Cheaters Anonymous (26 page)

“Scar’s... he killed... Ace, your brother.”

“Scar’s fine, Jules. Trish got me just in time. We found him.”

“He’s fine?”

And that’s when I saw him. Limping and almost dragging his body toward me, he found whatever strength he had left in his limbs to head my way. I pulled a long sniffle through my nose and ran toward him, slamming into his beaten up body. He moaned in pain but wrapped me into him.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed.

“It’s okay, Jules. You’re okay. I’m sorry. I should have never let you come here.”

I pulled away, examining him. “Are you okay? Jesus, you need to get to the hospital.”

“I had to see you first.” His face twisted as he held back the pain. “Brad set a trap. Tranquilized me. I couldn’t get to you. I’m sorry I put you in this mess.”

“Don’t be. None of this was your fault. You’re alive. That’s all that matters. I thought you were dead.”

“No, Trish called Ace. They both came to get me out, and Ace called a few friends.”

I nodded in appreciation to the team of men dressed in black, with thick belts of accessories around their waist. “Hunter is Grace’s boyfriend.” He pointed to one of the men, and let out a yelp as his hand lowered back to the side.

“Jules, what he said about a bet…”

“You don’t have to explain.” I shook my head.

“I didn’t. I never bet on you. But Brad is part owner of the club, and he’s sick. I did everything I could to get him to sell his share, but he wouldn’t budge. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. There was nothing else, Jules. I promise. No fucking stupid bets. When I first saw you, I wanted to keep you away from him, but I didn’t know how. Then Brad would disappear more often, which made it easier to run the club. But then when we saw him at Kissed, and you told me he’d been stalking you, I tried to find him – but I couldn’t.”

“Scar, stop. I believe you. I always believed you. I know you’d never hurt me.”

He tried to squeeze me in tighter in his arms, and winced. “Fuck, this is gonna take a while to heal, Jules.”

“Then you’re lucky you have the best doctor in the city to take care of you.”

“The city? I’m pretty sure at least in the state. So, we’re okay?”

“Sucking up will definitely earn you some bonus points, Scar, but we should get you to the hospital. And yes, we’re definitely okay.”

“Come on, brother.” Ace and Trish came to our side, and Ace supported Scar with his arm as we headed toward his Hummer.

“Trish, how did you know Ace?”

“Axel introduced us before he left for Europe.”

I wondered what he was doing there, but my attention was turned to the other hero brother. “Ace, I don’t know what to say, or how to thank you.”

“You can start by giving me your blessing to ask for your sister’s hand.”

“Wait… what?”

“You heard me. I want to ask Zoey to marry me.”

“Haven’t you guys just started dating?”

“It’s been two months. When you know, you know.” He shrugged.

Scar leaned into me, whispering, “What he’s saying is that Zoey’s holding his balls in his pocket.”

“Screw you, Scar.”

“Come on guys, stop it. Yes, if it’s what makes Zoey happy, then you have my blessing. But my threat stands true, Ace.” I lifted my finger to make a point. “Scalpel and arsenic, and you can add a good punch to that as well.”

He chuckled. “I’ll remember that, sis.”

I rolled my eyes. “And please don’t call me ‘sis.’ We should call an ambulance,” I said.

“We’ll get there much quicker if I drive,” Ace insisted.

I took Trish’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you. If it weren’t for you...”

“I owed you. You were the one who saved me from a doomed relationship. God knows what would have happened if I’d stayed with him. If you knew half the things he made me do…” She paused. “I’m just glad it’s over. Thank you for believing in me and being a friend when no one else would.”

“I only did what anyone would have.”

“That’s not true. You did much more than that.” She hugged me.

Just before Ace turned the ignition, led by the team of men, I saw Brad step out of the building. He was cuffed and pretty beat up and had something tied around his hips to cover him.

“I don’t ever want to see him again,” I said.

“You won’t, Jules. He’s going to prison for a long time. It’s all over.” Scar wrapped his arm around me and I leaned into his body.

“Ouch.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’d rather be in pain with you at my side than dead.”

