“That’s not your choice, Ainsworth. Let her choose.”
Trent glowers at Baz but agrees. I glance warily back and forth between them. This is my chance to pick Trent and get an in, find out what happened to my sister, but then there’s Baz. I don’t know why he’s here, or how he plays into any of this, but if our first encounter is any indication, I’d like to clear the air. I shouldn’t care that he probably thinks I’m a liar, but the part of me that spent most of the night with him does care. I hate that I want to get to know him. Even just for a little bit.
“Trent, right?” Kat says, stepping toward him. “Let’s give Scarlett and your friend some privacy.” He looks like he doesn’t want to go, but eventually, he follows closely behind Kat, leaving me with Baz. I can’t tell if I want to thank her or throttle her.
Trent glances at me over his shoulder. One glance and I know even if he spends the night with Kat, that doesn’t mean he’s done with me. Not by a long shot.
“So,” Baz says, stepping closer, voice deep and gruff. “Which one is your real name, Mackenzie or Scarlett?”
I shoot a wary glance over my shoulder, making sure there’s no one around. “Can we not do this right now?” I whisper-hiss. Dark shadows pass through Baz’s eyes as he takes a step closer. I have to crane my neck back just to look up at him. Was he this tall and formidable last night? He raises a dark brow, waiting for me to answer. I know he won’t take no for an answer.
I press the flat of my tongue against the roof of my mouth and contemplate what to say. I need my identity to remain intact. I can’t screw this up.
“Scarlett,” I say confidently, making up my mind.
Baz looks doubtful. “Then why lie when we first met?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I panicked.”
He crosses those thick, muscled arms over his broad pecs. The expensive material of his button-up pulls taut across his chest. He plies me with a cold smirk. “I call bullshit, Scarlett. But I won’t say anything to the guys.”
I swallow thickly. “Why not?”
The muscle in his jaw clenches almost angrily. “Because they don’t need to know everything.”
“Why are you even friends with them?”
That’s not a question I should be asking. I know this. I’m supposed to remain a mystery. I shouldn’t be alluding to the fact that I know the rest of the guys in any capacity, but I need to know why someone like Baz would even associate himself with any of them.
Baz actually looks sheepish as if he’s not proud to be associated with them. “I’ve known them my whole life. They’re like my brothers. Albeit sometimes my stupid brothers but my brothers nonetheless.”
A sick feeling brews in my gut, and my stomach coils with dread. My eyes narrow. “Is Baz your real name?” My heart thunders in my chest because, deep down, as my brain is connecting the dots, I know it isn’t.
“Yes and no. My birth name is Sebastian. The guys have always called me Baz, though. After a while, it was easier to go by that than anything else.”
My chest feels like a vise is squeezing it, making it nearly impossible to drag in air through my lungs. “What’s your last name, Sebastian?” I whisper.
He narrows his eyes. “Kingston-Pierce. For business, I use the shortened King.”
My heart squeezes.
Shame leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
I feel sick. Sick to my stomach.
I place a trembling hand over my abdomen, trying to quell the sudden bout of nausea and lightheadedness.
Sebastian Pierce. From Ferndale. He looks nothing like the kid from high school. Back then, his hair was dark brown and curly. He had the hair of a surfer—or a rebel. I remember burying my crush on Sebastian in high school since he had a longtime girlfriend, Summer Foster. They’d been together since their freshman year all through his senior year; it was the main reason my crush on Trent was so consuming. I channeled everything I felt onto him and him alone.
How had I not seen it before? Why was I so stupid?
Baz King. The Kings. His resort chains. This club. It’s all named after him.
How could I let this happen?
I let this … this murderer kiss me. I let him fuck me. Raw. I let this man inside my body, and he may have … oh, God. A piercing pain enters my chest as I think about my sister. As I think about the vile way she was murdered. I’ve spent years feeling guilty. Years trying to wrap my head around all of it to bring her killers to justice. But Mads was always right—I fuck everything up. Even now, years later, I’m still the one fucking up. Madison was never the problem. It was always me.
I blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears of anger that are dying to break free of their barrier and roll down my pristinely painted face. Baz watches me with a questioning glint in his eyes, likely wondering what’s changed for me so quickly. I have to stifle the urge to snarl at him like an animal as I look at him. A potential killer. I let him get close to me, and to think, he could’ve been the one who hurt Madison with the rest of the guys. He could’ve been the one who wanted to hurt me that night.
Someone in this building wanted me dead all those years ago, and instead of killing me, they settled for my sister. And I’m going to find out who it was, even if it’s the last thing I do.
A calm settles into my bones as I blow out a deep breath. A comforting sensation radiates from my right shoulder as though a warm hand is resting there, guiding me.
One thing is for certain—Sebastian and the rest of the Savages are going to pay. One way or another.
The second I have to step outside for fresh air, I know tonight is going to be a pain in the ass. Judging from the long line of patrons dying to get inside the building behind me and all the fire codes we’re more than likely breaking, I’d say the police will be paying us a visit soon. The line to get inside is wrapped all the fuck around the corner, which is a major fire hazard for all the other businesses around here, too.
Of course, I’ll be the one who has to deal with the fallout. At first, The Kings was a good business idea, but going all in with the whole group? There’s bound to be issues. Many fucking issues. Especially with Trent and Zach. They’ve always been the biggest troublemakers, and over the years, nothing has really changed. They still can’t even manage to keep it in their pants half the time, let alone stay sober long enough to focus on the business aspects of The Kings. It’s all one big party to them.
Trent and Zach are the personalities of the clubs. Vincent is the numbers guy; fucker has always been too smart for his own good. Marcus and I are the glue that holds this shit together—we’re the business side of The Kings. Which makes sense. We’re the only two with a stable head on our shoulders, save for Vincent—he’s gotten our asses out of so much trouble over the years. If it wasn’t for him, we’d likely all be behind bars by now. His father, Mr. Hawthorne has so much pull here in Los Angeles, he’s practically untouchable.
Pushing my frustrations aside, I swipe my hand through my hair and head back inside to check on all the major points in the club. There’s no doubt the rest of the guys will be up top, too focused on their plan of action for tonight to care about anything else—like the entrance, lounge, and bar—or to make sure everything is running smoothly. While making rounds, I hear the whispers. The questions about this place and the glass section on the upper level. Most of the theories are out of this world while others hit it right on the head.