15. Marla
MARLA
The cottage feels too quiet after they leave.
I stand in the middle of my living room, staring at the rumpled couch cushions and the coffee mugs still sitting on the counter. Evidence of this morning's bizarre domesticity.
Then the phone calls happened and the teasing, sexy men of the night before turned into cold, dangerous men.
My hands shake as I pick up the mugs and carry them to the sink. I can still feel the phantom weight of their bodies against mine, the heat of skin on skin, and the way they moved together like they'd choreographed it. The memory makes my face burn hot even though I'm alone.
What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn't thinking. That's the problem. I let the situation spiral completely out of control, and now I'm standing in my cottage trying to process the fact that I had sex with three men at once.
My body aches, and reminds me exactly what happened. There's a pleasant soreness between my thighs, a tenderness in my muscles. My neck is probably marked with bruises from their mouths. My skin still feels hypersensitive, like every nerve ending is remembering their touch.
Shame floods through me, hot and suffocating. What kind of woman does what I did? But then flashes of memory from last night swamp me and heat pools low in my belly. I may hate myself for last night, but do I really regret it?
Never in my life have I had such an experience, and never has my body felt so... relaxed and attuned at the same time.
True, I have a lot more to write about now, it was great for research for my book. But if I'm being honest with myself, it was about more than research.
But then the words from the phone call echo in my head. One of Nick's employees was beaten near to death. What kind of business involves people getting beaten? What kind of men carry themselves with that level of controlled violence?
I grab my phone and stare at Sharon's contact information for a full minute before I finally press call.
"Hey!" Sharon answers on the second ring, sounding cheerful. "What's up?"
"Can you come over?" My voice comes out strained. "I need to talk to you."
There's a pause. "Are you okay?"
"No. I mean, yes. I just... I need you to come over. Please."
"I'll be there in twenty minutes."
She arrives in fifteen, carrying takeout bags from the Thai place in town. When she steps inside and sees my face, her expression shifts from concern to alarm.
"What happened?" she asks, setting the bags on the counter. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Sit down," I say, gesturing to the couch. "We need to talk."
She sits slowly, her blue eyes wide and worried. "Marla, you're scaring me."
"I need you to tell me the truth about Russ, Alex, and Nick." My voice is steadier than I feel. "The real truth. Not the sanitized version you've been giving me."
Sharon's face goes pale. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean." I lean forward, holding her gaze. "You work at the Ivory Wolf. You've been there for six months. You hear things. You see things. So tell me what you know about those three men."
She looks away, her hands twisting in her lap. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sharon."
"Marla, I really don't—"
"They were here last night," I say quietly. "All three of them. At the same time."
Her head snaps up, her eyes going even wider. "What?"
"They showed up at my cottage." I don't tell her what happened after that. Some things are too mortifying to share even with your best friend. "And this morning, Nick got a call that one of his captains was beaten nearly to death."
Sharon's face loses all its color. "Oh my God."
"So tell me the truth," I say again. "What are they?"
She's quiet for a long moment, her gaze fixed on her hands. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. "There are rumors. Things people say when they think no one's listening."
"What kind of rumors?"
"That the Ivory Wolf isn't just a restaurant and club." She looks up at me, and there's fear in her eyes now. "That it's connected to... to organized crime. Russian mafia. That politicians show up there for private meetings and cops get paid to look the other way."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "Russian mafia."
"I never believed it," Sharon says quickly. "I mean, I heard the rumors, but I thought people were just being dramatic. Rich guys with security and expensive cars, you know? That doesn't automatically mean they're criminals."
"But now you believe it."
She nods slowly. "After what you just told me? Yeah. I believe it."
"Tell me more," I press. "Specific things. What have you actually seen?"
Sharon hesitates, her fingers picking at a loose thread on her sweater.
"There are... visitors. Late at night, after we're supposed to be closed.
Judges. Politicians. I recognized one of them from the news.
And cops, not in uniform, but you can tell.
They all act the same way around Russ, Alex, and Nick.
Nervous. Careful. Like they're waiting for permission to speak. "
"Permission?"
"The staff treats them like... like they own the place.
Because they do." Sharon's voice drops even lower.
"I've heard bartenders call them 'the three owners' when they think no one's listening.
And the way customers act around them, it's not normal.
People move out of their way. Conversations stop.
It's like the entire room shifts when they walk in. "
"What else?" I ask, my stomach twisting.
"There was this one night, maybe two months ago. A customer got drunk and started being loud, disrespectful. One of the bouncers just looked at Nick. Just looked at him. And Nick nodded. That's all it took and the problem was solved."
I stand and walk to the window, staring out at the woods beyond my cottage. Everything is starting to make sense now. The armed security at Nick's building. The way staff at the Ivory Wolf acted around all three men.
"I'm so stupid," I whisper.
"You're not stupid," Sharon says, but her voice lacks conviction. "How were you supposed to know?"
"I should have known." I turn to face her. "All the signs were there. I just didn't want to see them."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." My hands are shaking again. "I slept with them, Sharon. All three of them and I don't even know who they really are."
Sharon stands and crosses to me, pulling me into a hug. "It's going to be okay. You didn't know. And it's not like you're going to see them again, right? It was just research. One-night stands. You can just... move on."
I want to believe her. I want to think I can just forget about them, but even as I'm thinking it, I hear the sound of engines coming down the gravel driveway.
Sharon and I both freeze.
"Are you expecting someone?" she whispers.
I shake my head, my heart starting to pound. Through the window, I see the first black SUV pull into view. Then the second. Then Alex’s car.
"Oh God," Sharon breathes.