Chapter 20: Settling Scores

––––––––

Marcus

China Girl is the hottest up-and-coming restaurant on the Near North side, and as such, our firm is invited to their soft open tonight. I’m sure they’ve invited all the Chicago elite. It’s perfect opportunity to establish my separation from Paige, and my reunion with the amazing, brilliant, lovely... so sexy Miss Amy Knight.

The idea makes me smile as I lean back in my office chair, reading over Evan’s final court documents on McGruder. He’s got it in the bag, and my eyes drift every ten minutes to the clock on my desk. Finally, it’s six-thirty and I can go to her.

Dropping my feet to the floor, I stand, sweeping my blazer off the chair and dropping my phone and wallet in my pockets.

“It’s ready,” I say, entering Evan’s office. “Be sure you get everything in on time, and let me know if you want me to appear with you.”

He beams with pride, as well he should. “You headed to China Girl?”

“Sure,” I say, nodding. “You going?”

“I’ll drop by for cocktails at least.”

“See you there.” I’m out the door.

Walking the blocks that separate us, I shoot Amy a text. Headed your direction. We got an invite to China Girl’s soft open.

She was so happy this morning in spite of her fears for her mother. We weren’t able to chat much today, as I had to make up for being completely out of touch yesterday. It was okay. Her brothers are in town, her mother is out of the woods, and I was pretty confident she’d be covered.

I’ve actually been back long enough to know about this. Not sure if it’s a good thing.

I grin at her cryptic text. It’s a great thing. We’ll be the toast of Chicago.

We should probably talk about that. I have things to tell you.

This woman, I shake my head. She has no idea. I want to hear everything you have to say.

No response. It’s okay. I’m getting close to her building, and I want nothing more than to sweep her into my arms and kiss her soundly on the mouth. I hit the little black button, and I’m immediately buzzed up.

The door to Sylvia’s condo is unlocked, and I let myself in. “You here?” I call, my eyes sweeping the dim-lit condo. It’s warm and lived-in, but my girl is nowhere in sight.

“Make yourself a cocktail,” she calls from somewhere in the back of the place. “I’m almost ready.”

“You want something?” I step into the kitchen, opening cabinets, wondering where they keep the liquor.

“I’m good!” her voice is so light and clearly still happy, I want to find her and kiss her.

“I’m coming to find you,” I shout.

“No!” she squeals. “I want to surprise you.”

“Not happy,” I grouse with a grin, heading back to the kitchen. At the same time, I’m curious about being surprised. I’ve seen a lot of Miss Amy Knight.

I’m back in the kitchen when I hear the noise of heels on hardwoods. Turning, I see her just before she stops in a white halter dress with a flared skirt and bright blue Ming Dynasty print at the neck, bodice, and around the hem.

“I don’t believe it,” I laugh. “How did you—”

“It is pretty coincidental,” she nods, pressing her palms together and doing a little bow before skipping to me in a pair of platform espadrilles. “I picked this up in Barcelona last year, and I’ve never even worn it!”

Her hair is twisted up in a bun with two chopsticks crossed in the back. “I prefer your hair down, but this is cute.”

She makes a pouty face, and it’s too much. I can’t resist. My hands are on her hips, and I pull her to me, planting a firm kiss on her perky red lips. She exhales into me, melting as her mouth opens. Our tongues unite.

My hands move up to cup the sides of her neck, my thumbs caressing her cheeks as I kiss her, and I have to fight the urge to slide my fingers into her hair, unwinding it around us.

Instead I straighten, releasing her. “We’d better take off before I forget you need food.”

“Who says I need food?” She slants an eye, and I can’t help a laugh. I love this playful side of her.

Something’s changed, and I look forward to finding out what.

* * *

So what exactly does upscale Chinese look like? I was wondering the same thing, and the answer is not too shabby.

The restaurant is all oranges and reds and low tables. Dark-wood Frank Lloyd Wright silhouette dividers separate the dining area, and golden lanterns fill the ceiling, creating an ambient glow. It’s beautiful. And fucking packed.

Valet takes the car, and I catch my beautiful date’s hand before we head into the restaurant. The first person we encounter is Amy’s friend from Studio O.

