Sugar Rush (20 page)

“Like fuck it will,” he spits out, his face now coloring red. “It's worth way more than that.”

“Yeah, on paper it is. But it seems to me there's value in me giving you money that will help save you from getting killed. I'd say The Sugar Bowl in return for that is more than fair compensation for your life, right?”

“Beck…please…don't kick me out,” he implores. “I don't have anything else.”

“Not my fucking problem,” I say softly. “But I tell you what…because The Sugar Bowl
is
worth more, I'll make it five million. Pay off your debt, and if you're wise, that extra million will keep you in style until you can figure out your next great adventure. Just know it's not going to be with me at your side.”

JT doesn't respond, but just stares at me with wide, blinking eyes. His gaze is filled with pain, confusion, and even a little anger. But mostly, he looks lost. And this is what Sela and I had hoped for. That he wouldn't be able to reason out any better way out of this ordeal.

Fishing to my pocket, I pull out my car key and turn from JT. I don't even spare him a backward glance but tell him in no uncertain terms. “If you want the money to make your three-day deadline, you need to let me know sooner rather than later. I'll need at least a day to move some funds around.”

“Beck,” JT calls out to my retreating back, but I don't hesitate. I don't pause. I don't look at him again.

The offer's been made.

Now I just have to wait for him to pounce on it.

I step out onto Mission Street, leaving the glass-and-stone building with redbrick walkways of Golden Gate University behind. The Millennium sits only two blocks away, but the bluish tint of the glass structure looks dull and faded as it reflects an overcast San Francisco day. There's a light mist falling, but it's relatively mild outside. Still, I pull my jacket collar up and quicken my pace toward our condo before it starts raining any harder.

Hitching my backpack up higher on my shoulder, I pull it around to my front so I can grab my cell phone out of the outer pocket. I turn it on as I make my way home, wanting to see if Beck has left me an update while I was in class today. He went into the office this morning to handle a few things, then he was meeting with his attorney to draft a buyout agreement for JT to sign.

If JT agreed to it, that is.

When Beck left him yesterday at his house, he was broken, alone, and pondering how his world was crashing down. Beck and I, on the other hand, were considering what a crapshoot this whole endeavor was. Would JT take the five million offered? Or would he try to figure some other way out of this mess just so he could keep his foot in the door at The Sugar Bowl?

My phone boots up and I don't see any new text messages awaiting, but there is a notification of a voice mail. Tapping the screen to pull it up, I peer at the phone number of whoever left the message. It's one I don't recognize, but figure maybe it's Beck calling from his attorney's office. Touching the Play icon, I put the phone to my ear and listen.

“Sela…it's JT. Can you please give me a call? It's important.”

I'm stunned he's called me, and when I pull the phone back, I note he left the voice mail only about twenty minutes ago.

I don't call him back right away, instead using the short walk to the condo to try to figure out what in the hell he could possibly want from me. JT knows I don't like him. He knows I think he's a misogynist asshole. He, in turn, doesn't like me because I'm a threat to his relationship with Beck.

The doorman at the Millennium greets me by name and I give a return smile. I stare thoughtfully at my phone during the elevator ride up. Once inside, I dump my backpack on the couch and walk to our bedroom as I call JT.

He answers on the second ring. “Thanks for calling me back so quickly, Sela.”

His voice is pleasant and polite, two things I bet he's struggling with mightily right now. “I was in class,” I tell him. “My phone was turned off.”

“Right,” he says, although I'm sure the fact I'm a student means nothing to him. He only sees me as a Sugar Baby. “So, I was wanting to talk to you about Beck and The Sugar Bowl.”

“What about it?” I ask vaguely, playing dumb as best I can.

“I know he told you about his offer to me last night to buy me out, right?”

I could lie to JT and deny it, but he wouldn't buy it. I can tell by the tone of his voice, and the mere fact he's reached out to me that he knows in his heart of hearts that Beck and I are solid. No matter what bull Beck may have been feeding him last week about putting the brakes on, JT calling me makes it clear he thinks I hold influence.

And…if I can help this deal get pushed through, then even better.

“Yeah…he told me you needed some money and that he'll give it to you in exchange for transfer of your ownership interest,” I admit to him.

“It's not a good deal for me,” JT says adamantly. “But I think I have a better solution for all of us. It will give us both what we want.”

“What's that?” I ask, now intrigued about what scheme he's cooked up.

“I'd like to sit down and discuss this with you in person. Go over my idea, which is a little complex. I want you to tell me what you think, and whether you think Beck would be receptive to it. I don't have a lot of time, given the deadline by which I need the money, so I was hoping we could meet now.”

I am free the rest of the day, but I'm not sure I should get involved. Beck laid down the ultimatum. It's up to JT to take it or turn it down. But then the part of me that worries that JT will make things messy for Beck and The Sugar Bowl feels compelled to hear him out. Perhaps help to talk some sense into him. Make him see the benefit of taking the money and getting out. Help to convince him that Beck won't back down on this and there's no room to negotiate.

Of course, the one thing that I've truly got to consider is my hair color. I'd colored it back to as close to my natural state as I could get it, with the idea in mind I wouldn't be crossing paths with JT again. Will he recognize me now?

My gut says he won't. That he's such a self-absorbed person that he wouldn't recognize my face. He's seen it plenty of times, no matter my hair color, and he hasn't shown the slightest bit of recollection.

It would be a risk, no doubt. It could compromise everything.

But I could help to put the nail in his coffin if I can convince him it's a fool's errand to try to get more out of Beck than what he's offered to him. Make him understand that he's in a precarious position and that it's well worth the trade-off…The Sugar Bowl for his life.

