This is a dangerous area I find myself in. I want him to open his big blue eyes and see that Lincoln is a way better match for his sister than Tommyboy will ever be. But if neither Ken nor Linc is willing to take the plunge in outing their true feelings for one another, then who am I to start shit up with her brother?
I’m about to set Jefferson at ease by changing the subject when a soft hand squeezes my shoulder, making me turn around in my stool. Scarlett’s brown eyes loom with guilt as she mauls her bottom lip nervously.
“I thought you had left.”
The jealousy that had subsided while talking to Jefferson, slaps me once again across the face, reminding me that another Maxwell asshole was moving in on a girl who didn’t belong to him.
“Can we talk?” she asks, her voice sounding unsure.
“I’m not in the talking mood.” I scowl.
“And you say that Tommyboy is a prick? Go with the pretty girl and hear her out,” Jeff whispers in my ear, his pep back in his step.
I huff out, drinking the glass of bourbon that was waiting for me on the bar counter, and get up from my seat.
Scarlett steps back while Jefferson offers her a glowing smile.
“You sang beautifully tonight. I only caught a bit of the show, but from what I saw, you delivered another gorgeous performance.”
“Thank you,” she hushes, looking down at her feet, fading back to her shy self.
“You’re truly gifted,” he continues on, trying to sweet-talk her.
Yeah, that shit isn’t gonna fly on my watch.
“It’s been real, Jeff,” I chime in and wrap my arm around Scarlett’s waist, staking my claim to let him know she’s off-limits. “See you around.”
“Not if I see you first,” he jokes, but I no longer have time to waste on Ken’s twin brother.
Right now, Scarlett has my undivided attention, and by God, she’s going to start giving me some answers.
Starting with what her relationship is to Senator-Fucking-Maxwell.
Chapter 15
Easton
I follow Scarlett into the foyer of the club, watching the new patrons enter with their Northside swagger, ready to get their sin on. Be it gambling, drinking, or debaucheries of the flesh, every man going through the large double doors looks ready to dive into all the vices this place has to offer. The only hankering I crave is standing right in front of me in a white wig and a short-ass dress.
I cross my arms and lean against the wall, creating a safe distance between us. I can feel her apprehension coming at me in waves, but unfortunately for her, I’m too pissed off to ease her worry.
“What’s wrong?” she asks point-blank, her big, brown eyes never wavering from the permanent scowl glued on my lips.
Even if my anger weren’t so blatantly apparent, she’s always known what I’m feeling. Just another fucking virtue that I love and hate about Scarlett. How can someone, who I’ve kept at arm’s length for years, be more in tune with the inner workings of my soul than most people I’ve known my entire life? It’s fucking symbiotic, I guess. I’ve never needed to be a part of Scarlett’s life to know what lay dormant in her heart—as if her torments and hopes mirrored my own somehow. At least I thought so. Now, I’m not so sure.
“You’re angry.”
“Why would I be angry?”
“I’m not sure. You tell me,” she retorts, mimicking my stance by crossing her arms over her ample chest.
Since she is still wearing the skimpy white dress she used in her performance, it’s a safe bet to assume Scarlett left the senator’s side just moments before she came looking for me. I feel my nostrils flare at the revolting image of his hands on her, now imprinted in my mind. It’s enough to make any sane man crazy.
“You’ve never been one to hold your tongue, Easton, so why start now?” she reprimands as if hit by my resentful thoughts.
“Fine. You want to talk? You go first,” I reply with a bite, running my tongue over my front teeth.
“Not here,” she counters after a quick glance to her side. “Meet me back at my place.”
I should say no.
I should pack it up for the night and avoid going anywhere with her. She’s fucking dangerous for my sanity. But then again, so is The Society.
That’s why I’m here, right? Not to keep tabs on Scarlett or demand justification for her actions, but because they led me to her. There is only one thing that should be fueling my drive—figuring out the link between The Society and Scarlett. If I do so, I’m positive that I’ll get closer to uncovering just who these fuckers are. How and with whom she spends her time should be the last thing on my mind, not my fucking priority.
“Fine,” I relent through gritted teeth.
“Good. I’ll meet you at the gate up front in twenty minutes,” she explains, before turning her back to me and heading to her dressing room.
I curse under my breath as the valet brings my truck around, and once he does, I stew in the front seat while waiting for Scarlett. When she finally arrives, I drive behind her, not one bit surprised when she takes the long way round back to her cottage. This habit of hers only piques my curiosity further, adding to the pile of secrets she has been keeping from me.
When we get to her house, she ushers me in, making me realize this is the first time I’ve ever been invited to her home, which is progress compared to my usual breaking-and-entering routine. Feels kind of awkward, though. I’d rather catch Scar when she least expects it. This kind of feels like she’s the one luring me to a trap.
“Just give me a minute to get out of these clothes, and we can talk. I’d say make yourself at home, but it seems nonsensical since you already have.” The shy smile she tries to hide defrosts a bit of my icy front.
Is this what being pussy-whipped feels like?
I’m not sure. Best ask Finn since he’s the expert on the matter.
If I weren’t so mad, then my normal conduct would be just to follow Scar into her bedroom and have her strip in front of me. But since I’m still in a foul mood, it’s safer for her if I cool off without having access to her naked body.
Instead of sitting in her living room, I go back outside to her porch and light up while I wait. When I see an ashtray on top of a small, round patio table and a sticky note in its center with my name on it, a reluctant smile pushes its way to my lips. I’m on my second cigarette when I feel the screen door open beside me.
“Those things will kill you, you know?”
“So I’m told,” I rebuke, blowing out a perfect gray circle of smoke before stumping the cigarette butt on the ashtray.
I don’t turn my head in her direction, but the strong scent of her spring flower shampoo, tells me she must have taken a quick shower while I waited. Hopefully, she scrubbed every last vestige of Tommyboy’s bastard of a father off her skin.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asks, unable to switch off the southern hospitality she was brought up with.