Wilder

by Nina Levine

  Two hours later, the tightness in my traps has me reaching for the tennis ball I keep in the office. I find a spot on the wall to lean against, rolling the ball between it and my back. I’m in the middle of grimacing after locating a tight knot in my back with the ball when Scarlett waltzes in.

  She runs her gaze over me in a way I fucking like before throwing out, “You need yoga in your life. You can take my spot on Mondays and Wednesdays. Don’t ever tell me I don’t give you anything.”

  I keep the tennis ball on my trigger point and my eyes on her. There’s something different about her today, and I’m trying to figure out what. I can’t decide if it’s to do with her outfit, her hair, or her face. “How did it go?”

  “By it, I take it you mean the event, and let’s just say I’m in no hurry to do that again.”

  I think it’s her outfit.

  “Why not?”

  “Over a hundred people all up in my grill while Gia’s prancing around her kitchen making decisions to change her menu”—her eyes go wide—“at the last fucking minute”—she shakes her head—“that’s a hell fucking no from me with a capital fucking ‘n.’ I need at minimum ten naps to recover from that fiasco.”

  I narrow my eyes at her hair. “Have you coloured your hair?”

  She issues me with one of her glares. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  “I’m not. I’m asking you a question.”

  “One you’ve never asked me in all the time you’ve known me. You’re dodging this conversation, and let me just clue you in. The next time you decide to take the day off when we have an event happening anywhere in the vicinity of Gia, I’m also taking the day off.”

  I’m pretty fucking sure she’s coloured her hair. I’m also pretty fucking sure she’ll try to do damage to my balls if I continue down this line of questioning.

  I finish with the tennis ball and place it back on top of the filing cabinet. “So apart from all that, it went well?”

  “The guests were all happy. They drank a lot of alcohol not covered by the event. Salty Girl made bank. I hesitate to use the word well.”

  “I’ll be sure to let Gia know you can’t wait to host another event with her.”

  “I’ll be sure to print my resignation letter rather than handwrite it to ensure you can accurately read every single word.” She snatches the iPad off my desk. “I’m going to check the rosters for this week and then I’m going home to sit in a bath for the entire night.” As she exits the office, she looks back at me. “And that music? It needs to go.”

  I stare at the empty doorway long after she can no longer be seen or heard.

  It was her outfit.

  And her hair.

  And her face.

  She’s changed them all up in ways I haven’t figured out yet.

  But that feeling I have that something’s different about her isn’t coming from any of those things. It’s coming from her.

  Scarlett’s edges are smoothing.

  17

  Wilder

  “He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.”

  Sun Tzu said it best, and I live my life by it. Thankfully, so does Scott. King, not so much. He prefers to invade and annihilate every chance he gets. This is the reason I find myself with a gun in my face early Thursday morning.

  King arrived in Brisbane at the crack of dawn after letting us know yesterday to prepare for him. He got it in his head, after a tip-off, that Black Deeds ordered the ambush on us, and decided to make a flying visit to pop the fuck in and see them about it.

  We popped in twenty minutes ago and to say I’m pissed off with the way shit is unfolding is an understatement.

  “Hey, pretty boy,” the motherfucker with the gun says before shoving it in my face. “How about you and I get to know each other a little better?” He presses the muzzle hard against my forehead. “Or maybe we should just skip the chat and I should put a bullet through your head.”

  “Or,” I grind out, “how about I put a bullet through your fuckin’ head?”

  Without hesitation, I simultaneously knee him in the balls and smack the gun from his hand. He stumbles back in pain, and I grab his shirt with both hands as I tuck my chin so I can headbutt him. Jerking hard and fast, I push him before pulling him back in a whiplash-like motion, using all my force to slam his face into the top of my head. He goes down, knocked out. I’m lodging a bullet in his skull when Colt stumbles next to me.

  “It’s fucking chaos here,” he says, blood taking up so much of his face I struggle to locate skin.

