Celia

Amy glanced at me, her eyes narrowed. "I could have told you that you'd never get in looking like that," she said, her voice amused. "Look at you – faded boyfriend jeans, Blundstones, a grey hoodie? What were you thinking?"

"This is me," I said and shrugged. "This is who I am."

"Who you are is awesome, underneath that student getup. Now, let's look in your closet…"

She checked out my closet and took various skirts and blouses and shook her head sadly.

"When was the last time you went on a date?"

"Months ago, and you know it."

She laughed. "I do know it."

My romantic life was dismal, so I didn't have a lot of sexy numbers that I could wear to The Venue to impress the very discerning bouncer at the front door.

"You can borrow my red dress," she said and pulled me into her room. "With your black hair and fair skin, you'll be a knockout." She opened her wardrobe and removed this red dress with deep plunging neckline that fell just above the knee. "Wear these shoes and put on some eyeliner, you'll have Hunter eating out of your hand."

"Hardly," I said with a grim laugh. "Remember it's me asking for money from him. If anything, it'll be me eating out of his hand."

I changed clothes and then sat in front of her desk while she brushed my hair and straightened it with a flat iron until it was shining.

When she was finished, she stood behind me so that I could see myself in the mirror over her desk. "Your hair looks like black silk."

Then, she proceeded to paint me up so that I was practically unrecognizable.

"Kitten eyes are all the rage. That stupid bouncer won't be able to resist you now." I checked myself out in the mirror and sure enough, I looked like someone else.

Someone who fit in with the rest of the crowd at The Venue.

I slipped on Amy's black pumps with the straps around the ankles and turned in a circle for her.

"Perfect," she said. "When Hunter sees you, he'll realize what he lost back then."

I shook my head. "He'll hate me. He'll look at me with total contempt. I can see him now." The very thought of it made my stomach churn.

"I'm coming with you," Amy said. Then, she proceeded to get dressed herself in something hot – a black dress that looked great against her blonde hair. She applied her makeup quickly like a pro, and within half an hour, we were out the door and into her little Austin on our way to the waterfront where I would once again try to get past the bouncer.

By the time we got there, the lineup was even longer than before and so Amy and I stood at the end and talked while we waited for the line to move. It was slow going. The place was popular and was one of the in-spots on a weekend night.

The weather was warm and the sounds coming from the depths of the club made my heart rate increase. What would Hunter think when he saw me? Would he even be there or would this be a total waste of time?

By the time we got to the front of the line, the bouncer looked us over and motioned inside with his jaw. He didn’t recognize me, and I was happy I took Amy's advice and changed clothes.

We entered the building and made our way past the cashier where we paid the cover charge and then went inside. The EDM was blaring, the fog machines were pumping out the fog on the dance floor and laser lights bounced off the walls.

Amy turned to me, a frown on her face. "You look like you've seen a ghost.

I hadn't seen a ghost.

I'd seen Hunter.

Hunter Saint. The middle brother of three. The Fighting Irish Saint Brothers, they were called by those in the business.

All six feet four inches of gorgeous Hunter Saint.

There he sat on a sofa on a raised dais in the rear of the huge room. He leaned back, his arms on the back of the sofa, his legs spread, surveying the club like he owned the world. Beside him sat an equally well-dressed man leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He was speaking to Hunter and Hunter nodded occasionally, lifting a glass of some beverage to his mouth every now and then. On the sofa beside Hunter sat a beautiful blonde and her friend, who were leaning close and talking to each other.

She must be Hunter's most current fuckbuddy. Despite everything, a surge of jealousy filled me.

Hunter looked just as drop-dead hunky as the last time I saw him. His hair was a bit longer, but there was nothing that could disguise that fair skin, pale blue eyes with thick lashes and chiseled features. Impossibly handsome with a touch of boyish beauty that made my heart skip a beat.

Pretty Boy Saint was his nickname when he fought in the MMA circuit when he was younger, before he finished his MBA and joined the Marines.

The last time I saw him at the funeral for Sean, Hunter was still in the Marines and had his hair buzzed so short on the sides you could see his scalp. Whitewalls the Marines called it. Now, his hair was longer, below his collar, tucked behind his ears. He looked like what he was – a wealthy owner of a mobbed-up business in South Boston.

