$17, 177.31.

That’s the amount in our joint checking account. Or, it was, before I made the decision to ditch Ashley. I made sure to call the bank three days prior and let them know I was withdrawing $17,000, then I made sure I waited until the money was in my hands before I kicked her cheating ass out of my house.

It’s certainly not all my money. I keep my own separate account, too. Never could trust Ashley with all our money. I tried when we first got married. She went on an ill-timed shopping spree and our mortgage check bounced.

After that, I kept my shit separate but maintained a generous pillow in our joint account. That’s the account from which all the bills were paid, the only account she knows about, and the only account of mine she still has access to. She bled it down to $2.13, but I couldn’t give a fuck less about a couple hundred dollars.

Today I’m going to take her up to the bank, put the larger chunk of money back in, and take my name off the account. It’s hers. She can have it. I’m going to give her the house, too. I just want her gone.

I can’t fucking believe she confronted Moira. That was so far over the line, I don’t even know how I’m going to be nice to her right now. I need to, though. I need to just shut her up and make her go away before it gets any worse.

She opens the door of her hotel room, leans against the doorframe and grins at me. “There you are. I figured Moira would get you to answer me.”

Leveling my stoniest expression at her, I state, “This is over. This is done.”

Ashley holds up her hand, still laden with the wedding band and engagement ring I bought her. “No, sweetie. ‘Til death do us part. It’s not done.”

“Don’t fucking tempt me,” I mutter.

Instead of believing my bluster, she shoots me a playful smile. “I’ll let you choke me if you want to, but only if you put your dick in me first.”

“I’d rather cut it off,” I tell her, honestly.

“Ouch,” she says, shooting me an exaggerated pout that I found cute once upon a time. Now it just annoys the fuck out of me.

I reach into my jacket pocket and hand her an envelope, thick with cash. Her eyes widen and her pout falls, revealing a more honest peek of her interest. “What’s this?”

I shove the envelope into her hand and she immediately opens it, using her manicured pink fingernails to comb through the bills.

“Seventeen grand,” I tell her. “I’m going to put it in an account for you so you have some money to get yourself started building a new life. You can keep your car and every material thing I’ve ever given you. You can even keep the house and everything in it. I’m going to sign it over to you. All you have to do is sign the divorce papers.”

Now she smiles, staring at me like I’ve brought her a bag of peanuts. “Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell am I supposed to do with $17,000, Griff? This is insulting. I thought you’d open with at least 25.”

“Will 25,000 make you go away?” I ask. I won’t be able to get that much cash out today, but I could damn sure write her a check. Hell, I could borrow the rest of the cash from Seb if that’ll do it. He always has a decent chunk on hand.

“Fuck no,” she says, laughing like I’ve just told the best joke of her life. “I just figured it was a good start. Oh, no, baby. I know what you’re worth. I want what’s rightfully mine. I want half.”

“I just told you I’ll give you the whole house. I don’t give a fuck what you do with it. Sell it, take the money and get out of dodge. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Still, she shakes her head. “Not good enough. I’ve got you by the balls now, baby. Moira admitted she’s fucking you. You may have taken your ring off, but your ass is still married. I hope her cunt was worth it, because you’re going to pay dearly for it.”

My skull feels like it’s at risk of exploding. “You are the one who cheated on me, Ashley. You don’t get to play that card. I would say I hope all the dicks you took were worth it, but you’re a conniving bitch and you still have me over a fucking barrel. You’re the one who causes all this shit, and you’re still going to make out like a fucking bandit. There’s no fucking justice for me, but I don’t care; I just want you gone. I’m offering you our house and an envelope bursting with cash, and it’s still not good enough for you.”

With a sly grin, she runs a hand down my chest. “I don’t have to settle, baby. I’m not mad you’re fucking Moira. Oh, I’m not mad at all. I’m fucking ecstatic. Because guess what? That prenup is getting thrown out. When your sweet little girlfriend gets her subpoena and has to come clean about how she’s taking your cock while you and I are still legally married? You’re fucked—and not the fun way.”

I grab her wrist, twisting it and backing her into the room. She lets out a faint cry of surprise, but not pain. Her sharp gaze takes in the fire in my eyes, the set of my shoulders. She can feel the anger coursing through me, and even though she’s a conniving little cunt, she’s not an idiot, either. She softens—pretends to—and subtly pushes her breasts toward me, trying to remind me I liked to fuck her once and if I’m about to get violent for the first time in our lives, she would like to be naked first.

