Yeah, like I need another reason to feel like shit.
“If you need to talk, you know I’m always here for you, right?” she asks in earnest, her big blue eyes full of genuine concern.
“I know, Ken.”
“I always have my boys’ back.” She smiles sweetly.
For real, this guilt trip is eating me alive.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Kennedy knew we’ve been keeping something from her, and now she’s laying it on thick like this just to torture me. Consumed with guilt, I pretend to punch her jaw and give her my most endearing wink.
She turns around with a smile to watch their movie while Stone mouths, ‘You’re an asshole,’ to me over her shoulder.
‘Just shut it,’ my eyes scream back.
It’s her own damn fault for bringing Scarlett into the conversation to justify my seesaw moods.
Nope.
It’s The Society’s fucking fault.
Those are the pricks that are really to blame for all of this. For all the secrets I have to keep from everyone I care about, and for whatever they are going to make me do to Scar. One way or the other, they are going to wish they never crossed me. For every speck of blood they squeeze out of me, I’ll make sure to double it until their veins run dry.
However, for me to do that, I have to find out who they are, and The Brass Guild feels like the perfect place to start getting some answers.
Chapter 11
Easton
The minute I pass through The Brass Guild’s double doors, the ever-amiable, red-haired hostess sashays her way over to greet me.
“Mr. Price. How lovely to see you again. I was beginning to wonder if you weren’t as eager to become a member as you seemed to be the last time we met,” Ruby singsongs, using a flirtatious smile that must bring most men to their knees.
“Believe me. Your club definitely has something that piqued my interest.”
“Let me guess? You’re here to see Angel again. She makes quite an impression, doesn’t she?”
I throw her a slanted grin, not really interested in letting Ruby know just how much her star singer has made an impression on my life.
“Well, you’re right on time. Her show should be about to start in a few minutes. Shall we?” She hooks her arm in mine, ushering me back into the large room where Scar will perform. Once again, the dimly-lit area is packed. Every last man here is waiting on bated breath for The Brass Guild’s prized jewel to shine in front of them.
“Corner table?” she asks, to which I nod, thankful for her intuition in presuming that I prefer a quiet corner to scan the room discreetly.
This club must be the link between The Society and Scarlett. I just have to figure out what that link is.
Once I’m seated, Ruby orders me a gin and tonic and leaves me to my own devices. When a waitress comes with my order, I pull out a cigarette, only for it to be snatched out of my hand.
“Smoking’s bad for you. Didn’t your momma ever tell you that?” Tommyboy jokes, taking a seat in front of me and snapping the cigarette in half. My teeth instantly grind at the sight of his arrogant face, with his smug grin, but I lean back in my seat like I don’t have a care in the world.
“For a guy who is going to get married next year, you sure frequent this club a lot.”
I know The Brass Guild is more than just the girls they have on hand, but seeing Tommyboy’s eyes darken and his stupid grin wiped off his face gives me all the satisfaction I need.
“You know what they say. The mice will play when the cat’s away.”
“Is that what you are, Tommyboy? Vermin?” His upper lip curls, but he doesn’t acknowledge my remark. “Tell me, does Ken know you spend your nights with escorts?” I dig, with a triumphal arch to my brow.
“Kennedy and I have an arrangement. She doesn’t care what I get up to, as long as I always come back to her in the end.”
I fist my hands under the table but keep my expression as blank as possible.
“I doubt that very much.”
Kennedy is territorial. No way would she be okay with her fiancé screwing everything that walks. Unless, of course, she didn’t care, which doesn’t make much sense if she’s marrying the jerk.
“Guess I know my fiancé better than you think you do.” He smirks with a taunting sparkle in his light brown eyes.
“I bet my left nut she’ll leave you before you ever make it to the altar. She’s too good for you.”
The ass wipe has the audacity to cackle at me.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Kennedy is my perfect half. You’re just another idiot who refuses to see we belong together. But you will. If I were you, I’d be careful of the bets you make. One day you might find someone crazy enough to take you on.” His eyes gleam with victory.
I’m about to curse the fucker out when something catches his attention behind me, which abruptly makes him get up from his seat.
“Enjoy the show.”
I flip him off and grab another cigarette. I take a long drag while discreetly watching Tommyboy make his way to the other side of the room where Senator Maxwell is sitting, with two blond bimbos at his side, no less. Tommyboy leans into his table and whispers something to his father, to which the senator’s repulsive smile only grows brighter. I can’t believe Ken is going to marry into that family willingly. They’re scum. I don’t care how much money and prestige they have. They are the worst mankind has to offer—entitled pricks. They think the world should fall to their knees only to serve their interests, not caring who they have to run over to get what they want.
I stub my cigarette out, still stewing in my seat when the lights dim further around the room. A low-cast spotlight focused on the curtained center stage is the only indication that our show is about to begin. The first thing we hear is a melancholic tune from a piano, one lonely key after another. Then her smooth, sultry voice fades in as the curtains are drawn open. The spotlight begins to pull back, and as the luminous field goes wider, it reveals my girl in a long, blood-red dress wearing a black wig, caressing the microphone in front of her like a long-lost lover.
An electric current runs throughout my body just with her voice alone. My hungry eyes take in all her luscious curves as my heart starts thumping madly inside my chest. Her lids remain closed as she continues to sing softly, each note sounding more erotic than its last, even if the lyrics are anything but. Tonight, her song of choice is a sultry teasing version of Pat Benatar’s Hit Me With Your Best Shot.
I swallow dryly as she tilts her head to the side with her eyes still closed as a seductive grin traces her lips. Her feather-like touch continues to run up and down the microphone stand, inputting salacious ideas into the mind of every man here. She strokes it with care and attention, toying with her audience as she continues with her provocative taunt.
My chest tightens as her big, brown eyes finally open, their aim settling on me as if she knew I’d be here waiting for her. And as she belts out the chorus, warning the song’s villain to hit her with his best shot, I realize she must have.