Chapter 52

The familiar rumble of the engine vibrated through my body. Samantha paused at the door, watching me. Her disdain was evident. Just when I thought my miserable encounter with her was over, she came back out to the parking lot and stood directly in front of my bike.

"Move," I ordered.

"You should have been honest with that poor sweet girl," she chided, her words dripping with false sympathy. "She had no idea what she was getting into with you. Unlike me, that meek little librarian never could have handled all of you."

I gritted my teeth against the urge to lash out at her, to defend Mary Ellen against Samantha's cutting remarks. But I knew better than to engage with her, to let her drag me down into the abyss of her bitterness. No matter what I said, she was going to find a way to twist my words. I had no desire to argue with her. It would only give her the fight she wanted. That was how Samantha rolled. She loved drama. It was one of the reasons we broke up.

One of many.

"Samantha, I'm not messing with you. Get the fuck out of my way."

"Are you going to move me?" she asked coyly.

That was exactly what she wanted. She wanted to start trouble. She wanted me to put hands on her. Then she would use it to get my ass thrown back in prison. She'd blackmail me.

"Move," I said again, feeling exhausted with her bullshit.

"It's cute that she was willing to try to be your girlfriend," Samantha continued, her voice laced with mockery. "And even cuter that you thought you wouldn't get bored of a girl like her. I bet you long for the days you had me in your bed."

I clenched my jaw and the muscles in my neck tightened as I fought to keep my temper in check. Hitting a woman was never acceptable, even if she barely counted as one. She was a rattlesnake in high heels. "Back off, Samantha," I growled, my voice low and dangerous.

With a twist of my hand, I revved my engine. The roar ripped the air between us.

"How's your family, Archer?" she called out over the noise of my bike, her tone dripping with venom. "Has your mom stopped talking about how disappointed she is in you yet, or is that still her favorite topic of conversation at dinner parties?"

Her words hit their mark, slicing through the armor of indifference I had erected around myself. I refused to let her see the pain she had caused, the wounds she had reopened with her callous words.

I nodded toward the library and met Samantha's gaze head on. "I'm not through with it yet," I declared, my voice firm and unwavering. "And I'm not going to make it easy for you to tear it down. You want to pick a fight with me? You're on."

Samantha laughed like an evil witch from a bad movie. "What's an ex-con like you going to do against my family's business?" she sneered, her arrogance palpable.

She thought she was such hot shit because her daddy had lots of money. I refused to be intimidated by her, refused to let her belittle me with her haughty attitude.

"I think you're about to find out," I replied.

With a grin, I revved the engine of my bike one final time, drowning out her mocking laughter, and peeled away from her side, leaving her in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes. She made a dramatic show of stepping aside, her eyes glinting like she had won somehow.

I couldn't shake Samantha's smirk from my mind or the way she had insulted Mary Ellen. She knew exactly what to say to get under my skin. Her barbs had been effective. The doubts I had about myself that I had been trying to keep quiet were screaming in my head. I worried about my ability to be a good boyfriend. About whether I deserved someone as sweet and innocent as Mary Ellen.

I found myself mulling over her words. She was such a vile person. I couldn't believe I ever thought I was in love with that she-beast.

Samantha seemed to think she had the upper hand and could tear down everything I had worked so hard to build since I got out of prison.

She had gotten me once. That was all she was going to get. I wasn't going to let her destroy my relationship with Mary Ellen, assuming it wasn't already ruined. It wasn't like I could have predicted Samantha was going to reappear in my life. I certainly couldn't have known it would be her trying to destroy the one thing that was important to Mary Ellen. The universe seemed to hate me. The bullshit with Cole, now Samantha, it was too much.

But I refused to let Samantha's manipulative games break me. I had fought too hard to build a new life for myself, to leave behind the mistakes of my past and the toxic people like her who thrived on chaos and destruction.

Before I even really knew where I was going, I found myself in the parking lot of the country club. I knew Murray was going to be here today.

They wouldn't welcome me inside those exclusive walls. I got off my bike and didn't miss the disdainful glances from the club members meandering around the parking lot. I didn't know if they all recognized me, but it was clear I made them uncomfortable.

A couple of guys my father played golf with had looks of horror on their faces. It served as a stark reminder of the reputation that preceded me. I was the black sheep of the family, the heir apparent who had fallen from grace.

I ignored the judgmental stares and steeled myself against the whispers of disapproval that seemed to follow me like my shadow everywhere I went.

I quickly sent a text to Murray letting him know I was waiting outside to talk to him when he was finished with his meeting. Hopefully, I didn't get run off the property by one of the overeager security guards.

