Only Forever Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  NOTE TO READERS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  COPYRIGHT

  ONLY FOREVER

  ONLY SERIES: VOLUME FOUR

  CRISTIN HARBER

  CHAPTER ONE

  One Hour Earlier…

  Emma

  Wednesday night at Emerald’s is always packed. Even as I spin circles in my chair, I know that telling Bruno at the last minute is a bad idea. I could fake sick, and then he would have to let one of the other girls take my time on stage. But when have I not been honest with him? Never. I think back to my birthday card, in which he mentioned business opportunities. That could be a great conversation opener. Actually, the more I think about that, the more I hope he’ll somehow respect my short-notice request.

  I don’t want to dance anymore. My man is home. Maybe he’ll understand that.

  Then again, I don’t know. Bottom dollar is what makes Bruno tick, and me announcing that I quit at the last minute won’t be pretty. I’ll just ask him—no. This is not a request. I don’t have a contract, but a pukey nervousness is churning in my stomach. It’s only a job in an industry with very high turnover. That’s a fact of life. So, quitting is no big deal.

  Right. I’m gonna puke all over my favorite black-velvet robe.

  Ugh. No, I’m not. But I could use some antacid because I’ve talked myself into believing this Bruno convo will be such a big deal that it’s almost ridiculous.

  I take a deep breath and tighten the silk sash over the velvet. The robe reaches high on my neck and dramatically falls to the floor, trailing behind me when I walk on stage as if I’m a queen. It’s dramatic, sultry, and sexy. I’m at my best in this ensemble, enhancing it with long, feathery fake eyelashes, smoky makeup, and hair pinned up high. It’s a look that is so not me but somehow is more me than any other getup I’ve worn here. No crazy makeup, no spectacular wig—it’s just me tonight.

  With my matching black heels that give me another six inches and make my little butt look like a serious booty, I make my way toward Bruno’s office. That’s not his normal hangout at night, but him being there is a sign that I’m supposed to find him to talk business. Rarely does he leave the floor when girls are on stage. When he does go backstage, everyone knows because his Rasta-bodybuilder security team tags along.

  “Hey.” I stop in front of a big guy whom I secretly call Hercules.

  “Hold up, Ginger.” His hand comes out to stop me.

  “Bruno in his office?”

  “He’s busy.”

  My very shakable confidence is fading. I quit. No dancing tonight. I have a boyfriend out of the blue and won’t do this behind his back. Simple enough, but I have to tell Bruno now, or this will become a bigger problem. “Please. I’m short on time, and it’s important.”

  He shakes his head. “Later.”

  Shoot. I square my shoulders back and lift my chin. My game face is on, and I’m ready to talk shop, even if I’m basically in my underwear and holding my favorite hooker heels. “Come on. I need to talk to him.” I give a blink, blink of the feathery eyelashes. The man doesn’t budge. “Please. It’s business.” Business is Bruno’s favorite word. No—money is his favorite word. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. “And it’s time sensitive.”

  His brows bite together, his eyes wary. “Said he had business to talk with you?”

  “Yup. I even got a formal invite for the conversation, so…” I gesture to his hand. “Can I get a pass?”

  He turns sideways and speaks into his mic. “Bruno?” He shakes his head to say there’s no response—which is already obvious.

  “Please,” I mouth. “So important.”

  He studies me then nods. “Reggie, you back with Bruno?”

  He waits, listening and nodding.

  “Ginger says she has an invite.” After a long pause, he nods as if he’s agreeing with something. “Says a formal invite. So?” Seconds tick by. “Alright.”

  He’s handsome, big, and looks like all of the rest of Emerald’s muscle men. We never shared more than a couple of polite words. I wouldn’t call us close friends, but when his eyes land on me, he’s… searching. A whole new type of worry mixes with what I’ve already got going on.

  “You’re sure about this?” he asks.

  I bite my lip. “Yes.”

  “Alright, Ginger. If you’re sure.” Slowly, he takes a step back.

