26
Broadway
T he pulsing music thrums through the club with a constant beat that mirrors my restless energy. The twenty minutes left before I can take Violet home. will undoubtedly drag even more than the last three hours have.
Every man approaching the bar makes my teeth grind. Every man staring at Violet makes my fists clench. Every man who says one word to her drives me fucking livid.
It’s not healthy. She’s not mine, but I’m so possessive blood’s bubbling in my veins.
Violet’s mixing drinks, pouring beer, and smiling at me every few minutes. Her dainty fingers dance over the bottles and clinking glasses, hair whips left and right, tall ponytail swinging, lips purse or pinch, eyes sparkle...
God, she’s fucking breathtaking. A feast for the senses. I can’t take my eyes off her long enough to scowl at this guy stopping beside my stool, his hands landing on the bar.
He looks familiar. I’ve seen his face before, but I can’t quite place him.
“Two Manhattans,” he orders, slicking his light-brown hair back, eyes following Violet’s moves as she strains whiskey, vermouth, and bitters into a cocktail glass. “You’ve got a real talent, you know,” he drawls, flashing a panty-melting grin as she carefully adds the cherry. “Never seen anyone mix a Manhattan quite like you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, swallowing a groan. He couldn’t sound any cheesier if he tried. Violet’s doing well for her third day on the job, but she’s far from a pro.
She lets out the polite laugh she’s adopted specifically for semi-drunk assholes who hit on her while I’m sitting right fucking here. Their audacity is astonishing.
My instincts beg me to grip the back of his neck and crush his nose against the bar, but I know that’d be a slight overreaction. Carter wouldn’t approve.
Especially since I swear I know this guy. The obvious bulge under his suit jacket where a gun holster usually sits says he’s one of us. Well... not part of Carter’s setup, but definitely tied to the criminal world.
I grab my phone, tapping out a short message to Ryder.
Me: Pull up the VIP bar cameras and tell me who the guy hitting on Violet right now is. He looks familiar.
“I mean it, sweetheart,” the man insists, leaning closer once Violet’s set his drinks down.
As much as Carter wouldn’t appreciate me knocking this idiot out, neither would Violet, so I bottle the anger, and remind myself—with sick satisfaction—that the smile on her face is forced. It doesn’t reach her eyes.
My grip on the almost empty crystal glass turns unforgiving. The guy isn’t drunk, isn’t crude... he’s perfectly polite and that makes it worse because it gives me no excuse to hit him.
“You make it an art,” he continues, milking his exceptional-drink-mixing-skill compliment.
Ryder: Sebastian Tilbury. You probably know him from the evidence. He answers to Octavius Grey, but rumor has it he’s been working with Blaze lately.
Fuck. Looks like Noretto’s planning something. It can’t be a coincidence that two of his goons have been showing up here every week, and now this guy arrives and zeroes straight in on Violet.
My eyes swing back to her, checking for any sign of fear, but she doesn’t seem fazed. She has no idea who he is. I breathe a sigh of relief.
It’s short-lived though. I see red ten seconds later because, in what looks like a practiced move, he places a fifty on the counter, covering it with a hundred, clearly meant as her tip.
“I’d love to see you outside of here sometime. Can I have your number?”
“You can have mine,” I seethe, drawing his attention.
His head whips toward me, eyes widening in surprise.
I lean forward, staring him down. “Just be aware it comes with way more than you can handle, so why don’t you take your drinks and fuck off?”
The tension thickens, his face paling as he takes me in from head to toe and spots the holstered gun under my suit jacket. That’s enough to make him move.
He pockets the hundred meant as Violet’s tip—the fucking audacity —scoops up his drinks and disappears into the crowd, tail tucked firmly between his legs.
Violet doesn’t comment. The weight of her gaze chains me in place and, despite her sigh of relief, she’s far from content. Far from amused. In fact, she looks annoyed. Not what I expected...
The end of her shift can’t come fast enough but, as expected, it drags for fucking ever. Finally, at nine o’clock sharp, I down the last of my drink, slapping the glass down with theatrical finality.
