It’s always about money.
“You misunderstand. There’s no payment involved.” I hold his gaze as the backup I called in arrives. “My friends here will convince you it’s in your best interest and the interest of keeping all your fingers if you take a fucking hike.”
Castro glances at the door and visibly shudders as two massive silhouettes loom there. He has to know this is an Irish Mob neighborhood. Long coats, shades, and scowls of men who can do maximum damage in a short amount of time. They don’t even need to say a word. Castro knows the can of worms he’s opened.
He storms toward the door, a few shades paler.
“Let him go,” I yell to Trace’s trackers.
The men part, and Castro disappears.
Scarlett collapses to her knees among the spilled fabric, shoulders shaking. “I can’t believe he did this,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry.” I crouch down, helping her gather what’sleft. “I didn’t mean for your clothes to spill on the floor.”
“It’s okay.” With her head held high, she folds them on her bed.
Smelling something acrid, I get up, go into the bathroom, and look at the charred sink. “Someone burnedsomethingin here.”
“I don’t even own a curling iron,” she scoffs, grabbing a makeup bag and a few things from the shower.
“Where are your suitcases?”
“Closet,” she says. “But it’s just that same duffel I had the night you met me. The night I left Pierce. I only took a handful of things with me.”
“I’ll get you new clothes.”
“You don’t have to.” She looks up with glassy, desperate eyes. But not weak. She was blindsided at every turn today.
“I want to. I’m your husband.” I brush her face. “I take care of and protect what’s mine.”
“You’ll…” Her throat works. “You’ll take on Ramses Langston? Cormac, he can bury you. Ruin your career.”
I want to tell her that I already did that. But I’ll deal with Ramses when the time is right. “Ramses Langston is too close to FDA approval for a ventricular-assist device to risk a public war right now.”
I find that duffel bag, and a shiver runs through me, remembering how I lived out of one of these for a while. What I paid to get back here. While Scarlett packs up, Trace calls me, and I thank him for sending his two guys, Blade and Jett.
I formally introduce myself and tell them they can leave. But they insist on staying and driving us out of here.
“Our ride is waiting,” I tell Scarlett. “What else can I help with?”
“My books,” she says, sniffling. “The boxes are in the closet.”
I pack them all up, smiling at how my woman loves both complicated medical journals and romance smut.
With the overstuffed duffel zipped, Scarlett moves to a small table with a laptop and more textbooks. I help her pack all that up and throw that heavy fucking bag over my shoulder. Blade and Jett each take a box of books.
Her hand in mine again, she smiles at me. Trust and appreciation bloom in her gaze, and it can kill me. It’s been so long since someone looked at me like that. Not sure anyone ever has.
Before I actively torpedoed my career, I just did hookups. I wasn’t a relationship guy.
Now I’m married.
Scarlett leaves the keys on the kitchen counter with a small sniff. She just moved in here. I felt her energy that day in the management office, how she wanted this place. The fucking Langstons ruined that.
“It’s okay,” I say and kiss her on the forehead. “Fresh starts are very rewarding.”
I should know.