  Jeez.

  “Second door on the left.”

  My eyes narrow as I recall the last time I was down here. That wasn’t where Bruno’s office was, but whatever. I pull a reassuring breath. Here I go. “Thanks.”

  The hall’s lit poorly, and the walls are painted the color of red wine. I pass the door I recognize as Bruno’s office. It’s open and still very much looks like his in-use office. But farther down, voices murmur, and there are two security guards standing at the second door on the left. Both look at me with hard jaws and hesitant eyes. Shit. What the hell is going on? My stomach twists.

  They silently step aside, and I move through the door. There’s a velvet curtain that I pull aside and—

  What is all this? A plain stage sits in the middle of an open room. The walls look partitioned, and they are deeply shaded. In the middle of the room, in nothing but a thong and heels, is a girl I’ve never seen before. She’s so young. Like, so young. She poses, jutting her hip out as if she’s modeling, but there’s an uncomfortable vibe in the room.

  “Sold!” A low voice I don’t recognize scares the shit out of me, and I jump, only to have a hand wrap around my mouth. I’m yanked against a stout body and dragged into a dark alcove. As quickly as we go, my eyes can’t adjust. I can’t see anything, but I recognize the scent of Bruno’s clove cigarettes.

  “What are you doing in here?” he hisses at me then drops his hand from my mouth, spins me around, and grips my shoulders. His fingers bite into my skin, and he shakes me hard—way hard—and I can’t keep my head from jerking.

  “Ow, stop,” I plead, but he keeps his hold on me.

  “Damn it.” His accent is heavy as his grip tightens. “What are you doing?”

  “I needed to talk to you.”

  He growls, and I’m trembling. My throat’s constricted. Panic and dread blind me. It looks like Bruno’s running prostitution rings, and that’s a way bigger deal than selling hand jobs upstairs. But the word sold in particular freaks me out. I gasp. “That’s an auction?”

  “That’s business. Everything is business. I own many businesses, and you do not have permission to traipse your ass down here.”

  “I just wanted to let you know—I’m sick. The pukes. I’ve gotta go. Can’t do tonight.” No way am I quitting unless it’s in a bright room in public, surrounded by people. Not when he’s shaking me like a rag doll in the dark. “Please. I need to go home.”

  His eyes narrow in the dim light, and he releases me. Nerves make my hands sweat and my stomach churn. I don’t know what’s happening down here, but I know it’s not legal. A million really bad thoughts run through my mind, starting with the idea that he’s selling people and ending with the fact that there are people I didn’t know about in the basement, buying girls. “Is this the business proposition you had?”

  He laughs, releasing my shoulders. “No.”

  I want to
run, but I can’t help but try to look back at the stage. “Is she okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “She didn’t look it, Bruno.”

  His dark eyes narrow. “Watch yourself, Ginger.”

  My gut drops, and I take a step back. “You always call me Emma.”

  “You’re going to go on stage, and we’re going to talk about this afterward.”

  “My stomach—”

  “You. Are. Going to go on stage, and we’ll talk about this later.”

  “Bruno,” I whisper, knowing I’m completely blocked in by him. Even if I could get by him, he has several of his security guys posted along my way out, and they’d stop me as soon as word of my escape bled through their earpieces. “You’re scaring me.”

  “I think we’ve both known from day one that I’m a scary motherfucker.”

  “Not to me, you’re not.” My eyes burn with tears. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

  He remains silent. My knees are shaking.

  “Okay, I’ll just head upstairs.”

  He steps wordlessly to the side, and I scurry by him. None of the three guards I passed on the way in slows me down, and I haul ass. Finally, I reach the top of the hall and turn toward my locker and vanity. I rummage through my purse, choke down a few swigs of water, and then do a super-fast redo of my eyes. The girl facing me in the mirror is terrified. I barely recognize myself. I’m suddenly scared that I have no idea what to do.

  “Two minutes, Ginger,” comes the familiar call from up the stairs.

