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Grant
Tara’s gasp was sharp, slicing deep. “You know each other?”
“Yeah,” Regan’s eyes narrowed to slits as she focused on me. “Julius told you to stay the fuck away from the club.”
This time, there was no sound at all from Tara, and it was somehow worse. She dropped my hand like it was an anchor she couldn’t be attached to and stepped back. The way she looked at me . . . it was bloody awful. Her expression was surprise and hurt and distrust, all mixed together.
She stared at me like I was a stranger.
Her attention darted to Regan for a moment, and she whispered it as if she didn’t want to know the answer. “He’s a member?”
“No—” I started.
Regan cut me off. “He tried to become one.”
Tara pressed her fingers to her lips, possibly to hold in the sound of shock she wanted to make. “You knew?” Her eyes were oceans of hurt and betrayal. “When?”
The only thing I could control at this point was my ability to tell the truth. “From the beginning.”
It was impossible to organize my thoughts and find the right words, and before I could, her shock began to morph to anger. Her glare was so heavy it was hard to stand beneath it, but she directed the question at Regan. “You said he tried to become a member. What happened?”
“He lied about who he was. He’d come to the club to get a story, but I pulled him out of your room and Julius threw him out.”
I’d wished it could have been said differently, but I couldn’t argue with the truth. I was wishing for a lot of things right now. Mostly that I could go back in time, do it right, and wouldn’t have to watch Tara’s face as even more dismay washed through it.
“That was you?” she cried. “But it couldn’t be. That guy didn’t have an accent.”
I needed to take charge of this conversation. “If I concentrate, I can speak without one. While it’s true I went to the club looking for a story, that’s over. That was before we got together.”
When I tried to advance, Regan stepped protectively between us. I remembered how she’d acted that night in the club, and it made more sense now. Beyond Regan, I could see that every inch of Tara’s body language was screaming she didn’t believe me.
“I didn’t know you worked there when we met,” I said. “Think about it. You fell, and I caught you. I didn’t seek you out, and I didn’t know until the next night when I saw your tattoo. I was supposed to stay away, but I’d already agreed to help with your audition.”
Fire burned on her face. “Okay, but then why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“Julius made it real fucking clear to leave his business alone, and honestly, Tara,” I said, letting the hurt seep into my voice, “I was hoping you’d tell me.”
“I was going to,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if I could before. You told me you were looking for a story.”
“I’m not. I mean, I was, but not anymore.”
Regan lifted an eyebrow in displeasure. “Why should she believe you, if you’ve been lying to her from the beginning?”
Irritation simmered in my core. This conversation was supposed to be between Tara and me. “I’ve known about the blindfold club for a while now, and have any stories come out about it?”
Silas hadn’t participated until now. He frowned. “That doesn’t mean anything. Her bosses would squash that story, just like they did with—”
“Silas,” Regan hissed.
Tension was already high, but her single word took it to a new height. The silence between us was taut.
Tara’s focus swung from me to the couple. “What does that mean?”
“He meant that Julius would handle it,” Regan answered quickly.
“I know what I heard. He said bosses—as in—plural.”
Regan’s breathing picked up, but otherwise, it was hard to tell if she was nervous. “We can talk about it,” her gaze flicked to me, “in private.”
“No, I’m done with secrets.” Tara crossed her arms over her chest and looked dubious. “Julius runs the club by himself, so explain how you have more than one boss.”
“What if,” I said quietly, “she works for someone else?”
The mob? No, that didn’t make sense. They had a lot of power, but not enough to kill a story. Who had that kind of authority?
Bloody hell.
I couldn’t make sense of it. “Do you work for the government?”
“No,” Regan snapped.
It was a lie, and we all knew it from the way Silas reacted. He’d turned away, unable to look at any of us, trying to hide his expression.
“Oh my God,” Tara gasped. “You’re . . . a cop?”
Regan lifted her reluctant gaze to the ceiling. “Not exactly.” She let out a deep sigh. “Goddamnit, Silas.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, but as he continued talking, he built steam. “Look, I didn’t mean to ‘out’ you, but . . . you know what? I’m with Tara on this one. I’m fucking over it with all the lies.”
Fury rolled into Regan’s expression. “Holy fuck. Did you do it on purpose?”
“What? No.” He looked seriously pissed at her accusation. “Yeah, I won’t be sad if you don’t have to work there anymore, but Jesus. It was an honest mistake.”
“I’m still struggling,” Tara said, “with what ‘not exactly a cop’ means.”
Regan didn’t like being caught and wanted someone to blame, and I was an easy target. She gave me a hard look. “I know you probably think you’ve hit the jackpot here, but your story will never get off the ground. The FBI will kill it, make you look bad in the process, and the only thing you’ll end up doing is getting me reassigned.” Her expression shifted and took an edge of desperation. “I won’t be able to protect the people I care about.”