  “No fuckin’ shit,” I mutter, anger coursing through my body.

  When King said we were heading to the Black Deeds clubhouse to “dance with the devil,” he failed to elaborate as to what that kind of dance might look like. Knowing his blend of crazy, I should have known it would look like the shitshow we’re in the middle of. I won’t make the mistake of underestimating his madness again.

  Fuck, we’ve been here less than half an hour, and already there are ten guys out cold and two who have started long fucking naps in the dirt.

  I’ve barely clapped eyes on Colt when another Black Deeds motherfucker tries to introduce his knuckles to my face.

  “Fuck!” I bellow, blocking his fist and familiarising him with mine instead.

  He then endures a good couple of minutes of me sharing my fury with him as I punch the absolute shit out of him. I could stop after the third punch, but I don’t. I keep going because it feels too fucking good not to.

  “Wilder!” Scott calls from the other side of the Black Deeds bar area where most of the action’s taking place.

  One glance in his direction and I don’t take my time moving. He’s got a guy in a headlock with two more breathing down his neck. I burn the distance between us and smash a chair over one of the assholes before advancing straight to the other guy and jabbing my fist into his face.

  Colt joins us and takes these two on with me. It’s a blur of punches and kicks and straight-up fucking bloodshed that ends when King roars back into the bar area and hurls a fucking axe at Tank, the Black Deeds president.

  “Fucking hell,” Colt says as everyone slows to watch the axe narrowly miss the president’s head.

  Bedlam ensues as the axe ends its journey in the wall.

  King is in Tank’s face before he has a chance to catch his breath and every fucker in the room aims their gun at an enemy in a Mexican standoff.

  The tense energy circling the room swirls like a tornado that funnels down to where King stands with a gun to Tank. “That was a warning,” he says, his voice as dark as his eyes. “Next time I won’t miss.”

  I don’t doubt the truth of what he says. If King wants a man dead, he makes it happen.

  “You pull that trigger, our clubs are gonna be at war for a long fucking time,” Tank sneers.

  “You pulled the fucking trigger when you ordered those Silver Hell motherfuckers to attack our guys,” King says.

  “Heard about that, but I wouldn’t work with Silver fucking Hell if you paid me to,” Tank says.

  King jabs his gun harder against Tank’s head, forcing him to walk backwards until he hits the wall the axe is embedded in. He yanks the axe out while keeping his gun trained on Tank. Putting the blade to Tank’s neck, he says, “I’m feeling the urge to draw blood today. You want it to be yours?”

  Tank doesn’t blink, but I see the first shadow of fear fall across his face. “Go the fuck ahead.”

  King slices the blade across Tank’s throat with just enough pressure to cause a trickle of blood. “If it wasn’t you, start telling me who the fuck it was.”

  More fear shades Tank’s face, but still, he doesn’t give King what he wants.

  In a frenzied move, King raises the axe and brings it down on Tank’s boot, slashing a chunk of shoe and foot off. As Tank’s agony howls out of him, King thunders, “Start fucking talking!”

  “It wasn’t us!” Tank yells, sweat coating his reddened face and
veins pushing against his skin as he deals with the pain King caused.

  “Who the fuck was it?” King demands, raising the axe again.

  “I don’t fucking know! I heard they’re not done with you, though.”

  Scott moves into place next to King. “Who told you that?”

  Tank eyes my president. “One of Zane Stone’s guys.”

  The fuck?

  Zane owns Stone Security, who works with Storm sometimes. He’s close to Scott and King. Hell, he sent Liam to investigate the Trilogy break-in.

  Scott grips Tank’s face. “I need a fucking name.”

  “Ted Channing,” Tank spits, looking like he’s about to pass the fuck out. “Now fucking let me go and get the fuck out of here.”

  King puts his gun away and drops the axe to the ground before delivering a punch to Tank that flattens him. He then retrieves the axe, declaring, “I’m fucking keeping this,” as he exits the clubhouse.

