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“I wasn’t told about you, miss.” He shrugs. “Now please move.”
“Please. Just ask inside. They’re expecting me.”
He rolls his eyes like his patience is growing thinner by the second, but guess what, buddy, so is mine. I’m soaked and my hair and makeup are ruined. He roughly grabs hold of my arm and jostles me. “You need to leave.”
“Take your goddamn hands off me,” I snap, wrenching from his grip. “You’d better go get one of your bosses out here right now.”
Another bouncer, burlier than the first, approaches, and I realize we’re creating a scene. The people in the lines, including my would-be colleagues fromGenevieve, are murmuring and staring at me like I’m a circus act. “What’s the problem here?” the second bouncer asks.
“She says she’s with Mr. Archer and the owners.”
The burly one looks me over from head to toe and shakes his head. “News to me.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I shout. “Just go get one of them. If they find out you left me to stand out here in the goddamn rain, heads will roll.”
They exchange a wary look, and the original bouncer must think there’s some truth to my words because he goes inside the club. I turn back to the street to see if the car’s still there so I can take some shelter from the driving rain, but it’s already gone. Folding my arms over my chest, I shiver and wait. A few seconds later, my heart soars when I see Zeke step outside with the bouncer by his side.
“She says she’s with you, Boss.” The one next to Zeke points at me.
The other bouncer stops me when I bound forward, yelling Zeke’s name.
He studies me but shows no sign of recognition. His face is completely blank, like he’s faced with a stranger. Then he shakes his head. “Nope. Not with me.”
Is this some kind of joke? I frown at him. “Zeke?”
He takes a step closer. I smell his distinctive cologne, the one I find so comforting when he has his giant arms wrapped around me. Instinctively, I edge forward, seeking his reassurance and warmth. My teeth are chattering from being cold and soaked to the bone. But his face twists in an angry scowl when he says, “Go home. You don’t belong here.”
My head swims with confusion and fear. What is this? Did he discover the truth about me? In desperation, I lunge for him and grab his hand, but he shrugs me off. He gives me a look filled with such revulsion, and I feel it like a punch to the solar plexus. It’s like my touch disgusts him. Like I mean nothing to him and never meant anything at all. As though those hands that know me so intimately are strangers to me.
Tears merge with rain and drip from my face as my heart is torn from my chest, leaving behind a gaping hole. It shatters into a million tiny fragments at his feet and leaves me gasping. “Zeke, please?” I hate the desperation in my tone, hate myself for pleading with him in front of all these people while he pretends that I don’t exist. But I’m so confused. I don’t know what else to do.
He dips his head, bringing his face close enough for me to hear his spiteful voice and see the fiery rage dancing in his eyes. “You are a lying, cheating whore, Lily. Nobody wants you here.” He blinks and the fire is extinguished, leaving a void so dark and empty that I’m afraid I will fall inside and be lost forever.
I dimly register him speaking to the bouncers. “Put her in a cab and get her the fuck out of here.” Without another word to me, he strides back inside the club.
The bouncer is looking at me differently now. His eyes are full of pity, and I can’t stand it. He signals a cab and guides me to it. I can hear whispers and not-so-muffled conversations about how embarrassed I must feel and what a disgrace I am, but it all washes over me. I’m practically numb when I climb into the cab, shivering from both the cold and the shock.
When the driver asks where I’m going, I give him Jen’s address. I need to go somewhere that someone won’t pretend I don’t exist. What the hell just happened? Did they learn my identity, and if so, why did he still call me Lily? If they would just let me explain…
Fumbling with my purse, I pull out my cell phone and check for a message from Xander or West telling me that Zeke has lost his mind and I’m not to listen to anything that comes out of his mouth. There’s nothing since the last text from West instructing me to meet them at the club.
I dial his number, and it goes to voicemail. So does Xander’s. I even try Zeke’s. After leaving three equally incoherent voice messages, I grip my phone with both hands and wait for one of them to call me back.
ChapterForty-Two
XANDER
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I suck in a deep breath to cool the burning in my lungs, but it doesn’t help. I listen to her voicemail again, and just like all the other times, a fresh welt is sliced across my heart. She’s barely coherent over the sound of her teeth chattering and her sobs. I imagine her freezing and shivering in the back of a cab in her soaking wet dress, wondering what the fuck happened. We should have talked to her. I should have stopped them…
“Stop fucking torturing yourself, Fitch,” Zeke barks as he takes a fresh bottle of water from the fridge.
He’s right, listening to this on repeat is fucking torture. I would rather stick needles in my goddamn ears than hear her cry like that again. The raw pain in her voice makes me want to throw up. Nobody is that good of an actress. “We fucked up. We never should have done that.” I sink to the floor, my head in my hands.
West sighs. “She lied to us, Xander. What the fuck were we supposed to do?”
“We could have fucking talked to her like normal fucking human beings,” I shout. “What if this is all some big fucking misunderstanding? What if there’s an explanation for all of this that doesn’t involve the woman we love, who has shown us nothing but love and kindness, royally fucking us over?”
“Why would we talk to her, Xander?” West shouts back. “She had plenty of fucking chances to come clean about whatever the fuck she’s been hiding, and she didn’t. She lied to our fucking faces that day she met Nico Constantine in his hotel room. So we just let her lie to us some more? Get some juicy sound bites for her article?”