  My hands shake. I call Grayson, even though he’s at work on some super-secret job. It rings… rings. Shit, shoot, shit! No answer. I have no idea what to say. His voicemail picks up. “Hey. Hi. Um. If I don’t talk to you first, I need you to talk to Cherry.” I take a long breath and tears sting my eyes. “I love you.”

  “Ginger! Come on up, girl.” The call echoes down the stairs.

  Shit. My God. I find Cherry’s name and hit Okay. It’s ringing.

  “Hey, Emma—”

  “Something’s wrong.” My mind spins. “I don’t know what’s happening here, but—”

  “Ginger, get your ass up here now!”

  One of Bruno’s security guards comes out from the dark hall. “Everything okay?” But there’s nothing nice or concerned with his question. His glare says, Hang up the damn phone.

  I smile. “Just checking on my kid.”

  I don’t know why I feel the need to throw that out there. It’s just a quick reminder to everyone that I have loved ones who would notice if I didn’t come home. God. I’m totally overreacting. No one’s going to kill me or anything. But shit—what did I just see?

  “Emma?” Cherry’s voice is pinched with concern.

  “I have to go. Have Ryan pick me up later. Okay? Call Ryan. He’s my ride.”

  “Emma! What’s going on—”

  I hang up the phone shakily. I’m overreacting. I’m overreacting.

  Another guard steps from the dark behind the one glowering at me. Crap. I’m not overreacting. “Just on my way, guys. Jeesh, everyone needs to calm down.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Emma

  “Ginger Raine!” the announcer’s voice booms.

  That’s my cue, and I’m not sure how my legs move forward. But they do, one shaky step at a time. My muscles quiver, my stomach churns, and I’m heading for disaster. I can’t dance—not now, and hopefully never again on this stage.

  Trussed up like a sexy, vampy princess, I move to center stage, completely cloaked from the neck down. The train on the robe spreads behind me as I sway. The music pounds. The lights dim, and shadows dance. Every night I’ve performed on this stage, I’ve been heartbroken and purging myself, torturing myself over the man I couldn’t stop loving. But now he’s back.

  I shouldn’t be here. But I’m too lost in fear to walk away. My absurd interaction with Bruno has me in a tailspin, and I can’t push away my thoughts. Grayson. Bruno. I’m frozen—I cannot move or see. I can’t do this job and can’t make my body start to dance.

  Murmurs from the crowd burn my ears. Laughter too. The announcer drops a joke—I can’t even understand the words. I’m frozen, and my mind runs faster than my thoughts of escape. Consumed by an overwhelming wave of emotion, my mouth dry, I can do nothing but think that I’ve got to get out of here. The announcer’s laughing too, saying I’m a Ginger Raine impostor and calling for the real one.

  I know the music. Only seconds have passed by, but it feels like hours since I walked on stage. I fold my arms and hold my sides, and my gaze falls to the VIP faces looking up from center stage.

  Grayson Ford stares back at me.

  Grayson

  One second I’m confused and glaring at the stage in disbelief. The next, I’m growling and gripping the wooden railing as I stand, ready to explode.

  “Emma?” The word bellows out from my chest.

  Hands grab me. Muffled words fall deaf because there’s a rush of blood in my ears. That’s my girl! On stage. None of this makes sense. Sweet, innocent Emma. In what world is this happening? In what world did I cause this to happen? Fuck me—I want to tear the walls down and maim any man who has ever seen this before.

  I fight against the hands that knock me down, swinging my fists for release. I don’t look anywhere but on stage. “Emma?”

  A fist connects with my jaw, and my head snaps to the side. I wasn’t expecting the blow, and it knocks some sense into me. I’m here with Delta. There’s a job to do.

  But I don’t give a shit. I push out of their hold, ready to storm the stage. Brock and Ryder take me down. Fuckin’ A. I hit the floor. I’ll kill this entire team. “Get off me!”

