2. Emmett
CHAPTER TWO
EMMETT
T he familiar red and black decor settles something deep inside me.
The Scarlet Lounge has become a sanctuary of sorts over the last few years since I moved to New York, even if it’s hardly a suitable place for someone like me to be a member.
But everyone needs their release, and this is mine. Don’t get me wrong, I tried other things before I settled on a sex club, but none of it felt right. None of it settled the part of me that has never been able to rest.
Except her, of course, but there’s only so much she can do for me when I’ve never been able to approach her. Not since that night.
She doesn’t know I’ve been right by her side all these years.
She doesn’t know I left my own family, my legacy, to follow her, to keep her safe.
And she likely never will.
She deserves better than the likes of me, even if I have spent the last decade running from the sins of my past. I’ve done as close to a one-eighty as can be, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.
I serve God and my community, I teach His word to those who need guidance, even if I have no right. Not when I’ll never be able to repent for the life I lived before this one.
I didn’t really choose this path, it chose me.
And yes, I realize how completely cliché that sounds.
How does an ex-hitman become a priest?
Pure circumstance.
I’m distracted from my thoughts when I catch the owners crossing the main floor with someone between them, but they’re blocked from my view by Elias’s huge frame. His military training is almost too obvious as he surveys his club while holding conversation with his business partner and whoever is walking between them.
I bring my glass to my lips, reveling in the burn as whiskey slips down my throat. Most men of God don’t drink. But they also don’t frequent a sex club and spend an unseemly amount of time watching from the shadows.
It’s only when Elias pauses to talk to one of the waitresses that I notice who he was blocking from my sight, and my stomach bottoms out.
No.
She can’t be here.
She can’t have all these eyes on her.
My chest constricts so tight I can barely drag in a breath as panic reigns down on me. I’ve spent years keeping her safe. Years hiding her from the men that threaten to imprison her. Keeping her out of their grasp has never been easy, but it’s been worth it.
Waverly laughs nervously at something Wyatt says, and my grasp on the glass in my hand tightens until I’m certain it’s about to smash.
I swallow heavily and place the glass down as carefully as I can manage, but it still slams against the table, causing the couple in the booth in front of me to turn around.
I give them an apologetic look before turning my attention back to Waverly. Her dark curls are pulled into a neat ponytail that sits high on her head. Usually when she works at the diner, she has it piled on the top of her head in a messy top knot, but it’s clear she’s made an effort to style the usually wild mane.
Instead of her usual worn jeans and baggy shirt that hides her curves from the world, she’s wearing a skintight dress that barely covers her silky skin, and I swallow down the roar that threatens to escape. All these men are staring at her. Staring at what belongs to me.
Her breasts are pushed up high, showing off the cleavage she normally works hard to hide, and her black heeled boots give her a bit of extra height. On a good day she’s barely five feet, and even the highest heels probably wouldn’t do much to put her on even footing with the people who frequent the Scarlet Lounge.
Wyatt guides her toward the bar, and when she steps behind the sleek black marble counter, my stomach does a flip. She’s working here? How the hell did I miss this? I spend more time than I care to admit following her, and I never got a whiff of this.
“Having a good night, Pastor?” Elias asks as he slips his phone into his pocket.
I nod, forcing my body to release the tension that’s coiled tight through every muscle. “New waitress?”
Elias flicks a glance over his shoulder. “Yeah. Leighton set it up. She seems nice, a little meek, but it might just be nerves.”
“This place can be a little daunting.” I half laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. I’m on edge, as I usually am when it comes to the temptress who is talking to the other bartender on duty.
“It can,” he agrees. “Leighton seemed to think she could use the break. Said the girl was close to breaking point.”
I’m just about the only patron here he would admit something like that to, and I’m not sure if it’s because people are naturally drawn to confess things to me, or if he can tell I’m obsessed with the woman, even without me saying a word.
“I should go relieve Wyatt. We don’t like having Leighton home by herself,” he tells me, and I nod my understanding. “Have a good night.”
He disappears before I can respond, and I breathe out a heavy sigh of relief. I can barely think, let alone speak, when in the presence of Waverly.
I down what’s left of my drink and lean back in my seat, waiting for her to notice my glass is empty.
Perhaps it’s time I stop lurking in the shadows.
Perhaps it’s time I take what’s always belonged to me.