CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SAINT
The shovel bites into the earth with a dull thud, each scoop harder than the last. Dirt piles beside the pit in uneven mounds. Sweat trails down my spine. Beside me, Kurt lies on the floor. Motionless. He’s been like that for the past three and a half hours.
I shouldn’t be in the middle of nowhere, digging a grave for a man who put his hands on what’s…
I’m not sure what Mason is to me.
I don’t want to think about it. Because the harder I think, the harder it is for me to save myself from this sickness that has started wanting more.
All because I laid my eyes on him.
All because he walked through those doors that night.
Fuck my life.
I drive my shovel deeper into the loose soil, breathing turns rough as I look at the man bound to the tree by ropes.
A groan tears out of his throat as Kurt returns to consciousness. He looks down at himself, and then his eyes snap up to me, pain and fear blooming in those light brown eyes. “What are you doing?” He struggles against the ropes.
I chuckle, a deep maniacal sound ripping through my throat. The earth gives way too easily beneath the shovel, and the rhythmic sound of metal digs through the dirt, haunting the silence around us.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Kurt asks.
“Guess.” I look at him and smile.
“Help! Help!” He shrieks.
“No one’s going to hear you, Kurt,” I mutter.
“Fuck you!” His vein bulges around his head, saliva flying out of his mouth. “Fuck you!” He whispers weakly. “I don’t deserve this.”
“I sent you away after that mess you pulled off at the office, but somehow you came back like a fucking plague because you can’t seem to stay away.
” I put the shovel aside and climb over to level ground.
My fingers clench around the handle, and I walk toward him, lifting the shovel and bringing it down on his face twice.
Blood oozes from the side of his head and his broken lips. “Please, please, I’ll stay away. I promise. I’ll… I’ll leave the city. Just let me go.” He chokes on his blood. I toss the shovel aside, and I reach behind me and pull a blade, squatting in front of him to cut him loose.
My hand fastens around his ankle, and I drag him to the grave, shoving him into the hole. He lands with a thud, lying still as he breathes heavily. He cocks his head and looks at me with tears in his eyes. “Please.”
I grunt and dig into the dirt, turning it over, so it lands on his skin.
“You touched…” My voice is hoarse. “You touched what’s mine.” I assert firmly, arms trembling around the shovel as I fill the grave with dirt.
I don’t expect the emotions that storm into me when I say those words.
Sharp and suffocating.
Yet the metal tool digs into brown earth, my fingers flexing around the handle as I throw more dirt into the pit.
I have never done this for anyone.
I never thought I would.
I don’t know why I’m doing this, protecting him possessively. But I have to. When a part of me wants something even when I can’t control what I feel, I protect it ferociously. Protecting Mason means I have to bury this motherfucker six feet below.
It’s what I was taught. Once something’s yours, don’t let it go. You go after it with a certain type of conviction sown into your skin.
I’m not saying that the young man is in any way mine, but—
He works for me. He deserves protection just like every other member of my company.
Kurt’s plea turns muffled as I plow in more and more dirt until the ground is level. Then I retreat and take a look at what I’d done.
Perfect.
I pick up the shovel and rope and trek over to where I’d parked my car.
I put everything in the trunk and get in, wrapping my hand around the steering wheel.
The engine rumbles as it comes to life, and I press on the gas and peel off the road.
Hands wrapped tight around the steering, I keep my gaze ahead as I pull out my phone and dial Bernard’s phone number.
“Boss.” His voice crackles through the speaker when he answers the call.
“I need you to do something for me.”
MASON
It’s been two days since I left my room.
Two days watching the sun rise and set from the blinds of my window because I couldn’t get myself out of bed.
I have had days like this before. Days when I locked myself in my bedroom.
No food. No water. Just me curled up on my bed, like lying still will make the drowning feeling in my chest disappear.
I know sooner or later that Vincent will come again.
The last credible information I gave him was when I ran into Saint at the docks.
Speaking of Saint, I didn’t leave a request for a day off or even call in sick. I’m sure I don’t even have a job anymore. He must have replaced me with someone else, but at least my replacement wouldn’t be someone who has it out for him, or someone who’s a spy targeting everything he’s built.
That’s me.
The pawn.
The deception.
All of fucking it.
When my phone buzzes on my nightstand on Thursday night, I don’t even look at my message or bother reaching out. If it were Vincent, he’d be here eventually, so I’ll stay here and wait anyway.
But no one comes.
Through the darkness of the night, and even as the sun rises. No one comes. Not until Friday night.
I hear a consistent bang against the door.
It’s enough to compel me to leave my bed to know who’s on the other side.
Neo would have kicked the door down if it were him.
I stalk down the hall, body wrapped in the bedsheet.
I cross into the living room and head to the door, yanking it open and staring at two hefty men in all-black outfits.
I see the Red Horn Club emblem on their T-shirt, and an exhausting sigh escapes me. “Didn’t you get Madame’s message? She wants you at the fucking club.” The man on the left says.
“Can I at least have a shower?”
“No.” He insists.
“Five minutes,” the other man grits. “That’s all you fucking get.”
It doesn’t take long, and we are driving to the Red Horn Club. The city rises around me in neon and golden lights. For some reason, it seems different tonight. Maybe because I’ve been locked up in my apartment for the past two days.
