“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because something’s off with her. No bitch, and I mean no fucking bitch is as perfect as she is,” he replies coldly.
Baz scoffs. “She’s not perfect.”
I place my palm over the center of my chest, rubbing along my sternum. That one hurt. Hell, I know I’m not perfect, but I didn’t realize it would bother me that much to hear him say it. I’ve bared parts of myself to him I never have to anyone else. Even through the deceit, I wanted him to see the real me.
“Fucking hell, man, that doesn’t change the fact that none of us trust her. She’s hiding something.”
“Because she declined to fuck you guys?” Baz shoots a pointed glare at Trent, and he shrugs, a smirk twisting the corners of his lips.
“That’s not it, and you know it,” Vincent suddenly barks. “Don’t you find it strange that we don’t know anything about her? She just suddenly pops up at your resort, gets you to fuck her, then she just so happens to be at the club opening? It’s too coincidental. She’s hiding something—and my bet is it’s the fact she’s a fucking gold digger. She’s gonna wipe you clean, bro.”
Baz sighs, rubbing one of his temples. “It wasn’t like that. I pursued her at the resort.”
Vincent laughs. “You sure about that, buddy? Gold diggers are all the same; when they want to bag a billionaire, they find the right ways to do it.”
My heart hammers against my chest, and I try to control my breathing as I process his words. His friends aren’t necessarily wrong, but I’m not a gold digger. I’m not doing any of this for the money. It’s for the truth. It’s for justice to be served.
Iciness settles in my chest when I realize I don’t want Baz to think I’m a gold digger. If things were different, I’d fight tooth and nail to get him to understand and show him the real me—the Mackenzie I’ve been sharing with him in pieces—but things aren’t different. I can’t risk any of them finding out the truth. I owe Madison this much, and if that means sabotaging this—sabotaging myself—I’ll do it.
I’d rather have Baz think the worst of me than to find out the truth. But that still doesn’t mean I don’t want him to see the good in me. Because despite whatever this is, whatever I’m doing, I care about Baz. Even when I know I shouldn’t.
I wait with my heart in my throat for Sebastian to answer. To come to my defense against his friends.
Please don’t think the worst of me.
Please don’t see me for the fraud that I am.
I’ve shared parts of myself I never intended to with him, and that’s what I want him to focus on. Not the lies.. Just the real Mackenzie who’s been trying to shine through all along.
“All right,” he says after draining the contents of his glass. “I’ll be careful with her. She’s leaving soon anyway, and it’s not like a long-distance relationship is in the cards for either of us. You all won’t have much to worry about her when the time comes. I’ve made it clear this is all I’m willing to give her. It’s all I can give her.”
My heart cracks inside my chest. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from Baz. He is one of the Savages, after all.
Any idea of going back on my original plan is now wiped away. With a renewed sense of determination, I silently turn on my heels and head back down the stairs, already pulling up the Uber app. I have things to do tonight. I can’t let a broken heart get in the way of everything I’ve worked for.
I lean back in the chair, glancing over my shoulder again, looking for Mackenzie—Scarlett, whoever the fuck she wants me to believe she is. For whatever reason, she wants to keep her identity a mystery, but I’m not buying the story about her ex-boyfriend. Mackenzie doesn’t strike me as the type of woman to ever let a man put his hands on her and willingly stay. She’s too strong for that—or maybe that’s just what I want to believe.
She still hasn’t come back from the bathroom, and it’s been more than a while. I look around the table, keeping a careful eye on Trent and taking stock of the rest of the guys. My back suddenly straightens when I realize who’s missing.
I start pushing away from the table when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Fishing it out, I glance at the screen, brows drawn together in confusion when I see who the text is from. I swipe the message open, reading it.
Mackenzie: So sorry. There’s an emergency with Kat and Vera. I need to head back to the penthouse. I took an Uber back. Enjoy the rest of your night with the guys. Xo
I reread it a second time, the frown plastered on my face deepening with each second. Why the fuck didn’t she just tell me?
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Zach walking back into the room with Noah, our lawyer, patting his back and laughing about something conspiratorially.
Marcus calls for another game now that everyone is back, and I slip my phone back into my pocket, ignoring her hasty departure. Something isn’t sitting righ tin my gut, though. I can’t tell if it’s from the conversation I just had with the guys or her abrupt departure.
“Where’s your plaything?” Trent asks. There’s an edge to his tone, but I let it roll off my back.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I’ve known these guys my entire life, and out of all of them, Trent and I have always bumped heads the most. His need to be on top—to be the leader of the pack—rivals his common sense. He tries too hard. He’s fucking idiotic. It’s one of the reasons we always end up exchanging blows.
The difference between my father and Trent’s father is my father made me work for my success, so I wouldn’t end up a spoiled rich brat. Trent’s father? He handed everything down to him on a silver platter with a silver spoon in his fucking mouth. He’s a child who causes a ruckus when things don’t go his way. And the fact that I had Mackenzie first drives him insane.
“The girl’s a fucking problem,” Vincent grits.
“Speaking of problems,” Noah says, looking at me, “is she still here?”
I shake my head. “She had something to take care of.”
He nods as if it’s for the best, which it probably is. Whenever Noah Hastings makes a house visit, it usually means he’s about to deliver bad news.
“I just want to make sure you all are being careful. The file clerk at the Humboldt Records branch contacted me about two weeks ago. I missed the message while I was in London on business. Someone asked for those files.”
Everyone suddenly freezes. The air in the room becomes stifling, and a knot tightens in my gut.
“What fucking files?” Trent growls, smacking his hand on the poker table. The neatly stacked chips jump and scatter from his wrath.
Noah shoots him a worried glare. “You know which ones. Whoever it is, is looking over the case again. Don’t know why. It’s been over nine years.”
“Who the fuck is it?” Zach asks, ice dripping from his tone.
“Don’t know. The man used a fake name. It could be someone from the family, law enforcement from the town, or any journalists in the Humboldt area.”
“That was fucking nine years ago!” Vincent barks. “Isn’t there a fucking statute of limitations or some shit? They can’t do anything anymore, can they?”