Chapter Twelve
The One with Even More Time Jumps
Maximo
One Month Later
W ALKING AROUND THE empty makeshift arena, I double checked that everything was in place.
It was going to be a wild night.
If boxing at Moonlight brought out everyone’s primal side, the matches I held at the warehouse brought out their basest instincts.
No-holds-barred.
No bet restrictions.
No regulations.
The first two bouts were amateur. It gave my guests a sneak peek at up-and-coming fighters. Ones who were desperate for a sponsor to get them on the map.
And the rich motherfuckers who would pack the seats were desperate to live vicariously through them.
The event was exclusive. No one got through without an invite. Every guest had to be vetted. Security was tight and unbreachable.
That VIP feeling, the knowledge they were a have and not a have-not , added to the night. As did the less-than-ideal surroundings. It was dirty and raw.
Wrong.
The illegalness was the high the bastards needed to feel something again.
Checking out the other side, Serrano met me in the middle. He gave a low whistle. “It’s going to be a moneymaker. Ortiz said one of the guests has already dropped a couple hundred grand at the blackjack tables.”
“Good. Hopefully he’s got enough left to lose here, too.”
The heavy door opened, and my hand went to my Glock until I saw it was Ash.
“One of your VIPs at Nebula wants a meeting with you,” he called to me.
“Handle it.”
Because I sure as hell don’t want to.
“I tried, but he insists on talking to the big boss.”
I dragged my hand down my face.
All my properties were upscale, but Nebula was my luxury resort. It was the best of the best, which was why it cost a fucking shit-ton to stay in a basic room. A night in one of the suites or penthouses was more than most people’s mortgage for a couple months.
The majority of my guests were happy to make their own trouble, but there was always one who wanted to feel like the ultimate VIP.
“Did he say what he wanted?” I asked.
“No, which means Mr. Dicky-doo probably wants pussy, dick, drugs, or all three at the same time.”
“Mr. Dicky-doo?” Serrano stupidly asked.
“It’s when his stomach sticks out more than his dicky do.”
“Fucking hell,” I muttered, shaking my head.
Ash smirked, but it was about more than giving me the heebie-fucking-jeebies.
I almost didn’t want to ask. “What else?”
“She wants to learn to cook with Freddy,” he shared, not having to say who he was referring to.
The same she I hadn’t allowed myself to see—in person, at least. Not since I’d fucked up by wrapping my hand around her thigh, finally feeling her soft skin.
“I’ll have a different chef come by,” I said.
“Tried that. She wants to cook with Freddy.”
I scowled.
Between his kitchen skills and his accent, Freddy had women throwing themselves at him. He could get even more if he was so inclined, but his passion was food.
I trusted him, but I still didn’t like the idea of her spending time with him. And his accent. In his kitchen.
Especially when I knew how easy it was to lose control in there with her.
It was wrong to be jealous, but it was there like a punch to the gut.
“Fine,” I gritted out. “Tell him to keep his damn hands to himself.”
“Already done.”
“Then why’re you here?”
His smirk spread to a shit-eating grin. “And miss seeing your panties in a twist about it?”
“You’re fired,” I said though he didn’t look fazed.
“Worth it.” Heading toward the door, he called over his shoulder, “Don’t forget to deal with Mr. Dicky-doo. I’ll text you his room number.”
Fucking Christ.
I need a vacation on an island with no cell service and a supply of whiskey…
And a pretty dove.
Juliet
Three Weeks Later
I did it.
I stared at the screen, blinking rapidly to see if it changed. When everything remained the same, I rubbed my eyes.
Still the same.
Even pinching myself didn’t change anything.
I graduated.
Not gray-area-graduated or symbolic-graduated.
I actually graduated from Melbrook Academy.
Mr. Reed may have finessed logistics behind the scenes, but working morning, noon, and night had earned me the credits. And all my studying had prepared me for finals.
I’d been stalking the online grades, and they finally posted.
“Well?” Ash asked from the doorway.
I’d planned to give him the sad face and pretend I’d failed. But when it came time to execute my prank, I was too excited.
Jumping out of my seat, I turned the computer to face him. “I passed!”
“Even math?”
I’d cut it close with a seventy-six, but didn’t matter—a pass was a pass was a pass.
A huge grin split my face, making my cheeks hurt. “Even math!”
Ash came over and pulled me into a bear hug. “Proud of you.”
Maybe it was because I hadn’t ever heard those words before.
Maybe it was because I was so damn happy.
Maybe it was because I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had hugged me.
Or maybe it was just because Ash had worked hard to find a teaching method that clicked in my brain and then had busted his ass to make sure I could pass.
Whatever the reason, tears streamed down my face as I choked out, “Thank you for helping me.”
He pulled away to grip my shoulders. “Hey, this was all you. You were so determined, you’d have done it with or without me.”
I laughed and hiccupped, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand.
There was a throat clearing behind him, and he dropped his hands like my shoulders had burned him.
When Ash moved to the side, I saw Maximo standing on the other side of the table, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “Well?”
When I didn’t answer, Ash nudged me. “Tell him.”
“I passed,” I said, grinning despite being completely intimidated by Maximo and his brooding black eyes.
“Everything?”
“Everything. Mr. Reed said I’ve officially met the criteria to graduate.”
“Reed keeps his knees then,” Maximo said, as if that were a normal comment.
At the reminder of all he’d done for me—from extorting… er, utilizing Mr. Reed’s debt, to buying my supplies, to roping Ash into helping—I did something stupid.
Rounding the table, I got into his space and wrapped my arms around him. I hugged him.
His body was rigid and his arms were still crossed.
I didn’t care.
In that moment, the hug was for the hugger, not the huggee.
He uncrossed his arms and lowered them to grip my waist. I thought he was going to shove me away, but his palms slid to my back as he wrapped his arms around me and returned my embrace. “I’m proud of you, little dove.”
Ash hugging me and telling me he was proud had meant a lot.
Maximo hugging me and telling me he was proud meant the world .
Letting me go, he backed away. “Do you want to walk the stage? I’ll arrange it with Reed.”
I’d had to physically go into Melbrook Academy to take the proctored final exams. The kids had gawked and whispered, and the overwhelming smell of Axe body spray had given me a headache.
I had no interest in walking the stage with people I didn’t know in front of an audience of strangers.
“No,” I said. “I’m good.”
“You’ll still celebrate,” he stated, sounding more like a threat than a plan.
“I’m going to ask Freddy to teach me his mac and cheese recipe and then beg him to make me funfetti cake.”
Freddy had said it was an abomination against his French ancestry, but I’d graduated. That had to count for something, right?
“He’ll do it,” Maximo said, his tone again making the words sound like a threat. He gave Ash his attention. “Ready?”
Ash nodded but shot me another smile. “Congrats again, Juliet.”
“Thanks.”
I watched them leave before plopping onto the chair.
Well, shit. Now what do I do?