“Ceej!” She hops forward and hugs him. He’s dressed in khaki pants cuffed above his ankles and boat shoes, a white shirt, navy blazer and turquoise tie. Shaking my head, I can’t help admiring his flair.

“Bitch! I had no idea you would be here. Look at you!” His eyes flit to me, and an eyebrow arches. “Nevermind.” A slim hand extends in my direction. “I’m sure you don’t remember. Carlton Jeffrey Berman the Third.”

My eyebrows rise, and at his side, I catch Amy attempting to stifle her laughter. “Actually, I do remember,” I reply. “But I didn’t get the full moniker last time.”

“You can call me C.J.”

I don’t care what his name is or how sparkly his eyes get when I shake his hand. Seeing Amy this happy is something I can live with forever, regardless of who brings it—so long as she’s at my side.

Their heads are together as we make our way through the crowded bar. Amy’s hand is tight in mine, our fingers laced together. They over-invited tonight. I stop, exasperated, but my eyes roam the crowd. Evan is in the back corner leaning close to a pretty brunette. Our next stop.

We’re at the bar, and I lean close toward the harried bartender. “Three vodkas on the rocks.” She nods and just as fast three tumblers of ice are set up on the bar. Red plastic beaks top the clear bottle, and our glasses fill slowly. Three lime wedges, and I pass over cash. “Keep the change.”

Amy’s at my chest. “What did you order?”

“Vodka. It seemed the quickest.” Her eyes sparkle with her smile as she takes the drinks, handing one to her friend.

He’s distracted talking to a guy behind him. She turns to me, cuddling close against my chest. “This is crazy.”

Looking down at her snuggled against me, holding onto me, warmth percolates in my chest. “Damn, girl,” I breathe. “Are you really hungry? I’m ready to forget this.”

Her eyes meet mine in intensity. “Not really.”

My chin drops and I rest my forehead against hers. “Shit, you’re going to kill me.”

“Let’s go somewhere we can talk.” Her voice is still happy, but there’s a note of gravity in it now that wasn’t there earlier. We’re at the heart of the matter, and my expression sobers.

“Okay.” I catch her hand, ready. I want to know everything. I want to be all in. Whatever she wants to tell me, I want to hear it.

We’re just turning to go, and of all the fucking things. “Marcus!” Roland fucking Dickerson is at my side with Karen the cunt Philpot right beside him.

“Roland,” I say with zero enthusiasm. I can’t help noticing Amy shrink into my side.

“I would say fancy seeing you here, but god damn.” Roland inspects the room. “Not a good sign if they can’t even keep track of the guest list.”

“No strikes for being over zealous.” I’m non-committal. I don’t know why these two make Amy so uncomfortable, but I’m sensitive to how much they do, and I’m ready to get back to where we were headed.

“Amy.” Karen’s broadcaster voice clips through the background noise. “How nice.”

My beautiful date doesn’t answer. “Need a drink?” I’m the closest to the bar, and it seems the easiest distraction. Switch places, take off.

“See if there’s a decent Scotch back there.” Roland slaps my shoulder, but Karen looks across the crowd.

“I’ll be back,” she says instead. I’m relieved she’s leaving, but when I look over my shoulder, I notice Amy has gone to stand with her friend. Shit. I’m stuck.

I turn to the bar and call in his order. The bartender places a tumbler of Dewar’s in front of me, and I pass it back to Roland. He’ll likely complain, but I couldn’t care less. I’m about to ditch his ass.

“Traded in Goldfarb for Knight.” He laughs in his congestive way. “I guess there’s the real deal, and then there’s the sweet deal, yes?”

The question irritates me, but it’s my fault. I made the case for Paige at the gala. Thankfully, my love missed that one. Now I’m ready to defend her.

“What can I say? Amy’s more my speed.”

He laughs into his drink in a way that roils my stomach. “You never make a bad choice. Still don’t know why you’re not on our team.”

Because you’re a Dickweed. “Oh, yeah?” I laugh as if I’m one of his frat brothers.

“I’ll give you a tip, since you’re new.” He pauses to take another swig of scotch. “Amy Knight has quite the well-deserved reputation.”

My stomach tightens at his implication. “That so?”

“If she doesn’t put out, just let me know.” He laughs, giving me a disgusting wink. “I have the perfect blend to spread those pretty legs.”