When I last saw him, he was on leave for the funeral, and still had that upright straight and narrow look to him like the red-blooded American hero that he was. Soon after the funeral, Hunter got out of the Marines on compassionate grounds to take over the business in Sean's place. Mr. Saint, their father, had suffered a heart attack a few years earlier and Sean had been the manager instead of him, but with Sean dead, Hunter had to step in.

Conor was no manager and was busy with the Olympic boxing circuit, so it was left to Hunter to take over.

I knew how much Hunter must have hated that. He had wanted to take the family business out of the bad influences in Boston – the family mafia ties in other words.

Now, he was in the middle of it.

It had been over a year since Sean died and I wondered how things had gone for Hunter and his dream to make his family's business completely legit. I doubted much had happened to change that, but I knew that was Hunter's eventual goal. According to Spencer, the Saints were still involved in money laundering for the Russian mob, and were still tied into the protection racket.

Hunter never wanted that for himself.

What a nightmare…

Now, I was supposed to go up to him with all that between us, and ask him for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to save my brother's – and possibly my life.

"I need a drink," I said and turned to Amy. "Preferably a double."

"Coming right up," she said and pulled me over to the bar.

"Two Margaritas, doubles," she said to the bartender.

"Two Margaritas coming up, doubles for the pretty ladies," the bartender said, winking at me. We watched him pour the drinks and then place them on the bar for us. I took mine and drank half of it down in one gulp.

"Hey," Amy said, laughing. "Slow down. We have time."

"I need liquid courage."

"Relax," she said and took a sip. "He'll see you in that dress and be like putty in your hands."

"Hardly. More like he'll have me kicked out of the place."

"You're crazy," she replied, but she didn't sound so sure.

We turned to watch the dance floor, which was cramped with dozens of dancers pressed together, writhing to the music.

I finished the rest of my drink and took in a deep breath.

"Wish me luck," I said and put my empty glass down. "I have to go and face the music."

"Do you want me to come?" she asked, being the helpful friend she always was.

"No, you stay here." I squeezed her arm. "I have to do this alone."

I left her at the bar and walked over to the back of the club where Hunter was sitting. As soon as I got within ten feet of the dais, two big burly men approached me and stopped me from getting any closer.

"Can I help you?" one of them asked, his arms crossed. The two of them standing there was like a wall had suddenly materialized between me and Hunter.

Big Bodyguard Number One was dressed in a tight-fitting grey suit that strained at his huge muscles. His hair was buzzed short and he looked like a military guy stuffed into a suit. He even had a microphone in his ear, the coil reaching back behind his ear and down his neck beneath his jacket. The other bodyguard was similarly dressed but had a shaved head and glasses.

Did Hunter need bodyguards?

"I want to speak with Hunter," I said. "I'm an old friend."

The man checked me out, his eyes roving up and down my body from my feet to my chest and back.

"Hunter has a lot of lady friends," the man said dryly. "In fact, he's with one right now. I need a name or you're not going anywhere except out of the club."

"Tell him it's Celia," I said. "He’ll know me."

The man turned to the other man. "Do you know of any Celia?"

The other man shook his head.

Bodyguard One turned back to me. "You'll have to do better than that. I've never heard Mr. Saint mention anyone named Celia."

"He wouldn't, but we go back a long way. Tell him Celia's here and needs to speak with him about her brother. Like I say, he'll know who I am."

The man finally nodded and turned back to the dais. The other bodyguard stepped in front where he had stood and blocked my view of Hunter and his guests. I peered around his massive frame and watched while Bodyguard One went up to the dais and bent down to speak with Hunter.

Immediately, Hunter turned to where we stood and frowned. He saw me. I know he did. Then, he turned away.

Just like I knew he would.

He said something and Mr. Bodyguard One turned back and returned to where I stood again.

"Mr. Saint's busy at the moment," he said officiously. "You can contact his personal assistant Amanda at the gym if you have any business to discuss."

I sighed. "Please tell Mr. Saint that it's not about me. It's about my brother. Tell him we need his help."

Mr. Bodyguard Number Two crossed his arms so I had two of them standing in front of me.

