratchet had brought Ginny fails as well. I nearly give up when a sound echoing from the bathroom freezes me in my place.
It can’t be. No. There’s no way. I’m hearing things. It’s just the boredom messing with my head.
The sound rings again, and then I know I’m not crazy. I uneasily slide from the couch, padding to the bathroom, and pulling open the vanity drawer containing my burner phone. As I reach down to grab it, the screen lights up as another message pops up on the screen. Beauregard. After all this time, he reaches out, when I have just fought my brother over V.
Was this a sign from above that I was on the right path with V or the exact opposite? The fates were playing a cruel trick on my heart. I mull over the decision in front of me. Do I delete the texts without even reading them and turn off the phone, shutting Beauregard out of my life? Or do I read them, opening myself up to threaten the relationship I have with V?
Where is a damn therapist to talk this over with? My mind swirls with indecision. Would this be betraying V, if I looked at the messages? What about responding to them? The love I had for Beauregard was essentially gone, but the part of him left inside of me needed that closure between us. I may regret what I’m about to do, but I can’t ignore it. My finger touches on his name, and the messages pop up.
Beauregard: Hi.
Beauregard: I’m sorry for not responding.
Beauregard: We need to talk.
I start to type out a message, but another one comes in.
Beauregard: I want to be honest with you. I’ve met someone, but I still think about you.
I can’t stop myself from replying. Beauregard had moved on just like I had. Maybe replying back wouldn’t be as bad as it was making me feel.
I have too.
Are you happy?
His response is quick.
Beauregard: I am, but there’s a part of me that still wants to meet you. Would you be open to that? I know you’re out east, but I would be willingly to meet you halfway.
I pause. Am I crazy for even considering this? What would Voodoo think if I did this? Would I tell him? I know it would hurt him, but I would try my damnedest to explain my reasoning to him. Closure would be a good thing for all of us going forward. V holds my entire heart, but my mind would be finally clear of Beauregard. This would be good for us in the long run or at least that’s what I tell myself.
I’m actually in California.
Where do you have in mind?
We text back and forth a few more times. Making the plans to meet each other the next day in Los Angeles. The only problem is that my current predicament was hindering that from happening. How would I explain my absence to Voodoo? If I told him outright, he would be livid and insist on going with me. That would only be counterproductive.
No. I had to do this on my own, and I had one place to turn. I tuck my tail between my legs, and walk back to my brother’s office, blatantly lying to him about a need to get away. He was reluctant at first, but when I agreed to have extra protection go with me, he finally caved. I had an hour of freedom, and a laundry list of restrictions and rules. I left his office with permission and a sense of dread.
Why does meeting Beauregard seem like it’s going to destroy my world?
The last hour has been agony. The wavering of my decision to finally tell Presley that Beauregard Martin, tech guru is really me, has been the hardest decision of my life. I know that Presley feels something for me that is more than just the amazing sex. What we share is less primal and more deeply connected. Raze finding out not only about this precursor, but our current relationship as well just was not in the plan. She needs to know that much I knew, but his ultimatum blew my timeline to shit.
Which is why I find myself waiting in the cocktail bar of Le Petite Belle in the heart of Beverly Hills, dressed and cleaned up like a respectable individual for the first time in years. Suits and ties weren’t exactly my go-to wardrobe, but I had to play the part. Getting Ratchet to agree to be her chauffeur for at least the first part of the night was the hardest part of it all. He had been on my ass for weeks to tell her who Beau really was, and he was right. The time is now or never. She would either forgive me or forget me, but it was a risk I had to take with so many threats lurking around us. Like her brother. My life was dangerous, and hers was currently thrust into the middle of the murky waters of living on the edge of right and wrong.
After living in so many years of terror with her father, how could I even ask her to stay here with me? This club is what her nightmares were made of, and I selfishly wanted her to stay if she would have me. There are things I would do in this world that would make a normal man shutter in fear, and I would do them over and over again just for her. Presley was the princess in the castle, and I desperately wanted to be the one to rescue her from the dragon. But depending on how tonight goes, I might just find myself pushing up daisies and out of lives in this game. The decision was all hers on where we go from here
, and that terrifies me.
The bartender in his tiny, little bow tie and French cut suit slides over to me with a bottle of champagne and a fluted glass in his hand.