  Fists fly. My body growls as I attack, cursing and pleading. The team hits back, keeping me in place until Brock gets me in a choke hold. He leans close. “Get your shit together, Ford.”

  Not a chance.

  Brock flexes his arm around my neck. Goddamn it. My pulse slows, and my head pounds. I fight the choke hold until he pushes away, dropping me back.

  I fall to the floor again, and Ryder crouches down. “If that’s your girl, you’ve got to pull your shit together.”

  My eyes swing back to the stage, but she’s gone. Close by, Colin and Javier play down the scuffle to security, telling them they’ve got it under control, and it’s just a bachelor party beat-in, an old joke from college.

  I jump to my feet and shake it off. My eyes search for Emma, but security steps into my line of sight.

  “You good?” he asks.

  Fuck, no. “Yeah, man. Fuckin’ fine.”

  He eyes our group. “No more of that shit.” But he takes off, muttering in a Caribbean accent, “Fuckin’ VIP fuckers.”

  Ryder slaps me on the back. “Guess you’re the groom now.”

  I need to find her. “No. Got something to do.”

  Brock’s in my face again. “The best thing you can do is play your part. Don’t call attention to her, and don’t call attention to us. You got me?”

  My eyes search the crowd. Nothing. Nowhere. “Where is she?”

  Brock hits me in the sternum. “Hey, asshole. Got me or not?”

  I can’t find her, and all their eyes are on me. An avalanche of worries hits me. What does she know? How could she hide this from me? “I got you.”

  “Good, because first, we have an in we didn’t know about, and second, what you didn’t notice was something was wrong with that girl.”

  Yeah—she got caught. “God,” I roar, angry at her, furious with myself. How did this even happen?

  “Pull your shit together,” Ryder says. “Shit, get yourself a lap dance. Two birds, one stone.”

  Brock’s eyes bounce from Ryder to me, and I watch him mull the idea over before nodding. “Smart move.”

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “If you don’t, someone else will.” Javier laughs, and I lunge for him. He throws his hands up as Brock and Ryder catch me again. “Kidding. Shit, new guy. Calm yo
urself. Christ.”

  I pull back from Brock and Ryder, rolling my shoulders. A lap dance. Fuck that. Her ass is mine in a private room. “Got a better idea.”

  Behind me there are a few shits and an ah, hell. But I’m out of VIP and heading to find her when our waitress steps in my way. “Where’s the girl?”

  “Ginger?”

  “Don’t care what you call her.”

  She blinks but doesn’t move. “Okay…”

  “Find her.”

  “Sure, handsome. Come with me.” Making a stupid move, she puts her hand on my arm, and I snap it back. Surprise and maybe concern colors her face. “Just wait in there.”

  I follow her gaze, and I seethe. My teeth gnash, and my mind tumbles. Has Emma been in there? Doing what? God. Fuck me. What the hell do I know about her? I can’t handle this, and even though I stomp toward the room, I’m still reeling. The private room is dark and warm. The light is dim, and there’s an armless chair, almost like a bench, and blood thumps in my neck as I drive myself insane wondering and questioning who has been in here with her.

  The door opens and the love of my life, dressed the same as she was on stage, walks in, face toward the floor. Her shoulders slump, and my heart falls. It’s really her.

  Anger consumed me until I could reach out and hold her, and now—I’m broken. Devastated to the point I can’t breathe.

  “I’m sorry.” It’s a whisper from her sweet voice, and it’s my undoing.

  I roar deep from the depths of my soul. It’s a primal growl that must shake the damn building. I rip my fists into my hair and drop to the seat.

  “Emma. What the fuck? What the fuck? Goddamn it…” I turn my head up, and she’s watching me, eyes sad and tears sliding down her cheeks. I crash through the lump in my throat, and once more, but this time in a hoarse whisper, say, “What the fuck?”

  Her delicate hand wipes away the tears, and she carefully takes a step forward. “I was going to tell you.”

  “Why?”

  She bites her lip. “Please yell at me later. Leave me later—”