"In case you didn’t understand," he said, his voice low and menacing. "Mr. Saint is not interested in what you have to say. Please leave or we'll have to escort you out of the facility."

I skipped around them both before they could respond, and practically ran up to the dais.

"Hunter!" I called out, but before I could reach the stairs, Mr. Bodyguard One had me in a bear hug.

"Jesus Christ," I heard Hunter mutter. He finally glanced in my direction and saw me standing there, my arms held back behind me by Mr. Bodyguard One. Hunter's expression was icy.

Full of hatred.

"Sorry, Mr. Saint," Bodyguard Two said when he reached Hunter. Hunter stood and buttoned his suit jacket. He took in a visible breath as if he was trying to control his anger and then said something to the blonde woman, who turned to glance at me, a frown on her pretty face.

Then, he walked casually over to me.

He gave me a cold stare, his eyes moving over my body and finally resting on my face. I was totally upset by then, my breathing heavy, and I felt close to tears. I was sure my face was beet red from embarrassment, but I had to talk to him.

"Hunter, I need to talk to you," I managed, trying to meet his eyes but he seemed intent on avoiding mine. "It's about Graham."

"What makes you think I care about anything to do with you and your family?" he said, his voice steely.

"Graham asked me to come and speak with you," I said, not wanting to reveal everything in front of the two bodyguards. "Can we go somewhere private?"

"Graham thinks he can send you to me like some kind of peace offering?" Hunter said, his blue eyes half-hooded. "I'm not biting. Now, I'm busy." He motioned to the bodyguard who still held my arms. "Take her outside."

"Hunter, please!" I said, my voice finally breaking, tears springing to my eyes. "Graham's in the hospital. I need to talk to you in private."

He turned back and finally met my eyes – really looked in them for a change.

God, he was beautiful. His jaw so square, a tiny cleft in his chin, straight nose despite fighting for years, light blue eyes and thick eyelashes. His golden-brown hair was longish and fell onto his cheek and down behind his neck.

He gestured to the bodyguard with his chin. "Let her go," he said. Then, he turned to the back of the building and started walking. "Follow me," was all he said.

I straightened my dress and followed him, barely able to keep up due to my high heels and ineptitude in walking while wearing them. Hunter went through a door to the back, past a kitchen filled with chefs and cooks in white uniforms who were busy pumping out appetizers. People nodded to Hunter as he passed, showing deference to the boss. They looked at me with curiosity.

We went farther back into the bowels of the building, down a long dim hallway to the business office.

"Hunter, I'm sorry to bother you but--."

He held out his hand to stop me from talking. When he opened a door to a darkened room, I was a little afraid to follow him in. I stood just outside the door and peered in, watching as he went to a desk and turned on a banker's lamp, the brass shade casting a dim glow over the room.

"For God's sake, come inside," he said and came back to the door, grabbed my arm, pulling me in.

He was angry. I could see it in his face. Usually beautiful, his light blue eyes were now dark with anger. He was still the most desirable man I had ever seen.

In that moment, as we stood only inches from each other, his face shoved next to mine, I remembered another night when he'd been even closer. A night when his expression had been one of pleasure and affection, instead of contempt and hatred.

My breath caught in my throat, and tears sprang to my eyes.

"Quit with the tears," he said dryly. "I'm not moved by tears. I don't care if Graham's dying. Why would I care? My brother died right in front of my fucking eyes, Celia, or did you forget that little fact?"

"I could never forget," I said, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry…"

I covered my face with my hands and sobbed for a moment, and he did nothing and said nothing. I was so overwhelmed with emotion, fear for Graham and fear for myself, guilt for how I treated Hunter years ago and for Spencer’s role in Sean's death, and fear of Hunter's wrath…

I wiped my cheeks and watched him. He slipped his hands in his pockets and glanced away, not looking at me, a muscle in his jaw pulsing.

"Hunter borrowed money from a loan shark to pay back my inheritance that he lost on a bad investment. He thought he could turn it around and pay me back and the loan shark, but he couldn't and they beat him up," I said, the whole story pouring out of me between sobs. "They broke his nose, broke his jaw, broke his leg, and punched out his teeth. He has internal injuries and a serious concussion and will be in rehab for weeks. They carved 7 Days on his chest with a knife and said if he didn't pay the money back by Wednesday night, they'd kill him. Then, they'll come after me for his insurance money."