“May I offer you a sample of our finest French wine, monsieur?” he asks, in a voice with a heavy-laden fake French accent.
I stare at him, and he stands there looking like an idiot with that glass and bottle of champagne, waiting for my answer.
“No thanks, Garcon,” I respond back, in my own version of a fake accent. “I don’t drink that frou-frou bullshit, but I’ll take a beer, if you have one.”
The bartender starts to open his mouth, when I notice the door opening out of the corner of my eye. My phone chimes, as a text from Ratchet flashes across the screen alerting me to Presley’s arrival.
The moment I lay my eyes on her, all of the air is sucked out of my lungs. She’s so beautiful. While it should hurt that she’s all dolled up for another man, I can’t be hurt since that other man is me. Her long, dark hair is twisted and braided like a crown at the top of her head. The simple black dress that drapes her body hugs every curve and highlights her figure perfectly. The urge to want to switch places with that dress hits hard. But it’s the heels on her tiny feet that add the knockout punch to the gut with her beauty tonight. The black straps of the shoes wrap up her calves and adds a few inches to her height. I don’t know what it is about heels on Presley, but my cock goes ridged in my pants to the point it could probably cut through a steel beam.
Her dark eyes glance around the room, as I quickly turn my back to her. If she makes me now, I will never get a chance to explain, and every single chance I would have to make this right, would leave with her right out of that door.
The too sweet voice of the hostess I met earlier fills the air of the room, as she greets Presley. I turn around and watch her lead Presley to the private dining area that I booked, and as soon as she’s out of sight, Ratchet slips into the door and beelines towards me.
“Sir,” the bartender interrupts, before he gets to me. “You need to have a tie and jacket to be served in this restaurant.”
I laugh, as Ratchet just glares at the guy.
“I’m not staying,” he barks back. The bartender begins to protest again, but I wave him off with a quick gesture. Ratchet takes a few more steps, and sidles up next to me on the bar stool.
“You ready for this, V?” he asks. “There’s still a chance to turn back now.”
“No, it’s time. She needs to know, even if it means I risk what she and I have now.”
Ratchet lifts his hand and grips my shoulder tightly.
“You may be a son of a bitch, but I’m proud of you, V.”
“Aww Ratchy, is this your version of a father-son talk? You getting practice in for Asher?” I tease back. “What’s next? Are you going to give me the talk and threaten to kick my ass if I hurt her?”
Ratchet laughs loud enough that a few of the patrons sitting farther down the bar turn and glare at him. He just smiles at his disturbance of the peace.
“Nah,” he quips. “I’m sure Raze has done enough of that shit for the entire world.”
“You aren’t kidding,” I coolly respond, thinking back to my run in with the club president. Raze’s ultimatum may have been the tipping point of telling Presley, but like I said before, it’s the right thing to do.
I notice the hostess leaving the area where Presley is waiting to meet Beau, and she turns towards me. Ratchet notices her coming close and abruptly stands.
“Good luck, brother,” he offers, before retreating back outside to the waiting car. When I decided to do this, I made Ratchet promise that he would wait in case she bolted. I didn’t want to take the chance that Presley would be exposed, if she ran. If her safety was compromised because of me, I would never forgive myself.
“Sir,” the hostess calls, “Your party is waiting.”
I inhale a deep breath, and slide from the barstool. With each step closer to the room, my heart thuds more intensely.
You can do this. She’s the best fucking thing in your life that isn’t circuits and motherboards. It’s time to man up, and see what you’re made of.
My feet fall in line, one behind the other, as they lead me to my fate. It’s like I’m a condemned man walking to the gallows, knowing that I’ll hang or be pardoned.
My hand tremors slightly, as I reach for the curtain separating the two lives that I have lived for the past few months with her. They say that the truth sets you free, but why do I feel like it’s damning me?
I take one last deep breath and slide inside.
Presley’s head is down, and her hands are wrapped tightly around the fabric napkin she grasps. Her gaze rises to meet mine, and she freezes, speechless.
Her eyes flash from nervousness to rage in a split second, and I briefly wonder if she might be related to Ratchet with how fast the switch flipped in just a second flat.
“You son of a bitch. It’s been you the entire time,” she seethes, standing up.
Fuckity. Fuck. Fuck. Where’s the fucking abort mission button, when you need it?