When we get to the club, the two security men take me straight to the next floor. The lift opens into the opaque hallway. The music from the underground club fades to a low thrum beneath the floor. The two bodyguards hover behind me as we walk into the hall.
Sex workers and pole dancers parade through the space, holding low hums of conversation.
I see the two workers I met on my first night.
Cash and Tiff, if I remember correctly. Tiff stands in front of the large mirror with Cash; he’s helping her adjust the laces of her corset.
When he sees me, his eyes shine with familiarity as his lips lift into a smile.
Another worker sprawls opposite the makeup table and tilts their chin toward the mirror, applying lipstick with the focus of a marksman.
Perfume hangs in the air. Rich, intoxicating, and dark. Laughter flares from one corner, quick, bright, and disappears just as fast as it came.
The two men led me into Madame’s office. The woman sits in her chair, barely lifting her eyes toward me as she stacks cash on her table. “Did you get my message last night?”
“My phone wasn’t charged.”
“I don’t fucking care. Get dressed.”
“But he terminated the contract.”
“And you think I’ll let you off just because he terminated your contract. A man is waiting for you in the VIP room.”
“But…”
“But what?” Her cold gaze snaps toward me. “Do you know how much Mr. King pays here? You have to pay up before I let you go. Get dressed. The boys will lead you to him.”
I have no words, so I leave through the door and move straight to my locker. I put on my skin-tight leather pants and leather-bound straps, gaze resting on the black mask only for a moment.
Whoever this man is, it’s not Saint.
There’s no reason for me to wear a mask.
All I have to do is think of something else until it’s over.
Those are the words I repeat in my head as the two security leads me down through the back.
We appear through thick red curtains which open into the strip floor.
Dancers are already hopping and sliding down the pole while the throng of alcohol-induced men and women spray their money and cheer over the thumping hip-hop music.
There’s a door in the corner which opens into a smaller hall with three doors. We walk past the first, then stop at the second. I sigh, lift my hands, and bring them against the dark red wood.
“Come in.” The voice of the man on the other side is hoarse, but somewhat familiar. I grip the handle and push, stepping into the purple-lit room. The door clicks behind me as I step closer, taking in the young man sprawled on the seat with a rum glass in his hand.
It’s Kurt.
How the fuck did he know I worked here?
What is he even doing here? Does he know about Saint?
“Shocked to see me here?” He chuckles under his breath. He gulps his drink and gets on his feet, walking toward me.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Whatever you did, undo it.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” I shrug. But of course, I did. Saint firing Kurt’s going to blow back on me, and he’s not here to protect me when I actually need him. Why the fuck do I even need him to protect me? Why am I even thinking of him?
“How did you know I work here?”
“Saw you here on your first night at the bar downstairs.”
“Look, whatever happened with the boss. I don’t fucking have a hand in it.”
“Oh, but you do.” He moves toward me and grips my hand. “I worked six years for that position. You can’t take it from me just because you’re sleeping with the boss.”
My expression twists with complete shock before it melts into amusement. I laugh, and he watches me in disbelief.
“Goodbye, Kurt. I’m not fucking you.” I snatch my hand from him and head toward the door.
I expect him to follow me, but he doesn’t even as I step into the hallway, and the two men look at me. “He came too quickly,” I yell and cackle. I reach the door on the other end. That’s when I hear his voice, embarrassed and infuriated.
I look back as I step into the vibrant, teeming club, I push through the sea of overstimulated bodies when someone grips me. My head whips around, and my gaze rests on Kurt.
He’s fucking insufferable.
“Let me go.”
“No.” He shouts over the music.
I manage to put some distance between us and head to the elevator, hoping that when I step outside the building, I can breathe through the panic surging through me. But Kurt’s persistent through his pursuit even when I enter the dark alley.
“Hey, I’m speaking to you.”
“You don’t want to do this with me.” I should be home, not here. I should be in my bed. Not facing this fucking embarrassment of a man.
“You’ll pay for this. I lost my job because of you.”
“And you followed me here so I can do what? Get it back for you? You lost your job because you’re incompetent and unprofessional.” I yell at him, a slow mocking laughter escaping me when I least expect it. He groans and grabs me, shoving him against the wall.
My chest expands and contracts. Frustration blooms in his eyes. I try to steady my breathing as anger cuts into me. Hot and lethal. My fists clench at my side, itching to hold onto something. Men like him don’t listen to words. They love consequences.
Before he can say anything else, I shove him, hands springing forward. He lands on his ass, too shocked to respond.
“If you ever come back here again…” the words lodge in my throat. It’s not my voice I hear. It’s something monstrous. Wrapped in hot velvet rage. When I look at him, his image warps into a younger me, and the memory hits me like a brick at the back of my skull.
The calmness is gone.
If I stay here, I’d do something I regret, so I leave.
Tears form in my eyes as I take the elevator back to the strip club, immersing myself in the chaos of the thrumming space.
The ache still sits there. Through the night.
Through the music playing in the background.
Through everything that happens around me.
When the night ends, I return to the dressing room, push myself through a warm shower, and head out of the building.
That’s where I meet Saint’s driver waiting for me, parked beside the building. Could my night get any fucking worse?