Beautiful Scar

Saving Matteo

JENNIFER'S POV

Excitement is one way to put it. I got my paycheck this evening, so I won't get kicked out after all. I’m in a cab on my way to my next job, and the sum of money in my bag already has me floating on cloud nine. All I can think about now is the extra cash I’ll make at my next gig—enough to pay off my rent ultimately and finally get the homeowner off my back.

The vibration from my bag drags me out of my blissful thoughts. I dig my hand inside, brushing past the carefully placed bundle of cash. It takes a lot not to squeal in excitement.

I pull out my phone, and when I see the caller ID flashing on the screen, I hold back my reflex urge to hiss.

Big Bro.

Seriously.

Way to destroy my mood in seconds.

I declined the call and pulled my phone back into my bag. I definitely cannot think—

"INCOMING CALL FROM BIG BRO."

A tiny robotic voice sings out from my phone.

Oh, screw you, Siri, and your annoying voice!

Hmph! Not picking up.

I decided to think good thoughts. Okay, what to think about? Maybe the fact that I’m about to make extra cash. Yeah, that should work.

It doesn’t. Not at all.

My excitement has been ruined by this call.

You’re probably wondering what kind of sister I am, but if you were in my shoes, you'd do the same. Especially if you had a deadbeat brother like mine who conveniently calls on payday—just when you’re about to get kicked out of your trashy basement apartment. It definitely wouldn’t be wise to pick up his calls.

He calls a third time, and my conscience pokes at me, frustration rising in my chest. I wish I could ignore him just for today because I really can’t afford to be homeless.

I hiss in annoyance, dig out my phone, and swipe to answer the call.

What assaults my ear is a blast of music.

Seriously? See why I can’t be bothered to pick up his calls?

"Yeniver." He drawls, barely pronouncing my name correctly. I zone out for a moment, admiring the drunken pronunciation. Yeniver. Sounds sexy... or not.

I tilt my head back and press the phone tightly to my ear to hear him through the noise.

"Yeniver, I’m drunk. I can't move. Help." He coughs and stumbles over his words.

See?

I close my eyes and rub my temple as the headache continues.

"Matteo, I can't come. Your friends should help you out. "I have a job right now, okay?" I reply softly but loud enough for him to hear. Again, I would have gone to his rescue for the ninth time—if I didn’t have a gig to be at in five minutes.

"Alone... came alone... and—bleurgh!"

I freeze as I hear him gag.

"Matt?"

"Jennifer, I—bleurgh!"

I hold my breath and calculate the situation in my head.

This isn’t the first time Matteo has called me at night from a club, and it never ends well. I always pay for his drinks or cover his debts when he loses a gamble. What if this is another ploy to get me to come? But what if he really needs someone to drive him home?

His gagging is scary.

"I'm coming. "Where are you?" I blurted out before I could stop myself—and immediately regret it. But he’s my brother. My only family.

"Xxx club," he drawls between hiccups, and the line goes silent.

Toot! Toot! Toot!

He hung up just like that.

I turned to the driver, who was already nearing my destination, and pleaded, "Please, can you change the destination? I have an emergency. I'll pay double the price, I promise."

He mutters something under his breath but still swerves the car. "Where?"

He sounds grumpy, but I don’t mind. I feel grumpy too.

"Xxx," I say, and he zooms off.

This club—or wherever Matteo is—doesn’t sound familiar. It’s not one of his usual gambling or drinking spots. It sounds exquisite. It has a luxurious ring, and I pray it’s not as expensive as it sounds.

I rest my hand on my jaw and press the button to roll down the window. I shut my eyes and wondered.

In the back of my mind, I'd already planned this impromptu rescue mission—pick him up, drop him at his apartment, and head to my next gig. I planned to be early, but I doubt I'll make it with fate working hand-in-hand with Amanda and now Matteo.

Scratch that—I won’t make it.

The cool breeze caresses my face, but a horrible feeling creeps over me.

I shove it down.

Nothing about Matteo ever turns out well.

"Ma'am, we’re here."

The driver’s voice jolts me alert.

"Thank you," I say, stepping out and tipping him as I further express my gratitude.

I closed the door behind me and stepped to the curb.

And then I see it.

A massive club.

I am about to die and be resurrected because what the hell is my broke-ass brother doing at a high-end club like this?

This place screams money, exclusivity, and class. It reminds me of the gorgeous skyscrapers opposite my workplace in the district.

I look down at my outfit and suddenly feel so out of place.

As I step closer, I spot a line of huge bouncers looking all bucked and murderous. I can't get past them—not even if I wanted to. They’ll ask questions, and how am I supposed to answer them?

Better yet—how the hell did Matteo get in?

I glance at my watch impatiently.

Thirty minutes have passed since I left my last job at the coffee shop.

God, please keep that job for me. Pretty pleased.

My brother is going to be the death of me.

"Hey, excuse me. You're in the way."

A tap on my shoulder.

I turned to see a woman in—

Well, clothes and long lashes, flicking her exaggerated nails at me.

She screams old money despite her awful sense of taste.

Immediately, I stepped out of her way and watched her saunter toward the entrance, chewing her bubblegum loudly.

And, of course, she snickers. "Dirty rats everywhere these days."

A wave of shame washes over me.

But I don’t have time for this. Whether I look like a drowned rat or my cheap perfume smells like a refuse dump is none of my business.

I watch as she shows the bouncers her card, and they push open the doors for her.

Once again—how did Matteo get in?

I dug out my phone and called him. It rings continuously.

Nothing.

I tried a few more times.

Same result.

I pace near the club, deep in thought. If Matteo answered, I could tell him to come out, and we’d leave.

Then, a car pulls over.

Not just any car.

A sexy Rolls-Royce Phantom.

A man steps out, busy with his phone. But even from his side profile, he’s so dangerously handsome that Eli’s entire existence would grovel in comparison.

Sorry, Eli.

A sudden thought surges through me.

Impulsively, I rushed toward him—

But another man in a suit grabs me like I’m a thief.

Bad choice, Jen. Bad choice.

I immediately struggled, calling out desperately, "Sorry to intrude, but I need your help! Please!"

The man barely looks up. With a simple flick of his fingers, his lackey lets me go—but not before shooting me a stink eye.

I don't have time to gloat. I dive straight into business.

"Please, can you help me get in?"

I instantly regret asking.

He slowly puts his phone away, looking down at me.

Towering over me.

And suddenly, I forgot how to breathe.

"Why?" His deep voice melts me.

"Huh?"

Jen.

Seriously?!