I preferred that as well, and promised myself not to waste any more time in fear. I no longer had doubts about my commitment to Scar. I knew that he’d had my heart the moment we met underneath the bleachers. It might have taken us longer to connect than some others, but we did so with a lifetime’s worth of experiences behind us, ones we could hopefully use to build a wonderful future together.

Unfortunately, that happiness we’d been waiting for still wouldn’t happen for a while.

C
HAPTER
25

Scar spent a week in the hospital and was released under my care. Given that we’d gone to meet Brad straight from the airport and then to the hospital once we were rescued, Scar had never had a chance to gather his belongings and move back to his house. Since I was still at the guest house and could help him with the recovery, it made sense for us both to stay there. At moments I wondered how we had come to live together so quickly when we were both afraid of a commitment and making a mistake. Then I just stopped wondering and laughed at my urge to send a “Thank you” gift basket to Fate.

In addition to his external injuries, he had a fractured rib and sprained foot, but that was the worst of it. When he went into surgery to get his nose fixed, he insisted the doctors reconstruct it to the way it was before. Yes, Brad had definitely wanted payback when he smashed Scar’s face.

“I don’t want a pretty nose. I’m a man.”

I was sure he didn’t realize that his nose was already perfect.

Trish was staying with Axel, and Zoey never moved back to our apartment. I hadn’t heard any news of a proposal just yet, so I didn’t say anything to my sister. With Brad behind bars, I finally returned to work. I took turns with Beth caring for Scar, who insisted he was fine as soon as he got to the guest house. He didn’t enjoy all the fussing, and was growing restless each day. Ace and Axel had both been taking care of the strip club. As soon as Scar was better, I planned to move back home; however, I’d been secretly pushing back the date, making excuses for why I should stay with him.

Two weeks later, we pulled up along a long driveway. It curved up a small hill before we pulled up to his house. I’d never realized that residences like these existed in the city, especially so close to our old neighborhood. In fact, I was pretty sure this was one of those hidden gems only a few real estate moguls would know about.

“You live five blocks away from your parents?”

“What can I say? I’m a mama’s boy, and I never knew it.”

The home was sleek, all straight lines and sharp corners. Wide windows stretched from the ground right up to the roof, yet I couldn’t see anything inside. By the time I reached for the handle, Scar was already at my side opening the door.

“It’s beautiful.” Somehow I’d pictured him living at his father’s exclusive residence forever.

“Thanks. Come on – I’ll give you the tour. But I must warn you, there’s not much to see.”

Judging by the size of it from the outside I took his humbleness in stride, but when I walked into the open room that extended the full width and depth of the house, I realized that Scar wasn’t exaggerating at all. Add to that it was two stories high, and the size took my breath away. The open space impressed me more than a regular house with walls and glistening marble floors would have. The smell of paint hit me the moment he opened the door. It was beyond overpowering, and I hoped whatever Scar was painting, he hadn’t used oil-based paint.

“It’s water-based,” Scar replied to my unspoken question. “At least this one is.”

The entire house, although huge, was mostly made up of air. To the left, there was a counter that belonged in a kitchen, with two stools. Cardboards and papers with pencil scribbles littered the place. The only other reason I thought it must be a kitchen was because of the appliances. Above the kitchen was a railing and a room behind it opening into empty space. I immediately imagined that area as a quiet study or an office. In front of me, easels upon easels of flower paintings stood tall. Most were of roses, in similar shades to the ones I’d seen in Beth’s garden. Then I remembered the painting at Beth’s house, and wondered whether Scar was the artist.

“I’m sorry about the mess. I haven’t been here in a while, and I’m calling a cleaning crew this afternoon.”

While the home did appear messy, it was more of an organized mess than a dirty one.

“It doesn’t look like there’s much cleaning. What were you going to do?”

Unless Scar was planning on removing all the paintings and scrunching up the linen and drop sheets off the floor, the cleaning crew would spend more time putting his paint buckets and work away than actually cleaning.

“I need to make it more livable.”

A semi-circular staircase weaved up on the right side of the house. I could see a king-sized bed beyond the railing upstairs. The sheets were crumpled, as if he’d jumped out of bed and headed right out the door. Perhaps he had. His bedroom was also open to the entire house downstairs. If I were to bet, I’d say that Scar had had all the walls in this house taken down at his request.