“I can explain, Presley,” I beg, rushing toward her, in an attempt to block her escape. She shoves me, but I stand my ground. Every part of me is screaming to grab ahold of her, bringing her in tightly, until she screams out her pain and anger, but I can’t do that. Presley isn’t some spoiled little girl who wants to put on a show or be pacified like a child. She’s an educated woman who is angry as fuck at me for my deception. If I have a chance in hell of repairing this, I have to let her talk, and I have to hope she listens to reason.
“You want to explain why you’ve been lying to me? How long have you been catfishing for the fucking club?”
I raise my hands up in surrender, as she tries to push me aside.
“Please, Presley. Just sit down, and I will explain everything. This isn’t what you think.”
She shoves me again.
“Hear me out, and afterwards if you still want to leave, you can. I won’t stop you,” I offer to her. She glares at me, and I can’t help but notice that her hand is clenched at her side. I stand my ground, and she slowly eases back into her chair. Her beautiful face is plastered with judgment, as I sit down across from her, making sure to keep my distance. I have no doubt that she knows how to throw a punch with her parentage, and I want to get through this without being branded with another black eye. The one her brother gave me was finally starting to fade away. I didn’t need another one so soon.
“You have five minutes. Nothing more.”
I sigh at her angered indifference, and open up to her like a patient on her therapy couch.
“It looks bad. I’m fully aware of that fact, but I wasn’t catfishing you,” I start. My hand slides from the table, and into my pocket, as I retrieve my wallet. Fingering my ID, I slide it over to her. I watch intently as her eyes fall to the thin piece of plastic containing my most personal information, including my real name.
“Beauregard Martin is my real name. I’m a tech guru, and I work for your brother’s security company as a technical specialist. That is a private sector job.”
She scoffs audibly at my explanation. Jesus, I’m going nowhere fast.
“The man you met online is me. The only thing fake about what transpired between us was the photo I used on the profile. When Ratchet came for Ricca, he asked me to look into you and make sure that Ricca was not only safe, but that you wouldn’t hinder her chances for getting Asher. I never thought that what started off as protecting my family and my brother would turn into this,” I tell her, motioning between us with my hand.
“I was just a job to you,” she retorts. “A job that you just so happened to start falling for the target. How do you expect me to believe a word that you are saying? You’re a part of a club that buys and sells deceit like a fucking candy store. You forget that I lived that life, and I ran from it.”
I try to reach out for her, but she quickly tucks her hands under the table, e
ffectively shutting me out again. I grab my ID and slip it back into my wallet, as this train continues to derail in front of me.
“The club isn’t like that anymore. Can’t you see that? You came to us for protection, and your brother and my club has put everything on the line to protect you,” I fire back. Her insistence that the HRMC is the bad guy in this situation starts to grate on my nerves. This is my fuck up, and she isn’t allowing me to take full ownership of that.
“Presley, I know you’re angry with me. I own that lock, stock, and fucking exploding barrel, but the club isn’t the enemy in this. I am.”
She scoffs again. Jesus, she’s just as stubborn as her older brother. I guess the apple really doesn’t fall far from the pig-headedness tree.
“Angry? You think I’m angry? Try motherfucking pissed. You’ve lied to me, deceived me into thinking that you felt something for me, and for what? To spy on me for your club?”
I try to reach for her again, and yet again, there is nothing from her. This ship is sinking faster than the Titanic, and the only lifeboat left is reserved for her.
“I fucking love you. Don’t you realize that,” I loudly proclaim. “I have guarded you, protected you, and while doing so, I have fallen in love with you, despite the fact that this entire fucking thing has been eating away at me. I wanted to tell you from the moment you walked into my clubhouse, but when the target was painted on your back, I had to put my club above my personal agenda.”
Presley stands and takes two steps towards me, stopping just in front of me. I rise to meet her, and am met with her hand slapping me across the face.
“That is the problem with men like you. Everything else is more important than the truth. You lied to me, and what’s worse is that I let you in. I let you break down those barriers I spent so many years building, after my father’s club tore them down. I gave you a piece of me that I can never get back, and I’m sick just thinking about how stupidly I played into your plan.”
Presley glares at me one last time, before heading toward the curtain. She stops just short of exiting the room, like she is fighting an internal battle.
