25
Broadway
I lay awake, staring at the ceiling and listening to the music coming from Violet’s bedroom. Ryder stopped by earlier and, within moments, reprogrammed the whole system to isolate every room.
For a while, I thought the unfamiliar noise in the penthouse was keeping me awake, but no. Music has nothing to do with it. If anything, the melody’s soothing, and I’d probably drift off in no time if my brain stopped foregrounding my incessant thoughts.
Violet is what’s keeping me awake. Today keeps repeating inside my head: the way she smiled when she met Arthur, the way she smiled when she poured her first practice pint, the way she smiled when she set a glass of neat Bourbon before me when it was almost time to head home.
She smiled more during the six hours at Scarlett this afternoon than she has since day one, and I think that’s what bothers me.
It’s past one in the morning, and I’m so fucking tense my shoulders are aching. I thought the day would be a disaster, that Violet’s anxiety would rear its head the moment the bouncers and other staff started arriving.
After all, she doesn’t do well with unfamiliar faces, but she held her head high, with a look toward me for reassurance, and smiled every time someone stopped by to introduce themselves.
I was fucking certain she’d lose it when the doors opened and the customers began flocking in for after-work drinks, but again, she was fine, stealing glances my way every few minutes.
On the one hand, I’m glad she’s doing so well; on the other, I’m beyond confused. She was inconsolable on Friday when she walked into Carter’s living room and saw those men, but somehow, all these strangers at Scarlett don’t send her into a frenzied panic.
For a fleeting self-indulgent moment, I wondered if, today, she was calm because I was keeping an eye on her.
I discarded the idea quickly because I was there on Friday as well.
Flinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I get up, heading into the living room for a late-night drink. I probably won’t sleep tonight, so I might as well stop trying.
One tap of my fingers on the control panel illuminates the LED lights around the living room, and two flicks of my wrist fill a crystal glass with Bourbon. I settle into the couch, my head hitting the backrest, and once again I’m staring at the ceiling, wondering how long it’ll take before I drive myself insane with this constant fucking wondering .
“Can’t sleep?” Violet’s soft voice fills my ears, accompanied by her soft footsteps as she crosses the room to sit in the opposite corner of the couch, a glass of water in hand.
“A better question would be, why aren’t you sleeping? Does the music not work?”
“It does. I fell asleep before my head touched the pillow, but I woke up thirsty.” She raises the glass higher. “You didn’t see me when you walked past the kitchen.”
“You didn’t switch the lights on.”
She nods, turning my way and resting an elbow on the back of the couch. “So?” she prods with a small smile. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
I shrug, leaning my head back again, eyes drilling holes in the white ceiling.
“Couldn’t tell you if I tried.” Liar. The truth is I can’t tell her what’s on my mind without scaring her off. “Did you enjoy your first day at Scarlett ?”
“Yeah, it was okay. Scarier than I expected—”
My head whips toward her so fast she immediately stops talking. “Scary? You didn’t even look worried, let alone scared.”
A sad smile graces her lips, and she shrugs in that what can I say? way. “I’m very good at putting a brave face on.”
Friday’s events beg to differ.
As if she can hear my thoughts, she chuckles softly. “Let me rephrase that. I’m good at putting on a brave face when I have time to prepare. I knew I’d face a lot of strange men in Scarlett so I spent the weekend talking myself through the possibilities until I could bury my anxiety deep enough not to have a meltdown. It’s easier to control your emotions when you have time to mull over every scenario.”
“And on Friday—”
“I was taken by surprise. To be honest, the whole time I was at Carter’s felt like one big rollercoaster. I never knew when someone would arrive so I couldn’t prepare myself. A little heads-up goes a long way.”
So if I want to touch you...
Now I’m the one turning to face her, almost mirroring her stance and itching to close the distance, grab her hand or neck, and ease the tension from her muscles with my fingertips. “Tell me about it.”
Her brows furrow in adorable confusion. “About what?”
“Everything. I want to know what made you uncomfortable. Maybe I can eliminate—”
“No, that’s not necessary. I told you I need to move forward, and that means facing my issues, not running away. Meeting so many new people was hard, but reminding myself not every man wants to hurt me helped, and—” She trips over her words, cheeks heating, eyes darting away.
“And? Keep going.”
She sips her water, inhaling a deep breath before she looks at me again. “You helped. A lot. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I need you to watch over me every day, but it was nice knowing you were around. Whenever I felt overwhelmed, I looked at you and calmed down because... well, I know you wouldn’t let anyone touch me.”