“I didn’t know you painted.” This definitely explained a lot.

“It kept me busy after I quit smoking.”

“Well, that’s one way to do it.” I walked over to one of the paintings. “Scar, these are gorgeous. ”

“Thank you. I think I get it from my birth mom. I mean, no one in the Wagner family is artistic. Well, except for Grace. I guess being a hairdresser and all makes her somewhat of an artist. Did you expect to find a different kind of bachelor pad?”

Scar’s voice cracked. Was he nervous? I could count on one hand the times in my life I’d heard him stutter. Over the past couple of weeks of recovery, Scar had opened up to me about the DNA test he had done, and why he felt so torn about his family. It was definitely a big step for him.

“Maybe something with a stripper pole,” I said, and got a more relaxed chuckle out of Scar as he pointed up to where the bed was. That’s when I noticed the metal contraption to the side of the room.

Figures.

“You wanna try it out?”

“Not unless you want me to break a leg or two,” I said, grabbing one of the easels and lifting it off the floor. “Where do you want these?”

He pressed my hands lower until I set the paining down. I’d touched Scar many times during the past two weeks, but this time his warm skin felt more arousing. Maybe because I knew his injuries had healed, for the most part? Or perhaps because I found it more difficult for his fingers not to evoke that wonderful anticipation.

“How about I do the lifting, and you grab the sheets?”

“Sounds good.”

Over the next hour, all the paintings got moved to the empty three-car garage where Scar had plenty of space. Still, he insisted on taking up only one side. The day was hot, and I opened the back door and windows. The breeze from the forest was fresh, but it still didn’t help the sweat beading down my body. I wished the algae-covered pool in Scar’s back yard was functional – and that the weeds and dried grass turned into something that would remind me more of his mother’s back yard.

Without warning, Scar pulled on the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head, and I froze. There they were, mountains of muscles covering his torso.

Yummy.

I shook the thought away, quickly sneaking a peak to his waist where his jeans hung just below his hips. It had been two weeks since we’d been in the cave together – two long weeks of recovering from Brad’s brutal attack without a proper touch. While I understood why we couldn’t, because of Scar’s injuries, in the back of my mind I wondered whether the one time we’d had together was it. Okay, technically it was twice in one evening, but still.

I turned my head towards the back yard, pretending to admire the green pool and the unkempt garden, making a note to call Beth and ask her to help me plant a few flowers and fix the landscaping. When I finally stepped back, my foot banged into a can of orange paint, spilling the contents over the hardwood floor.

“No, no, no!” I crouched and swiped the outer edges toward the center. It wasn’t helping.

I looked up toward where Scar was leaning against the kitchen counter, chuckling.

“This is not funny! I ruined your floor.”

His long strides toward me shifted my mood. He looked so good with those jeans barely hanging onto his hips. The abs twisted with each step, flexing and hardening as I sat back on my heels, just watching him as if he were stepping out of a movie screen, all in slow motion. Scar knelt in front of me, one of his knees sinking into the paint.

“It looks like you ruined your hands.”

He dipped his finger into the goo on the floor and pulled it over my shoulder and to my collarbone. “And now I ruined your skin here” – he lifted more paint onto the tip and smeared it over my cleavage – “and here.”

Drawing lower, Scar unfastened the button on my dress. “And now I ruined your clothes.” One after another, he flicked the buttons open down to my belly button. My bare breasts perked up at him. He swiped the paint again, this time with his full hand. The print of his palm on my breast was temporary, as he squeezed it and smeared the paint. The moisture and slickness of it on me felt good, and my nipples turned to stone.

He brought me to his body and took my lips, lowering the straps of my dress off my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, leaving me wearing only my panties and the paint. I held onto his arms for a moment, and then my hands slid down to his zipper. The jeans fell into the puddle on the ground. Never breaking our kiss, I followed Scar’s steps through the paint and across the living room, realizing we were making an even bigger mess. Though neither one of us seemed to care. On our way across, we slipped and knocked over a purple bucket. Scar caught me in his arms, softening my landing.