Tara didn’t seem to hear the last part. She balled a hand into a fist and held it against her stomach. “You’re FBI.” It was impossible to tell if it was a question or a statement from her shell-shocked voice. “I can’t . . .” She put her hands on her temples and stared at the ground, completely overwhelmed. “I can’t do this right now. It’s too much.”
When she moved for the door, we all went to stop her.
“Wait,” the couple said.
I ignored them. “Let me take you home.”
“No.” She threw open the door, and I followed her out into the hallway, which she rushed down. “I need some time.”
Down the stairs she went, her leggings glinting in the light as she moved at a fast clip. I was bigger, but it was surprisingly difficult to keep up.
“I know you’re dealing with a lot, but can I explain?”
She flung open the apartment building’s main door, not checking to see if I was still following. She knew I was. “What part of ‘I need some time’ do you not understand?” She whirled around to face me, and she was both angry and scared. Like a wounded animal trying to survive a threat. “I just found out that everyone I care about has been lying to me. And, yeah, I’m aware I’m not innocent in this either, but you’re going to give me one night to work through this shit.”
It hurt to see her like this, especially since I was the cause. “Can I please just take you home?”
A cab with its sign lit turned the corner, and she waved before turning a cold stare my direction. “I already told you no, and you need to respect that.”
It wasn’t a battle I could, or should, win. “You’re right. I’m sorry, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But Tara? I don’t care about the club or what you do there. I’m with you. That’s all that matters to me.”
I should have left it alone, instead all I did was add to her confusion. She said nothing as she climbed into the back of the cab and murmured her address to the driver. Then she yanked the door closed with a slam, and the car pulled away. Her head never turned. She didn’t look back to see me standing there, feeling like I’d just lost everything.
I came home directly after. Maybe it was rude not to say goodbye to Silas and Regan, but that would have been fucking awkward, and I just wanted to be alone. Well, that wasn’t true. I wanted to be with Tara right now. For selfish reasons, but also to comfort her.
She’d trusted Silas and Regan and been honest with them about everything. Their betrayal had to sting, and worse—was she in legal jeopardy? Regan insinuated she was protecting her.
Did Julius know she was FBI?
For once in my life, I wasn’t curious. All I could think about was how I’d ruined what was supposed to be one of the best days of Tara’s life. Hopefully, she’d get a decent night’s sleep, and in the morning, she’d see that our lies canceled each other’s out. We could talk about everything openly and figure out how we’d move forward.
I stared at the used wine glasses beside my sink, Tara’s lipstick faintly kissing one edge.
It felt like I’d just played two rugby matches back to back, and they’d been blowout losses. I locked my front door, turned off the lights in the living room, and made my way to the bedroom. My overnight bag was in the corner, and I went to unpack it, only to be crushed for the second time this evening.
Her ledger.
I still had it.
My knees softened, and I sat on the edge of the bed we’d slept in only a few hours ago, my hands gripping the black book. She’d asked for one night of space, and I was going to give it to her, but first thing tomorrow, I’d tell her what I’d done. It was too much to ask her to deal with tonight.
I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. Weak. It was why I opened to my page in her journal and read it again, running my fingers over the ink she’d spilled about me. It was black and the pages thin, and I could make out words from the page behind mine. Words like Mr. Gold and humiliated and scared.
She’d stopped working recently because a client had gotten too attached, she’d said. I turned the page, unable to quench the thirst to know what had happened. I needed to know she was safe. It was the last page of handwriting in the journal.
I shouldn’t have read any of it. I knew nothing good could come from it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I read about the vile shit he’d said to her and how she’d told him they were finished. She was worried he wouldn’t handle it well. He was powerful and rich, and one of the best clients at the clubs.
It seemed like he’d been a regular, and I wanted to know more about him. Had he always been this horrible little man? How often had she seen him? Did she know his name?
Paging through her journal, I lost all track of time and any fucking sense.
I read it cover to cover, nearly three years of entries. It was scintillating. Erotic. And utterly fascinating. Every part of Tara was revealed in these pages, and I fell even more hopelessly in love with her. She was kind, and funny, and unapologetic about the way she lived her life.
When I finished, I placed the journal on the empty pillow beside me in bed, where she’d slept earlier this evening and it still smelled like her, and hoped she could forgive me.
I fell asleep for the second time with my clothes still on, but it was restless. I wondered if it was because she wasn’t here, but as my phone vibrated a second time on the nightstand, I realized what was happening. Pale light came from the screen. Someone was texting me at four a.m.
Tara: Did I meaning anything to you?
Tara: Or was I just a story?
I bolted upright in my bed and thumbed out my response, my heart pounding ferociously.
Grant: You mean everything to me. It was never about a story.
The bubbles flashed on the screen, indicating she was typing, and when the message came through, my heart plummeted in my chest. Fuck.
Tara: THEN WHY DID YOU TAKE MY JOURNAL???