Fucking women, man.

I kick the door shut behind me. Ashley’s hot gaze remains on mine as I back her further into the room. “Do we need privacy, baby? I’m still open to fixing our marriage instead. We can stop this whole ugly divorce nonsense and spend the day making up.”

“I would rather die than ever put my dick anywhere near your toxic snatch again.”

Her eyebrows rise at my crassness. “Wow. That’s a little harsh.”

“No, that’s just true. I don’t know what I was thinking to even start dating you, let alone marry you. What the fuck was I on?”

Everything even resembling softness melts away and she narrows her eyes at me, not appreciating the insult. “I’m a fucking catch. Don’t fool yourself, Griff. You’re bitter because you couldn’t keep me satisfied and I had to go elsewhere to get the itch scratched. Apparently it’s a trend with you; now your dick is playing second fiddle to Sebastian’s.” Offering a snide smile, she adds, “Don’t know why anyone who has a firm hold on his dick would even waste their time with yours. You’re just a pity fuck to her, you know. Sebastian’s little princess is out of your league. She only fucks you because he makes her.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap.

Her eyes dance, seeing she’s drawn blood. “You know it’s true, Griff. Moira doesn’t like you that way. She’ll do anything for Sebastian, though. Even you.”

Her words twist my stomach up in knots. My grip on her wrist tightens and I back her up a couple more steps, just to remind her I can. “I said, shut the fuck up.”

Instead, she continues mockingly. “Poor, sad Griff. Maybe they’ve made it one of their little sex games. When you’re not around and it’s just the two of them, they probably compare notes and laugh at how inferior you are.”

It shouldn’t sting, but it’s too close to private fears I’ve had at my lowest moments not to.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, distracting me for a blessed moment. I release Ashley’s wrist and reach into my pocket. I’m hoping it’s Moira. I know she’s not supposed to text me much right now, but I sure would like to hear from her.

It’s not a text, and it’s not from Moira. Sebastian is calling. Goddammit. Moira probably caved. I should have known she couldn’t keep it from him for a measly fucking hour and let me handle things.

I ignore the call and slide my phone back into my pocket.

Taking the envelope of cash out of Ashley’s hand, I tell her, “You’re gonna wish you took this offer.”

“You threatening me, Griff?”

“Nope. This is just the extent of what I’ll give you. It’s much more than you deserve.”

“Oh, I don’t think it is,” she disagrees. “You’re too much of a gentleman to make Moira talk about your personal matters.” Now she smiles. “It’s funny, isn’t it? You look like a beast and act like a gentleman. Sebastian looks like a gentleman. Bet he fucks like a beast. I was always curious, you know. Maybe you should rethink this divorce and we can all become swingers. Between the two of you, I’m sure my attention can be held. Then you can fuck Moira anytime you feel like it and I’ll get something out of the deal, too.”

“Seb wouldn’t fuck you with someone else’s dick,” I tell her, shoving the envelope back into my jacket. “He thinks you’re trash. I’ve come around to his way of looking at things.”

Her gaze is fixed on where I just stuffed the envelope. Moving closer, she reaches out a hand, but I grab her wrist to keep her from touching me.

“That’s good,” she tells me. “Can you squeeze a little harder? I would love a bruise.”

I release her wrist, my eyes narrowing on her smug face. “I’ll give you the house and $25,000. That’s it. That’s my final offer. If you want to take it—”

She doesn’t even let me finish. “I don’t. But thanks for stopping by, baby. I’ll have my people call your people.”

When I leave Ashley’s hotel room, I feel shittier than I have in a long time. Seb calls again. I ignore him again. I need to talk to Moira and find out what the fuck she told him.

I need to talk to Carrie. I need to find out how bad this is. Instead of calling Seb, I shoot him a text and ask him to cover my afternoon, tell him I need to meet with Carrie.

“Fine,” he texts back. “Come over for dinner.”

I’m sitting in my car, staring blankly out the windshield while I try to figure out just how fucked I am when I see Ashley come out, her long blond hair blowing in the violent wind as she heads for her car. Since she’s more concerned about her hair getting fucked up than watching her surroundings, she doesn’t look over here and see me.

Where’s she going?

I guess it’s none of my business and I don’t care, necessarily, but I am curious. So when she starts up her car and pulls out, I find myself following her.