Rage explodes in my chest. My fist clenches, and I’m ready to slam it in his fucking mouth. I’m not sure what he’s implying, but piecing together the response I’ve seen my girl have to this toad, I have an idea. Still, I want to be sure.

“What would that be?” I smile, doing my best to act calm as red clouds my vision.

Roland polishes off the scotch, and he’s more buzzed than I’ve ever seen him. He flags the bartender, who places another short glass of amber liquid in front of him. He lifts it and takes a long drink. Karen’s back with us, and I scan the crowd for Amy.

“The hostess said it’ll be another twenty minutes before we have a table,” Karen sighs, looking at her phone. “I’m stepping out. You okay, Rolls?” Her eyes narrow and flicker up and down him. “Getting pissed so early, dearest?”

He laughs a little too loudly and smacks her ass hard. Her face flames with anger, and my jaw clenches. Karen’s a bitch, and I’m happy to see her embarrassed. Still, Roland’s words burn in my brain. I’m ready to get to the bottom of whatever Dickweed has on Amy.

Karen leaves, and Roland looks bleary-eyed into the crowd. “I need to eat something,” he slurs.

I try to think of a way to get him back on the subject of whatever he was about to say. I don’t have to wait for long.

“Hate to tell you.” He pats my shoulder as if pulling me into his confidence, but I lean away. “Karen says Goldie took up with that damn Frenchman.”

I shrug. “It’s all good. Amy’s the girl for me.”

“Right,” he nods, his slimy grin returning.

“So tell me about this blend.”

“Ahh,” he growls. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, old man.”

My brow tightens, and I watch him lean heavily on the bar. I want him to say it so I can break his face. My fingers are twitching, and I’m right on the edge.

I have an idea.

Plastering on a cocky grin, I lean against the bar facing him. “Worried about the statute of limitations?”

Another congestive laugh. “Maybe.” He scans the crowd, and I follow his line of sight to Amy doing a little twist-dance with C.J. She’s so pretty. “Look at her move. I’m sure she feels amazing awake, but I tell you,” he gives me a sick wink. “She’s just as hot unconscious.”

That does it. Before he knows what’s coming, I bunch the neck of his shirt in one hand and jerk him up straight. “Merritt! Wha—” My fist slams into his fucking mouth before he even finishes.

Shrieks ripple through the patrons waiting beside us, and the crowd parts to let Dickweed hit the floor with a SLAM!

He’s out, but I don’t give a shit. I step over his fat carcass to grab his shirtfront again, so I can pull him up and slam my fist into his face another time. He’s drunk, and I want him to feel this beating tomorrow.

“Marcus!” A male voice cuts through the crowd. I don’t even look up.

Fury burns in my chest, driving me on. I plan to leave a lasting impression on this slimy toad. He fucked up hurting the woman I love.

Roland’s face is slick with dark red blood, and my fist glances off his cheekbone. That one hurt, but I don’t care. I’m winding up for Slam number three, when my arm is trapped against a firm torso.

I’m pulled roughly away, and two men block me from finishing that fucking criminal. It’s Evan and Paul. Kitty must be somewhere in the crowd.

“Roland!!!” Karen’s scream bounces off the walls.

I vaguely notice strobes flashing all around us. Paparazzi push through the gawkers to capture us both. I’m sure they got the whole thing.

Nobody leaves the restaurant. Instead it seems to have grown even more crowded. Twenty smart phones are pointed in our direction, and it looks like we’ll be the lead story tomorrow.

“What the fuck?” Evan hisses low in my ear. He’s got a firm grip on me, and it’s a good thing. I don’t care who sees.

I’ve got a lot more where that came from for Roland Dickweed Dickerson. I want him in the hospital. Better yet, I want him dead.

“Let’s go,” Paul barks, helping Evan drag me away.

“Where’s Amy?” I look around the room, but I don’t see her anywhere. I also don’t see C.J. “Amy!” I shout, getting no answer.

The room is chaos, and a wall of well-dressed spectators push forward to take a photo of Roland on his back, his face covered in blood. From what I can tell over Karen’s shoulder, he’s not moving. Satisfaction fills my chest.

“Somebody call 911!” she screams.

“I’ll find Amy,” Paul says. “Kitty and I can drive her home. You need to go.”

