Second Time Lucky (Club Decadence Book 5)

by Maddie Taylor

  Regret had twisted in his gut at the time, even now it burned deep. He rationalized his guilt. It wasn’t as though he knew where she’d been to talk it over with her. Not for the first time, it struck him as ironic after all the time and energy he’d spent searching for her, she’d been in San Antonio all along, hiding in plain sight.

  As he considered her now, lying in his guest room bed, he wondered why he hadn’t gone ahead and told her. He’d had plenty of opportunity with her lying captive in her hospital bed for nearly two weeks, but it never seemed the right time for him as he experienced an upheaval of emotions. Relief at finding her, frustration that she was close mouthed and withdrawn, and most of all anger over how she had destroyed them both and refused to explain why.

  For the next six weeks, he’d be sure of her whereabouts at least and maybe during that time he’d be able to wear her down enough to get an explanation, then if he was lucky, he might be able to move on. He snorted at the word lucky. It was cute when she’d called him that, but he’d never considered it true. Case in point, loving a woman who ripped out his heart and disappeared without explanation. And what kind of fucked up luck did he have when, after all that she had done, all the heartache and grief she had caused, he still loved her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Six weeks of hell, that’s what her life had been, seven if she counted the days spent in the hospital, a year if she counted the time since she’d left him. Who was she kidding? Her entire life had been hell (discounting the brief time she had been with Sean and been happy) making it twenty-nine—no, thirty—she’d forgotten her birthday two weeks past, as had everyone else, which brought it to a grand total of thirty years of hell. Doubly hellish—if that was a thing—since Sean had brought her home.

  Not to their home, though. Foolishly, she’d expected him to be living in the same house they’d picked out together. When the ambulance doors had been thrown wide, she hadn’t recognized the huge house she’d been carried into, or anything inside it. Everything looked new, although she hadn’t seen much of it, going from point A; the ambulance, to point B; a bed in a nice, albeit unfamiliar guest room. She hadn’t seen a single thing left over from their life together. Not one of the pictures she’d so painstakingly selected on their modest budget, or a mirror, or even a clock, of which they’d had several.

  She silently called herself a fool. This is what she’d wanted for him, what she’d told him to do, in fact. To move on and forget about her. With the proof that he had staring her in the face, her heart, or at least what few remnants that remained intact, shredded even more.

  His questions had started in the hospital. Why had she left him, the most prevalent. When she wouldn’t answer, he moved on to other probing questions. How had she hidden so well? Where was she living? When he found out she went back to school and finished the few classes she needed to get her bachelor’s degree in nursing, he wanted to know how she’d financed it. And he’d asked about Victor and the shooting that awful day, as did the police, who came to question her at length. Those questions had hit too close to home and she’d shut down. This only increased Sean’s anger and frustration.

  When he brought her home, and it was only the two of them, with no doctors and nurses to act as a buffer, he’d demanded answers again, and again. They’d argued, near constantly until in exasperation Sean had done as she’d requested and left her alone. In his place, he’d hired a nursing service to stay round the clock. Depressed and heartsick, she’d gone through the motions, doing what her nurses asked, taking her medications, letting them help her get to the bathroom, bathe and dress. Other than that she slept, or stared hopelessly at the walls, like she was doing now.

  Although this wall was different. This one was a pale, powder blue with frothy white curtains on the window that overlooked a huge garden with a small pond and waterfall, and a pergola with a fire pit beyond. This wall belonged to Joanna Davis. She and Lexie had stormed her room at Sean’s one day, becoming alarmed at her appearance. Pale and haggard, she’d lost weight, at least another ten pounds since the shooting, which was down at least twice as much in the year since she’d deserted Sean. Her clothes hung off her, more evident now that she’d gotten the contraption off her leg. For the first time in weeks, she could wear pants, and panties, which was a real treat. When she’d seen the doctor yesterday and he’d removed it, she’d felt a little burst of happiness. Although in a half boot and only ready for partial weight bearing, her therapy was set to begin and she was able to look forward. To what, she wasn’t sure, but she knew it couldn’t be in San Antonio near Sean. It was too painful. Before she left, however, she had one thing she had to do.