  The next fucking time King says we’re going to dance with the devil, I’m bringing my own damn axe. I’m also packing a spare fucking T-shirt.

  Scott and King take some of the boys to find Ted Channing after we leave the Black Deeds clubhouse. I’ve got five texts from Scarlett sitting on my phone telling me that hell has broken loose at the restaurant, so I head straight to Trilogy, where I find her wiping down tables with her AirPods in.

  Unable to get her attention any other way, I wrap my hand around her arm.

  She jumps and mutters something I don’t quite catch before ripping her AirPods out and saying, “Thank God you’re here.”

  I let her go even though it’s the last thing I want to do.

  It’s been three days since I kissed her and told her to come find me when she’s ready to admit what she wants. Three days of her not coming and finding me. Hell, three days where I’ve wondered if I imagined fucking kissing her. But in amongst all that, there’s a murmur of something new and different between us.

  “I can’t recall a time you ever thanked God for my presence,” I say.

  “You’ll see why soon.”

  “What’s going on? And why are you wiping tables?”

  “Because they’re dirty,” she says with some sass. “Kinda like that shirt you’re wearing.”

  My shirt is bloody, and her eyes are all over it, and my bruised and swollen face in a way they’ve never been when I’ve turned up here looking like this.

  “It’s not your job to wipe tables, Scarlett. What gives?” The restaurant is due to open in one hour. Scarlett has better ways to spend her time.

  “Hmm, where to start? Oh, that’s right, Col fucked up our food delivery this morning and delivered us shit we didn’t order. He then took the opportunity to argue with me over it. He refused to listen to me or look at the order sitting on our iPad. The order that shows we don’t want any of the stuff he sent. He left after declaring I ordered all the shit he brought, and there was nothing he could do about it. I refrained from giving him the exact thoughts in my head during that argument, a fact I would appreciate recognition for before I tell you what happened next.”

  She looks at me expectantly, so I nod. “Go on.”

  “I take that as your recognition of my job well done?”

  “Yes. Can we hurry this the fuck along?”

  “Oh, I see the despot is back in the house today.”

  “Scarlett,” I say, running out of the patience I usually have in spades, but hell, it’s been a long fucking morning already, and I just wanna get to the end of this story.

  “I’m not sure I should continue while you’re in a mood.”

  “The only mood I’m in is the one you’re putting me in. Continue.”

  She exhales a breath like she really doesn’t want to continue. “Col is an asshole, a fact I’ve tried to get you to add to your pool of knowledge over the last year, and let me tell you that if you don’t start trying to add it now, I might just up and leave because I refuse to sit through any more of the excuses you make for him.”

  I don’t make excuses for Col; I put up with him because his prices are where I want them to be. But Scarlett’s dead on the money. He’s a motherfucker I don’t like working with either.

  “What happened?” I ask, already knowing I’m not gonna fucking like it simply because of the state it’s put Scarlett in. She puts up with a hell of a lot of shit from assholes. For her to be this worked up means he’s pushed too far.

  “Brody and I went through the food Col delivered to see if we could work with it. Maybe change up the menu for a day or so. But seriously, we’re looking at a vegan menu that a vegan would die for, which is not what a restaurant that markets itself as a meat eater’s heaven ever wants. So I called Col to convince him to come back with what we actually ordered. He’s clearly on his man-period. We had another rip-snorter of an argument that ended with me sharing every bad thought I’ve ever had about him and not feeling even a little bit sorry about that.”

  “So he’s not sending what we need?”

  “That would be a no. That would also be an ‘I doubt he’s sending us anything tomorrow, next week, next month, or next decade,’ and I’m not even a little bit sorry about that either.” She draws breath before continuing. “I was smack bang in the middle of that debacle when the water shut off. Spoiler alert: it’s still off. The plumber is on his way. Then, three staff members called in sick, and I had to access self-control I don’t possess while ringing around to find replacements.”

  “You’re cleaning tables because we’re down staff?”