“Home time,” I say, rising to my feet.
Violet glances around at the surprisingly large crowd waiting to be served, then at Arthur who’s scurrying about as if he’s been cornered by wolves.
“It’s really busy,” she tells me. “And Sonia’s running late. Maybe I should stay—”
“You’re done , Violet. Sonia will be here soon. Get moving. I have shit to take care of after I drop you off.”
“Then go. Deal with it. Pick me up when you’re done.”
Way to flare my already foul temper.
I round the bar in three purposeful steps, crowding her personal space, my chest heaving. “You’re not staying here without me.” Not with Noretto’s puppy lurking nearby. “Either take this off...” I hook my index finger in her apron, tugging twice, “...or I’ll rip it off, fling you over my shoulder and carry you out of here kicking and screaming.”
Lifting her chin higher, she tears the apron off then spins on her heel so abruptly her white ponytail slaps my shoulder.
She’s been a part of my life for over two months, but this is the first time I’ve seen her angry and fuck... she’s even prettier when she’s mad.
I watch, amused, irritated, worried about what Sebastian represents, and irrationally jealous as she stomps away, muttering a quick “Bye” to Arthur.
His long fingers ruffle her hair as she passes. Instantly, a short clip of me breaking every single one of those fingers plays before my eyes.
Jesus... maybe I should book a session with Tom.
“You know you don’t have to stay with me, right?” she huffs as soon as we exit the elevator. “And what was that with the guy who wanted my number?”
That was me keeping you safe, baby.
And throwing a tantrum in the process.
“Why? Were you going to give it to him?” I yank the passenger door open, waiting until she’s in and buckled up before I take the wheel.
“He was going to tip me a hundred dollars! I know that’s nothing to you, but it’s a lot for me, Broadway. I don’t want to keep mooching off everyone!”
“You’re not—”
“I am! God, you have no idea how embarrassed I was when I had to ask Hailey for underwear. How humiliating it felt to use toilet paper as sanitary pads.” Her voice quivers and this new information hits me like a punch to the gut.
“I won’t ever be able to pay back Carter the four hundred and fifty thousand I cost him,” she continues. “But I want to afford a meal, my share of rent, and a box of fucking tampons. If it means giving away fake phone numbers to drunk guys with too much money, then so be it!”
My right hand shoots to the side, pinning Violet against the seat as I stamp the brake pedal, stopping the car in the middle of the road. Tires screech and horns blare all around, the drivers turning sharply to avoid slamming into the back of the G Wagon.
“What the hell are you doing?” she yelps, eyes wide.
I make a U-turn, taking us back the way we came, past Scarlett and into the shopping center three streets over.
“Get out. We’re going shopping.”
“Broadway, I—”
“Don’t argue,” I cut in, my anger simmering down, replaced by shame because I didn’t think about something as basic as tampons. I exit first, round the car and hold her door open. “Let me do this. I need you to let me supply your every need, baby. Please.”
Her eyes soften for a moment, her combat-mode melting away. “Just this once.”
◆◆◆
An hour later, I’m still fuming. Though my anger’s aimed at me as much as the guys who were hitting on Violet, and Sebastian’s unexplained interest.
My reaction was probably out of line in her eyes, confusing to say the least, but jealousy and worry clouded my judgment, and I couldn’t fucking think straight.
But it got worse... fast .
Violet’s been living with me for a week and I haven’t once considered she might be missing anything. The anger is palpable despite the hour we spent shopping. With every item Violet placed in the basket—all basic necessities—I felt worse. She, on the contrary, kept smiling and stealing sweet glances at me as if I was offering her the moon and fucking stars rather than feminine hygiene products.
I’m itching all over, wondering what else she might need that I failed to think of. If I could, I would give her the moon and fucking stars. I’d give her anything she asked for.
It doesn’t matter that I haven’t kissed her yet. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t really held her. She’s mine.
