Page 26 of Jace
“Well, here’s a secret for you, Viv. One I trust you with.” I lower my brows and voice. “I was born into trouble. It’s in my criminal DNA. I didn’tlearnhow to kill; I had tounlearnhow to murder a motherfucker. So I won’t get into trouble over your abusive ex. I’ll introduce him to it.”
Belief finds her eyes. Soft breaths huff from her lungs. Wisps of her golden hair flutter in the evening breeze as tourists on a trolley tour babble by, and a pink petal from the Chinese magnolia above us gently drifts down and lands on her melting ice cream.
“Sothat’swhat those meetings are?” She breathes, processing. “You and all those inked men on the third floor?” But she doesn’t step away. She’s not afraid. “You’re in a secret society of evil criminals? They’re your family?”
“It’s not that simple. We’re not evil. We right wrongs.” I step almost nose-to-nose with her. “Do I hide a secret life? You have no idea. And that’s what I mean; I’m not going to judge you. I can help you if you let me.”
“It wouldn’t matter.” She heaves, seeming exhausted by the burden. “What he has on me can’t be killed. And it’d be just my luck that if he winds up dead somewhere, he’s told someone to release it.”
The logic lands like a bomb.
“A video.” I reason aloud, and she jolts, realizing her slip. “He has a video of you, doesn’t he? A graphic one you’re embarrassed about?”
Her baby blue eyes suddenly fill with tears, looking like a terrified doe in a truck’s headlights. Like a sweet creature two seconds from being hit. Like the world and all its bullshit judgment of women’s sexuality is barreling down on her, ready to end her life.
And it has.
It’s held Vivian hostage for a year.
Everything seems so obvious now.
Why she supposedly reconciled with him. Why she’s been so miserable. Why she has happy days at work with me and horrible nights at home with him. Why she’s kept her distance. Why we’ve never crossed a line. She’s been afraid. And shit, probably feeling so damn alone.
Fuck it.
I pull her into a hug, wrapping my arms around her, embracing her soft shoulders.Damn, she’s so small.Then again, everyone is next to me.
I want to cradle her dainty head against my pounding chest and wrap my body around her, shielding her, but this is close enough.
Closer than we’ve ever been.
I lean down, whispering into her silky sprout of a ponytail. “Whatever’s in that video, Viv, it’s not that bad. I promise.”
She sniffs against my shirt. “Yes, it is.”
Dropping her cone on the cobblestones beside mine, she wraps her arms around my waist.Fuck, her hot body’s pressed to mine.I have to focus on my hammering heart, not my thickening dick.
“Not in this world,” I say, burying my nose in her hair, smelling like lemons and love. “Hell, some women with sex tapes get the last laugh. They become millionaires.”
“Not in Charleston.” She pulls away, lifting her crying eyes. “Not women like me.” She steps back, nodding to her house down the block. The one on the historic registries and tours. “Not when August Tate was your father, and you want to protect his name. If that video gets released, I’ll ruin his legacy, his philanthropy. Do you know who my dad was?”
Vivian’s not boasting; she’s burdened, struggling not to besmirch her father’s name.
Everyone knows who August Tate is… or was.
He saved our famous ancient oak tree after a hurricane. He funded our local aquarium to save sea turtles on the brink of extinction. He bought old plantations and refused to romanticize them; he turned them into memorials to enslaved people. His foundation helps the unhoused, the uninsured, and those devastated by natural disasters.
August Tate’s name is on the plaques of everything progressive and positive in this city. And his lone, surviving daughter wants to make him proud.
“I do. And it seems like your father really loved you, and trust me, no man who really loves a woman would ever judge her.”
She twists her lips. “It’s bad, Jace.”
“It was sex with your husband at the time, right? Why should you be ashamed of it?”
Though, honestly, the thought of that scumbag’s hands on her makes me want to be his judge, jury, and executioner.
“As sweet as you are, you can’t understand. You’re a man.” Her brows knit, her words rushing like they’ve been killing her from the inside out. “For men, it’s something to brag about. You get status and praise, while women get destroyed. We get crucified, even if your husband was there, and?—”
