“I didn’t want to fight with him,” she says. Withdrawing her hand from mine, she begins picking at her nails. “I figure we still have time until the baby arrives to change his mind.”

Right, because Jason is such a reasonable guy. It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes. “What if he doesn’t change his mind?” I ask. It’s a valid question. Annie has always deferred to him, and I have a sinking feeling that this time will be no different.

“I don’t think it will be a problem. He just needs time. But, Joe,” she says, her voice growing wary. “I keep trying to understand why you two hate each other so much, but I can’t wrap my head around it.”

“I never said I hated him.”

She huffs in exasperation. “You didn’t have to. It’s written all over you anytime he walks into a room. Heck, even mentioning his name gets you all riled up. And Jason is no different. It’s like he’s on edge anytime you’re around.”

Swallowing, I shift in my seat, looking out the window to avoid her curious gaze. “I guess we just never gelled.”

“You can say that again,” she chuckles. “But really, it’s deeper than that. Everyone’s noticed it. So what gives? Do you two have some kind of history I don’t know about?”

My gaze jumps to hers, and I see more than just simple curiosity burning in their green depths. Annie is prodding because some part of her is suspicious, and she’s right to be.

Ah fuck. Fuckityfuckfuckfuck! I don’t like where this is leading and I don’t want to be the one to tell her. The past is the past and that’s exactly where it should stay.

“Joe?” Annie leans forward, and I can see that she’s read my silence as confirmation that there’s more to the story. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

I have to get out of here.

“Damn,” I say, pulling my phone from my back pocket. I pretend to read the blank screen and shake my head. “I have to go. I’m late to my appointment.” Standing up, I toss some bills on the table to cover my half of the food, then round it to give her a brief hug.

“What appointment?” she questions, looking bewildered by my sudden harried state.

“Just a thing,” I say, waving my hand in the air. “Nothing important, but I have to run.”

Eyes narrowing, Annie tracks me as I rush for the door. “We’re not finished with this conversation, Joe!”

I know, and that’s what frightens me. Throwing my hand up, I wave goodbye and burst onto the sidewalk. Needing a quick getaway, I jump into the first cab I spot and I give the driver my address. I don’t take my first full breath until I’m safely ensconced in my apartment.

I guess it’s true what they say: A person can only run for so long before the past catches up with them.

SEVEN

Dancing helps me clear my head. It’s just too bad that Kota needed an extra body on the floor tonight. I need the release. I need that unhurried moment where I can just let my mind go blank, let my thoughts drift into nothing while I move my body.

Mirage is hosting a party tonight. Some guy is getting married and this is where he’s decided to have his bachelor party. I wonder if his fiancée knows what he’s doing and what kind of place this is. The kind of services a man can pay for that go beyond a simple drink.

Not that I care. I’m here to make money, not solve personal problems. Lord knows I have enough of my own.

Navigating the congested floor, I hold a tray full of empties high and weave past the tables. The club is louder than usual tonight. The men have grown rowdier with each passing hour. I’ve never seen it like this before, and if it weren’t for Kota and the beefy guards positioned at every corner and exit, I might be scared. But this is the safest place I can be right now.

Reaching the back of the bar, I dispose of the empty bottles in the garbage and return the used glasses to the dish washer. Poor Bernice has already run the damn thing five times tonight and looks exhausted. However, she’s moving with a speed and agility the rest of us can only aspire to.

“If you need more glasses,” she says when she notices me standing behind her, “there’s a fresh stock under the bar. Be careful, though, they’re still hot.”

I tip my head in confirmation as I take a drink of water from a glass I’ve stashed beside the ice bin. I’m looking out over the club, scanning the patrons through the blanket of dark that’s occasionally broken up by colored strobe lights, when I see him.

Rebel sits at a two-top near the back, but much closer to the action than normal. I assume with the chaos, he wasn’t able to get his usual seat. He appears relaxed, in his element, and those dark, hawk-like eyes are fixed on me.

I wonder how long he’s been here, and how long he’s been watching me. When I survey his table, I don’t see his usual drink, so it must not have been long.

“He’s got it bad for you.”

My gaze switches to Bernice, who is busy filling drink orders. Still, she somehow has the time to keep track of my love life. I shake my head as I retrieve a clean tumbler and drop a couple cubes of ice into the bottom.

“He’s been here nearly every night this week, and he’s not here for the shows,” she continues.

I don’t like how observant she is, but I have to admit, I do like the thrill that rushes through me at her words. It feels good to know he wants me and that it isn’t just my imagination. I’m not putting more into it than there is. Rebel wouldn’t spend his evenings chasing after me if he wasn’t serious about catching me.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Pouring two fingers of scotch, I return the bottle to the top shelf and retrieve the glass. “I guess we’ll find out,” I say, winking at her as I walk away.

My eyes fix on Rebel as I sashay my way toward him. I love how his dark eyes betray him. They skate over me, drinking me in, in a way that would be inappropriate if we were anywhere else. Ignoring the shiver of pleasure that traces down my spine, I set the glass down in front of him.

His mouth curves up in a slow smirk as he reaches for it, and even though I know I should, I can’t seem to make myself walk away. I watch, fascinated, as he brings the glass to his full lips and takes a drink. His throat is thick and covered in day-old scruff, and when he swallows, I imagine running my tongue down it, tasting the hint of salt and cologne on his skin.

“You remembered.” His voice is a deep husk that travels straight to my core. I could pretend to be unaffected, but we both know it would be a lie.

“How could I forget?” I say casually. “You’re a man of habit.”

He considers this, that sexy smile still in place. “What are you doing the rest of the evening, Josephine?”

“Work, home, bed, in that order,” I say, my mood shifting on a dime. I’m not interested in playing games tonight. I especially am not interested in dealing with Rebel and his dominate, overbearing attitude. As hot as I used to find that—and still do, if I’m being honest—I’m still sore over his behavior at his parents’ house over the weekend.

Rebel treated me like a pawn in a game of chess. He was so busy trying to outplay his brother he forgot that I am a human being with feelings. I know I can’t keep this side of my life a secret forever, but when it finally does come out, I want it to be on my terms. What I don’t want is for the information to be used as leverage, which is exactly what Rebel did.

Rebel’s hand glides across my hip and around my back, drawing me closer until my stomach is flush with his thigh and he has to tilt his head back to look at me. “When you say bed, I assume you mean mine.”

A bitter laugh escapes me and I shake my head. “That’s not how this goes, remember? Complete anonymity?”

His eyes darken, turning into turbulent pools of night. “That was before,” he drawls. Behind me, his hand presses against my back, his thumb slipping beneath the tight fabric of my shirt to caress my heated flesh. “Before the names, before you showed up in my home. Before you fucked my brother.” That last bit is full of bitterness and hatred, and I step back, breaking our connection.