She heads to a seedy part of town and hits her turn signal to pull into a parking area that could be to one of three places. I can’t pull in behind her—it’s too small, she’d see me—so I coast to a stop at the red light just past it. To my left a shitty-looking club with a roll-down door. In front of it is a telephone plastered with flyers—some offering to buy your shitty houses, others advertising bands probably playing at this club, a lost dog, a missing teen. Tragedy, mediocrity, and excitement all on one telephone poll.

I know I’m going to miss seeing where she goes, but all I can do now is go around the block, come back, and check out what’s in the buildings she parked near.

At least, that’s my assumption. But when I drive around and come back, Ashley is still in the parking lot outside the club, closer to the street now. Some Jersey Shore-looking motherfucker stands there with his hands on her ass and his tongue jammed halfway down her throat.

I feel like I recognize him, but I can’t exactly sit here and try to get a longer look. Given Seb and I are owners of one of Philly’s more popular clubs, obviously I know the competition. This little shithole here isn’t even that. No one is trying to decide whether they want to come to our club or this one.

I hang a right and pull into the first streetside spot available. I check both ways and jog back across the street toward the club.

There’s chain-link fence around the parking area so I can’t creep as close as I want, but there’s a trash can and part of the building here to camouflage me a bit.

Now I get a better look, and I know who it is. The Philly crime scene has been changing lately with a new player raking in most of the power, but there are still some little guys who think they’re hot shit. Maybe guys Donovan hasn’t got to yet, maybe guys so small he just doesn’t give a fuck.

This little fucker attached to Ashley’s mouth belongs to the “too little to matter” group. He owns this shit little club and runs petty crime in this area, but I mean, so fucking petty that even I’m not impressed, and I’m no kind of criminal. He’s a smalltime dealer, nothing to get excited about.

I don’t even like dealing with Donovan, but unfortunately when these bloodsuckers pop up and demand a tax, it’s just easier to pay it. To my surprise, Seb didn’t bat an eye at the situation. Maybe the way he saw it, we’d pay voluntarily, or Donovan would shake us down, and coming voluntarily built a better rapport. Can’t say it didn’t work. While Donovan has a club of his own—bigger and more profitable than ours, go figure—he does pop into ours on occasion and talk to Seb like they’re friends.

I fucking hate that.

Sometimes I worry about Seb, about his willingness to cross lines. He’s a decisive guy, so when he has a problem, he doesn’t waffle on it for too long. He looks at his situation, decides on a course, and does what benefits us.

I don’t like him crossing paths more than he has to with terrible men who could invite him to go dark. I especially don’t like it because right now Ashley thinks she can shake me down—and she won’t shake me down without shaking Seb down. Seb, he’s not going to let someone like Ashley get the better of him. She might have this insignificant little fuck and think she’s some sort of up-and-coming crime lord’s bitch, but boy, is she mistaken.

When it comes to this stuff, Ashley doesn’t know her ass from her elbow. This does give me a new perspective, though. She probably wants to take me to the cleaners so she and this little shit can rise up and become some kind of big deal.

God, I almost feel sorry for her. She doesn’t know shit, and this little asshole has surely talked a big game. He’s conned women out of their money before.

He finally pulls away from her face and she grins at him. I can see the excitement on her face and it makes me feel bad again. I shouldn’t. It’s not exactly a noble aspiration, trying to be this little shit’s moll, but Ashley’s about as basic as they come. It probably sounds reasonable and exciting to her. Probably makes her feel pretty important. She wasn’t cut out for society—she didn’t have the class—but since she’s seen Scarface or some shit like that, she probably thinks she knows the score. She’s been with a club-owner already, after all. Now she’s found one that’s younger and more exciting—an air of imagined danger, since he’s fooled her into thinking he’s hot shit.

What a dumbass.

I’d feel worse for her except she’s a major pain in my ass because she fell for this shit. I can’t even try to talk to her and set her straight, because then she would know I followed her, plus she’d never believe me. She’d think I’m just trying to save my own hide.

They turn to head inside, no doubt so she can relay in person all the details of what just went down between us. My stomach sinks when I imagine this asshole’s glee as she tells him I came with cash. Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that. I showed weakness. I showed a willingness to negotiate. I thought I was only dealing with Ashley, not this little shit, so I went softer. I guess part of me still felt a little bad about the divorce.

I fucked up, and now I’m not sure how to fix it. I should have listened to Carrie. I should have listened to Seb. I should not have responded to her going after Moira.

Problem is, if I didn’t, Seb would have—and he wouldn’t be nice about it.