“Never fear, sister. I may never leave this very spot.”
CHAPTER SIX
Lindsey
It’s wrong. We’ve broken the law. We’ve lied, cheated, and taken lives. The worst part, we’re still doing it, and while I’m not proud of some of the choices I’ve made, I refuse to be reduced by them.
The small heels of my boots click in a rhythm along the city sidewalk. The streets are lined with beautifully restored warehouses turned lofts and apartments, now homes to the millionaires of SoHo. Passing a few quaint restaurants, a glowing gold sign with the words The Victory on it, catches my attention. The small low-key bar is just a few minutes from greeting me with the wafting smell of alcohol and cigarettes from the smokers out front. Mumbling something about a deadline and his day at the office, I tune Olly out, my own work dilemmas moving to the forefront of my mind.
Some days if I could take it all back, I would. When I sit in my office of my million dollar publishing company and remember how I got there, anger boils inside. Heating my veins with so many contradicting feelings, I worry my heart might explode right out of my chest. But I paid my dues to the devil. The work I do there is honest, long. It’s where my heart lies, within the pages of manuscripts filled with stories I can get lost in, like I did as a child. When my reality was scary and traumatizing, I could hide under the covers and live in a fictional world where all little girls lived happily ever after.
But no amount of right, no amount of honesty, can wash away the blood from my hands or the lies in the other half of my life. To my company, I am Lindsey Jenkins, CEO of Davenport & Jenkins Publications. I am kind but strong. I’m firm but fair. I’m nice, goddamn it. To the criminals of New York City, I am Ghost. The woman you need, but really don’t want. I’ll steal your money, maybe your heart, and always your life.
Mason
“Dude, why are we here again?” My best friend, Roamyn Tate, asks as we take in the small and apparently cool bar in SoHo. Every booth and seat is taken, the backless swivel stools at the bar’s counter are crowded by women and men in suits. My gaze wanders to the small wooden stage where a guy, probably in his twenties, belts out song lyrics while he kills it on an acoustic guitar. The small masses of little lights illuminate the entire roof in cool patterns and I’m momentarily dazed by how much I think I’m going to enjoy this place.
“This is where Lindsey Jenkins is tonight. She left her coat on my desk, remember? I’m just dropping it off to her.” I shrug. Normally the last thing I would want to be doing on a Monday night is sit in a bar, waiting on a woman I don’t even know. But her eyes, they told a complicated story; one I was sure I wanted to learn from the moment she opened her smart mouth, calling me an asshole. She had a magnetic pull about her and I couldn’t stop the connection, even if I wanted to. Which I did, she was involved in a world I’ve been trying to put an end to. She might not have been the one holding a gun, but she was there when they pulled the trigger. And despite knowing that, witnessing it, my cock still throbs to sink inside her, in more ways than fucking one.
“And you knew she would be here how exactly?”
Two patrons leave their stools. I nudge Roam and gesture to the vacant seats. Less than a minute after sitting my ass down, a pretty little bartender takes our drink order. With Lindsey’s coat in one hand and my beer in the other, I scan the room for her, but she’s nowhere in sight. When she left her coat on my desk earlier, I contemplated my options. I could have kept it professional, called and told her it was here for her to collect. It’s what I should have done. Instead, I caved into a temptation I have no chance at coming back from.
“Rang Lindsey earlier. Her sister answered her phone, said she was in the shower. Told her I’d drop the coat off but she said if I wanted to see Lindsey, I’d need to come here because this is where she’d be.”
Roam’s lips curve into the signature smirk known for getting him laid. Taking a gulp of my beer, I prepare for the smartass comment bound to leave his mouth any moment now. He’s been giving me shit about women for years.
“If I didn’t know you any better, Mase, I’d say you’re keen on the older Jenkins sister.”
I shrug half-heartedly and he chuckles in response. “I’m not, asshole. Just doing a nice thing by returning her stuff.”
The words sounded smoother in my head. Now I just look fucking obvious.
“Yeah, you keep tellin’ yourself that,” Roamyn taunts before chugging down the rest of his drink.
He nudges my arm with his elbow in an attempt to be discrete, but it has the opposite effect. “Incoming, two o’clock.”
Two blondes make their way toward us, one curving into my side and the other into Roamyn.
“Hi, boys,” the eye candy now wrapped around Roamyn’s arm purrs as the woman by my side rubs her hand up and down my arm, trying to get my attention. Feeling overheated and annoyed by her touch, I shake the blonde off, removing her hand from my bicep. Maybe then she’ll get the message. Not interested. My mind’s too clouded by another woman.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, the sound not registering in my ears over the loud music. Pulling it out enough to see the screen, Cora’s name pops up with a short message: Charlotte’s already asleep. Must have been tired.
My lips curve into a small smile as thoughts of my little girl flood my heart with affection.
Four years ago, my world was turned on its axis. It would never be the same again. My priorities adjusted to meet the needs of a five-year-old, one whose life means more to me than my own. As I journeyed through fatherhood blindly at the time, I made a grave mistake, one costing innocent people their lives. It sent me into a downward spiral of self-destruction. I fell into a mundane pattern of living without really living. I existed each day if only for her, while I endured the torment of the lost souls.
Charlotte, work, Charlotte and repeat.
Would the guilt ever subside? It wasn’t every night, but every time it was torture.
At twenty-eight years of age, I had no ambition to procreate. One day I expected to settle down, happily build a family with the right woman. But that day was yet to come. Then out of the blue, Children’s Services walked into the precinct with my five-year-old daughter in tow. A child I never knew existed.
Two days before, my college girlfriend, Victoria, and her daughter had a car accident. The impact of smashing metal so forceful it killed Victoria instantaneously, leaving behind a scared little girl, orphaned and alone. Until Children’s Services found me, her biological father, according to Charlotte Lily Cole’s birth certificate.
I wasn’t ready to be a father. There was no nine months to prepare for what was to come. Charlotte was propelled into my life as much as I was into hers. A signature here, an exchanging of details there, and suddenly I was a parent. Fear crept in, would I be a good father? I came from a good family. I had two loving parents, could I do this? One smile from her, the hope in her eyes and the moment she called me Dad, there became no option but to be the best father I could be.
Anger bottled up inside of me for weeks after. How could Victoria not tell me? We were never in love with one another, but were good friends. We even kept in touch after we went our separate ways. We never shared an epic love; our story wasn’t one full of passion, rather convenience and fun. Yet together, we created the most perfect person. Victoria wasn’t my forever, but Charlotte is.
Roamyn’s hand waves inches from my face, drawing me from my thoughts. “Earth to Mason. Where’s your head at, man? Those chicks were hot. If you don’t start using that dick of yours soon, it’s gonna shrivel the fuck up,” he jokes. I laugh. He’s probably right. It’s been a year.