My heartrate soars and the trust she puts in me hits home, making me feel fucking weightless. God, what I wouldn’t give to lean over and kiss her, seal those words between us and show her just how right she is.
There’s no way in heaven and hell I’ll let anyone touch her. The need to keep her safe writhes inside me, roaring, pawing the dirt, ready to lash out at anyone in her vicinity.
It’s also dying to take revenge on anyone who hurts her: past, present, or future. My bloodthirst for her abusers isn’t receding. If anything, it grows stronger the further I fall into Violet’s trap. This girl has me wrapped around her finger and she has no idea.
“That’s right,” I manage, washing away the lump lodged in my throat with a gulp of Bourbon. “Baby steps.”
“Yeah... exactly. Baby steps.” Setting her glass aside, she gets up, and with her brightest smile thus far adds, “Good night, Broadway.”
“Good night, Violet.”
The heaviness weighing me down when I entered the living room fifteen minutes ago is nowhere to be found, the tension gone from my muscles.
She trusts me.
Not only that, but she’s letting me inside her head... she’s opening up.
I finish my drink, and the minute I’m back in my bed, I fall asleep.
◆◆◆
Violet learned the ropes under mine and Arthur’s watchful eyes again on Tuesday and Wednesday. Carter didn’t bat an eye when I said I’d be at the bar all day, keeping Violet at ease. It meant early-morning wake-up calls to deal with whatever he needed from me, but it worked out quite well since Violet needed space for her Tuesday therapy session with Tom.
“I know you said no weekend shifts,” Carter says as the office door closes behind us.
My eyes hunt the screens dotting the wall for Violet. She’s fine, whipping up another drink behind the counter like she has done all day. It’s almost six pm, so she’s about to finish.
Though, given this pointed, assessing stare from Carter, I have a feeling she’ll be here longer than I’d like.
“Thursdays aren’t as busy,” he continues. “She’s already asked if she could work tomorrow, but I know how you feel about that, so how about I get her started tonight? Just a few hours to dip her toes in?”
Scarlett opens at five pm, every day, and Violet leaves at six, so she’s had little practice serving customers. The place doesn’t get busy until around eight.
“Fine, but—”
“I know. You want to supervise. Just remember Fredrick’s downstairs, waiting to be dealt with.”
I nod, my back resting against the door, eyes following Violet’s every move.
Fredrick, one of Carter’s lower-ranking soldiers, was caught skimming Dante’s shipment earlier today. Now, he’s strapped into a chair in the “storage room” beneath Scarlett .
It is technically a storage room, though instead of supplies for the club, it’s for storing guys facing imminent consequences. Rhett’s old warehouse on the outskirts of Columbus is good for torture sessions, but it’s safer to keep unattended victims close.
“I remember,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other when I see some unfledged, muscular guy leaning over the bar to order a drink. My hands ball into fists on cue. “What time can Violet finish?
“Nine. I don’t want to push her too hard.” Carter rests his elbows on the wooden desk. “Koby was very chatty on our way back from Chicago. He told me about Henry...”
“You knew about Henry.”
“I knew you killed him. I didn’t know how . Listen, I’m not saying I wouldn’t gut him if I were in your shoes, but... are you alright, Broadway? First the heart, now the dick... You’re getting quite an organ collection. You want me there, keeping you in check next time?”
I cock an eyebrow, scrutinizing the concern lining his forehead. Carter’s never questioned my methods. He knows I get carried away easily. I guess I took this one a step too far if he’s dubious about my sanity.
“I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter, but you’re welcome to tag along when I find the next guy. According to Tom, there were nine, so seven to go. And you know as well as I do that Henry got what he deserved.”
“He choked to death on his own fucking dick .”
“I know. I was there.”
His jaw clamps shut, working furiously, those black narrowed eyes boring into mine. “I’m here if you want to vent,” he huffs. “Now get back out there. Gareth will be here soon to discuss his latest bright idea.”
I chuckle under my nose, nodding along.
Gareth Steel was one of Carter’s father’s strategists. While Rhett Willard was legendary for risky moves that made little sense to most, Carter’s much more organized, and ninety-nine percent of Gareth’s ideas get promptly dismissed. Still, once in a blue moon, he comes up with something worthwhile, so Carter keeps him close.
That’s not to say he enjoys the man’s company. Gareth’s a confirmed coke-fiend—which explains the extravagant ideas—and can’t sit still to save his life, pacing back and forth the entire time he’s in Carter’s office.
“I’ll be back to deal with Fredrick after I’ve dropped Violet home. Call me if you need anything else.”