Evan tries to lead me to the side exit. “We’ll do damage control tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow I’m reporting his ass to the state bar,” I growl, grabbing my associate’s shoulder and moving him aside. “Right now I’m finding Amy.”

She came here with me, and I won’t leave her alone with these snakes. I’m nearly to the back of the restaurant when I see her guarded by C.J. and a very young looking male dressed as colorfully as her friend.

“Amy.” I go straight to her and catch her arm. All the happiness from earlier has vanished, and her eyes are worried. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s go.”

Taking her hand, I lead her to the back exit and push through it, ignoring the alarm. We’re on the wrong side of the block from the valet service. I scan up the street and see the lights of EMS heading our direction.

“We’re not too far from Sylvia’s condo,” I say. “Are you okay to walk?”

She nods. “What happened?”

Her hair is up in that silly bun with the chopsticks, and in that white dress with the blue design, eyes round, she looks like a little girl. I take a moment to pull her to my chest and hold her. She hesitates a moment before sliding her hands to my waist.

“I’m sorry.” My lips are right at her ear, and I kiss it.

She pulls back and finds my eyes. “Why are you saying that?”

“Roland is a fucking dick, and I couldn’t let him get away with what he did to you.”

Her eyes widen even more, and she steps back as if I struck her. “What are you talking about?”

I step to her, not wanting distance between us. Cupping her face in both my hands, I slide my thumbs over her the tops of her cheeks.

“I don’t know what happened in the past, and I don’t care,” I say, looking deep into her beautiful eyes. “But Roland Dickerson essentially just confessed he rufied you, and I intend to make him pay for it.”

Her face flushes, and she grabs my wrists. “No!” She pulls my hands off her face. “Do not... Oh my god! Please, Marcus. Do not drag all that up again.”

Turning, she walks quickly in the direction of Sylvia’s place. I’m right behind her.

“Amy, wait!” She’s moving fast, and I have to jog to catch up. “I understand how you feel.”

“No. You don’t.” She won’t look at me. “You have no idea what went on back then.”

A sick feeling twists my gut. “Stop!” I catch her arm and make her face me. “Did he rape you or not?”

For a moment, she only looks at me, a mixture of worry and something I don’t recognize on her face. “I don’t even remember that night.” Shaking her head fast, she starts walking again, and I know what I didn’t recognize in her expression. Shame.

She blames herself.

“But you know the night.” Hustling to catch up with her, I don’t try to stop her. I walk beside her, needing her to trust me. “I’ve worked with rape victims before. It was not your fault.”

She pulls up short, catching me off guard. “You didn’t know me back then, Marcus. I was out of control. I have no doubt I put myself in the position to let it happen.”

My jaw grinds. “You don’t fuck someone who’s unconscious.”

Her eyes slide closed, and her arms cross over her small frame. I want to hold her, but I don’t want her to feel trapped or forced.

“That’s rape, Amy.” My voice is soft.

Her chin drops, and it’s almost more than I can take. She speaks slowly, putting it all on the line. “I was so angry...” she hesitates. “I went out all the time. I had a fake ID. I stayed drunk.” Lowering her arms, she studies her hands. “My father had to pull strings so I wasn’t kicked out of school. I moved to Ithaca to get back on track.” The slightest tremble enters her voice. “For Sylvia... He said I was breaking her heart. Me.”

My arms are around her shoulders before I can overthink it, my lips at her temple. “Nothing in your past will change how I feel about you.” Holding a kiss to her brow. “I can’t let him get away with hurting you.” Her body tenses, and I add. “But I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

She relaxes, and her hands go around my waist, this time returning my hug. “It was a long time ago,” she says, her voice muffled against my body. “What happened is best left in the past.”

I’m not sure I can agree with her. I also can’t ignore the burning throb in my knuckles. “That might be hard after tonight.”

She steps back and lifts my swollen fist. “Let me see.” A hiss escapes her lips. “Shit, Marcus. It might be broken.”

I watch as she gently straightens my fingers. “Ow!” I wince, and she jumps.

“I’m sorry!” Green-hazel eyes flicker to mine, and I smile, leaning down to kiss her.

“It’s okay. I’ll get it looked at tomorrow. Let me take you home now.”