  * * * * *

  Glad for a break from the surveillance room, Sean walked toward Cap’s office hoping he had an assignment for him. Although he knew the importance of monitoring the dozen or more live feeds they had running, watching paint dry would be more fascinating. As he rounded the corner by Cap’s office, he came to a sudden halt.

  “I’ve changed my mind. Please, give me my crutches so I can go.”

  Her unforgettable voice sounded on edge, near panicked. He hadn’t seen Mara since the day Joanna and Lexie had rescued her from his negligent care, as they so aptly put it. Meanwhile, more news of Mara’s history had surfaced. He’d heard the details and seen the shocking proof. At first, he’d been in denial, yet the photographic evidence couldn’t be disputed. That he’d married someone so treacherous and deceitful made the bile sour in his belly.

  Mindlessly, his feet carried him to Cap’s door.

  “You can’t keep me here against my will,” Mara insisted, approaching a shout.

  “Apparently, I can,” Cap stated calmly in return.

  He scanned the office, noting her crutches propped against a bookcase on the far side of the room. She was stuck until whatever the hell kind of scene that was developing had played out.

  With a growl of frustration, Mara reached into her purse, pulled out her phone and began dialing. Calling Joanna to rescue her, no doubt. For some reason, despite all that Mara had done, Joanna had taken her under her wing and become a staunch defender. As had Lexie, but that was understandable since Mara had saved her life. Sean wanted the answers only this beautiful duplicitous witch could supply. She could leave, but not before he found out what the hell was going on.

  On silent feet, he moved alongside her and pulled the phone from her grasp. She glanced up, first at Cap who hadn’t moved, still propped against his desk, arms folded over his chest, then her gaze moved to him and those bewitching green eyes darkened with alarm. Once he would have cared enough to ease her distress. No longer.

  “What are you doing here, Mara?”

  She opened her mouth, but her tongue seemed frozen. The surprise of a second ago turned to frustration. After a brief hesitation, she swallowed before saying in a raspy tone, “I was trying to leave. If you’ll give me my phone, I’ll call for a ride and you can go about your day.”

  Ignoring her, Sean pocketed her phone. He demanded of Cap, “Why is she here?”

  Tony’s calculating gaze met his. “She hasn’t shared yet. I found her in the lobby. For some reason she was trying to get through the revolving door on crutches. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Wes is on today. He said she had the same problem getting out of her cab. She’s a menace on those things and needs a keeper.”

  “Thankfully, that’s not my job anymore.” His words came out biting and cold, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her flinch. A nagging feeling of regret swept through him, quickly replaced by the images forever emblazoned in his mind. Her in black leather, holding a flogger, another of her wielding a tawse. He locked down any sympathy he’d once had, although anger, ever-present of late, simmered near the surface.

  “Please may I have my phone back?”

  “No.” Sean practically barked his reply. “If you’re not going to explain the reason for your visit, we’ll take this opportunity to ask you a few questions of our own.”
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  Her head came up. Nervously, looking to Cap who remained silent, unmoving. Tony was giving him his tacit approval to do what needed to be done with Mara. Always having his men’s back, Cap would follow Sean’s lead in whatever direction he decided to play this.

  “Do you have the file, Cap?”

  “It’s on Jonas’ desk.”

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t let her leave. I only want to do this once.”

  Silence encompassed the room as he walked out the door. He couldn’t imagine why she was here. What business did she have with Rossi that brought her hobbling in on crutches? Always impulsive, his Mara. No, he cautioned himself, not his anymore, if she ever was.

  At Jonas’ desk, he skimmed over the files on top. Her name in bold print jumped out at him. He picked it up, flipped it open. On top was an image, grainy and of poor quality, but distinct enough to see it was definitely his wife. He snapped it shut without looking at the dozen or more below it. He’d seen them all. Damning evidence for sure.

