Beneath These Scars

“Fair enough. When are you going to decide?”

“Do your job. Find another way. Get creative. I don’t care what it takes, as long as it’s not this.”

“How creative?”

I knew what he was asking. “Feel free to color outside the lines on this one.”

“Done.”

Nothing more needed to be said, so I hung up. All I wanted tonight was a glass of Macallan—and a big fat Cuban cigar, in honor of the state senator. Giant asshole.

No one, and I do mean no one, pushed me into doing anything I didn’t want to do. I controlled my empire and the world around me to a merciless degree. Handing even a slice of control over to someone else wasn’t in my nature, and to a politician, it would have to be a last resort. But fuck, I needed this to happen.

My father had said it would never work, said it was a waste of time. But he was wrong. This project would make me more money than I could spend in several lifetimes. Without the political catalyst, it would be an uphill battle. With it, I’d practically be printing money. It might sound like a shady way to do business, but the ends justified the means, in my book.

I just needed to get my ass back into the office to finish up a few things, and then to Lakefront Airport and a jet to Europe—with my cigar and Scotch. It was time to get back to making money.

It was one of the two things I excelled at.

“YOU SURE YOU’RE GOOD WITH giving me a ride?” I asked Levi as I locked the shop’s back door. “What time is your flight again?”

“I’ve got plenty of time. You know I don’t mind.”

We climbed into his Karmann Ghia and it started up more smoothly than my Jetta, which was ironic considering his Volkswagen was about forty years older than my car. I rattled off directions to my house, which was actually within walking distance to work and no big deal, but the box of accessories the UPS man had delivered needed to be sorted, assessed, and priced tonight, and carrying it home would be awkward as hell.

Getting a ride from Levi reminded me of the one I’d gotten from Titan. And the note that had arrived three days ago. Dark, slashing script on paper that even felt expensive, as did everything when it came to that man. It was arrogant and to the point—just like him.

Your car is being repaired at Uptown.

You can thank me later.

—Titan

Lucas Fucking Titan. Fucking should really be added to his name as an official title. It was appropriate. I held in a giggle at the thought.

Surprisingly, it was the same shop I would’ve had Cousin Stevie tow it to, so I wasn’t cringing too horribly at the cost. Not yet, anyway. Titan having it taken there was surprisingly not assholish, which, given what I knew about the man, seemed out of character. The note, however, seemed perfectly in character.

When we pulled into a parking spot behind my building, Levi shut off the VW and hopped out.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Carrying the box up for you. Can’t say I’m not a gentleman.”

Smiling, I led the way up the walk to my exterior stairs. “You’re a good kid, you know that? Apparently military school was the right choice for you.”

At my door, I reached for my keys and slid one in the lock . . . but the knob turned freely before I twisted the key. It was already unlocked.

What the hell?

Levi bumped into me from behind. “Whoa. Sorry.”

My hand hovered over the door handle as I hesitated to push it open, fear gripping me as my mind spun with thoughts of what could be waiting inside. Did I forget to lock it?

Valentina’s call haunted me. Jay was out on parole. The fact that I’d moved three times while he’d been in prison meant nothing; money had a way of making it easy to track people down. Jay could find me, could get to me. It wouldn’t be a problem for him.

“Yve? You unlocking the door?”

I shoved my hand in my purse and wrapped my palm around the grip of my Smith & Wesson. “The door’s unlocked,” I whispered.

“Did you lock it this morning?” Levi asked, caution coloring his words.

I racked my brain, trying to remember. “I think so. I always lock my door. This is Tremé, for God’s sake.”

“Then, do you think we should call the cops? Maybe you had a break-in?”

Fuck the police. They’d done nothing for me last time, and right now I only had an unlocked door freaking me out.

“I guess I’ll find out when I get inside.”

Levi lowered the box to the small bistro table on my little deck. “Let me go first.”

“Baby boy, I’m armed. I’ll go first,” I replied.

I didn’t wait for him to protest, just pushed the door open and kept my grip on the gun. My apartment was still and quiet. I scanned the room, and Levi stepped in front of me.

“Jeez, kid.”

“Like I could let you do this yourself. Or let you go first. I was raised better than that.”

“I’ve been taking care of myself a long time,” I said with a snort that was more than a little bravado.

He grunted, and together we moved from room to room. Everything was in its place, right down to the blouse and skirt I’d tried on this morning before work and then tossed on my bed.

I circled the kitchen again, and that was when I saw it. The glass I always kept next to the sink was upside down in the drying rack.

A memory crashed into me. The burst of pain as the back of Jay’s hand slammed into my cheekbone, and he murmured words in the quiet, menacing tone that never failed to make my stomach drop. “I told you I didn’t want to see that glass sitting out again. Put the goddamn thing in the dishwasher when you’re done, Yvie. How many times do I have to tell you before it gets through your head? Next time, I’ll break every fucking glass in this house and you can drink out of the goddamn dog bowl.”