  “No, I’m cleaning tables so I don’t end up in jail for aggravated assault. It’s best I’m not around people for a while. I left Brody to deal with the fact we have no water, no ingredients we actually fucking need, and no staff to work with said ingredients after telling him to manage everything until you came riding in on your unicorn and put your magical powers to use to fix this.”

  I pull out my phone and bring up Col’s number, ready to put my magical fucking powers to work.

  “The only reason I’m answering your call is so I can tell you to fuck off,” he answers.

  “It’s a good fuckin’ thing you answered, Col. We’ve got shit to discuss. And when I say discuss, I mean the kind of discussion where you don’t utter a fuckin’ word except the yes I’m looking for at the end of it. If I don’t hear that ‘yes,’ I’ll make it so you fuckin’ wish I did.”

  “If I have to deal with that woman—”

  “Trust me when I tell you I won’t ever subject her to you again. You’ll be dealing with me today.”

  “You think I’m scared of your club, Wilder? I’m fucking not, and you can’t force me into working with you by threatening me with them.”

  “You think I’m bothering with threats today, Col? I haven’t got fuckin’ time to be issuing threats. You’ve got one hour. Don’t disappoint me.”

  I don’t wait for his yes; I stab at the phone to end the call. Eyeing Scarlett, I say, “You keep doing whatever you need to avoid jail time,” before stalking to my office in search of a clean shirt.

  I’ve located one and have it half over my head when Scarlett joins me. “The plumber arrived.”

  I settle my shirt in place, not missing how her eyes track its movement. “Good.”

  She brings her gaze back to mine. “I like that you don’t colour inside the lines, Wilder, but this”—she motions at my face—“is a little hectic. I mean, did you take on ten men at once to get all that?”

  I slow myself down so I can experience this moment for what it is. “You worried about me, Scar?”

  “I’m worried your eyes are gonna puff right over and steal your sight for the day, and today is not a day I need you out of action. We need ice for this.”

  I don’t get another word in before she spins and exits the office.

  She returns a few minutes later with ice and a level of bossiness I’m fucking into.

  “Sit that ass of yours down and get this on that swelling while I
go find some Advil.” She shoves the ice at me and heads back out of the office.

  I do as I’m told; there’s no point arguing with Scarlett when she’s like this. I pull up my emails while I wait, but Paul sends me a text, which drags my attention fully to him.

  Paul: Have to cancel dinner tonight. Can we move it to next week?

  I don’t want to wait that long for the conversation we need to have, so I call him.

  “Hey,” he answers like he’s doing a million things at once. “Sorry to bail, but work’s flat out, and I don’t wanna say no to extra hours when I’m still new here.”

  “All good, but we need to talk about Dad’s birthday and how it won’t be the same without you there.”

  “In case you missed the newsflash, Justin, our family hasn’t been the same for years. This isn’t something new.”

  “You know I didn’t miss the fuckin’ newsflash.”

  “It certainly seems like it.”

  “So all that stuff you said to Scarlett about Dad being your safe haven, that was bullshit?”

  “No, he was my safe haven, but things change, families change, and sometimes the things that used to feel safe don’t anymore.”

  “You never have to forgive Brett, but it’s time you forgive Dad.”

  “Have you forgiven him?”

  “This isn’t about me.”

  “You’re feeding yourself lies if you believe that. This is about all of us.”

  “No, this is about you.”

  He sighs like he’s frustrated, angry, and resigned all in one go. “This is about so much more than just me, and you know it. You couldn’t save me then, just like you can’t save our family now. You need to stop trying to fix us and accept we can never go back. We can never be who you desperately want us to be.”

  “Fuck,” I start, but he cuts me off.

  “I have to get back to work. I’ll talk to you later.”

  The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone, lost in my thoughts, until Scarlett comes back in.

  “Here,” she says, thrusting a glass of water and two pills at me, “take these.” As I take the Advil, she narrows her eyes at me. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve just gone a round with someone.”