Busted fist aside, I’m ready to remove those chopsticks and explore what’s under that silky white dress.

* * *

Amy

His hand was possibly broken, but I couldn’t know for sure. The moment we were through the condo door, he pulled my back against his chest and gripped the front of both my thighs in his large hands. Sliding them up the insides, under my short skirt, he traced the legs of my panties.

I tried to lean my head back against him, but those damn chopsticks were in the way. “They seemed like a good idea at the time,” I laughed, jerking them out and loosening my hair.

It cascaded around us as his fingers found their way inside my already-soaked thong. A low moan scraped from my throat as he teased the wetness in me.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” His mouth moved up my neck behind my ear, and chills skated across my skin. “I plan on making love to you all night.”

Equally fast, he caught the hem of my dress. I had only just unfastened the pearl button at the back of my neck before it was over my head and off. Spinning to face him, I opened the buttons on his shirt quickly to reveal his lovely, lined torso.

Leaning down to lick his nipple, my hands moved to the waist of his pants, but he was ahead of me.

“Mmm...” A low groan vibrated his midsection as my fingers traced the line of ink on his hipbone, following the sexy muscle that wrapped his pelvis. Oblique.

Slacks down, I wasted no time dropping to my knees and lifting his straining, mushroom tip to my lips. I gave it a slow sweep with my tongue, and he fell back against the door with a groan, “Oh, fuck.”

Flickering my tongue under and down his shaft, I gripped it, pumping as I rose up to give his ink a kiss and a lick. Strong hands under my arms, he swept me off my feet before I could think.

“I wasn’t finished,” I complained, my legs going around his waist as he carried me to my bedroom.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got all night,” he said before claiming my mouth...

Today sitting in the Pink Pig, waiting for him to meet me for lunch, the events of last night filter through my mind like a slideshow. We arrived at China Girl, and when Roland and Karen appeared, C.J. whisked me away with him and Taylor, the... attractive young man my bestie has a crush on.

As much as I hate it, I can’t help a little smile at what happened next. I don’t want my past dragged back into the limelight, but seeing Marcus beat the shit out of Roland Dickerson might’ve been the highlight of my life.

Roland was truly a bastard in school. Still, rape had never entered my mind as a legitimate accusation. Not after the three years I’d spent acting out my anger against my father.

I’d drowned his ongoing lies with alcohol and meaningless sex, and waking up alone in Roland’s hotel room, my panties gone and the sticky evidence on my thighs that he’d fucked me... Oh, god. My throat closes at the memory.

I was actually thankful I couldn’t remember sleeping with him or his slimy hands touching my body. I didn’t even remember leaving the bar with him. It was my personal rock bottom. The siren scream that I had to get my shit together.

Sylvia had begged me to talk to someone or go to counseling for my behavior. She had no idea what our father was doing behind her back, the secret eating away at my heart.

Every time he touched her, and she’d smile warmly, eyes full of trust and devotion, my insides burned blacker. Every time she sacrificed something she loved or some cherished ambition in service of his needs or his career, I wanted to throw things. I wanted to scream in his face, scream until my lungs hurt. He was the lying cheater.

Of course, when Karen found out I’d slept with her boyfriend, she made me Public Enemy Number One. It didn’t take much for people to believe her after the way I’d spiraled out of control.

She’s held that night over my head ever since, painting me as the slut who tried to steal her man. As if Roland Dickerson were something worth stealing.

A waiter appears to take my drink order. I ask for a Sicilian Blood Orange tea and an appetizer of marinated olives and the chef’s selected cheeses. He nods and disappears, and my phone vibrates. Pulling it out, I glance down to see a text from Marcus.

Almost there. Can’t wait to see you again.

A little smile. My hero. My defender. My fantastic lover who is everything I’ve ever wanted. A shimmer of happiness warms my stomach.

Shall I order you a drink? I’m about to hit Send, when I realize someone’s standing at my table.

Karen.

“Roland is having his jaw wired shut.” Her cold voice drips with evil intent, but hello, I’m not afraid anymore.

I pick up a pork-fried almond from the small cup on the table. “Maybe he’ll lose weight.”

For the first time in years, I feel exonerated. C.J. always insisted something bad must’ve happened for me to sleep with Roland, but I never believed him. Now I know he was right.