My hands ball in and out of tight fists as Violet enters the elevator to the thirty-ninth floor. The atmosphere shifts immediately, full of crackling tension. I don’t know if it’s my anger, or her... whatever she’s feeling right now, but something’s up.
I press the button, watching the door slide shut. How are you doing? is at the tip of my tongue to smooth things over, but the words catch in my throat when I meet her eyes.
She leans against the cold, metal wall, staring at my face, dainty fingers flexing around the handles of her tote bag. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Other than thank you she hasn’t said a word since we exited the shop and it’s been driving me crazy. I can’t tell if she’s mad, sad, resigned, or simply tired.
The tone of her voice lets me know it’s none of those things. She’s... I think she’s as affected by me as I am by her.
“Anything,” I say, my heart picking up pace.
Her white teeth sink into her bottom lip as if she’s reconsidering, but she lifts her chin, and inhales deeply. “Back at Scarlett, were you worried about me or... jealous?”
I should lie in case I scare her off, but something’s burning in those violet irises, and the truth spills from my lips. “Both, baby. I’m always both.”
Her tote bag slips from her grasp, thudding against the floor. And with that thud the tension between us snaps.
I don’t know who moves first...
I think we bolt from our respective spots at the same time and our lips collide in the middle of the elevator.
Two months.
I’ve waited two fucking months for this moment. Not the kiss: the trust . I’d be lying if I said I haven’t imagined the kiss countless times, true, but her trust, her feelings matching mine are much more important.
Saying she trusts me and showing me like this are two very different things. She’s not afraid. She knows I won’t hurt her and the realization knocks the breath clean out of my lungs.
Violet fists my shirt, wrinkling the fabric on my chest, her other hand disappearing in my hair. My hands twitch, inching to grab her waist, but she bites my bottom lip, and with that sting comes clarity.
She doesn’t want my hands on her.
At least I’m pretty certain it’d make her flinch away or lash out. That’s the last thing I want, so instead, using the bulk of my body, I back her toward the metal wall and plant my hands firmly on the cold metal.
So many things are happening inside me I can’t keep track. Goosebumps crawl up my arms, my heart swells, heat pools in my veins.
God, she tastes divine. Those soft lips even softer than I imagined. Her breathless gasps a melody to my ears. She mewls in my mouth, tugs my hair, and yanks my head lower, her petite body arching to cling to me harder.
Fuck.... I might’ve been dreaming about this, about her , for my entire miserable life.
Everything inside me coils to unbearable levels, my fingers glued to the elevator wall, knuckles most likely white with the effort. I’d love to puncture the metal sheet and impale my fists on the jagged edges. That’d keep them in place, away from every soft inch of Violet’s body.
It’s desperate the way she clings to me, her tongue battling with mine, taking everything I offer.
She tastes like the lemonade she’s been sipping all night. Smells like soap, shampoo, and the fruity smoke in Scarlett .
I take one more step forward, gently pinning her to the wall with my chest. I know I’m testing her boundaries.
Caging her in like this probably isn’t the best idea but my body’s reacting to her demanding tugs on my shirt.
Her eyes pop open, pupils dilate, lips part.
She takes a deep breath, her boobs pressing into me, and that small move pushes me back.
The elevator dings open and whatever came over Violet, whatever came over me , vaporizes when my dimly lit living room comes to view.
Without a word, but with bright-red cheeks, she snatches the tote off the floor and darts under my outstretched arm. Her footsteps beat quickly as she rounds the corner and, with a soft click, locks herself in her bedroom.
My arms bend at the elbows and forehead braces the cold metal wall. I close my eyes, inhaling through my nose and exhaling through my mouth.
Every inch of my skin that she touched tingles fiercely.
I’m fucking cold now she’s gone, though a fire still rages inside my mind: anger, jealousy, worry, and scorching desire.
I’m not na?ve enough to think this was our big break, but I can barely stop myself chasing after her to talk this through. Maybe I should apologize?
No, we both wanted it, but Violet still has issues to overcome and what just happened might’ve been a moment of weakness.
A leap of faith.
A step in the right direction.