"Oh, yeah?" Hunter said and tapped his foot, not looking at me. "That’s what happens when you invest money that you can't afford to lose. I thought Graham was smarter than that. I guess not."

"Look, I didn’t want to come to you," I said, frustrated that he was so uncaring, "but Graham insisted that you were the only one who could help."

"Yeah," he said, and turned to look in the other direction, his breathing faster now, like he was close to losing it. "It must have been hard for you to come to me and ask for help. You couldn’t get me out of your life fast enough. Funny, but I thought there was always something special between us. I guess I was a huge fool."

"Hunter, it wasn't like that," I said, but of course, that's what he would think. I intended for him to think that about me and about what happened between us.

I had to.

"I wish you could understand…"

Hunter didn't say anything for a moment, like he was considering whether to help Graham or not.

"Who does he owe money to?" he asked finally.

"Some guy named Stepan," I said, repeating the name Graham had given me. The fact Hunter was even asking gave me a glimmer of hope that he'd help. "That's all I know."

"Stepan, huh?" Hunter said and smiled grimly. "You don't mess with the Russians. They mean business."

We stood in silence for a moment and I tried to gain control over my emotions.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice tired. "I know the Russians. If you don't give them the money by Wednesday, Graham will be dead. You can count on that."

Then he turned to leave and I stood alone in the room.

I followed him to the door. "You're just going to let them kill Graham?" I said, unable to believe he'd be so callous.

He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. He turned to look me in the eye.

"Tell me, Celia," he said and tilted his head to the side. "Why should I help?"

I went to his side and looked up into his face, into his eyes, which were cold, guarded.

"Because you and Graham were best friends all your life. From the time you were in middle school and all through college. You were going to go into business together."

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze moving over my face.

"You might think that would count for something," Hunter said softly. "You might think that would mean he stood by me when I needed him. Instead, he went into business with someone else. He did nothing to stop Spencer from going after my uncle. Sean died, Celia," he said, his face red, his jaw clenched. "Sean's dead because of Spencer. Maybe if Graham dies, Spencer will know how it feels to lose someone."

He turned and walked away. Before he got too far, I replied, my voice breaking.

"Yes, he died because of Spencer," I said, my eyes filled with tears once more. I followed him down the hallway. "Not because of Graham! You know Spencer," I said and grabbed hold of Hunter's arm. "You know what he was like with us. With me. There was nothing either of us could do."

Hunter pulled his arm away like he couldn't stand my touch. I covered my eyes once more.

"Graham should have thought about the cost before he went to the Russians," he said finally. "He should have come to me if he needed money."

"How could he?" I said, wiping my eyes, which had now become smeared with the silly eyeliner Amy had applied to make me kittenish. I was sure I looked more like a raccoon by then. "He knew you blamed him for what happened to Sean."

"I don’t blame him," Hunter said quietly. "But he turned his back on me when I wanted to go into business with him. You threw me away like I was a bad apple when there were so many other fresh shiny ones to eat."

"I didn't do that," I said, but of course, that's what he would think. How could I explain?

I got down on my knees, unashamed to be begging. ”Will you help Graham?" I asked, my hands folded in prayer. “Please!”

He turned to me, his blue eyes dark with emotion. He didn’t tell me to get up. He didn’t come to me and take my hand, make me stand.

“Tell me why I should, Celia,” he said, his voice soft. “What do I get out of this?" He stared at me, waiting, his hands on his hips.

At that moment, I would have done anything for him if he helped save Graham's life.

"I'll do anything you want, Hunter," I said, my voice breaking. "Anything. Name it and I'll do it."

He'd know what that meant.

He shook his head. "What can you do for me that I can't get from any number of other women?" he asked, his eyes moving over me as I knelt before him. "Women who'd enjoy it, not hate every minute."

Of course, he was right. He was so gorgeous, he could get any woman he wanted. Gorgeous and rich. And powerful in South Boston. I was a first-year law student. I was going to be a pauper even if Hunter paid back the money for Graham. I'd have to work two jobs to afford my dorm…

"Anything," I said, my eyes filled with tears.

