Page 8 of Mr. Wilde

I touch the faint scar near my hairline. It’s mostly hidden now, but I know exactly where it is. As if the pain from long ago still lingers, directing me to it. The one across my jaw isn’t as faint. Thank heavens this job includes access to the finest skincare and makeup money can buy.

It took years to remember everything.

Well, not everything.

There are still details I’m unsure of. That part scares me more than the pain ever did. The doctors said that was normal. A trauma response. “The brain has a way of protecting itself,” the neurologist had said. I nodded and pretended that explanation was comforting.

But it wasn’t. Because there’s always the worry that I’m missing a piece of the puzzle that could keep me safe.

Before I start the water, I lock the bathroom door behind me. Then I check it again. While I’m grateful for the security this place offers, residing here is still very new. And it’s going to take a while before I can let my guard down. I shower quickly, keeping my back to the wall, eyes tracking the door handle like it might betray me.

After toweling off, I dress in jeans and a long-sleeved sweater. Even though this outfit is warmer than it needs to be, it’s comforting. Layers make me feel safer. Less exposed.

I make my way to the back window and carefully peek through the blinds. The world looks so normal. Birds fly from one branch to the next. The landscaping crew is hard at work on the private grounds behind the club. My dad’s old car is where I left it, a delivery truck idling at the curb off to one side.

The commute to work is short, given Gianni was kind enough to offer a place to stay here at his club. As difficult as it was to go back there, I had to come clean about my past. I offered the bare minimum, but he was entitled to that much. And given the rigorous background checks they perform on all new employees, he would’ve discovered Cassidy Truman was an alias. That part of my life has been sealed off behind a thick wall in my mind, tucked away where no one else can disturb my peace. I’ve cut myself off from virtually everyone I knew. Except my brother. He’s my calm in the storm.

Now I’m about to start working at a private club outside of Washington D.C. One of my brother’s rich clients had mentioned the place. Holt was able to persuade the owner to give me a chance in exchange for room and board in one of the most exclusive, secure establishments in the country.

I guess I’ll never know how much the owner really knows. How much my brother shared in order for him to consider taking me on. My interview was professional and deliberately vague, but Gianni Black’s dark eyes told a different story. There was no doubt he understood my fear. Given my history.

Given the threats.

The hourly compensation isn’t huge, considering I’m receiving a safe place to stay. Heck, the security here seems tighter than Fort Knox. But the salary is enough to cover what I need. Most of my time is spent in front of a laptop, completing coursework through an online university. I don’t go anywhere.

Ever.

Gianni has even allowed me to use their gym during off hours. There’s a private courtyard outback with ten-foot walls around its camera-heavy periphery where I can read or enjoy a cup of coffee. He even lets me keep my car here, on the off chance I’d ever need to make a clean getaway.

The job is nothing glamorous. Even if the atmosphere is. I serve drinks, and memorize faces. I smile when necessary, then try to fade into the background whenever possible.

Invisible is safe.

Several hours later, Lala finds me near the bar, already smiling like we’re old friends. “You must be Cassidy,” she says, extending a hand. “I’m Lala. Welcome to the Devil’s Playground. Don’t look so nervous. We only sacrifice people on Thursdays.”

I blink, then huff out a surprised laugh before I can stop myself. “What day is it again?”

“See?” She giggles. “Sense of humor. You’ll be fine.”

Lala is petite with long, straight dark hair and sharp brown eyes. The kind of woman who looks delicate until you discover nothing gets past her. “Okay.” She claps her hands once. “I’m going to show you everything you need to know, and about half the things you don’t. First rule: Gianni likes things to run smoothly. I know this place seems as if it’s all about being flashy and over the top. And unparalleled luxury is expected in a club like this. But smooth is the name of the game. DPG needs to run like a well-oiled machine.”

As if summoned, a large, bald man in a tailored suit effortlessly steps into view. And there’s no other way to describe the entrance of this mammoth man than smooth. Like a bodyguard you’d expect to see standing sentry over Taylor Swift’s arrival.

“That’s Anthony,” Lala murmurs. “He’s the head of security. If he ever gives you the once-over, it’s because he’s protecting you. Not the other way around. You’ve been cleared to work here. So relax. If you aren’t doing anything wrong, you have nothing to worry about. Let Anthony do all the worrying for us.” She winks.

Anthony nods at me when our eyes meet. It’s not friendly exactly. More as if he’s assessing me. There’s something in his gaze that makes my spine straighten. It’s not suspicion. More like recognition. The way you examine a stray dog for any sign of injury or fear. Like he already knows things about me.

Gianni. Of course.

Beneath Anthony’s imploring brown eyes lies a quiet, unmistakable edge of protectiveness.

My shoulders ease a fraction as Lala continues. “Second rule,” Lala guides me forward, “no one touches you without consent. Ever. Gianni’s big on that.”

“That was made very clear in the interview,” I blurt.

Her gaze flicks to me, assessing. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”