I laugh inside. Little does he know that he may walk away with his life intact, but if I have anything to do with it, he'll be sitting behind bars with that precious life of his.

“I could meet you somewhere,” I say, throwing caution to the wind.

JT gives a mirthless laugh into the phone. “Um…yeah…not sure how much Beck told you about my condition, but I can barely get off the couch. Can you come here…to my house?”

I look around the bedroom, taking in the pale blue walls, teak colored furniture, and pristine white bedding. It's my favorite place in the condo because it's so peaceful and relaxing. This is my life now, with Beck, and I'll do whatever needs to be done to ensure I maintain it.

Walking over to the nightstand on my side of the bed, I open the drawer. “Text me your address. I can be there in less than an hour.”

“Will do. And thank you, Sela,” JT says, sounding immensely grateful to me.

I disconnect, wondering what he has up his sleeve. I don't trust his polite but pitiful demeanor. He's absolutely lying when he says he has a plan that would benefit both him and Beck. Doesn't mean he doesn't have some sort of plan he wants to run by me, but I guarantee you it's all to his benefit alone.

Which is why I'm going to his house to meet with him. I need to know what he's up to so our plans don't get derailed.

Reaching into my drawer, I pull out my gun.

I'm not scared of JT, but I'm damn well making sure I'm protected in case he recognizes me and things go bad.

Walking into the closet, I grab a medium-size black satchel purse and stow the gun in there. I consider for just a crazy moment calling Beck and telling him what's going on, but then I immediately discount it just as quickly. He'll forbid me from going, and he'd be right to do so. I'd in turn get affronted by his attempts to control me and prevent me from helping. It will lead to an epic argument, with me not heeding his advice and heading to JT's house anyway. That would also lead to Beck leaving his attorney's office and trying to cut me off at JT's house. It would be an ugly scene, so I choose not to tell Beck what is going on.

But I do want to call someone else and fill them in on some of the details of what's been going on in my life.

Someone who deserves to know what's happening.

I use the bathroom and wash my hands. Then I transfer my wallet and keys from my backpack to the black purse and head to the parking garage. This will be only the third time I've driven my new car from Beck. There's no need living here in the city, but we did go out on Christmas day for a little drive to Half Moon Bay, and then again yesterday we drove it to my apartment in Oakland, where I gathered the last of my possessions I had stored there, and closed that door on my life for good.

After I get into the car and pull out of the parking garage, I depress the phone button on the steering wheel. This pairs my phone with the Bluetooth and offers me voice activation.

“Call Dad's cell phone,” I say.

A woman's voice, cultured and polished, says, “Calling Dad's cell phone.”

A few clicks and then it's ringing. He answers like only a father should. “What's up, baby girl?”

I smile. He's my dad, he's great, and I love him.

But I haven't been fair to him either.

“Hey…you got a few minutes to talk?” I ask softly, feeling slightly weird by talking to him through the car's speakers.

“Always for you. What's up?”

“I need to tell you something,” I say carefully, trying to keep a lighthearted tone. “It's going to throw you for a loop, but I need you to listen and then you can berate me for keeping it from you and give me sage advice.”

“You didn't run off and join the circus did you?” he quips.

I want to laugh, but he's not going to be laughing in just a few minutes, so I tell him straight by cutting to the chase. “I've identified one of them.”

I can literally hear my father release a long, pained breath, because he knows exactly what I'm talking about. “You did?”

“About nine months ago…I saw him on TV and recognized the red bird tattoo.”

My father knows about the tattoo. He and my mother sat with me, each holding a hand as I recounted to the police as best I could the spotty details of what I remembered.

“Jesus, Sela,” he says in astonishment. “Why didn't you go to the police? We need to go to the police.”

“I am,” I assure him. “Soon…probably this week. But I need to tell you some stuff about him that you're not going to like. Some stuff that I was planning on doing that you're really not going to like.”

“You can tell me anything,” he reassures me, which I already know. It makes me ashamed that he wasn't the first person I told on that horrid day long ago when I saw JT on the television.

Taking a deep breath, I tell him as succinctly as I can just the crucial details. “It's JT…I mean Jonathon Townsend, Beck's partner.”

Dad curses, but I talk over him, needing to get it all out. “When I realized who he was, I considered going to the police, but then quickly discounted it. I was afraid they couldn't do anything because of the memory issues, but more important, I wanted JT to suffer for what he did. I also wanted to know who the other men were that night. So my plan was to confront JT with a gun, force him to tell me what I needed to know, and then I was going to kill him.”

“Are you kidding me?” my dad yells into the phone.

“Dad…I didn't go through with that plan,” I say quickly in an effort to keep him focused.

“But you were going to kill him?” my dad asks, sounding incredulous. “Do you know how insane that is?”

“Yes, I get that,” I assure him. “I was driven by a lot of hate and anger and was acting rashly, but I've got that under control now. That night I went to confront JT…well, I met Beck instead.”

“Does he know?” dad asks quietly.

“Yes, he does. And we're currently working on a plan to get JT out of The Sugar Bowl first before we go to the police. Get things cleaned up on Beck's end so that hopefully when JT's arrested, it won't affect the business.”

“It will still blow back on Beck,” my dad says.

And that's true. When this hits the media, it's going to be about how the former co-owner of The Sugar Bowl is charged with rape. Beck's business will take a hit. “We know, but it's still going to be much easier to have JT removed as owner. If he still owns part of The Sugar Bowl when he's arrested, Beck will have to run things by him, and you know that will be a nightmare. Hell, JT's going to be so mad he'll fight against Beck on everything…probably will try to intentionally run it into the ground. It will be tough on everyone once this goes public, but we'll get through it.”