  Making a quick detour to his office to retrieve one more thing before returning. Cap was speaking quietly, but as he entered, he picked up the tail end of their conversation.

  “End this today,” Cap ordered. “It’s gone on far too long.”

  “I was shot. None of this is my fault. I’m the victim here.”

  “Why don’t I believe that, Mara?”

  She was glaring daggers at Tony from her chair in front of his desk. Sean hooked the leg with his foot, dragging her closer as he began to lay out pictures; awful pictures of offenses he’d never forget. One by one, he spread them across the top of the desk.

  “I want an explanation,” he demanded.

  Watching her, he saw she’d stopped breathing as she stared down at the proof of her infidelity.

  “It’s not what you think,” she whispered.

  “Really?” An enraged Sean fired back in disbelief. How dare she deny the evidence in front of her face? Incredulous, he jabbed a finger at an incriminating photo. “You mean that’s not you playing Domme to Judge Jenkins and Shelby?” He pointed to another. “How about this one? That’s not you beating his ass with a riding crop while he fucks her? Or this one,” he snarled, as he grabbed yet another, this time holding it up to her face, “you’re not the bitch with a strap-on buried in the judge’s throat? The cheap wig isn’t much of a disguise. All the guys recognized you when they saw it.”

  “Please stop,” she pleaded as she turned away.

  “Hell no!” he thundered as his hand dug into her hair and none too gently pulled her head back. He’d never harmed her before and wouldn’t now, although the rage boiling over had his fingers tightening. “You don’t get to sit there and turn on the water works. I want the truth, Mara. What the fuck did you do?”

  “I didn’t fuck him, Lucky.”

  His nickname said in her soft voice brought back memories of better times when he thought they’d been happy and in love. It was like a hot knife searing into his gut.

  “Don’t call me that, dammit. And I don’t give a shit if you did fuck him, or if you fucked them both, or the entire goddamned club for that matter.” That was a boldfaced lie, but he was livid and wanted her to hurt too. “I’m so over this shit. What I want to know is how you fucked over people you called friends. I want to know about the blackmail, your arrangement with Shelby, and about anyone else who had a hand in this shit.”

  Her response was a shuddering breath as her eyes closed against the anger he knew was blazing from his own.

  “Answer me, Mara.” His fingers flexed in her hair as she began to struggle to get free.

  “Please,” she cried in the barest of whispers, “you’re hurting me.”

  “Sean, let her go.”

  Cap’s advice came needlessly, because his fingers had already relaxed.

  “You sure played me for a fool.” Picking up the brown envelope he’d retrieved from his office, he shoved it into her hands along with her phone. “Here are the divorce papers. I signed them this time.”

  Her eyes flew to his in shock.

  He ignored her as he continued, “They were outdated, so I had to have them drawn up again. Your signature gets us out of this travesty of a marriage, once and for all.”

  “I thought—” She stared at him for a moment before her gaze shot to Cap’s, as if seeking verification of his claim.

  Sean didn’t bother to wait for her reaction, unable to stomach anymore. He backed away from her, in his anger, not willing to risk what he might do. “This time, rest assured, they will be filed. My attorney will see to it and send you a copy.”

  With that, he turned to leave. In the doorway, he turned back to Cap. “Get a forwarding address, will you? I’m done. I can’t bear to look at her another minute. I’ll swing by and pick up the papers after she’s gone.”

  Then he walked out, stalking down the hall, so enraged he was shaking, but there was more to it than anger he had to admit. There was hurt, wounded pride, and beneath it all, a body that yearned for her, despite all she’d done. He leaned against the wall not thirty feet from the open door. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he a masochist for wanting her even after she’d fucked him over?

  As he stood there a mass of conflicted, divergent, heart wrenching emotions, he heard muffled sobs through the open doorway. The sound was unfamiliar, having heard her cry only a handful of times. His mind screamed to ignore them, his heart agreed that he should, but his body, again as if ruled by neither of them, moved without his conscious consent returning to Cap’s doorway. His friend glanced his way, other than that, giving no indication he was there, allowing him to listen in.

