Scar
The Oak Club is the most exclusive invitation-only club on the planet. More exclusive than Bohemian Grove. More exclusive than the nuclear bunkers under the White House. It sits at the end of a long, private driveway, hidden behind high concrete walls lined with crushed glass and dotted by security cameras. Men in dark suits wander the scrubby grounds between the public world and the private oasis beyond. The scrubland gives way to a gorgeous ocean of green grass, shrubs, flowers, and trees, with the club itself in the center of all that gorgeously manicured plant life.
The building is a massive marble beauty, like a temple to an ancient god. Huge ornate doors sit at the front surrounded by columns at least a story tall. Luxury vehicles are parked in a small lot off to the side, and a valet meets us as soon as I pull around front.
“I haven’t been here in a while,” I murmur to Rita as she takes my arm. We head up the steps and in through the main front door. Security knows me already, and I’m allowed a guest each time I visit. We pass the armed guards and step into an enormous entry hall, and Rita sucks in a sharp, surprised breath.
Marble floors. Marble statues. Chairs, couches, fireplaces crackling with flames, a small jazz trio playing soft standards. A front desk where absurdly professional staff helps guests.
And dominating the space is the tree.
“How?” she asks, shaking her head like she’s coming up from a dream.
The oak grows in the center of the building. The roots cut down, deep into the earth. The top brushes against the roof, seeking freedom. It shouldn’t exist in here-it can’t actually get any sunlight-but somehow, it grows, and thrives, and even drops its leaves in the winter.
“Magic,” I say, putting my hand on the small of her back. She shivers, head turning to look at me, lips parting.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
“This place is as exclusive as it gets,” I say, steering her toward the dining hall where we’re having dinner. “I’m a junior member still, but if I can land the Callahan deal-” My fingers curl, digging into her skin.
“There’s more?” she asks, bewildered.
“An entire floor I’ve never seen before.” Beautiful men and women walk through the space, drinking, speaking quietly. I recognize some of them, actors, politicians, business leaders. I nod to a few I’ve met during previous visits. “I come here with the boys as often as I can.”
“Networking,” she says, clearly getting over her initial surprise.
“Something like that.” We step into the dining hall. A sudden spike of nerves makes me hesitate. I’m about to throw Rita to the wolves and I haven’t prepared her at all, but at least Eros and Lanzo aren’t here. It’s only Carmine and Ford, right? That shouldn’t be a big deal. “Listen, about my friends-”
But it’s too late. “Scar, there you are, you old bastard.” Carmine waves to me from a table nearby. He’s grinning, ear to ear, giving me a look like what have we here. He’s a big guy, amiable, Italian. Dark hair, dark eyes. Ford’s with him, also tall, sandy hair and blue eyes, a proper blue-blood-looking asshole. Both of them are drinking already, while their wives sit across the table.
Brice is Carmine’s. Pretty girl, blonde, blue eyes, big smile. She’s spotless, buttoned up. Looks incredible, even after two kids. She stands and comes over to give Rita a hug. Kat comes next, Ford’s wife. She’s currently pregnant, deep into her sixth month by the look of her. I kiss her cheek before pulling Rita against my side, almost like I’m protecting her from my friends.
“Everyone,” I say, heart racing. Might as well get this over with. “Meet my wife, Rita.”
They stare in stunned silence. I try not to smile. It’s nice to see Carmine and Ford speechless for once.
“Wife?” Ford finally sputters.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Brice says, looking bewildered. “I didn’t know Scar was seeing anyone.”
“Much less married,” Kat adds. “How? When?”
“Uh, nice to meet you too,” Rita says, throwing me a look.
Carmine introduces himself hesitatingly, shakes her hand, before grabbing me and dragging me to the bar. I toss Rita an apologetic look, but it’s better I settle this now. Ford follows, shaking his head. “Wife?” he hisses. “What the fuck, bro?”
“I know,” I say, grimacing. “I wanted to tell you both sooner, but it happened fast.”
“Who the hell is she?” Carmine asks.
“She’s so fucking young,” Ford says, shaking his head. “I thought you were more into women. Not girls fresh out of college.”
“Yes, thanks, I’m aware of her age.” I give him a sharp look then order a whiskey, neat. “She was my legal secretary, and before you two flip out, the whole marriage thing isn’t real.”
They both fall silent. Carmine seems concerned, but Ford just looks confused.
“You’re fucking with us?” Ford asks, looking at Carmine. “This is a joke?”
“If hope it’s a joke, it’s a shitty one,” Carmine says.
“No, we really are married, but-” I rub my face. “Look, it’s complicated. But we came to an arrangement.”
“An arrangement,” Ford echoes flatly.
I glance at the table. Rita’s talking with Brice and Kat. She’ll be fine-the girls are really sweet. Brice is the kind of person that can make anyone feel comfortable, and Kat’s about as harmless as they get.
It’s hard not to notice how fucking gorgeous Rita looks in that dress though. She shines in this room-practically glows with raw, sexual energy.
Fuck, I need to focus.
Carmine studies me with pursed lips. “You got yourself into trouble, didn’t you?”
“Something like that.”
“How bad?” Ford asks.
“Callahans. But it’s not what you guys think.” I accept my whiskey from the bartender and tell them the story, beginning to end. I shorten it a bit, since I don’t want to leave Rita alone for too long. When I’m done, Ford’s giving Carmine a look, and Carmine’s shaking his head.
“You’re a dead man,” Carmine says. “And you dragged that poor girl into it. You know what the Callahans are like, right?”
“We’ll be fine,” I say, glaring at him. “Don’t you start saying that shit to her.”
“He’s just worried,” Ford says, playing the referee as always.
Carmine’s jaw works. I can tell he’s not happy, especially not after hearing the Callahans are involved.
I can’t blame him. This plan is absolutely insane-borderline suicidal. And yet I still think it’s going to work.
“We have chemistry,” I say, staring at my drink. I can feel both my friends glaring at me now. “We’re not getting involved beyond the deal, but it’s undeniable.”
“Do you like her?” Ford asks. “Before you answer, you better fucking say no, otherwise you’re going to wreck this poor girl. It’s one thing to get into business with her, but it’s another to get her emotionally attached.”
“There are no emotions involved for either of us,” I answer, shaking my head. “She’s young. Way too young. Inexperienced. Not part of our world. There are a thousand reasons why she’s not good for me, and why I’m not good for her.”
“But still there’s a spark,” Ford says, softer this time. “I get that. It’s hard to ignore if it’s there.”
I nod, glancing at Carmine. “We can make this work. We got the spark, which will help a lot. Plus, she’s smart, motivated. She’s in a bad spot in her life, but still.”
“I’m not going to clean this mess up,” Carmine says, tone dark. “When you fuck up and the Callahans come for blood, my family isn’t getting involved. You can tie your own damn noose.”
“Carmine, bro,” Ford says. “Easy man.”
“It’s fine,” I say, staring Carmine down. “I don’t need you to.”
“Good.” Carmine throws down his drink. “Let’s get back to the table. We shouldn’t leave our wives alone for too long.” He stalks off, shoulders set and angry.