These people had likely heard my mother's relentless ramblings about her wayward eldest son, painting me as a criminal and a disgrace to the family name. She somehow turned my conviction into something she deserved to be pitied for. She had made it clear that she believed her own prestigious standing in the community had been tarnished by my mistakes, as if I were responsible for her loss of social standing. As if I were the one who had brought shame upon the family.

As if everyone rich enough to be a member here hadn't skirted the law to make their fortunes. No one got wealthy without taking advantage of someone else. Besides, half the people in there were addicted to pills or were fucking the help, and the other half were into even darker stuff. Normal thrills got old fast when you could afford anything you wanted. Compared to most of them, I was practically a saint.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the anger and frustration that threatened to consume me whenever I thought about the hypocrisy of the wealthy—and my mother in particular. She had never once tried to understand why I had made the choices I did, why I had ended up in prison. To her, it was simply a stain on her picture-perfect life that she could never fully erase.

My mother didn't leave the house for a week when I first got arrested. My bail kept me locked down on the family estate while I waited for my trial. My mother had given me the cold shoulder when we did cross paths. Being stuck in that house with her had almost been worse than prison. The day I got sent to prison, it was almost a relief.

I waited patiently in the parking lot. The minutes stretched into eternity as I watched the comings and goings of the club's members. I could admit I was getting some pleasure watching them clutch their pearls when they laid eyes on the dangerous biker lurking in the parking lot. They walked around like they were untouchable, gods among mere insects, and it was nice to remind them what fear was.

Finally, Murray emerged from the building, looking every bit the part of the affluent businessman in his tailored sports jacket and impeccably pressed slacks. He glanced around the parking lot. "What are you doing here?"

"Besides freaking out these suppositories?" I replied.

He frowned in confusion. "Suppositories?"

I shrugged. "Because they're stuck up assholes."

He laughed and shook his head. "Nice."

"I needed to talk."

Murray sighed, shaking his head in resignation. "You shouldn't be here. These stuck-up assholes will get you arrested just for looking at them funny. Let's go somewhere we can talk."

We agreed to meet at a nearby sports bar, a place where we could speak freely without upsetting the fragile sensibilities of the country club members. Murray had his own reputation to look out for.

We sat down and ordered sodas and fries. "So, what's going on?" he asked.

"Mary Ellen just met Samantha," I said.

He grimaced. "Yikes. How?"

"She showed up at the library," I explained, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "Her father's company is the one that's buying the property."

"Oh shit," he said. "How in the hell does that happen?"

I shook my head. "Because I've pissed off the gods, apparently."

"So, what happened?"

"Samantha tried to stir up shit. You know how she is. Mary Ellen was crying when she left. I don't want her to doubt me because of Samantha's bullshit."

"Why would Mary Ellen care?" he asked.

"I never told Mary Ellen about my past with Samantha." I shrugged. "It had never seemed relevant."

Murray shook his head. "Ouch."

"Was I supposed to recount my entire dating history to her? I've been with plenty of girls before Samantha. Am I supposed to list them all?"

"Samantha wasn't just any girlfriend," he reminded me. "You and Mary Ellen never talked about your past relationships?"

"No, not really."

"Again, I think the Samantha situation is a little different," he said. "And if I know Samantha, she would have been all too happy to talk a lot of shit to Mary Ellen. I'm sure your sweet little girlfriend is probably feeling the sting and wondering why in the hell you were with someone like Samantha."

"Because Samantha wasn't as wicked as she ended up becoming," I said.

Murray listened as I told him about Mary Ellen getting fired and crying when I took her outside. "It sounds like Mary Ellen was already in a fragile state," he said with a shake of his head. "There couldn't have been a worse time to find out about you and Samantha. Let her cool off and then reach out. Don't push. Don't force her. Let her speak for herself. She'll let you in when she's ready."

"I feel like I did something wrong, but I know I really didn't. I have an ex-girlfriend. Did she think I was a monk before I met her?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure she had no such illusions. She's not blind."

"She took off and told me to leave her alone," I complained.

"I doubt she's really all that pissed at you," he said. "She was likely upset with the situation. She lost her job and was suffering that blow and then Samantha did what Samantha does. Hell, I want to cry when I see Samantha. I still don't know what you saw in that woman."

"A hot body," I muttered. "Great sex. And all that drama felt like passion at first."

Murray chuckled. "She might have been a looker but you can't deny that she was a mess. A hot mess but still a mess. She always seemed like she was looking to take over the world."

"I think she was," I said.

"Mary Ellen seems like a good woman," Murray said. "Just talk to her. Like you said, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm sure it was just a combination of things."

"Thanks, Murray. Next time I won't bug you at the country club."

He chuckled. "I'm sure all of us stuck-up assholes will survive."