I drive along, the bright lights catching my eye, but my vision usually takes me to the darkest shadows, the areas where things go down that other people don’t need to know about. I’ve got a lot of deals on my mind right now—some that have not gone my way. Like the missing money and the situation with Velasco. I can’t help but glance down every dark alley I pass, wondering if something is happening there that will make my life hell.
Or maybe it will make it easier. If the Raven fluttered off never to be seen or heard from again, I wouldn’t shed a tear. If Mr. Nyx went missing, I wouldn’t send anyone out looking for him.
I stop at a red light next to a sports car with the top down. A couple of young guys look like they are out way past their curfew. The driver revs his engine, inviting me to a street race. I laugh. I am too old for that, and there’s no way the vehicle I’m currently driving is faster than his Ferrari. Now if I was in my Porsche, I’d be tempted to take him on, but when the light changes, he floors it, and I just lightly press the gas down, not needing to show off to anyone today.
Eventually, I meander back home. It doesn’t feel much like home as I pull into my parking spot and head inside. It feels like work. I’ve been speaking to my accountant and to Leah about buying a new office space and better accommodations for me personally, but I fucking hate moving, and the idea of doing so makes me nauseated, so I keep putting it off.
It sounds like everyone is gone as I walk through the employee area of the club and head back to my rooms. I’m glad for it and am sure to lock the door behind me. Once inside, I pour myself a scotch and decide to go sit outside for a little while.
I slide the glass door open and look up at the heavens, disappointed again that I can’t see a single star. One of these days, I want to live someplace where I can look up into the sky and see a tiny pinprick of hope winking back at me.
Sitting down on a deck chair, I take a deep breath and sip my drink. Even though I’m in a densely populated area, I’ve gone to great lengths to make this private, with tall wood-tone walls on three sides and the other looking out over a bricked-in garden area that gives me some green space but also keeps other people from invading my tiny oasis. It’s certainly not an oceanside escape, but it will work for me to be able to sit out here and gather my thoughts tonight.
The scotch burns a little going down, reminding me that I’m still alive. I’m not part of the group—I’m the boss. I’m not with Meg—I’m her boss. I live at the club—I’m the boss… Sometimes I wish I wasn’t the boss anymore so I could be one of them, just an average Joe worker who can be part of the gang. I haven’t felt this alone in a really long time.
As I sit here, I think about the night that I killed Jonathan. I remember standing outside of Mr. Nyx’s studios as the boys loaded him into the vehicle, noticing how there were no stars above us then either. It’s easier to operate beneath a sea of black than it is with dots of light winking down at you, reminding you that nothing stays hidden forever.
Well, maybe that’s not true. Maybe some things do stay hidden forever. I’ve been actively looking again for the money Jonathan stole from me for over two weeks, and even with my connections and resources, I haven’t been able to find a fucking thing. I don’t understand how he could make a hundred million dollars just disappear off the face of the earth.
What was even the point in taking the money if he wasn’t going to spend any of it? I’ve followed his financials for the last year or so, since he robbed me, and as far as I can tell, the most expensive thing the asshole has bought was a pair of Nikes worth about three hundred dollars.
So…where the fuck is my money?
If I get it back, what will I even do with it? I’ve thought about using it to fix up the apartments where Meg is staying. I think she deserves a better place. Her apartment isn’t so bad, and I bet it looks great since she painted it. When I was there to try to win her back—something I failed miserably at—I didn’t take the time to look at the paint job. Still, she deserves a nice penthouse apartment somewhere.
I can’t stop thinking about her, and it’s literally driving me crazy. When I close my eyes and tip my head back, I can envision her beneath me, the way her body felt, the scent of her. I can hear her calling my name, moaning, coming undone beneath me.
“You sure have fucked things up, Hunter,” I mutter as I take another drink. That is the understatement of the year. For someone who is known as The Fixer, it seems like my own life is a complete and utter disaster. I finally care about a woman enough to want to make her mine, and she hates me. She won’t even speak to me. And she keeps whistling that damn song.
What the hell is that song, anyway?
I pull my phone out of my pocket, determined to solve at least one mystery. I can’t whistle worth a damn, but I can hum. I open up my search app and hum the song into it, hoping it’s close enough for the computer inside of my phone to recognize the tune.
It doesn’t take too long for it to come up with an answer. I read the title and swear under my breath. I can’t help the maniacal laugh that escapes my lips as I toss my head back and think about how fucking clever Meg is.
“Another Mistake,” I say to myself out loud. I read through the lyrics. Some of them fit, some of them don’t, but one thing is damn sure: The woman is an evil genius for getting under my skin so completely this way.
I finish my drink and set the glass aside, closing my eyes and lifting my face to the skies. I’m not a praying man. God has to hate me for all that I’ve done, even if I’ve always been able to justify my actions. But I’m not above sending a wish out into the universe. “Let me get her back, somehow,” I mumble.
When I open my eyes, I see it—way up above my head, dim beneath a rolling cloud and all of the smog. But it’s there.
One tiny star.
CHAPTER26
MEGHAN
Music is playing over the PA system as I stroll down the sidewalk, and I can’t help but sway my hips to it a bit. It’s a totally different kind of music than what I’d hear at the club. Audio Anarchy drops sick beats that make people want to dance, but this music is more upbeat and catchy, and I can’t help but smile as I walk along, swinging my shopping bags.
It’s Monday, and I have the day off, which is awesome. I felt like last week was a long one. I had a lot of fun with my friends and made a lot of money in tips, but it’s nice to have two days in a row where I don’t have to do anything but take care of me.
Yesterday, I slept in and treated myself to a nice lunch. Today, I am shopping. I’ve already picked out a couple of cute outfits. One is definitely for work. A cute purple top and a short silver skirt. The other is more for lounging around the house—an oversized hoodie and some soft denim jeans. I suppose it will stop being summer here one of these days…at least for a little while…won’t it?
I’m on my way back to my car when I happen past a salon and just casually glance through the window. What I see has me stopping in my tracks. One of the stylists is just finishing up this woman’s hair, and it’s stunning. On the top, it looks like normal blonde hair, but when the stylist lifts it up, beneath the first layer is a rainbow of color. It’s so gorgeous, I can’t help but stand there and gawk at it. All of the colors are so vibrant—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. She looks amazing, and I am suddenly so jealous of people who can be so bold.
I honestly don’t think I could pull that off… But then, as I stand there, watching the woman leap up from her seat and hug the stylist, I remember how empowered I felt at the beach when I rammed my knee into that guy’s groin. I remember how sexy I felt the other night at work when Stella did my makeup. Maybe the old me couldn’t pull off a hairstyle like that, but hell, this isn’t the old me. This is Meghan 2.0, and I think that I would look amazing with a little color in my hair.
Just maybe not all of the colors in my hair…