  “Victor Mendoza was the man that shot us,” Mara disclosed with a sniffle. “He is Esteban Mendoza’s nephew.”

  “We know that. Do you have anything to impart that we don’t know?”

  “Were you always such an asshole, Cap, or is this special treatment you reserve for wives of friends who get screwed over?”

  “Tell me so we can end this, Mara.”

  Sean watched as she inhaled deeply, the motion shifting her hair across her back in a shimmer of color. She was so damn beautiful, it made him ache.

  “I’ve known Victor Mendoza for over a decade. I met him back east as a kid. Our paths have been crossing ever since, unfortunately for me, not in a good way. Like his uncle, he’s into dealing drugs and women—specifically young girls. By accident, he came to the clinic that day. I could tell because he was surprised to see me there. I hoped never to see him again, having shaken him off several times already. I’m afraid—”

  Pausing, she shook her head, evidently changing her mind about explaining her emotions. When she went on, it was to give the facts.

  “He was blackmailing the judge. I don’t know what Sean was talking about, but it wasn’t Shelby or me, and it wasn’t about the club other than as a way to connect with him and set up the scene. Everything else was Victor—the cameras, the room, the costumes and props. Anyway, what I wanted to tell you, why I came here today, is that the judge is merely the tip of the iceberg. Victor was in an acquisition phase back then. By that, I mean he was acquiring capital to expand his business and that capital wasn’t only money. He wanted people, important people. Judges he wanted in his pocket, law enforcement he wanted on his payroll and politicians he wanted on the hook to pave his way.”

  Digging into her purse, she pulled out several sheets of neatly folded paper. “This is a list of all of Victor’s associates. It’s a bit dated, but I’m sure you’ll find something useful there. Many of the people on that list have conveniently come into wealth and power since the time I knew them, which was early on in their corruption. I suspect they are willing associates of Victor, maybe partners by now.”

  Standing, she used the desk to support herself as she staggered toward her crutches.

  “Why don’t you sit and finish your story,” Cap said firmly, issuing an order, not a suggestion. “Afterward, I’ll make sure you get
to wherever you need to be.”

  From behind her, he saw her head turn, glancing at the crutches against the bookshelf. If they had been closer, she would have bolted before now, he was certain. Cap, brilliant strategist that he was, had cut off her only viable means of escape. Running away was her standard M.O. and Sean wasn’t the least bit surprised that Cap knew it.

  “You won’t make it,” Tony warned her, “so I wouldn’t try.”

  Mara collapsed back into one of the two chairs and with her face in her visibly shaking hands, elbows propped on the arms of the chair, she pressed on.

  “Victor Mendoza is a dreamer. Not meager little daydreams either, no, his are always on a much grander scale. He told me once that he’d hit the big time one day and that in order to do that he needed connections. He already had some within his own family, but there were barriers. He used that word—barriers—I remember it.” Shaking her head as if trying to displace the unpleasant memory, she continued. “One of those barriers is gone, the heir apparent who was shot and killed that day at the clinic. That leaves Uncle Esteban, who is getting up in years, and the little boy, who has years before he’s ready. They are all that stand in Victor’s way. I think he is primed for a takeover of the cartel. I don’t know for a fact, although I know how he thinks. If I was a betting woman and had two cents to rub together, I’d put my money on Victor taking down his uncle and becoming kingpin.”

  She waved her hand toward his desk. “My cell number is on the paper. I’m sure you’ll have questions after you’ve had time to sift through the information. I’d appreciate it if you’d share it with the police. I should have gone there today. I regret not doing it, so badly. I stupidly thought that here, with an old friend, it might be easier. I was wrong. But hey, that’s the story of my life. I’m going back to Joanna’s to pack. I can’t put them at risk any longer, especially after Victor finds out I’ve shared all of his dirty little secrets. Maybe I’ll ask the police for protective custody, or with the Feds involved, maybe I can enter witness protection. I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.” Exhausted, she slumped in her chair. “Can you take me to Joanna’s now, please?”