Karen leans closer, her dark hair sliding over one shoulder. It’s interesting how she might be pretty if she weren’t such a bitch.

“Marcus Merritt is going to pay for what he did. Taking up with you just makes it that much easier.”

With those words, she neuters my newfound confidence. The suggestion that I could be a liability to Marcus increases my shame. She sees it on my face, and I hate the gleam of power reflected in her dark eyes.

“You should have never come back,” she hisses. “You should have kept running.”

“Why, Karen!” A bright voice from behind causes her to slowly straighten and turn.

I glance up to see Paige Goldfarb striding toward us. Her hair’s pulled back in a messy-chic French twist, and she’s wearing a slim-cut violet suit. Her eyes shine as if she’s having the time of her life, and I can’t help being curious.

“You’re not going to believe what I saw last night at China Girl. I’ve been dying to tell you about it!” Her voice is too loud for the small restaurant.

Karen’s brow clutches, and her dark eyes flit around the diners, who are turning in our direction. “Roland was attacked by your ex-boyfriend, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh, what I saw happened before all that.” Paige is still speaking in a loud, clear voice, and she puts a hand on her hip. Confidence emanates from her. “Armand and I decided to walk up from the Drake, and what do you think we passed in the alley?”

She hits the word so hard, I’m on the edge of my seat wanting to know. I don’t miss my opponent’s change in demeanor. Her eyes blink too quickly, and her hands slide down the rope-design on the front of her burgundy dress.

“I have no idea. It was a busy night.”

“Let me refresh your memory.” The beautiful blonde has everyone’s attention now. “You were up against that dirty, filthy brick wall with what looked like Troy Cox between your legs just-a pumping away!”

Page laughs, but rage flashes in Karen’s eyes. Her hand shoots out to grip Paige’s forearm. “Lower your voice!” she hisses.

“Am I talking loud?” Mock surprise is on Paige’s face as she looks around the restaurant, and I might have fallen in love with her in that moment.

Karen’s voice rises to match hers. “That’s just like the kind of filthy lie an ex-stripper would make up. Just because you have money now doesn’t make you one of us.”

“I have no interest in being one of you.” Paige is all force as she leans into Karen’s face. “Everyone thought Roland’s long-overdue ass-kicking was the biggest story of the night. Good thing I had my camera ready.”

She holds up the device, and Karen slaps it out of Paige’s hand. “You won’t show that to anyone!”

A sharp stomp, and it crunches beneath Karen’s chunky square heel. I can’t help a gasp. The maître d’ makes his way quickly in our direction, I’m sure hoping to head off a potential catfight.

Paige’s eyes light. “Thanks for confirming my story. It’s backed up to the cloud, dumbass.” Then her voice goes low, menacing. “As much as I’m sure Marcus Merritt would welcome a face-off against you, you’d better listen up.” A well-manicured fingernail pokes Pill-butt right in the chest. “The second you try to hurt him, I’ll forward all six shots to every gossip site in town. And I got some great angles.”

My eyes catch sight of the sexy lawyer I’m waiting for just as Karen’s sputtering begins. “If you dare slander me in any way, you’ll wish you never moved out of the trailer park!” She’s acting tough, but fear is in her voice. I love it.

“I’ll send you the bill for my phone.” Paige turns her back just as Marcus reaches our table.

“Paige?” He glances from her to Karen, who’s hastily retreating, then to me. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing for you to worry about.” Paige pats his chest and gives his cheek a quick peck before starting to go. His confused eyes meet my gleeful ones, but she stops and comes back. “And Amy?”

“Yes?” I’m slightly nervous at what she might say to me.

She doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m so glad to meet you.” My brow lines as I take her extended hand. Maybe this has something to do with Armand? I have to confess, she suits him better than I ever did.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” I mean those words, and I notice Marcus’s arms cross. I can’t wait to fill him in.

“Be sure he tells you why we were together,” she says. “He’s a good guy, and I’m sorry if I interfered with your relationship.”

Now I’m completely confused. What she’s saying is the exact opposite of what happened. It was actually me that interfered with their relationship.

She’s gone, and all I can do is wait for an explanation. I barely notice a busboy sweeping the scraps of Paige’s phone into a dustpan.