He took in a deep breath. Finally, he exhaled. "I'll pay the debt," he said softly. "As for your offer, I'll consider my options. How much does he owe?"

"One hundred and fifty thousand."

Hunter whistled. "That's a lot of high priced call girl services, Celia." His eyes narrowed. "At five hundred a pop, that works out to…" he said and smiled, icily. "Three hundred hours of being my fuck toy."

My traitorous body warmed at that. Was he really going to make me fuck him as payback? Not that I would mind, because I remembered him. God, I remembered him…

I remembered his beautiful naked body, his deep and passionate kisses, his skill, but I knew it would be hate fucking on his part.

"Are you really going to hate fuck me in payment?" I said, throwing caution to the wind.

He bit his bottom lip. "Hate fucks are pretty good, Celia. You should know. Isn't that what you did to me?"

"No!" I said, my fists clenching. "That was never what happened between us. Why would you even think that? "

"Graham gave me that idea." Hunter met my eyes. "He told me you wanted Greg, not me, but I was easier. As soon as you got Greg, you threw me away like trash."

"No, no," I said. "That's not true. I never—"

"Stop," he said and chopped his hand down. "It doesn’t matter anyway so no more lies."

He started walking down the hall once more. On my part, I struggled up onto my feet, my knees killing me from the hard floor.

“I’ll contact Stepan and pay the debt. As for you," he said and opened the door back into the club. "I'll think of what I want from you, if anything. But you better make it worth my while."

I went through the door and Hunter passed me. He stopped when he got to the dais and turned to me.

"You should go home, Celia. Your makeup's all messed up and I'm sure one of your frat boys is waiting for you. We'll be in touch. You can count on that."

Then he went back up to the sofas where his woman and the other man he had been sitting with were waiting. As I watched, Hunter bent down and kissed the blonde woman on the mouth, lingering there for a long while, like he wanted to show me that he was with someone else.

I turned away and walked back to the bar where Amy was waiting.

"Celia," she said, her eyes wide. "Your makeup…"

"I know," I said, on the verge of tears once more. "Let's get the hell out of here."

I led the way and Amy followed me. When we reached the car, Amy stopped me and grabbed my arm.

"Don't keep me hanging, Celia. Did he agree to help or what?"

I nodded. “I got down on my knees and begged. He's paying Graham's debt," I said and plopped into the passenger side. I slammed the door and leaned back, my head against the headrest.

“You got on your knees? Tell me," she said when she got in the driver's side. "What did he do? What did he say?"

"I think he said I had to be his high class call girl to pay off the debt. His sex toy or something. Three hundred hours of services."

"What?" she said, her mouth open. "You're kidding, right?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. Maybe he was joking, but he seemed serious."

"Oh, my God," she said, facing forward, like she was imagining it. "He's really really hot and all, but still… You're going to be his sex toy?"

We sat in silence for a moment as it sunk in. "How can that be good?" she asked finally, turning to me. "I mean, if you hate someone, how can it be enjoyable?"

I shrugged. "He said hate fucking was actually pretty good."

"I can't believe it," she said, her mouth open.

Then, out of the blue, she laughed. When she looked at me, she covered her mouth.

"I'm so sorry, but I can't help it."

"Amy! It’s not funny…"

"I know," she said and laughed even harder. Her laughter was infectious and soon, despite everything, or maybe because of it, I laughed out loud as well.

"Oh, my God, Amy… I'm going to be a fuck toy."

"That's a first," she said. "He's seriously hot, though. I'd do him."

"Every woman would do him," I said sardonically. "Probably most our age already have."

"Not me," she said and we laughed even harder. Then, to my surprise, my laughter turned to tears and I sobbed out loud. The relief that Hunter was going to pay back Graham's debt, and the loan sharks and his ‘goodfella’ hitmen weren't going to kill Graham, finally hit home.

I covered my eyes and cried, the remnants of my makeup smeared on my cheeks and hands.

I wouldn't have my inheritance and would still have to work my butt off to afford to continue in law school, and I'd have to service Hunter like some call girl, but Graham would be alive.